Pedal Me: MC (Manly Cyclist) Parody Erotica

by Roxanne Sweet

  Pedal Me:

  MC (Manly Cyclist) Parody Erotica

  by Roxanne Sweet

  Pedal Me:

  MC (Manly Cyclist) Parody Erotica

  Published by Roxanne Sweet

  Copyright © 2014 Roxanne Sweet

  All Rights Reserved

  May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.

  Cover Photo: Can Stock Photo © nickp37 2014

  Cover Design: Roxanne Sweet

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  Prologue

  Wind whips across my face as we race down the street. My legs hang uncomfortably out of the wicker bicycle basket and my heart pounds. Nick’s presence on the bike seat, pedalling wildly, is a small comfort. It isn’t enough to settle my frenzied soul. Every bump on the road sends a spark of pleasure to my clit, but there’s no time to think about my desire now.

  My hair streams behind me; the night lies ahead of me. With Nick pedalling me, I’ll arrive safely where I need to go. He’s going to get me there. Whether we’ll be in time or not, though, I don’t know.

  How did I get to be crammed into a tiny bicycle basket, flying down the street at speeds approaching eighteen miles per hour? It all started last night…

  One

  “Come on, Sophie,” Gordon says. “Why are you so slow?”

  I give my boyfriend a dirty look. He can clearly see that I’m wearing heels, which he knows I’m not used to doing. If he had told me we would be walking to the concert tonight, I would’ve worn flats. The bastard let me believe he was going to spring for a cab.

  If I’d been smart, I would have known he was too cheap to ever do such a thing. In the eight months of our relationship, Gordon has never paid for anything he didn’t have to. His cigarettes, he’ll cough up the cash for. The rent on our one-bedroom apartment, on the other hand, is all me.

  “I’m walking as fast as I can,” I tell him.

  The road is busy in the dusky early evening. Cars are zipping by so close to the sidewalk that I wouldn’t be surprised if a driver swiped me with his side mirror. Every now and then a bike goes by, sending an inexplicable wave of desire through me. I don’t know what it is, but they’re really turning me on.

  “Well, hurry,” Gordon insists. “The show starts in half an hour, and at this pace it’s going to take us forty-five minutes.”

  “If you would’ve told me we’d be walking…” I don’t bother to finish my sentence. Beads of ladylike sweat are making my silk top cling to my too-big tits and my back. I’m already panting, and I don’t need to waste my breath arguing with the jackass I’m unfortunately dating.

  He lost his license six months ago, not that he ever drove me anywhere before that. I never had a license, myself. I’ve gotten used to walking everywhere, and I don’t mind walking to the restaurant where I work or to the grocery store. Walking with him tends to get unpleasant, though.

  The sex might be the only upside of this relationship. He’s a selfish lover, it’s true. I rarely orgasm with him. But he has sex with me almost every day. Since he’s all fit and I’m chubby, and I can tell he doesn’t really like my body, I’m grateful for it.

  I enjoy his big cock, although I do wish he was skinnier and less muscular. I can’t complain, though. With my extra weight and my overly large boobs, there aren’t too many men who want me. It doesn’t matter if I have to wait until he finishes, then finish myself off quietly with the showerhead. I still get off either way.

  Now that I think about it, I could just get off with the showerhead. There’s really no need to bring Gordon into it at all.

  “Sophie, faster!” Gordon steps off the curb, rushing to make it before the light changes.

  My heel pivots as I hurry to follow him. Shit! I sink to the sidewalk and hold my ankle carefully. It’s twisted, if not sprained. It hurts worse than the other time I twisted my ankle! I’ll never get to the concert now.

  “Gordon, wait!” I call.

  He’s got to be ten feet ahead already. I have to call him twice before he hears my panicked voice. When he does, he turns and looks at me disdainfully. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it as he yells at me. “What in the hell are you doing? Taking a rest?”

  “I hurt my ankle,” I say, a single tear sliding dramatically down my cheek.

  “Don’t be such a baby,” he says without even coming closer to me. “You’re not hurt.”

  He’s fidgeting, wanting to keep moving. This concert is more important to him than I am. The bastard hasn’t checked to see if I hurt myself. How would he know if I did or didn’t?

  “It’s painful,” I cry.

  “Sophie, get the fuck up or I’m going without you.” The look in his selfish eyes tells me he’s not joking around.

  Hands on the curb, I pull myself to my feet. My balance is unsteady in my heels to begin with, and with my ankle hurting I collapse again in less than a second. I’m such a helpless girl! “I can’t do it.”

  Gordon has to take pity on me now. There has to be some shred of sympathy in his cold heart. Doesn’t there?

  “Oh, please.” He scowls at me and spins around. “I’ll see you later, when you decide to start acting like an adult.”

