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Bike Trip

By: Anongirl



I am a 33 year old woman that is just peaking in my sexuality who is married to a wonderful, fun loving man 19 years my senior that unfortunately is overworked and losing his sexual desire. I have tried many things to keep romance in our marriage but quite frankly I am sexually frustrated much of the time. This has led me to do things that I would never considered earlier in our marriage. This is such a story. It begins on a cross country bike trip.

My husband Bill and I started to ride bikes as an exercise activity and have become very fond of long rides versus the "tourist" style of when we started. We purchased lightweight custom bikes earlier this year and began riding with a couple of local clubs. We love it! We are fit and look great physically. This summer we decided to take a five night six day organized bike trip as one our vacations. We even went out a bought new bike clothes...I know that is silly but I wanted to look good as we biked our 75 Kilometers each day.

Twin German brothers, Hans and Peter were the organizers and guides. They were all business, no nonsense kind of guys that would take your breath away they were so good looking and "buff" in their bike shorts and shirts. I could not help but stare at the bulge in their tight shorts. I could see their cocks outlined perfectly and was indeed intrigued by the size. In comparison, Bill had the bulge of a boy with his three inch nub.

Anyway, we set off on the first days ride and wouldn't you know, I pulled a groin muscle after about 60 KM. I finished the first leg in much discomfort. We camped out near a fire station on the first night and used their shower and facilities to clean up and eat. Since there was only one shower for both men and women, we took turns with Hans or Peter standing guard to separate the sexes. I had told them of my pulled muscle and Hans said to be last to take my shower and he would give be a deep muscle massage. He indicated that it would give me relief so that I could continue the trip and not have to go back in the van. It sounded good to me.

After my shower, I called out to Hans that I was ready, he called for Peter to stand guard and came in the locker room. He told me to lie on a table on my back with the towel covering my body. He then pulled my legs slightly apart, rubbed his hands together quickly to warm them and proceeded to massage my inner thigh. He kept this up for several minutes , concentrating on that muscle and talking softly in German. I had absolutely no idea what he was saying, but I did find it romantic.

Here I lay with only a towel over my breasts and pussy, relaxing in a dimly lit room, being massaged by two very talented hands and hearing a foreign language spoken very softly . I was getting turned on. Hans must have smelled or otherwise sensed my feelings because when he changed hand position he would brush the lips of my pussy. I was getting hotter by the minute. He then changed his body position and I felt his cock against the sole of my foot. That made me gasp it was so erotic. I felt his cock start to swell with his hardness and that is when I slowly moved his hand to my pussy.

He got the message and started to play and pull at my hairs and then started to massage my lips, moved up to my clit and then two fingers inside me, then three spreading my pussy open with his strength, probing, in, out, searching for my G-spot. I was going wild, all the time massaging his cock with my foot. He was as hard as any man's cock I had ever seen. He quickly pulled down his shorts to release his cock, He grabbed my hand and moved it to his shaft. My fingers would not touch it was so big around. I guessed he was about eight inches long and his tube was as big as one of my fingers.

The rush took my breath away. I guided him to my waiting pussy where he slipped in easily. Much easier than I thought...I was as hot as I had ever been. There was no slow grind going to happen tonight, no long lovemaking session just hard, fast fucking . I started cumming when he was five inches in, the length of Bill, and was just going out of my mind as he went in as far as he could. It was terrific! Within several minutes , Hans held me tight and said he was about to cum...it was all I could do not to yell but I whispered to him to cum, to give me all he had, to pump his hot cum in me and who knows what else...and he did. I could feel him cum for the next twelve to fifteen hard strokes.

Bill is lucky to shoot three times. It was incredible. Hans fell in my arms and I just held him for several minutes while he stroked and emptied his cum in me. We never kissed. He slowly pulled out and without a word I went back to the shower. Hans was gone by the time that I finished. I dried off, dressed in my shorty pj's and went to my tent where Bill was waiting. I told him that Hans massaged my thigh and it was no longer sore. It turned Bill on for some reason, I guess he was visualizing about Hans being so close to my pussy, and soon Bill was playing with me.

I kinda liked it and in just moments Bill slid down in our two person sleeping bag and started to lick my pussy. Now Bill can eat...I guess it is a talent he developed because of his five inch cock. Soon, he was probing my pussy with his tongue and sucking on my clit. I was again as hot as ever knowing Bill was cleaning out my pussy of Hans cum. He loved it and stayed down on me longer than usual. I came twice. Bill then climbed on top of me, could not hold it and came in me in just a minute or two, He then snuggled close to me and commented on how hot I was and how great I tasted. He surmised that bike trips like this were good for both of us. I thought... if he only knew.

Bike Trip



I wasn't sure why she wanted to get together. All she texted was 'meet me at Cisco's at 6:30,' a typically terse demand.

She was on time for a change, weaving through the chairs with an attractive long haired woman in tow who looked uncomfortable, like she didn't wanted to be here. When they sat down Lisbeth introduced her as Harriet Glover then picked up a menu, quickly scanned it before indifferently tossing it aside, sitting back and stabbing me with her eyes. "I told her about your plan. She wants to go."

"My plan?" I repleted stupidly, having no idea what she was talking about, which was nothing new: Lisbeth is the worst conversationalist I know. She assumes you totally understand what she's thinking; she tells every story from a point three-quarters of the way into it, and she could care less if you're interested in what she has to say.

"The world tour." She said this like I was an idiot. "She wants to go with you."

"Ah," I said, "that plan." Which wasn't a plan at all. I had mentioned in passing a few days ago that I needed a break; I needed to get away. 'The Plan' came, not from my heart but from the top of my head: I was thinking of bicycling through a bunch of countries in Europe and Asia for a couple of years. But it was just a spur-of-the-moment thought, certainly no plan — and subsequently, I had not made a single move to put that fleeting fantasy into action. In fact. I hadn't thought about it again ... though, in fact, it had been simmering for awhile.

"Ya, the timing couldn't be better for her." I knew from experience that Lisbeth's irrational enthusiasm could make even the dumbest idea sound doable. "Harriet needs a break, too, needs to get away. Two years on a bike would be just perfect for her. Tell her about it."

I looked over at Harriet for a reaction but got nothing more than a feeling that she had been coerced into meeting me, never mind joining me on what was now billed as 'a world tour.' So I didn't feel even mildly awkward talking about a trip I hadn't yet thought through never mind actually planned. Given the vibe, there wasn't even the remotest possibility that this woman, whom I just now met me, would want to go anywhere with me, never mind around the world on a bike. 

So I said to myself 'what the hell' and waded in. My plans were obviously fuzzy but I got through them in a few minutes of halting ad libs and stabs at memories from my grade 3 geography class.

When I finished Lisbeth turned her sparkling eyes on Harriet. "What do you think?" 

Harriet's reaction seemed midway between a grimace and a grin but she nodded what might have meant her acceptance so, with Lisbeth's prodding, we spent a few minutes considering an acceptable departure date. Then, before a waiter had even shown up, they were gone and I was left alone wondering what just happened.

It had been fun. I like bullshitting, especially when it's absolutely harmless. And this was harmless. It was impossible to believe that this stranger had any intention of peddling out of town with me; she looked so uptight she could barely tolerate my presence: all the time she was at the table she never once looked at me.

I started feeling a little more ... troubled four days later when the woman herself phoned to ask about the list I had promised her of the things she'd need to buy for the trip, something else I had not thought twice about. I covered my ass by saying that my list wasn't quite ready but would be in three days when we could meet for coffee and go over it. That was fine by her: it would give her a few more days to continue experimenting with the recipes she was trying for quick, nutritious meals on the road. I felt my balls shrivel.

When I put the phone down I tried hard to imagine the woman I had just been speaking with; the one I had met for 20 minutes a few days ago; the one I was supposedly going to be traveling with ... for two years ... on a bike. All I could remember of her was that she had long brown hair and indiscernibly coloured eyes that never once glanced my way. And she may have had a nice rack, it was hard to tell through her shapeless, baggy sweater. 

What in the fuck was going on here?

Her eyes are brown, I discovered that three days later in the coffee shop. Brown, intelligent and dartingly evasive. 

