By: Unknown Author
One by one, my four buddies dropped out. Other commitments, they claimed. One couldn't get time off from work. One had a family emergency, one just wimped out, and one decided he'd rather spend Saturday night judging a drag competition.
So, that left me alone with four thousand other bikers, facing a two-day, one hundred and fifty mile cycling trip, not knowing a soul. But hell, I'd paid my registration fee and looked forward to this outing all summer. With or without my buddies, I was going.
They let us through the starting gate in groups of one hundred at 6:30am. I was in the third group. The sun was just creeping over the horizon as we lined up our bikes. I ran a quick, last-minute check over my new black Fuji and made sure my pair of water bottles were full, and then scanned my fellow bikers.
Let me tell you, there was some prime meat there, and all of it stuffed into tight Spandex. It's hard to hide your equipment in biker shorts. Serious cyclists are almost always in such great shape, too; great leg muscles, hard rounded asses and flat bellies. I felt my cock begin to stiffen as I looked around.
Down boy, I thought as I looked down at my crotch. It's probably all straight meat.
I was waiting impatiently for the go flag when I spied him. He was about three bikes further back in the pack, standing with a big silver Cannondale between his legs, looking really relaxed. He hadn't put his helmet on yet, and the wind stirred his thick black hair. There was a hard, handsome angle to his sun-bronzed face, and he had the kind of piercing blue eyes you only read about in books. His short-sleeved jersey was zipped to the neck, but I could see the clear outline of his well-developed pectorals underneath and the clean definition of his biceps and forearms.
Suddenly, he looked my way, and I turned around quickly and pretended to adjust the strap on the back of one of my gloves. I didn't want him to think I was staring. Slowly, though, I turned around again. He was drinking from his water bottle with his head tipped back, his throat muscles working as he swallowed.
The flag came down. The pack surged forward, a rippling sea of colorful helmets and jerseys and bikes as the riders stepped onto their pedals and took off. There was a big archway of bright balloons to pass under, and the families and friends of all the riders stood at the sides applauding and yelling.
My heart hammered with excitement. I'd done these rides before, though never without at least one partner. We turned out onto Highway 50, one lane of which had been marked and set aside for the tour riders. I shifted up onto the big wheel immediately and tore down the pavement. Riding in a pack can be dangerous if a lot of bikes are too close together, so I always like to get up front and away from the others as fast as possible.
Cars whisked by in the left-hand lane. Little kids pressed their faces to windows, wide-eyed and excited by all the bikes. Drivers waved to us out of rolled-down windows, just as excited, but with a more adult demeanor. Some cars pulled off onto the shoulder and parked to watch us go by.
One had a sign taped to the back bumper that said, "Go all the way, Becky!"
Yeah, there were a few women on this ride, too. Becky's friends stood by their car with cameras and camcorders, screaming and yelling.
I'd had a new aero-bar installed on my handlebars. That's a kind of sharply bent, U-shaped bar that extends out in front of your normal bars. You can lie down almost flat, reach out, and really pedal like hell. It cuts down on wind drag, too, so I was going all out.
Ten miles down the highway, I braked and pulled into the first rest stop. Depending on the terrain, there were rest stops positioned every six to ten miles on the tour. I parked my Fuji, took off my gloves, and walked over to several tables under a big tent, and helped myself to an orange wedge.
There were lots of bikers gathered around from the first two packs, riders who hadn't pushed on yet. From this point on, the packs would begin to string out and mingle into one long line of bikers.
As I swallowed a bite of orange, he pulled in. His face gleamed with sweat. Beads of it rolled off the tip of his nose as he unstrapped his helmet and leaned back on his bike seat. Slowly, he got off, peeled off his jersey, stuffed it into a tiny ball, and shoved it into the small pack under his seat.
I just about choked on my orange. His nipples were brown and erect, large as half-dollars. His chest was absolutely smooth, his belly ridged with hard muscle. A tiny patch of black hair extended from just below his navel down into the top of his black biker shorts.
He pulled his water bottle from its rack and poured it over his head. The water ran in streams through his hair, down his face, in beads over that chest and into his shorts. Then he carried the empty bottle over to one of several tanks and proceeded to refill it.
"Good ride isn't it?" he said to me as he passed by on his way back to his Cannondale.
I was too startled to answer immediately.
"It gets harder from here on out," I answered, but he was already gone, astride his bike, where he busied himself over his cyclometer.
The sun was moving higher into the sky now, and the morning was getting warm. With two water bottles on my bike, I had enough to get me to the next rest stop, so I hopped back into the saddle and took off.
