I don't remember exactly when it was when I first saw him, but I remember when I really started to notice him. A group of us guys, competitive amateur cyclists would get together several times a week for training rides. Most of us had black cycling shorts and whatever team jersey was at hand. We had great bikes, sure, with the latest in lightness and technology, titanium, carbon fiber and all that, but we had basic cycling kit.
He was different. When he rode up to the group the first time I really noticed him, and when I did, I started to stiffen in my own lycra shorts. He had a sense of style, a sense of slickness and hipness for cycling that was incredible. He also had a hot bod, sculpted by hours of cycling, surely, but also clearly by hours of lifting in the gym. Of mid height, from the his neck to his ankles his body screamed fitness. He rode up the first time in bright, lime green, slick looking cycling shorts. Matching shirt, cool sunglasses and hot looking shoes completed his pretty boy cyclist look. As he dismounted his bike that first time, I noticed the sleek curve of his bubble but, sticking out in just the right places, his glutes curving with muscle, so alluring, so appetizing, so cycling ready...
For the first several weeks we didn't talk. He would arrive just before our little practice peloton got underway, and we would take off at top speed. I would admire him from afar, and he would take off right after the rides. He was just so perfect in every way. I quickly fell for him, fantasized about him, wanted to be like him. This jock with such a sense of style apparently had a secret source for the hottest in cycling clothes. I searched for his latest outfits online, but was always frustrated. I also thought "this guy has got to be gay," as he was just so perfectly male in a bravado sort of way, panache, pretty boy style, and pushed the envelope in stylish gear. Even his cycling gloves were slick, and shouted "style." There was just sort of an aura around him, a quiet certainty that he was a slick jock, a top amateur, one hot dude. That year Subaru was sponsoring the Tour de France on TV with some great ads and was very "hip." What kind of car did he drive? A brand new Subaru, of course. When I finally found out his name, how perfect could it be? He was named Zack.
Once on a mechanical stop I looked around for Zack. We had ridden so far we had gotten out into the country, in the middle of wheat fields. One of us had a flat tire. I thought this was my chance to get to know him better, so I looked around, having rehearsed what I might say. I couldn't see him among the other guys, but finally looked up the edge of the field, across the road and up the hill. Zack was standing with his face toward the setting sun, half of his lycra clad glutes facing us, the other half were not lycra clad but shone forth in half moon glory. Zack was relieving himself into the golden wheat fields, a silhouette of cycling manliness filling our horizon. I have never been interested in urine, but boy did I want to be down in that wheat field looking up at that moment.
I first met Zack personally one day when I was out cycling on my own. I was far out in the country and came across a little town with an ice cream stand. I pulled up for a pit stop and to get some fluids. As I sat there resting, I leaned back and closed my eyes. As I opened them, blocking my vision, who should be there but Zack, with a smile on his tanned and windburned face.
"How's it hanging?" he asked.
"Not bad" I said. "You're far from home."
"Yeah," he said, "just getting some solo time, heading away from the city."
"So, you're all alone?" I said, suddenly thinking that altho I was nearing the end of my ride and heading back into the city, I would readily ride a lot longer just to ride with him.
"Nah," he said. "Well, I'm riding alone, but I got the bimba and bambino with me." I turned and there was that hip Subaru, being driven by a woman, obviously his wife, with a child at her side.
"It's great to have a lead car, or like today a car following with supplies," he said. "We switch off," he said, "she'll drive for me and watch the baby, or I'll drive for her."
"I do most of the driving" she said as she approached us with a wry smile, obviously looking frustrated and tense.
We chatted about this and that, and got to know more about each other, but there was clear tension between the two. I was glad to get the opportunity to get to know Zack, and he seemed genuinely to enjoy talking with me. They had met in high school and gotten married at graduation. As I got to know Zack better, a couple of times I had to shift in my shorts to "hide my excitement." No need giving away your thoughts about prospects with the wife standing by. Was I imagining it, or did I see Zack squirm in a similar way? We seemed to get along so well and be drawn to each other through our conversation, through our mutual interests. I was drawn to him by his looks and sense of style, he to me, I hoped, by the same thoughts. After a while we were finished with our rest stop. Had I been with Zack alone I would have ridden on, but since it was the family, I said goodbye and headed back into town. I had made a show of needing to get going, so as I left I told Zack I had some cycling questions for him and got his cell number.