In fact, I hadn't prepared the list I had promised for this rendezvous. Why would I? I had absolutely no intention of going anywhere on a bike, except maybe on the city's bike paths. No, I had come to the cafe to put an end to this silly misunderstanding, not that I felt I had to. The likelihood that this woman actually wanting to peddle her ass around the world was probably zilch. 

So why was she still pretending? That had me fascinated ... and stumped. So before I called the whole charade off I thought it might be fun to find out what was going through her head; it was pretty enough I was coming to realize.

I hadn't thought about the tact I'd take; I just struck out blindly taking a somewhat suggestively erotic tact. I deliver what I thought was a very good, although spur-of-the-moment lecture about the need for partners on an adventure like this to be an intimate team, after all, we would be living, eating and sleeping together under nylon as a near-married couple. Did she understand this? 

"Yes," she responded in a whisper, somewhat sullenly.

I blanched at this with a snort — her wimpishness was getting my dander up, and I didn't even know what dander was. Enough of the toying around. End it. "You can't even look at me, Harriet, never mind live with me. Give your head a shake. There isn't a chance in a million you have any intention of pulling this off."

I felt good about my conclusion. It was the perfect kiss off. I was just about to push away from the table when those gleaming eyes, now tear-glistening, caught me in a fiery glare. "Look, I have some issues, OK? I know that. But I'm trying to deal with them. And I'll continue to work on them. I want this, Jim. I need this. And, ya, I get the partnership thing. I know I have a big responsibility with that. It'll take time and effort ... and some understanding from you. I know it's a huge challenge for me but I know I can pull it off, too. I know how badly I want it."

I looked at her tear-stained eyes dumb-struck. Was she fucking serious?

Then she added, entirely enigmatically, "'If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.'"

The quote was from someone, I gathered, I should know. I didn't. But the quote hit me hard: it says exactly what I had been thinking, why I wanted to get away. I felt my heart sink and my butt cheeks clench but I still didn't think she fully understood what this trip would be all about. I'm a good guy, I simply couldn't let this doe-eyed dreamer continue her fucked-up fantasy. I had to find the coup de grace to put her away. And I had it. "Look, Harriet, this wouldn't be some passive platonic partnership pasted together just to get by. This would have to be a raging, rutting, arranged marriage of loud arguments, territorial battles, dirty laundry and sore muscles. Why in hell would you think you would want to go through that with someone like me, someone you don't even know?"

She weakened now. I knew I had her. My hand, that just seconds before had been trembling nervously, now reached out confidently for my coffee mug.

I had her. I could see she was searching for her inner wimp. Her voice was entirely absent of confidence. "Lisbeth and Janet said you're the perfect guy to do this with." It sounded like she was about to break into full-on tears. "And from what I've seen I think they're right." She passed the back of her hand against a slightly damp cheek. "They told me how much you've done for them over the past two years and that you could help me, too." Now, she seemed to be gaining confidence: she sat up straighter and leaned forward. "Ya, sure, I've never thought of doing anything like this before. Never once. But when Lisbeth told me your plans and told me I should go with you, she said it would turn my life around, like you turned theirs around. That's what I need — I don't want to end up where I'm heading." She hesitated for a dramatic impact that may have been more heartfelt than theatrical. "I'm in Jim. I think I know all the implications ... I might not be prepared for them all but I think I understand them. When I handed in my resignation last week I was scared stiff but I'm not now. I'm just really, really excited and really, really determined."

The phone rang four different times in my black-out apartment. But I didn't answer it. Each time I thought it might be her. And anyway, I was thinking. Hard. Obviously I had to extricate myself from this stupid predicament of my own making. But how? I had thought through a number of tactics but nothing quite worked. Nothing quite dealt with the reality that she had spent the past week slaving over a hot stove to find the right recipes for a two-year bike trip I had no intention of making. Nothing quite made up for the fact that she was struggling hard to over-come some mysterious psychosis that made her so adverse to me she couldn't look me in the eye. Nothing quite addressed the shocker that she had already quit her job to go on a trip that had always been a pipe-dream. And nothing quite mitigated the horror that she had me tightly and painfully by the balls.

The key, I concluded, the ticket out, was in her weird behaviour. How could I co-habit in a sleeping bag with a woman who was afraid to look at me? I couldn't. But nor could she. Obviously.

"Look," said the grand creator of all these troubles, Lisbeth, after I carefully explained the next day why I was calling the whole thing off, "you made a commitment to her. It's a done deal."

I almost screamed into the phone. "She won't even look at me for fuck's sake. How are we supposed to get ..."

"So she's got some baggage!" Lisbeth fought back. "Big deal. We all do. Work your magic for fuck's sake. You did it for me; you did it for Janet; you've done it for all kinds of people. Take her under your healing little wing ..."

"What baggage?" I demanded.

"I don't know. I think she had a bad marriage she hasn't recovered from. Not yet, but then she hasn't had the tender care of Saint Jimmy Mallory, either."

"Ya, ya. So how long ago did they split?" I couldn't imagine this woman getting close enough to anyone for an altar walk.

"Don't know. Years."

"Come on, Liz. Details."

"Lisbeth for crissake! Right? I hate Liz and you know it. And no details. I don't have any. I've never asked. But there was violence I think, and there are trust issues. She just needs a little of your ... niceness, Jimmy. Two days in that tent with you and she'll be cured." She threw me some hope. "Maybe you can turn back then. Maybe all she'll need is a few miles."

"Ya, well," I protested, embarrassingly weakly, "I can't see those few miles happening."

She snickered derisively. "You're going, Jimmy. The last thing Harriet needs is for her to finally put some trust in a guy and the first thing HE does is screw her ... and I don't mean the loving kind you're so famous for. Anyway, think of that body. Have you had it yet?"

For the first time in my life I was feeling the utter helplessness of despair. "I didn't know she had one," I said, sullenly, "she dresses like a bag lady," although I thought I saw some impressive pressure against her formless sweater when she turned to get her purse from the back of the chair at the coffee shop.

Lisbeth could be dismissive and she was now. "She's a wonderful woman, Jim, with a fabulous body — trust me, I know. And you can thank me any time you want for putting her in a tent with you — FOR TWO FUCKING YEARS. So if you're phoning to find an excuse to get out of this, forget about it. Jan and I have already planned the going-away party. You're going and that's fucking final!" She hung up.

'Not fucking likely,' I thought as I dialled my dad's number. If anyone would put the boots to this insanity it was my ever-responsible, always-practical father. I edged into the reason for my call hesitantly, positioning my tentative plan in the worst possible light, certain that he would positively forbid me from dumping my job to pursue such insanity, not that he has ever forbidden me from anything in the past. 

But at the first sound of his response I got to know the absolute pit of despair. The moment I put out the two words 'bike+trip' together he exploded in envy: it was the very thing he had wanted to do when he was my age; he had always "bitterly" regretted he hadn't (he had to settle for having my sisters and me as a wholly lamentable alternative). He couldn't wait for his vicarious pleasures to start.

I stared at the ceiling wide-eyed from my bed. Was I really and truly fucked? No! Three hour after I hung up with my dad it hit me: the one sure-fire tactic to sabotage the trip. I called Harriet from the office the next day and invited her to dinner at my place three days later. 

With each passing minute I grew more optimistic. A woman who couldn't stand to look at me wasn't about to let me lower myself into her. Not a fucking chance.

I barely recognized her when I opened the door. The long brown hair was familiar enough, so were the darting brown eyes. It was the wonderfully thin lips, they were way off, they almost wore a smile, and the nicely rounded chin in the perfectly heart-shaped face seemed unrecognizably set with more confidence than I remember, or was it determination? But even if I recognized the bits and pieces of her face what was entirely new was the body holding up the head: it had form! And from the brief glimpse I allowed myself, it looked like a killer form.

She wasn't even through the door when she turned to me and used every bit of her new-found self-confidence to look me straight in the eyes. Her head was slightly cocked to the side when she said, "I've had three days to work on this and I'm still not going to get it right but I want you to know right from the start that I'll be trying as hard as I can and I'll get better. OK? I promise. I'll get better."

I didn't know what she was talking about. "Get better? Get better at what?" 