We were on country roads now, and the pavement rolled along through farm country over gentle, sloping hills. Volunteers with orange flags waved us in the proper direction at intersections, and farmers and their families sat out on their porches to watch us go by.
I glanced over my shoulder to measure my progress against the other riders. My bare-chested friend was right behind me, pedaling with efficient, relaxed energy. I bent down on my aero-bar again and rushed ahead. Though I loved passing people, I hated to be passed, even by bare-chested, dark-haired hunks like the one who was riding my ass.
I reached the second rest stop about four minutes before he did, and took the time to down a full bottle of water. There was cherry yogurt to eat this time, as well as orange wedges and peanut butter sandwiches. I scooped the yogurt down, refilled my water bottle, and headed back to my bike. Before I took off, I looked around.
He was leaning against a tree, enjoying some shade while he ate his own cup of yogurt. Our gazes met briefly, and I swallowed. In his Spandex shorts, I could see the outline of his thick, soft cock.
I shot off like a rocket down the highway, putting that image out of my mind. This was a bike tour, not a cruise.
Concentrate on your time and speed, and on the distance. There's a long way to go, I silently told myself.
My jersey was soaked with sweat by now. Without slowing, I grabbed one of my water bottles and took a drink. Then I gave myself a squirt in the face to cool myself off. As I pushed the bottle back into its rack, I glanced back. My dark-haired friend was just coming over the summit of a hill about an eighth of a mile back, coming hard.
Well, he wasn't going to catch me. No way. I bent low and settled in for some serious pedaling. The road swept by in a blur beneath my wheels. The wind sang in my ears. I laughed a little because I loved it so much. My body felt like a perfectly functioning machine. I'd trained hard for this ride, honed my muscles, and this was the payoff. This thrill! So what if my buddies had chickened out, who needed them?
I was closing on a pair of riders ahead of me. One of them had a really nice ass wrapped in bright blue Spandex and all stuck up in the air as he worked his pedals. One thing you had to say for these country rides: the scenery was always fantastic. He was obviously in the wrong gear, though, not getting the most reward for his effort, as I surged past, my eye on another string of riders ahead.
Looking down at the cyclometer on my handlebars, I saw I'd come twenty-three miles in well under an hour, that made me feel pretty good.
Then disaster struck. The last rider in the string ahead lost control of his bike and slid sideways. He rolled into the left lane while his fallen bike blocked the right. There was no way I could slow down in time, so I steered desperately for the narrow grassy shoulder. There was about a four inch drop-off between the pavement and the grass and then a steep ditch. My Fuji pitched forward, and I flew over the handlebars.
A sharp pain exploded in the front of my left shin, and then I hit the ground, the wind knocked out of me, stars bursting inside my skull. The Fuji skidded around and fell beside me in the ditch. Instead of biker gear, the kid who had fallen off his bike wore cutoffs and tennis shoes. A damned beginner and he didn't even seem to be scratched. He stood above me on the pavement, hands on his knees as he stared down at me wide-eyed.
"Hey, you all right, man?" he called. "I hit some gravel and just lost it."
I couldn't answer right away. The wind was still knocked out of me. A lot of bikers were slowing down or pulling over to see what had happened. Then my dark-haired friend pulled up. He parked his Cannondale, whipped off his helmet, threw it down by his bike, and then scrambled down the grassy embankment.
"Are you all right?" he asked in a concerned voice. "I'm a doctor."
He unfastened the chin strap of my helmet, put one hand under my neck, and lifted the helmet off. He held it up. It was cracked on one side.
"A doctor," I managed when I could draw a breath again. "Wow. You can't always depend on a doctor to stop at an accident these days."
"No," he answered with a faint grin, "but you can always count on running into a wise-ass."
"Sorry," I said as he helped me to sit up.
I looked over at my Fuji. The front wheel-rim was twisted into some comical shape. And the fork was badly bent.
"Oh, man, am I burned!" I turned around to look for the kid in the cutoffs, intending to scorch his little punk ears, but he was gone. "Little fucking bastard."
"Relax," the doctor ordered. "There will be a support truck along any minute. You can ride in with your bike and get repairs at one of the mobile units at the next rest stop. You'll be pumping like crazy in no time."
I looked at him, suddenly aware of his hand on my shoulder. His touch was hot and sweaty, and the clean musky smell of him filled my nostrils. His chest heaved up and down as he breathed. God, he was gorgeous.
"Let's get you out of this ditch," he said, offering a hand up.
I took it. His grip was strong, powerful. But as I tried to stand, I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my left shin and remembered the aero-bar. I sagged a bit, and he caught me. Slipping an arm around my waist, he lowered me back to the ground again.
"Left leg?" he asked, and I nodded, biting my lip.