  Tears fall down my face as my boyfriend speed-walks away. I knew he was an asshole, but this is proof that he doesn’t care about me at all.

  Gordon is a selfish shit. He knows perfectly well that I wanted to see the concert, too. It was my idea to go! But here he is, acting like he’s the only person who matters.

  I should yell at him right now, tell him that if he walks away this is it for us. That no good man would accuse his girlfriend of being a baby when she’s hurt. That just because he’s muscular and I have ridiculously huge tits, it doesn’t give him the right to walk all over me and disrespect me.

  I should do a lot of things. But for some unknown reason, I sit on the curb with my head in my hands and cry. Cars whiz past me and people walk by without paying me any mind. I can’t blame them for not stopping to help a stranger. They’ve all got places to go, things to do. I don’t know how much time passes. The dusky light turns to darkness, and I’m still sitting there alone.

  Why did I have to start dating such an asshole? Gordon must be the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had – not that I’ve had many. Guys don’t really flock to a bigger woman like me, a woman with tits so big she can’t even see the floor under her. It’s impossible not to cry when I think about my pathetic love life.

  “Hey!”

  The voice comes from above me. I look up to see a face that might look concerned if it wasn’t half covered. A helmet conceals the man’s hair, and large black sunglasses hide his eyes. He’s holding a slim fixed gear bike with a large wicker basket on the front.

  “Are you okay?”

  It’s a nice mouth, at least: full lips, slightly chapped by the wind and surrounded by a dark brown five o’clock shadow. My mouth opens slightly and I bite my own lip.

  I survey the cyclist’s body. He’s skinny as hell, practically skeletal. As I look down, I notice the black spandex shorts he’s wearing are clinging to the faint outline of a huge bulge. Where the dark fabric ends, I can see the most muscular, and hairless, calves I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m okay,” I manage to say. “I just… I was walking and I seem to have twisted my ankle.”

  He pushes up his dark glasses. Wow! His eyes are a shade of blue that contrasts perfectly with his tan skin. And to my amazement, there seems to be interest as well as concern on his face. He e
ven glances at my cleavage. My boobs are too big for most men to pay attention to them. “Where were you walking?” he asks.

  “A concert. With my… my boyfriend.”

  The mention of a boyfriend doesn’t change his expression at all. Maybe I misread the interest. Yes, I probably did. Of course a guy who looks like that wouldn’t be interested in a girl like me.

  “Let’s get you there,” he says.

  I stand hesitantly and he holds out his arm for me to hang onto. The support helps me to stay on my feet, but I’m distracted by the electricity running through the spot where my hand is touching his skinny arm.

  “I don’t think I can make it,” I say. “It’s a ways away.” My ankle is feeling a bit better, but without something to lean on I won’t be able to go far.

  “I’ll walk you there,” the cyclist says. “My name’s Nick.”

  “Sophie.”

  Rolling the bike along on his left and supporting me on the right, we walk together. After I’ve thanked him a million times for his help, we start to get to know each other. The walk to the concert, already long, is probably doubled because of his bike and my ankle. I don’t mind, though. Somehow I’m more excited about our conversation than about the show.

  He tells me all about his bike. It has carbon wheels with ceramic bearings, he says. I don’t know what that means, but I like the sound of it. I like the look of his bike, too, with its sensually slim blue frame and the saddle that’s just been right up next to his junk. I’d like to put my face right up to that saddle and sniff it.

  While I’m distracted thinking about his junk, Nick is still talking. Now he’s telling me that he helps out at a bike repair shop every day, and that he’s a serious biker.

  “A serious biker? What do you mean?” I ask, still holding onto his arm.

  His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m part of the one percent.”

  I’m mostly just trying to keep my cool, but the slight confusion on my face must be obvious because Nick shakes his head and changes the subject. “I’ll tell you more about it later. Now tell me more about you, and why you’re walking instead of riding a bicycle of your own!”

  It’s a good question. Truth is, I’m not in shape enough to get anywhere, and spandex wouldn’t look too good adhering to my curvy frame. “I never thought about it,” I tell Nick.

  “You should get a bike,” he says.

  I look around. Somehow our conversation distracted me enough that I didn’t even notice that we’re now outside the bar where the concert is taking place. I can hear the band’s music from outside.

  “This is where I’m going,” I tell him. “I guess we should say good night. Thank you so much for helping me, Nick.”

  “Wait,” he says. “I mean it. You should get a bike.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He grabs my arm. “Promise me!” he says, pulling me close to him, so close I can see the sweat beading under his helmet. “Promise me you’ll get a bike.”

  My body responds to his proximity. How I want to pull off that helmet, kiss those full lips, peel off those spandex bike shorts! In my heated state, I’m not even aware of the words that are coming out of my mouth. “Yes, yes, I will!”