"The sex." She seemed confused that she had to explain herself. "You asked me over to give me a test drive, right? You read me the lecture, now you want to see how much of it sunk in: you want the performance. I get it. I'm just telling you that whatever happens I can and will do better."

Now, MY eyes were darting. I could feel them involuntarily poking about the room behind her looking for anything that could help me deflect the accusation or change the subject. I heard myself utter a limp denial but I knew I wasn't convincing. 'Test drive' was a pretty accurate description of what I had in mind. What she didn't know was how badly I hoped she would crash and burn on the first (and hopefully only) attempt.

"Scary isn't it?" She was obviously reading my body language now, it wouldn't have been hard. "We're committed to spending two years together and we don't even know if we're ... you know, physically ... if we like each other."

I grabbed at this. "Ya, I've been thinking about that. It wasn't very considerate of me. Maybe we should get to know each other first; maybe put this off for a year."

She turned and moved gracefully to a chair in the living room. She was slimmer than I had thought, with a delightfully contoured ass. Before she sat down she turned back to me (almost catching me in mid-glance). "I've kind of had some problems in the past; dug myself into a deep, dark hole that I'm trying to get out of. An emotional hole that just doesn't make sense any more. I need to grow up and move on. But that isn't always easy to do, especially when you're avoiding the very issues you should be working on." She sat down and looked up at me. "I'm just saying that I don't want ..." she hesitated, then went for it, "I don't want this to be an issue with me any more. But there may be some ... ah, rocky moments ahead; trying to work things out isn't always easy or predictable". She smiled sweetly. "But you know that about women, don't you ... some women." She shrugged her shoulders in helplessness. "What can I say. That's about it."

I half expected her to be gone by now so I hadn't put much effort into dinner. But that's not why I turned to go into the kitchen. I turned because I was getting a fucking hard-on.

To kill time I fumbled with a bottle of wine and mentally scanned through my diminishing options. How do you throw out a woman who warns you she might not be very good at first but to keep trying and, with a little work, she plans to get it right? Fuck. It was only two weeks ago that we agreed we would peddle away. That makes it just over a week before I have to hand-in my resignation ... which means I have only seven days to find a way out of this mess and as far as I could see there wasn't a single person out there, my putative partner included, who thought that this punishing Tour to Nowhere was anything but an excellent idea. Fuck, fuck. Fuck.

I turned off the stir fry which could easily be nuked and went back into the living room with the bottle and glasses. I put them all on the table, filled the glasses then went to get my clipboard before sitting down. "Did you bring your list?" I asked, resigned to seeing through at least this part of the fucking charade.

She smiled an assent then sipped her wine. "I wonder, though, that if before we get to that, we might stay on this for a bit." When she saw I didn't follow her she explained. "Sex." She hesitated then asked an alarmingly direct question: "What are your expectations?"

Fine. Sure. I can talk about this. I deliberately scanned her body, deliberately hesitating on the remarkably impressive rack, nicely straining at her thin shirt. Then I sipped, sat back and asked, knowing that I'd found my winning tact, "Do you have an imagination?"

This didn't phase her. She sipped before she answered, perhaps wondering what the catch was. "Yes, I think I do. A good one."

"Good. Then imagine a man, say, me, imagine him in a four by six tent with a woman like, say, you, and imagine him, me, trying to get to sleep when those," I pointed at her chest, "are resting peacefully not more than a foot away." I wasn't trying to read her; I was just concentrating on getting this out. "Now imagine how long it might take him, me, to get to sleep each night with those." I pointed again, "resting not a half an arm-length away, and imagine what he, me, might do to facilitate his necessary and hard-to-come-by sleep, like what he might do to himself to get some relief. Then imagine how you might feel if night after night you had to endure this man's sleeping ritual. Are you with me so far?"

"I think so." She was entirely impassive ... but noticeably unimpressed.

"Any man might call that torture. But not me." I raised my voice now, "Because there's not a chance in hell I would put myself in that situation. I would only ever get into that tent with you if there was an agreed upon and full range of ... reciprocity."

"Equal parts of giving and taking," she said, helpfully.

"Precisely," I nodded. "Underpinned, of course, by respect, consideration and ..."

She waited me out but when I didn't fill in the final blank she added, "Romance?"

"Passion, certainly," I conceded.

She waited a moment before speaking. I think she looked a little pissed off. "There are more mature ways to have this conversation, aren't there?"

"Ya, probably." I had talked my way into feeling a little pissed-off. "But the gist of it would be the same."

"That if I go into a tent with you I give you full access to my body." I didn't say anything. I just let the full weight of her words hang out there so they could sink in. Then she added, "But with respect and consideration. Have I got that right?"




Bike Trip



I could see her ire was up but not up enough so I pushed a little harder. "Sort of like an arranged marriage."

"An arranged, loveless marriage."

I objected. "Not all arranged marriage are loveless." 

"No they aren't," she agreed. And then things started to unravel. "And your arranged marriage would never be loveless, would it?" She didn't wait for my answer. "It wouldn't be loveless because the moment you crawled into that tent you would be doing everything in your power to make that arranged marriage work, or so says Lisbeth and so says Janet, and that's what I'm thinking, too." She looked at me hard; she didn't look annoyed any more. "I'm just telling you that when I crawl into that tent with you I'll want to make it work too, just as much as you will, but I won't be as emotionally sophisticated as you are or as emotionally equipped to pull it off, not at first. Am I clear?" Again, she didn't wait for my answer, "Oh, and one more thing. Sorry, but I don't have any choice in this. It's the way I'm made. I have to treat this, not as a reciprocating transaction or even as an arranged marriage but as a romance. That's just the way I am. OK? And finally? This will be the last I have to say on this subject, but in matters of physically loving I will have to be taught. The only other shot I've had at it I was a complete and miserable failure."

I was pissed of course. She'd beaten me at my own game; beaten me up with my own words. But I stayed calm. After she finished the only thing I could think to do was refill the wine glasses. I thought of telling her to take off her clothes or get into the bedroom, I even thought of pulling out my hard prick to scare her with it but she had me pegged about right, I am a romantic. If I ever got into that fucking tent I would, like her, try to turn it into a romance, I had no doubt about that, it's my nature, my fucking wussie nature. So scrap Plan A and start Plan B: there was no fucking way I was going to touch her. Not after that. Not a chance. Lay my arm on her shoulder or my lips on her cheek and I might as well start peddling now. 

We never got to the stir fry or a third glass of wine. To change the subject, out came the clipboard and we methodically compared notes, while we made a final list of all the things we needed to do and buy. 

When she left it was really hard not to think that this team of two had a new leader. I was in full-mode panic.

It was her idea. We'd go for a bike ride then head back to my place to have one of the meals she had come up with for The Trip. But it was my idea to put up the tent in my spare bedroom. 

I'd thought it through, every which-way, and concluded that fucking seemed to be the only way out of this for me. Apparently, she had problems in bed. What they were I had no idea, but fucking was the only thing I could think of to exploit my way out of a bike tour I increasingly didn't want to take. As far as I could see every other option had been tightly closed off. 

My plan then was to get her into the tent; introduce her to what I thought was her greatest vulnerably, then hope like hell things fell apart quickly. What might her problem be? I could only guess: a rigid frigidity? psycho-sexual traumatic flash-backs? debilitating sexual deviances? Whatever. All I needed was just a little something to scare her off, or give me an excuse to cancel. 

The bike trip part turned out surprisingly well. It was fun. We cycled for a couple of hours, the first part on passive bike trails, then I got her out onto roads. She was impressive; she held her own even though she was on a rickety old piece of junk she had borrowed for the day.

The food part was OK, too. I drank beer as I watched her use one pot to make a pasta of about five ingredients. Pretty impressive and impressively tasty. In fact the whole damn outing was impressive. She was apparently competent at everything she does (well, everything but THAT) and the sour, self-effacing disposition I had first encountered had been softened by a seemly effortless pleasantness that caught me way off guard. 

As did the body. Shucked of the bag-lady togs, and adorned in tight cycling clothes the woman may not know how to use it but there was no doubt she had a great body. It almost made me forget my plan: I could easily see us piling into the tent and franticly rutting for hours. But that would mean two years of peddling in the rain. Not going to happen. No way. I would find her fatal flaw, exploit it, then watch her flee. It was the only way out. 