He felt around my shin.
"That hurt?" he asked, pressing his thumb on a tender spot.
"Uh-uh," I answered. "I'm just tearing up this handful of weeds for fun."
"You're a funny guy," he said. "And a lucky one, too, I don't think it's broken. Likely just a deep bruise, but we should probably get you to a hospital for an X-ray, just to be sure."
"Shit!" I shouted, banging a fist on the ground. "I've trained for months for this ride!"
"Well, I'm afraid it's over for you now," he said as he ran his hands up both sides of my leg, continuing his examination. "You're really lucky. That helmet saved your life, you know that? There's a hospital in Sedalia. You can get checked out there. The support truck will take you. Then maybe you can rejoin us at the campsite."
The support truck arrived, and a pair of men in shirts with "Volunteer" on the chests hurried down the embankment. After a few hurried words with my dark-haired doctor, one of them picked up the wreckage of my Fuji while the other one, with the doctor's help, got me to my feet and up to the truck.
"Hey," I called to the doctor before we drove off. The onlookers were starting to break up and resume their ride. "I forgot to ask. What's your name?"
"Dave," he called back.
"I'm Kevin," I replied. "Thanks again for stopping to help me."
It turned out to be just a deep bruise, as Doctor Dave had thought. The hospital emergency room people swathed my shin and calf in a bandage and told me to treat it gently for a while. The support team drove me on to Sedalia.
The park was in bloom with colorful tents. Bikers and bikes were everywhere. After riding a hundred miles today, everybody would camp out overnight and ride the remaining fifty tomorrow. Tonight would be a party.
Thanking the support volunteers, I slid out of the truck and headed for another truck. All our tents and sleeping bags had been transported for us. I claimed my gear and found a grassy spot beneath a shady tree to pitch my tent.
Distance bikers are great people. They treat you like family even if they don't know your name. When a group of guys saw the bandage on my leg, they came over and helped me, and in no time, the tent was up.
"This is a palace," one of them said, "You in here all by yourself?"
I'd bought the tent just for this trip. "Four buddies were supposed to come with me," I informed them, "but they couldn't make it at the last minute."
"All four of them?" another asked, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded, and another one made chicken-clucking sounds. I nodded again, and we all laughed. It brightened my mood for a little bit.
After thanking them for their assistance, I crawled into my tent and stretched out on my sleeping bag. The sun streamed down through the tree branches, making a dappled pattern on the tent's taffeta roof. I glanced at my watch. At five o'clock, dinner was being served for us in a circus tent on the other side of the park. If I started limping now, I could just make it on time.
Dinner was pizza and spaghetti and rolls, lots of carbohydrates. The pain wasn't too bad in my shin now, just kind of a distant ache, but I knew I couldn't pedal, though. That would only bring back the real pain.
I looked all around for Doctor Dave, but in nearly four thousand faces, failed to spot him anywhere. After dinner, under the same tent, someone set up a karaoke machine, and I knew it was time to leave. I went back to my tent, weaving between other tents and parked bicycles, feeling depressed again.
It was dark now. To my surprise there was no line outside the shower facilities. Suddenly, I was aware of my own grittiness, and a shower sounded like just the thing. I ducked inside my tent, carefully unwound the bandage, set it aside, and grabbed for my toiletries kit and my towel.
There was a row of eight showers inside the little brick facility. Two other men were there, one an old guy, maybe fifty, wrinkled, but in pretty good shape. The other was younger, but kind of flabby for this kind of a bike trip. From the way he stood under the water, I could tell he was hurting.
I stripped out of my biker shorts and limped to one of the shower heads. The old guy looked at me as he ran the soap over his cock and balls. He was hung okay but just not my type. I cleaned up, pulled on my shorts again, and got out of there as quickly as I could.
I was sitting on my sleeping bag, preparing to put the bandage back on again by the light of a battery-powered lamp, when someone scratched on the fabric of my tent.
"Knock, knock." I knew that voice, and I knew that pair of legs just visible outside my half-zipped entrance.
"Hey, Doctor Dave," I called. "Come on in!"
Dave bent and poked his head inside. "I saw you coming out of the shower and thought I'd tell you, your Fuji's at the mobile shop. They say they'll fix it good as new."
"Great," I answered without much enthusiasm.
He read my disappointment.
"How's the leg?" he asked suddenly. "Maybe you need another examination?"
I looked up at him. There was a strange, mischievous gleam in his eye and matching grin. Suddenly, I was aware that he still didn't have a shirt on, and it was easy to see the outline of his cock through those damnably tight shorts. My throat went dry.
"Yeah," I said. "Maybe I do."