  Nick stares into my eyes with an intensity that makes me tremble. Our faces are so close that the pressure of a slight breeze against his skinny body could push him into my lips. I pray for a gust of wind to blow on him. With a shaky hand, I reach up for the helmet strap that binds his beautiful chin. Can I do it? I’m in a relationship, but a bad one, and Nick is so perfect. My hand is almost there…

  “Sophie!”

  Gordon’s voice breaks the spell. I pull away from Nick, feeling guilty even though I didn’t actually do anything.

  He’s storming out of a group of smokers, cigarette in hand. I didn’t even see him there, and he’s the last person I want to see right now.

  “What the hell is this?” he demands.

  After his desperation to get to this concert, he’s standing outside smoking instead of being inside enjoying it. Once again, I wonder why I picked a guy like this. The answer comes to me just as easily: I didn’t have that much choice.

  Now, though, I seem to.

  Nick places his bike carefully against a street pole, then gets in front of me as if to protect me. “Is there a problem?” he asks Gordon.

  “Yeah,” Gordon growls. “That’s my girlfriend you were just trying to swap spit with.”

  “Nick, it’s okay,” I whisper to him. I know how bad Gordon must look, but I don’t need him getting involved. “I can deal with him.”

  Gordon takes a step toward Nick, holding up the lit cigarette. “Get the hell out of here before I burn a hole right through your Spandex.”

  My stomach is turning. I can’t let Gordon do anything Nick’s sexy outfit. Leaving aside how Nick is so nice and gentle and kind, the stretchy fabric clings so perfectly to his bikerly body that doing anything to damage it would be a crime against femininity. “Go, just go,” I urge in a desperate whisper.

  Nick turns his full attention to me. “Are you sure?” he asks.

  My heart says no, but my mouth says, “Yes.”

  The gaze that we share speaks volumes. I know he doesn’t want to go, and he knows I don’t want him to go. I think he even knows I don’t want Gordon anymore and that I probably never did.

  Nick growls softly. I can see he could go up against Gordon if he wanted to, but he’s willing to back down for my sake. “I don’t like this guy one bit,” he says. “When you’re ready for something better, find me.”

  His lips brush against my cheek quickly, an act of defiance against Gordon that sends him bounding toward Nick in a rage. He’s inches from Nick’s Spandex shorts, and my jealous boyfriend can’t be stopped now…

  Two

  The bed I share with Gordon is oddly cold the next morning. After a night of ignoring each other for the few remaining minutes of the concert, we left separately. I got back first, and from the looks of things, he never returned to our apartment at all.

  He was angrier than I’ve ever seen him last night. He’s always been a selfish prick, but he’s never been violent. Then again, I never gave him reason to be jealous before.

  As I get up slowly and wonder what I can do with the empty Saturday that lies ahead of me, I’m just thanking the stars that Nick had a bike. Before Gordon could get near his shorts with his lit cigarette last night, Nick was on his fixed gear. A second later, it was racing off into the night.

  I shower and brush my teeth, thinking alternately of Gordon and Nick. Thoughts of Nick’s sunglasses and spandex make it hard for me to concentrate on what I’m doing, since twinges of desire keep sparking between my legs.

  It’s only when I’m getting my clothes on, loose jeans and a cute tank top, that the biggest problem enters my mind.

  Nick is amazing, he’s great, and incredibly enough he even seems to like me. The first minute I spent with him showed me he would be worth breaking up with Gordon for. I’m dying to see him again and talk to him.

  But I have no way to contact him. We never exchanged numbers. I don’t know his last name, where he lives, or anything about him. And he knows nothing about me.

  I sit down on my bed, biting one nail. Maybe I could go back to the bar from last night. He could be there looking for me.

  No, of course he wouldn’t go back there. The place where a chubby chick’s jealous boyfriend threatened to burn him with a cigarette? Of course not.

  Just as I resolve that I’ll have to find him some other way, I jump at the sound of the door opening. The man I used to love stalks into our apartment, his eyes still filled with a dull rage.

  “Gordon!”

  “Surprised to see me?” he says sarcastically. “I’m shocked that your little cyclist friend isn’t still here.”

  “I didn’t have sex with him, not that it’s any of your business,” I tell him. Standing up, I walk toward him and poke him in the chest. Thinking ab
out the skinny chest I didn’t have nearly enough of an opportunity to get familiar with is more exciting to me, but feeling Gordon’s hard muscles still sends a flicker of lust through me.

  He gives me a rough, possessive kiss. Despite my newfound hatred for him, I fall into his arms as if I have no power at all to stop myself. He starts pulling off my clothes. I let him, heat running through my whole body as blood rushes to my clit.

  Just as he gets on top of me, an unwanted word flies out of my mouth. “Stop!”

  I want Nick, not him.

  Gordon stops cold. I’ve never said “no” to him before, and I can tell he doesn’t like this new experience. “What do you mean, stop?”