I cleaned up while she sipped wine and when I was done I deliberately walked into the living room, passed by her and entered the bedroom stripping off my clothes as I went. I climbed into the tent entirely nude. I had thought through my plan this far (it helped that I was a bit pissed) but I had no way to predict what she would do once I got into the tent. I hoped that at the first sight of my naked ass she would have freaked and run from the place screaming. But it didn't sound like this was happening; for the first few minutes it didn't sound like she was doing anything. I just lay in there, alone, and naked, feeling increasingly stupid. 

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, her head poked through the flaps, then she crawled in fully clothed. It was dark enough so I couldn't read her face but her body language was pretty clear: she was tense; totally unsure of herself. When she was in on all fours, fully in, she hesitated a moment before sitting down next to me bent over with her legs crossed. Then nothing.

"Hey," I said after a long wait, "it was your idea to simulate a day on the road, not mine."

"I know." Her voice sounded delightfully glum. "I didn't think it through this far." 

I shut up, allowing her ample uninterrupted peace so her freakish, sex-averse idiosyncrasies could grab hold of her. I had a song running through my head: 'Bad boy, bad boy, what're you going to do, what're you going to do when they run from you?'

But she didn't move a muscle, not for more than a minute, then she slowly, almost sacrificially, criss-crossed her arms and brought her hands down to slowly pull her cycling shirt over her head. It was anything but sexy; she didn't even seem willing; the action looked like it took all her courage because the moment she threw the shirt to the side she seemed to slump: dejected, defeated. I watched her carefully, waiting. She sat like that for maybe a full minute before she said, "I couldn't wait to get into this tent with you. Couldn't wait. Now look at me. I knew this was going to happen."

I waited for more but it didn't come. "Knew what was going to happen?"

"Never mind," she muttered.

"What do you mean 'never mind.'" I could feel myself getting angry, as if she was keeping a secret from me, an intimate secret. "How could I not mind?" I had entirely forgotten my plan to coerce her into flight; instinctively, I was doing what I've always fucking well done: I was getting concerned; starting to care; reaching out; wanting to help. I have always been an absolute fucking jam tart.

"I've had it for years," she said, cryptically.

I bit. "Had what?" It could be any one of the gynaecological screw-ups women are always getting.

"I can't get by this paralyzing fear."

Huh? "Fear? Fear of what?"

She waited, summoning the courage to spit it out. And then it came: a single word. "Rejection."

It sucked the breath right out of me: the sheer stupidity of it. There isn't a man alive who doesn't have a fear of rejection. It's part of the fucking game. "Rejection? Rejected by who?" I just wasn't getting any of this. It seemed ludicrous. 

She was back mumbling again. "Who do you think?"

It took awhile but the moment it hit me I lost it. I started laughing uncontrollably; I couldn't help myself: the absurdity of it all sunk in and I just couldn't contain myself. And I can laugh, loud and long, and more often than not, alone — I have a very well-honed sense of the ridiculous. "That's you problem?" I was almost shouting. "That's what all this is about? Rejection? Are you kidding me? You haven't even got me yet so how can you get rejected?"

"I know." She seemed to understand my outburst, and her irrational childishness. "I haven't gone on a date since my husband left: I couldn't handle rejection again."

I let the implications of that sink in and suddenly this wasn't so funny anymore. I could feel her despair, her anguish — I've always been a caring guy. Lamentably. I pulled at her arm. She resisted, but just instinctively, then she came with my tug and lay down beside me, her right hip on top of mine, her head on my shoulder.

It felt good. I felt good. For some reason I like to comfort woman, and being the wuss I am I've had a lot of experience at it ... from about the age of five when I started softening the blows that were raining down on my two aggressive, outspoken, go-for-broke older sisters. And over the past two years I've spend endless hours transforming a broken Becky into an assured Lisbeth, and nursing a bitter, man-hating Janet into a slightly less bitter, slightly less man-hating Janet who now actually had a quasi-boyfriend.

Harriet knew this. She said as much to me a few days ago. That was one of the reasons she wanted to go on this trip, for my "legendary healing powers," as Lisbeth phrased it.

I held her patiently for a long time. Even though my arm had gone to sleep I let her take her time. All of us are damaged in one way or another. All of us need a little nurturing from time to time. Some require more than others. Some of us are like Harriet with a deep and identifiable problem and no useful mechanisms to attack it. I know better than to psycho-analyze someone else's deep seeded angst. My approach has always been to comfort, to be there to listen and to help in any way requested. I think of myself as a pillow to a troubled head.

The blood started flowing through my arm again when she rose up and looked down at me. She has a sweet face that can glower with melancholy and glow with happiness. I wanted badly to cheer her up. "I'm not going to reject you, Harriet. How can I? We have a two-year, non-negotiable, possibly renewable contract. I couldn't reject you even if I wanted to. You're safe, Harriet. You aren't going to get rejected."

She bent down and kissed me lightly. "I know," her lips mumbled on mine. "It's all happened so fast. I just can't believe it yet."

I knew. I knew I had blown it. It just crept up on me; I talked her out of the one trump card I had and talked myself into doing something I really, really didn't want to do. With her lips on mine one of the two things I could think of was how can I salvage this? I knew I wouldn't be able to if we did the other thing that was on my mind.

I pulled her down, as much to buy time as anything. She broke free and looked at me, her sad eyes beginning to glow. "You're a good guy, Jim. Everyone says that. And now I'm saying it. Thanks."

When I squeezed her arm reassuringly she went back on my lips. I didn't kiss her back. I was trying hard not to lose it: two years on a fucking bike were at stake here; two long years through God knows where. Still, she had an amazing body and she seemed willing enough. I slid my hand along her naked back then over her sports bra, all the time trying to read her. She remained composed, quietly nibbling at my lips. She pushed her hips into me when I slipped a finger under her bra. It wasn't the response I needed. I pushed back, feeling my stiff prick stab into her inner thigh. Dumb. There was only going to be one outcome of this: a fucking bike trip. No way.

I pushed her away but the fear that flashed cross her face brought me back to her reality: she would take any form of dissent as rejection. What could I do? I could go on the offence. I decided to push her hard and hope she flinched. I twisted her onto her back and brought my hand up under her tight elastic bra. That didn't work. The moment my hand squeezed her breast she was on my mouth, sucking on my tongue. I tried more aggression. I pushed at her bra, pushed it hard until her mountainous breasts sprang free. But this was no deterrent, she kissed harder, her pussy now pressing fiercely against my thigh. She was losing it, but worse, I was losing it, too. I had to up the ante. I quickly turned her on her side and shoved my flattened fingers down under her tight bike pants, into her hairy, wet pussy. She shrieked ... but not the good shriek I was waiting for, the shriek that would start her running. No it was the bad shriek, the one that made her suck harder on my mouth, the one that presaged the orgasm I could feel building deep within her as she squirmed hot against my fingers. Then I felt a chance. She was pushing at my hand ... I hoped to repulse me. I immediately reacted: I quickly pulled my hand from her pants hoping she would get up, grab her clothes and bolt. But no. She was pushing at her pants, struggled out of them and in a few seconds brought my fingers to her to consummate our partnership. And she couldn't have been happier.

But for the black bra around her neck, she was as naked now as I was. So even in the dim light there was no hiding it. I had no idea what she was going to do. Ignore it? 

I didn't have to wait long to find out. She took me gently in her fingers; arranged herself along side me so she could watch her handiwork, then she slowly, exquisitely coaxed a very willing orgasm from deep, deep inside of me. Then she scooped up the mess with her fingers, which she wiped on her discarded shirt, before using it to scrub my belly. As I've said, the woman seems absolutely competent in everything she does.

I think I nodded off for few moment. She didn't, she was staring wide-eyed at the top of the tent when I looked over at her. "How are you?" I asked, with quiet sincerity.

She turned and looked at me in a now familiar way. "Embarrassed."

"Why?"

"You know very well why. I'm a 28 year old, fully capable nurse. I have no business freaking out about being dumped. Women have fought like hell for years to give girls like me an even-footing and all I can do in thanks is to wimp-out. It sickens me but there doesn't seem much I can do to fight it."