I slid my leg toward him.
He moved the rest of the way inside the tent without comment, and slid the zipper on the tent flaps down, shutting out the world. He redirected the lamplight and put his hands on either side of my bruised shin.
"Looks pretty good to me," he said, barely looking at me. His hands slid up along my calf, squeezing and kneading, then to my knee, then to my thigh.
"It doesn't hurt there," I pointed out.
"Are you sure?" he asked with a grin. "I think I see some swelling."
He was right, too. I glanced down at my cock. It burgeoned against the material, striving for its full seven-and-a-half-inch glory. As I said before, you can't hide much in Spandex.
There was a moment of silence, and his hands stopped as we looked at each other.
"You know, you were pumping too hard," he said at last, changing the subject unexpectedly. He took his hands away and sat back on his heels. "You were almost just asking for an accident."
I changed the subject right back. By hesitating, maybe I'd given him the impression I wasn't interested. No way was he getting out of my tent tonight.
"How hard do you pump?" I asked him, looking him right in the eye.
It was his turn to hesitate. "As hard as you want me to."
I leaned forward, bringing our faces really close, then touched my lips to his, just a feather touch at first. After that he grabbed the back of my head, pulled me tight against him, and shoved his tongue down my throat. It was terrific, and my heart rate skyrocketed as I ran my hands over those pecs and down the ripples of his stomach muscles. I felt his cock through his shorts. It was on the rise and grew more erect as I squeezed it.
After a few minutes of kissing, he gently pushed me back onto the sleeping bag.
"The first thing we have to do," he said in his best bedside manner, "is get that leg elevated."
"Just the one?" I asked, lying back as he placed my left ankle on his shoulders.
"You're right," he agreed with a sage nod. "Better not take chances. Both of them it is." He grabbed my other leg. Then he grabbed the top of my shorts and tugged them over my hips. My cock sprang out and smacked rigidly against my stomach. A drop of pre-cum gleamed on the head.
"Blond all the way down," the doctor commented with a wink as he threw my shorts into a comer of the tent. "And, a fine healthy body too, not to mention a beautiful dick."
"It needs a closer look, doc," I told him.
Doctor Dave pursed his lips and looked concerned. "I think you're right!"
In an instant he had me all the way down his throat. The charge of contact shot through me, and I forgot all about any pain in my leg.
I've got a good thick cock. Almost nobody has ever taken it all so quickly. He gave a moan and slid back up until his mouth only encircled the head. My shaft gleamed with his saliva.
He looked at me once more, and then wasted no more time. Leaning forward on his knees, he went to work on my hard, cut cock, sucking and tonguing my hard as steel rod. I'd never had head like that before. He drove me to the edge, and then eased back before I could cum.
"Oh, damn," I moaned, rising up on one elbow to watch him work. "That's great, man! Suck it some more! Suck my cock!"
But instead, he slipped his mouth over one of my balls and worked on that for a bit. His tongue made little circles, and then he began to suck them, moving each ball back and forth. Then he had both balls in his mouth, and he sucked them both at the same time.
All of a sudden, he had his hands on the back of my thighs, and he lifted my hips up into the air. His tongue darted down to my asshole, brushed over it, and then moved up in a straight, slick line to separate my balls, up my stiff rod, past the head, and down all the way on it. Then he reversed it, sliding all the way back to my asshole. Over and over he rocked me like that, and I nearly screamed!
Abruptly, he stopped and whipped off his own shorts. I blinked and moaned at the same time. I thought I was pretty big, but Dave had at least an inch in length on me, and was even thicker. That dick jumped out of those shorts and thumped against his belly, then pointed straight at me.
"Gotta take your temperature, bike boy," Dave said.
With both hands on the sides of my head, he drew me closer and closer. I opened my mouth to take as much of it as I could, and felt that mushrooming head slide past my eager lips.
He tasted so sweet. Sweeter than any cock I'd ever tasted. The thick head struck home against the back of my throat, and I gagged a little.
He freed my head long enough to let me draw breath, then, with a firm grip, drew me back onto his hot shaft again. He controlled my movements, sliding my head back and forth while I ran my tongue around and around that thick meat His pre-cum flowed rich and salty. I loved it.
"Uhhhh," Dave groaned, and flung his head back.
All the muscles in his body went tight. He moved my head faster and faster, and his hips shot forward. He fucked my face, slamming his cock deeper and deeper down my throat.
"That's it, Kevin," he cried when I began to apply more vigorous suction. My lips and cheeks clamped down hard every time he pulled back. He curled forward without missing a stroke, and kissed the top of my sweating head.