"Ya, OK, fine. Beat yourself up about it."

She bent down and kissed me. "Nope, I'm not going to. I'm going to be better, a lot better. I'll have my moments, I know that but you're going to be the tonic I need. After two years with you I'll be marriage material." She realized what she said and hastened to add, "If I can find a poor sucker out there somewhere." 

I was totally screwed. It was an unbelievable turn off. I really, really didn't want to go on a bike trip. I crawled out of the tent and picked up my clothes.

Ya, I was fucked, truly and totally fucked. I couldn't conceive of a single possible way out; I was hoisting myself on a petard of my very own, and very unwitting, construction. In just a matter of days I'd be peddling my ass out of town. I couldn't see any way around it.

Then it occurred to me. Hang on: while I couldn't figure a way out of this mess, it didn't mean that someone else couldn't. And I had just the person in mind: the very one who got me into this fuck-up in the first place. Lisbeth, aka Becky Mitander.

I met her on Friday night at the pub; her, Janet, a gaggle of lesbians, a small throng of once-battered wives and a coterie of other misandrists whose aversions to men were less easy to figure out. I'd been weirdly fitting in with this crowd for going on two years, after I accidentally hooked-up with Lisbeth who was looking to try a guy on for size. I met her at this very pub; three days later she knocked on my door and stayed for three months.

She was Becky then. That was before she read the Stieg Larsson novels about Lisbeth Salander, the brilliant, ball-busting crime fighter who swung both ways, each with lethal aggression. The Larsson novels completely changed Becky's worldview. Becks had no idea that you were allowed to be mysterious, secretive, conniving, dangerous and misanthropic. Lisbeth showed her the way and in thanks, Becks stole her name and as much of her personna as she could manage. Just before she left me she even got a dragon tattooed on her shoulder. She left me for any number of reasons but the biggest was that The Lisbeth would never grow close to anyone, so how could Becks?

But we remained friends and, in the Salander way, occasional lovers and to add to her mystery she occasionally took me back to the house to allow me to spectate on how the other side lives.

And that's were we were tonight when, with a bottle in one hand and a reefer in the other, I brought it up.

Part of Beck's passion to identify with Lisbeth Salander is the similarity in their appearance. Both are microscopically petit with noticeably small breasts (before Salander bought bigger ones) and an equally notable cold stare. I got that when I asked for her help. 

"Come on, Beck, jeez ..."

"Lisbeth," she insisted, annoyed.

"You've got to help me."

I could see her eyes narrow into cunning slits, always a good sign because, like Salander, it meant Becks was sizing up her advantages. To Becks, it is never about loyalty or generosity or, God forbid, friendship. It's always only about advantage. This is why I thought I had a leg up on Harriet: Becks knew she could get something from me, God knows what, but I wasn't sure Harriet had anything to offer Becks. 

"I like her, I like her a lot." An obvious opening negotiation.

"I do too," I insisted, "it's just that I don't like the idea of the bike trip any more. That's the problem."

"She's fragile right now." More negotiation.

I wanted to ask her how she knew that but two of the women started making-out across the room, a common practice in this female free-for all, and I momentarily lost my train of thought.

And anyway, Becks wasn't budging. "If she wants to go and you said OK what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Tell her I'm an untrustworthy prick, a sexual predator, a deviant — whatever she needs to hear to scare her off."

She scoffed at this but I could see she was thinking hard, her eyes were squinting nearly shut in concentration. "I need a place ...," I was about to agree when she held up her hand, "not for me, for her." She pointed to a lonely, large girl who was sitting statue-like in the corner watching us. "For a year. No rent. Food provided." She got up from the chair beside me. "Think about it." She turned and walked over and sat, doll like, on the big girl's lap.

The evening deteriorated quickly from there. I awoke on the floor with a blanket over me. The sun was strobe-ing into my eyes but I could still see a little activity. Lisbeth was in the kitchen, a pair of bright yellow panties covering her unbelievable ass. Janet was there, too, in sensible whites and Nancy, Janet's sometime partner and owner of the house, was completely nude, a matutinal habit.

This was always the highlight of my time at 36 Hawkins Street: the morning after; waking up to naked and near-naked women beginning their day. There was something far more erotic about this then whatever went on the night before when I was always too pissed and stoned to really care.

Even so, I always woke up here with a hard-on and, hung-over and horny, and that always grew as I watched these fabulously different bodies move to the rhythms of the day.

But this morning it wasn't the images that got me going. It was a conversation. I had met Janet the same time I had first met Becks. She wasn't nearly as appealing. Ya she is better looking and a whole lot smarter, but she was and is all attitude. She is an advocate, a lawyer defending the rights of migrant workers who, she claimed, were being routinely exploited as chattel as they were worked to exhaustion before being shipped home. She's a serious woman who, I've always thought, has spent way too much time thinking about others and never enough time thinking about herself. She has issues. A lot of them, starting with a highly confused sexual identity and sequencing out from there, in multiple directions.




Bike Trip



She lived with me for four months a couple of months after Lisbeth left. She was trying me on just like Lisbeth did, with about the same result only the process was a lot more serious. I have some good memories living with Janet. Conversations mostly, but mostly it was a bust. Emotionally she didn't care about me; sexually she was uninterested and, as a roommate, she was unobliging: she simply didn't understand the concepts of sharing and co-operation.

But she liked to talk and she did last night. About Harriet. She must have heard part of my plea to Lisbeth because when Lisbeth left she came over and gave me an ear-full. Which I didn't need to hear. I knew how dead in the water I was and I knew what a shit I was by trying to get out of the dreaded trip. Fine. I tuned her out, a skill I learned from our time together, until she started talking about the Harriet I didn't know.

Turns out it was Janet who first met Harriet at a coffee shop. Janet subsequently invited Harriet out to a Friday night pub session with the girls, then back to the house. There, I was now learning, Janet found out how 'injured' Harriet really was. No details at first, just the usual spiteful allusions to the debilitating impact from thoughtless men. I only half listened to this but as I was watching two women across the room undress each other I perked up when she got into specifics. She must have been loaded because she doesn't talk much about sex, or have much of it, with men certainly and, if you believe her on-again-off-again partner Nancy, with women, either.

She told me that for the first time ever she seduced a woman that night. "She was so sad, so vulnerable, so broken, so lonely, so much in need. I knew she wasn't gay but I also knew she was too weak to resist." If I got my facts straight, Harriet came back for more at least four times, once, apparently, she stayed with Lisbeth when Janet was at her new boyfriend's place.

Interesting. Harriet's debilitating fear of rejection apparently didn't extend to women. 

So the next morning, when Lisbeth came over and handed me a coffee, I couldn't resist. "So you've slept with Harriet. You didn't tell me that."

"Ya, and I didn't tell her that I've slept with you."

"And?" Usually, Lisbeth isn't a tell-all but it was worth a try.

"And what?" She turned and walked away. I thought it was over but she came back in a minute with a coffee and sat down in her yellow panties on a pillow beside me shamelessly crossing her legs.

I took a quick peek at her crotch while she sipped. "She's got a viscous body on her but you know that," she said.

"What about her marriage, her husband?" What was causing her paranoia, if that's what it was?

"Haven't a clue. We never talked about that. We never talked much about anything. We just had sex. Twice, no three times."

"And?" I prodded.

"Was she any good?" She smiled, well, it was more of a smirk. "Ya, she was really good. The woman has a whole lot of passion stored up behind those amazing tits. You're nuts not to want her in your tent."

I ignored this and even though I knew Lisbeth as the second most uncaring, insensitive woman on the planet, next to Salander, I tried for more insight. "So what's her problem? Janet says she's really injured and she isn't gay."

"How should I know!" She was obviously irritated. "Ask her!" Then she changed the subject. "Have we got a deal? I'll get you out of your trip if you take care of Cindy ... for a year."

Just then the woman I now knew as Lisbeth's Cindy came out of a bedroom (there were four bedrooms, each, as far as I've been able to interpret, unassigned). She looked ridiculous in one of Lisbeth's t-shirts, stretched to near translucence. I couldn't imagine living with her. "I have to think about that."