I was working my own dick with my hand now, feeling the hot lava boiling inside my balls. The shaft was still slick with Dave's spit. My hand raced up and down. I was going to bring myself off at the same time I brought him off.
Dave saw what I was doing.
"Oh, no you don't," he said, popping his dick out of my mouth.
I stared upward at him, dumbfounded.
"I could have passed you on the road anytime," he said, "but that ass of yours was just too good a view."
Pitching me backward on the sleeping bag, Doctor Dave grabbed my ankles and lifted them onto his shoulders again.
"Bet you want more than just a view now, huh?" I said.
I looked down between my upraised legs. His thick shaft pointed straight up toward the tent roof. In a few moments it was going to be straight up my ass. The size of it made me swallow nervously.
He spit in his hand and slicked his dick up some more, though it still dripped with my saliva and his own pre-cum.
"Fuck me," I murmured, surprised to hear myself.
I didn't get fucked often, preferring to be on top the majority of the time, but now, from this man, I really wanted it. I wanted his sizzling cock scorching my insides. I wanted all of him, and in deep.
"Fuck me," I repeated.
His blue eyes burned with an almost frightening intensity as he stared down at me. I felt that fat mushroom head position itself against my puckered ass. The contact sent a shiver through me.
"Do it!" I urged. "Shove it in me!"
He bent forward, and the head of his cock slipped past my sphincter.
"Ahhh!" I bit down on my lower lip to stifle a scream. "More," I demanded. "Give it all to me!"
"It's what the doctor ordered," he said. He bucked his hips, stuffing half his meat up my tight butthole.
"Ahhhh, God," I breathed. The pain was tremendous, but I knew in a few moments it would be the greatest pleasure of my lifetime.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
I rose up on an elbow. Sweat ran down my face now as heavy as it ever had during the ride.
"I've never been with anyone that had a cock as big and thick as yours," I told him, grimacing as I stared at the sight of half his cock buried in my ass, and my dick throbbed at the sight before my eyes, as if it wanted to cum right then and there. "And I want all of it, now!" I finished, twitching my hips, trying to impale myself.
Dave didn't say anything more. He forced my legs higher in the air, lifting my hips a bit more. He lunged into me, filling my hot hole. His big balls slapped against my crack, and he held himself there.
I bit down on the side of my hand to keep from crying out.
Fire burned my insides. But my other hand reached out to grab his ass as I tried to drag him deeper still.
He slid his meat slowly out until only the mushroom head remained embedded in my ass. The breath hissed slowly between his teeth as he slid back into me once more.
"You're tight," he moaned, "So tight!"
"Loosen me up," I told him earnestly. "Fuck me! Fuck me any way you want to fuck me, Doctor!"
"I'll give it to you hard, man," he answered, pulling back again.
I felt every inch of that bloated rod as it withdrew from my ass.
"Do it!" I practically begged. "Fuck me hard!"
He pushed my legs apart and slammed into me. The pain gave way to fantastic sensations as he rammed my butt. And as he lunged forward, I shoved my ass higher to meet him, eager to take all of that thick eight-point-five-incher up my burning hole.
He didn't tease me or tantalize me with little trick motions or anything. He fucked me!
Sweat popped out all over his body and ran down his chest and belly to mingle, gleaming, on his pubic hair. His sweat splashed on my chest and belly as it rolled off him. He bent lower and lower over me, pressing my legs back, curling me into some kind of ball, until our chests touched. His skin was red-hot. His mouth came down on mine, and we kissed as he pumped that cock into me.
Then he straightened again.
"This is it, Kevin," he muttered as he bucked forward. "Get ready for my load, man. I'm gonna shoot it up your ass."
I grabbed my own dick and pumped it for all it was worth. "Nobody passes me," I told him through gritted teeth.
My hand raced up and down my shaft, and I shot a white, steaming load that splashed over my belly and chest and neck, on the sleeping bag near my head, and on the floor of the tent.
Dave gave a loud groan and slammed all the way into me. His dick felt like a branding iron, and his cum scalded my guts.
A moment later, he slumped down on top of me, his dick still embedded deep in my ass as it softened. He ran a hand through my hair.
"How's the leg?" he asked with sheepish concern.
"I think it needs another examination," I told him honestly.
"The doctor's on-call all night," he grinned at me.
Suddenly, I pushed him off and sat bolt-upright.
"Shit!" I said.
He sat up, too, wearing a worried look. "What's wrong?"
I pointed to the battery-powered lamp, which was still on. Everybody who walked by must have seen our silhouettes through the thin tent fabric.
We traded shocked looks that soon turned into mischievous grins as we embraced.
Dave flicked off the light, and in the darkness we started all over again.
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