"Why?" she shot back. "You want out. You've got lots of room ..."

"I never win when I make deals with you."

Lisbeth gets mad easily. She got up. "I have to find a place for her soon. Your time is running out."

She was right about that. I watched Cindy for awhile. I dreaded the thought of waking up to her every morning, even if she was sleeping in another room. She just looked so dull and unappealing and slovenly. I was wondering what Lisbeth could possibly see in her when Lisbeth slipped a hand under Cindy's t-shirt which caused Cindy to nearly melt. When Cindy leaned back against the table Lisbeth could have taken her there and then. She looked like one very horny broad who only had eyes for one

I still hadn't decided four days later, just 23 days from our proposed departure date. Cindy? For a year? Get real. I didn't think I could do it. But that isn't what caused my dithering. My growing fascination with Harriet was. Who was she? That question was really starting to intrigue me. She sure wasn't the shy, passive, glum woman of our first encounter. Nor did I think she was the horny heterosexual hell-bent to please. No, I believe there's a lot more to her than meets my just-turning critical eye. But what? And do I really care? Maybe all she really is to me is an irreparably damaged woman with a fabulous body. I didn't know. But, increasingly I wanted to.

It had been more than 2 weeks since we'd agreed on our final list. And, as agreed, we would shop together because we had a vested interest in what the other bought: too much and the wrong stuff and the other would suffer with a bigger, more complex bike load. So we met at MEC on Tuesday at 5:30. I had hoped to have aborted the mission by now, but a few hundred bucks for a bunch of outdoor gear I didn't plan to use (at least on a two-year bike tour) didn't much matter.

Add another item to her list of impressive competencies: she is organized. And it helped me a lot because I hadn't even looked at my list since I made it. Socks, underwear, pants, shirts, jackets: when she bought hers I bought mine. Simple. And when we finished with clothes, it was an easy matter, with the help of expert advice, to purchase all the camping gear we would need. In all it took us just 2 hours to get fully outfitted for 2 years on the road. And we didn't once argue.

When it was over we had so much stuff we had to hail a cab to get it all to her place. It surprised me when she invited me up so I didn't have an excuse ready. I went.

I drank beer and cut off clothes tags while she made a quick supper, which, frankly, went so smoothly and quickly it had to be planned (like the cold dozen in the fridge). 

Then, it just happened. 

I don't know what she was thinking but my thoughts were entirely practical. I had just cut one of those plastic tags from a pair of her black, sports-type underwear when it occurred to me. I held them up and studied them wondering what was so different between these and a bikini bottom — why couldn't she swim in these and a sports bra rather than having to take up extra space with a swim suit? Myself, I had already decided to make do with a pair of sports-type boxer shorts. 

That's what I saw. What she saw was a perv holding up her panties, speculating ... on what? I didn't know. And I didn't wait to find out. She freaked. She took the few step over to me and snatched the underwear from my startled hands and shrieked something that made me feel like a depraved sicko. I fled. 

Out on the street I dealt with my panic quickly. I knew if I went home I'd brood so I called a married friend who I knew would appreciate an excuse to get out of the house. I met him at a pub a half hour later where I had a few, fast. Then it just came to me: a kind of eureka moment. My life was screwed up; I vitally needed a jump-shift. I spoke without thinking, at least consciously: I told him that I was going to quit my job tomorrow and go on a two year bike trip! 

He was shocked, of course, but only for a moment. Then he was envious. "You lucky fucking bastard. I'd give my left nut to be doing that. Who are you going with?"

"No one," I said with utter conviction. "I'm going alone."

I was pretty loaded when I got home. If there was a phone message there I didn't look for it. I flopped into bed a pretty happy guy. And I woke up that way. Funny. When I first said I wanted to go on a bike trip, I didn't know it but I had meant it. It was all the complications I was running into that pissed me off. Now, I didn't have any. 

As soon as I got to work I walked into my boss's office and quit. He wasn't happy; asked me to take a leave of absence, but, flattered though I was, I knew I wanted a clean break. I was going to make the May 1 deadline. Nothing could stop me. For the first time in years I felt truly stoked.

It was a planned get-together. My father was going away for a few months and this was to be a send-off. Good on him. He deserved a great and prolonged holiday. He's a hell of a good guy. What I hadn't banked on when I showed up on Friday night, just 3 weeks before my own exit date, was that my dad had spread the word that I was going on a prolonged trip, too. So I, not him, became the centre of attention.

There was a lot of family there, a lot of hugging and back-slapping and oddly, very little second guessing. My family knows how to party and a few frantic hours had flown by when the front bell rang. And there she was. I sat stunned. My jaw must have been resting on my lap. She was the last person I expected to see tonight ... or again, for that matter. 

I got up and awkwardly introduced her around without attempting to define who she was. Another competency: she was great at meeting new people: relaxed, smiling, effusive. I left her with the last person in line and quickly found myself yet another beer.

"So what's up?" My sister joined me at the bar with her smirky grin.

"Just a friend," I said, as casually and obliquely as I could.

She eyed me mischievously, she's a master of that look. "A friend you're terrified of?"

I shrugged. "I was surprised. I didn't know she knew where I was."

"Bullshit. What's the story?"

I hesitated, not because I wasn't going to tell her, I just didn't know which story to tell. So I asked. "Do you want the condensed version or the whole sorry mess?"

The mischievous smile that reappeared told me she wanted it all. And I wanted her to hear it all.

Annie and I have been the best of friends my entire life. She's two years older than me, two years younger than Catherine, our older sister, but she always seemed to relate best to me. I knew I was going to have this conversation with her at some time. Now, during the full swing of the party, seemed particularly appropriate: this is a story best told and heard with lots of booze.

I was only just into the saga when she started laughing; she's got a fabulous laugh, loud and contagious. I ignored her, anxious to get all the details out. And I did, in the precise sequence they happened. And I didn't leave anything out. Anything. She laughed through every step of my self-inflicted dilemma. At one stage she said, "God, you nice guys really do find the most amazing ways to screw yourselves, don't you?" That was the only pause in her steadily increasing laughter that somehow encouraged me to roll out the story, one deranged detail after another until I got to the punch line. Up to this point I had let the facts of the story speak for themselves but at the end I couldn't resist it: I pretended to be holding up her black sports panties, my baby fingers delicately raised like I was drinking tea in England — she was shrieking with laughter at the very moment I glanced up and saw Harriet looking at me from across the room.

In fact, she has a wonderful face, more handsome than beautiful, a perfect complement to her aura of competence. Her head was slightly cocked to the side as if she was straining to concentrate. And then her slightly crooked smile flickered, redolent in mystery: warm and welcoming; fun-filled; loaded with curiosity; somewhat teasing and appealingly self-effacing. To me, the brief glance before I looked away was saying, "Ya, weird, wasn't it, but what do you do?"

Annie had tears streaming down her cheeks as I turned away from Harriet and recounted my rapid descent down her stairs. I expected sympathy when I explained that Harriet was now out of the picture. I was going it alone. But no. For some reason that put her over the top and into an hysteria that actually had her doubled over. Fighting for breath. That pissed me off. I left her.

I was on the couch when I awoke the next morning. I quickly got out of there.

I was at home licking my wounds when my sister called at about 10 the next morning. I was still a little pissed and pissed off at her. I didn't mind her laughing at my story, even my predicament, I expected that. What I didn't like was her laughing at my conclusion. THAT I expected to be taken seriously, and respected.

"Why would I respect that? It would be the dumbest mistake you've ever made and you've made some doozies. I drove her home last night. We talked for a few hours. The girl's fabulous. Are you nuts? You're going without her?"

It never occurred to me she would drive Harriet home, but it didn't surprise me. "You saw her at her best last night. The girl can be a wacko."

"I hate to tell you this, Jimmy-boy, but we all can be wackos. With this, you're a fucking case in point."

"She's a project, Annie. I'm through with projects. Becky and Janet did me in."

"So who are you looking for? Someone like ... me?" When she snickered I did too. 

"Point taken."

There was some seriousness in her voice now. "I've got the whole story. Do you want it?"

"It scared the hell out of me when she showed up last night. I felt like I was being stalked. I can't even figure out how she knew where I was."

"You told her. You were supposed to pick up your new bikes last night. You said you couldn't, you were going to a family party. She got our names from Janet. She tried the older sister first and got it right. The girl's resourceful, among other things."

I let that sink in. This wasn't getting any easier.

"So, do you want the story or not?"

"What story," I said, stupidly, I was hung-over; I didn't want to think of Harriet.

"Her story for fuck's sake!"

I got it. Small farm town. Big breasts early. Lots of sexual tensions. Big pressure to marry childhood sweetheart. Big mistake. Instant misery. Husband big man in town, big bully at home. Philanderer, abuser, sexually immature. She runs after two years. Goes into nursing. Studies relentlessly; works constantly. Avoids men. Tries girls ...

"She told you that?"

"She told me everything because she knew I was going to tell you." Heard a lot about this really nice guy. Wanted a change; wants to find out who she is: jumps at the chance to go on tour with him. Told him she was sexually immature. Wanted understanding. Thought she had it from nice guy who nurtured two friends through rough times. White Knight runs from first blip. Showed up at party to apologize. Knight wouldn't talk, got drunk, passed out — takes phone call from sister.

"It was weird," was all I could think to say.

"Ya, she knows that," she snapped. Told you she'd occasionally freak out. Felt lousy two minutes after she did. Felt even worse when told that my husband Pete spends as much time in my panty drawer as I do. She laughed. The girl likes to laugh. And she's determined. She's going with you. She just doesn't know how to convince you. Told her not to worry. You're going to meet her for lunch at 1 PM at the Denny's on Fourth. You're going to make one promise: whenever she fucks up again, White Knight will sit with her holding her hand to talk her through it. 98% of the time you've got the perfect woman. Problems rest of the time. Deal with it. Call tonight. "My work's here is done." She hung up.

I was there a little early. I sat at the very back so I could watch her walk in. I wanted to try to read her before she confused me with her words.

I noticed the body first. She had dressed to impress. Her clothes were much tighter than usual; her top was cut lower. The enigmatic grin was there. She had a bag in her hand and she walked with confidence. Good. I wasn't going to take any bullshit from her.

She stopped at the table. The grin was gone, she was all business. "Look, you can't just run every time I'm an idiot. That's ridiculous." She stuck out her hand. "Agreed?" I could feel my sister behind these words, she had already said as much to me.

I didn't shake. "So this is all about me, right? It's not what you do, it's all about how I react to what you do."

"Ya, ya," she said enthusiastically, smiling now. "That's about it."

"That's bullshit and you know it. That's not fair to me."

She still didn't move to sit down. "Oh, poor you," her words were filled with distain. "Sure, it isn't fair to you but you're a whole lot stronger than I am in the ways I need you, and," she shrugged, "I may be a whole lot stronger than you in ways you may need me. It's a quid pro quo kind of thing; that's what a travelling partnership is all about. 'A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.'"

"What's that supposed mean?"

"What it says."

I didn't react. I wasn't going to let her push me around again.

"Oh, for God sake," she climbed into the bench across from me, "we're leaving in less than 3 weeks. Can't we both just grow up and start looking forward to it. We're going to have the time of our lives."

"You started it," I mumbled, admittedly childishly.

"Fine," she reached out for my hand. "Then I can end it. It's over." She tried to shake my limp hand but I didn't let her. "Oh, for pity sake, the next time something stupid happens we could be in Poland, for God sake, or Thailand. Let's start dealing with issues together; not run from them. It's called maturity. Can we at least shake on that?"

I did, reluctantly but before I let go of her hand I asked something that occurred to be after talking to my sister. "Will it just be sex that creates your weird behaviour?"

She nodded and smiled. "Ya, probably."

I looked her in the eyes. I wanted to try to understand her. "My sister told me about your past."

She didn't flinch. "Ya, she said she was going to."

The waitress came, took our orders and left.

She squared up and took me on. "Look, I like sex, at least I like sex with women. But I'm no lesbian. I'm going to love sex with you ... I'm just going to run into problems sometimes; we're going to run into problems. If I knew what they were I'd head them off. But I don't. Like that panty thing. It just got to me; I have no idea why, I mean, Jeez, even I get off on panties. I love watching Lisbeth with that spectacular ass walking around in the things. I even bought a pair two years ago when I was at my all-time low, sexy things that I hoped would make me get in touch with whatever sexuality was hiding in me ... I couldn't even masturbate then, nothing. I never did put them on. It just felt too weird; too pointless. But I put them on this morning. OK? What else do you want to know?"

"How bad was it with your husband?"

"I was a piece of meat to him, me and half the women in town. It wasn't that he was particularly abusive, he just took away all my self-respect. No, that's not true. He didn't take it away. I let him; it was my decision. I lost my self-respect with him and I haven't got it back. Not yet. But I'm close. That panty thing didn't really bother me. I knew it was stupid right after it happened. What bothered me is that you didn't stick around to find out what went wrong." She stood up and pulled the red lacy top of her bright yellow underwear from above her jeans. "You can look at my underwear all you want."

"Good," I said, as she sat back own, "because I have a panty fetish."

She smiled and sipped her water. "That's not going to scare me off."

"And a few others," I added.




Bike Trip



"No question about it," Logan laughed to himself, "Jessica certainly adds a whole different dimension to this love scene, whether it is her first time around with me or her tenth time." Jessica and the boys had taken off on bikes to make it up over the pass and meet Logan at the cabin over at the lodge on the other side. Logan had chosen to spend the day making a run up his favorite ridge.

In the early planning for this particular weekend excursion Jessica and her friend Linda were making the bike trip. They had reserved a cabin at the lodge for the three of them. Then, a friend, Tony had decided to join the outing, and his friend Todd was going to come along as well. At the last moment, Linda's mother was coming into town, so she dropped out of the planning, leaving Jessica and the three guys to head out for the weekend.

"Curiously," Logan reflected, "no doubt it crossed Jessica's mind that she is heading off to spend the night out in a cabin with three randy boys. I guess we shall see," he concluded laughing to himself. Jessica was always setting up interesting situations like this. After going their separate ways following the summer vacation trip, she had come wandering back around to him again, with all the trappings to indicate that everything had changed and she was very much into Logan one more time. It was apparent though to all of Logan's friends, that those patterns played the same old songs. Nevertheless, some fascinating new riffs were being weaved into these old songs that had Logan fascinated with the whole game. 

As expected, Jessica and her two male companions were heading off for the day on bikes, her clad in a sport bra that emphasized her pert tits, and a short, loose, paper thin pair of shorts that seemed to be designed to provide a perfect view of her panties. Her male companions complimented her wonderful tan up to the panty line, suggesting she would be a prime motivator for making the trip over the pass. Logan smiled to himself, reflecting on the previous days sexual workout shared between Jessica in the morning and Jamie for lunch, topped off with quality time working on "Vote America" materials with Sensia in the evening. "That one will require more work to get totally acquainted with her," Logan reflected to himself, "but man, I do love that adorable little blue jumper with the white polkadots." Indeed, many of the same old songs had a whole different whimsical tune to them. 

Hours later Logan wheeled up next to the cabin that evening, fried from his day out on the mountain. Tony and Todd were sprawled out on their respective beds in the cabin, thoroughly burnt from a long day of peddling, sipping a brew, and inquiring about Logan's mountain excursion. Logan filled them in on the incredible canyon he had found way back miles from any highways or people. The whole canyon was ringed around with a wonderful set of mountain peaks, and was obviously a place in need of extensive exploration. The bikers had made it in around 6:00. Jessica was off to take a shower and soak for a bit before dinner. Logan pulled out a beer and settled in on his bed to visit about the adventures of the day, giving his dogs a much needed rest.

"I'll tell you," Tony commented, "Jessica sure provided the inspiration for this trip over the pass, didn't she?" 

"Didn't she though," Todd responded. "I swear there were times we had been peddling for hours and I just knew I couldn't go another mile. We would sit it out for a while, and the more I saw of her pink panties, the more revved up I got, so I was able to jump back on the bike and get moving again."

"I know," Tony laughed. "Then there was that time we stopped about halfway up the steepest part of the pass. It was so hot. We settled in by the creek away from the highway, and Jessica plopped right down in a pool of the creek, soaked herself from top to sweet bottom."

"Oh man, I know," Todd shook with laughter. "She stood up sopping wet and stripped off her shorts and panties to wring them out, I got the total charge I needed to blow me right on over the top of the pass."

"God, I swear, she's got a tight body, clear down to the pretties between her legs, doesn't she?" Tony chimed in. "I couldn't believe it when she dropped her panties in the water and spent the next couple of minutes chasing them; bare bottomed and so sweet, right down the stream by us."

"No kidding," Todd added. "She had her legs apart and bent over and just gave me the most incredible view of such a pretty pussy. Man what I would have given to hump my weiner into that one. Then after she caught them, she stood there bare assed wringing them out, and casually sat on that rock next to me while she straightened them out."

"It was incredible," Tony continued, "she sat there, legs wide apart, giving us both the view of a lifetime, smiling and talking as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She had it only a couple of feet from you didn't she? I just cracked up when you were sticking your tongue out toward her jewels."

"Oh, it was wild," Todd concurred. "She just laughed and batted at my tongue, like it was no big deal? She's such a tasty lady, no question about it."

"Isn't that the truth," Logan joined in, "her sweet little body can just get anyone going."

"You bet," Tony laughed and added, "Especially her perfect legs and her pretty tight little butt. She is so sweetly formed."

"Seriously," Logan continued. "She is incredible when you bare that tight little body. I've never played with anyone quite like that before," he laughed to himself recalling the performances of the day before.

The randy trio laughed heartily, smoked a bit of dope and enjoyed another round of beers. Moments later Jessica came tripping back into the cabin catching the gents in the midst of some serious chuckling.

"What are you guys up to?" Jessica inquired. "You've been telling secrets about me, haven't you Logan?"

"Oh no," Tony responded as the three of them laughed, "He was just telling us what a great fuck you are when your butts in the air, that's all."

Jessica punched around at the three of them, calling them a dumb bunch of sick minded boys. She then sprawled out on the bed in the middle of the room to comb out her hair and join the guys in putting away the brews. It was apparent the only thing she had on was a night shirt that hit an inch or two below her bum - and nothing else. She was so casual that everyone kept talking and pretended not to notice.

Half an hour and another round of beers later, Logan noticed Jessica's bottom as she lay on her side, propped up on an elbow. She and Tony were heatedly discussing one of the professors and his treatment of the students. Todd's stoned eyes were captivated by the pretty bare bottom exposed for the three of them as they chatted, progressively more intoxicated. Logan wondered if the other guys could see Jessica's goodies as clearly as he was. Glancing over at them, you could tell their eyes were focused on her pretties every bit as much as his own. He laughed to himself about the casual way Jessica was always able to put on such a show for the boys, seemingly oblivious to the display she provided.

Jessica of course, had to fidget around, hopping up a couple of times to comb out her hair and get more drinks. She would take a swing around the room, and then settle back onto the bed, into some equally revealing position. It was blatantly apparent though she was relishing the exhibition. Jessica had been up brushing out her hair again, and then settled back in on the bed, again on her side, propped up on an elbow. It was easy to see by her sweetness she was getting turned on too.

"But see Tony, that's just the point," Jessica stressed, "Professor Healy is a genuine jerk, any way you cut it." Making her point, she rolled to her other side to jab at the air emphatically. As she rolled, she paused for a moment on her back, legs apart, her sweetness front and center for the guys sitting directly across from her. Settling on her other side, her legs were parted more than before.

"Oh wow," Tony finally blurted out, being heavily into his beers, "No question about it, a woman's jewels are a true work of art if ever there is one."

"Wow man, that's exactly what I was thinking," Todd laughed, chiming in. "Her jewels and the way they so sweetly spread and open reminds me of a perfect pink flower, a genuine work of art."

"Oh quit it you guys," Jessica responded laughing. "You're just trying to distract me from the point I was making, psych me out. You're losing the argument and you can't take it. I know what you're up to."

"Ha, ha, ha," Logan laughed, "if anything you're cheating, distracting the three of us entirely from the discussion at hand with the prettiest of pretties. I don't think it's fair at all."

"Oh really," the intoxicated Jessica laughed, running her hand up her leg to her bare bottom. "What exactly are you three sitting there drooling about anyway?" she laughed, sliding her fingers down to her exposed prettiness. At that she rolled her hip up even more, providing a perfect view of her sweetness for the boys. "Oh my," she laughed as her fingers traced up and down her lips, "no wonder you three haven't held up your end of the conversation." Her fingers briefly flicked at her clit, as she uttered a little gasp.

"God," Todd moaned, "It's been weeks since I've slid into something like that."

"Me too," Tony agreed. "At least 2 weeks since I've had any."

"You guys," Jessica laughed. "And you Logan, when was the last time you pumped yours into such goodies, huh? Oh, maybe it was this morning, and then before that last night?" she continued her show in front of the three randy boys.

"Oh my god," Tony exclaimed turning to Logan. "You mean you got to do that sweetness last night and this morning! You dog you."

"Oh yeah," Jessica purred with a gleam in her eye, "and maybe you got to do Jackie yesterday morning too, didn't you?"

"Oh tell me it's not true," Todd exclaimed. "You've had two women in the last day and a half, while I haven't had any -- for weeks? I don't believe it. What a pig!"

"Hardly seems fair does it fellas?" Jessica joined in, stretching out on her back, legs spread wide, dipping a finger in and out of her opening, "and if you guys don't get your dicks out and get your fair share, I will seriously wonder about you."

"Me first!" Tony excitedly hollered, jumping up and stripping off his shorts, revealing an eager, throbbing young erection. He quickly scooted over between Jessica's legs.

Logan chuckled to himself at the head-spin turn of events unfolding right before his eyes. He eased over to the side of the bed to watch in fascination as Tony positioned himself between her outstretched thighs. His shaft with an abrupt thrust sank into Jessica's sweet opening. 

"Ohhhh, yah," Tony moaned. "Ahhhhh, this is awesome, Jessica. This feels great. Ohhh yeah lady!"

Jessica threw her head back, a look of sheer pleasure flooding her tanned, delectable body. Her mind swept into sexual overdrive. Her lover was stretched out next to her, fingers teasing her exposed goodies, fondling her lips as the boy stroked into her. A third guy was watching as she thrilled in her exhibitionist scene, his hands fondling and playing with her hyperaroused tits. Her voyeuristic lover celebrated the outrageously erotic scene between his lover's legs. 

In moments Jessica was reeling under waves of orgasmic intensity. Tony, destined to be short lived in her wetness, suddenly gave a mighty groan, and drove his swollen member to the hilt. 

"Ayyyiii!" Jessica wailed as the orgasm swept through her. "Oh god, that's incredible!" Tony exclaimed.

"Ohhhh mannnn," Jessica hissed, gradually regaining a grip on reality after that first orgasm, "that was awesome!" she wailed. "Now, cock number two, let's see how it feels!" She laughed as she stroked the length of Todd's eager member. 

Delighting in her live sex show performance for the boys, Jessica straddled young Todd, lowering her wetness ever so slowly as Todd's erection disappeared. 

"Oh, goddd!" Jessica exclaimed, gripped with a non-stop state of erotic ecstasy that couldn't be turned off. The attentions of these guys to her most hidden parts, fully exposed for them to play with until she was totally out of control was too fuckin' much. Orgasm after orgasm swept through her body.

Uttering what seemed like a roar, Todd gripped Jessica's wonderful bottom. "Yaaaahhhh," he exclaimed, exploding up into the hot beauty, "Oh my gosh, that's outrageous, Jessica!" he exclaimed.

"Oh my god," Logan's head spun as Todd eased back from Jessica's ravished body. "My god that was incredible lady. What a show!" 

"Oh yeah lover," Jessica chuckled that wicked laugh as she worked her bottom toward Logan, "Is this how you want it lover?" Jessica murmured.

"Oh no kidding lover," Logan laughed as he swiftly rose to his knees behind the sizzling lady, his debauched lover. "Open up and take this," he thrust into the hottie. It was a matter of moments before his would blow as there was no restraining the explosion mounting within Logan's aching loins.

FIN'