A few days later, during a crucial mountain stage of the Tour, I asked some of my best buds over. We had all been friends since we were all coming out, and had supported each other for a long time. We were all decent athletes and good looking, I was the best cyclist, but we all enjoyed watching 180 men clad in only lycra riding through the French Countryside. I invited Zack, and asked the guys to be cool.
"Should I bring the family" he asked. I said
"You could, but it will be all guys." Maybe this could be my chance, I thought.
When he arrived he explained his wife was going out with friends, and they had found a sitter for the "bambino."
That night was a lot of fun. We cheered our favorites on. My friends started to drink heavily, with Belgian beer I had bought for the party. Me, in training, didn't drink. As things loosened up there was some affection between us, back slaps, sure, but a kiss here and there. The first few times Zack had a look of scorn on his face, but then he quieted down and seemed to ignore it. When he got bored with the cycling action, my studly weightlifting friend Clint started to make comments about the lycra, about the boners, real or imagined that the cyclists were throwing, and making general comments on the size of cycling equipment compared to other athlete equipment. Once again, this seemed to annoy Zack at first, but then he dealt with it by ignoring it. One of my more sober friends started to ask about the cycling kit, technical questions about fabric, fit, etc. Knowing it would be easier to show them, I asked for Zack's help. He protested, but I took him in my bedroom (oh how I had been longing for this since I had seen him first). To quiet him down I threw an outfit at him, the very cool looking yellow and black and metallic white outfit of the dismatled ONCE squad, one of the few cool outfits that I owned, and was it ultracool.... This I had complete, from the socks to the shorts, the jersey to the gloves. At that point, he stopped protesting. That pretty boy cyclist with the sense of style just had to try it on. As he stripped completely I kept my eye one him, not directly but through the strategically placed mirrors throughout my bedroom. I got a complete view of his tanned and naked body, from his seven inch cock to the stylized tatoo he had on his back, just below the neckline. His ass stuck out prominently. Clearly he had no padding under those shorts, at least not there!
I started to get charged up, so I quickly threw on a pair of my inky black bib shorts, staying shirtless, so the straps running up to my shoulders framed my pecs and my washboard abs. I quickly ducked out of the bedroom and held my lips to my fingers to my friends, as I adjusted myself down in front of them. Zack then came out, geeked up like a pro. We explained the parts of the cycling kit to my friends, and they kept making suggestive comments until the end of the stage on TV.
I thought maybe he ignored what my friends were saying. Actually, he heard every word. As my buds were leaving, Zack was lingering, still clad in his super hot cycling gear. I still had on the bib shorts, too. As my last friend left, Zack asked
"Can I talk to you bud?" I said
"Sure, what can I do to you, uh, for you?"
Zack said "You're gay, right, I picked that up tonight?"
"Yeah," I said, "what of it."
"Nah, don't wanna be hostile, dude," he said, and he began to pour out his story, the first love in high school, the supposed pregnancy, the wedding, the unhappiness, the later bambino, the sexual problems and confusion. He never really had close guy friends, he said, because he worried about how it made him feel, feelings he wasn't sure he should have for other men. That's why he arrived just before the group headed out and left just after. That's why he cycled, and did play team sports. He told me that he had tried to pour out his confusion into his cycling, but how it didn't always work, that his wife was frustrated and unhappy. He said cycling was his life, but he found himself stirred in many ways by looking at the other hot cyclists, ways he was unsure of.
"Kinda like your friends were talking tonight," he said.
"I'm so glad we got to know each other, cos I needed a guy friend to talk things out with" He told me that he so much needed to come tonight, just to have the feeling of hanging with a guy friend, that he had gotten into a terrible argument with his wife, and she had told him not to come back if he left to come to my place. That's why he was hanging, because he had no place to go tonight.
As he talked he looked like he was getting more and more emotional, and finally his macho pretty boy exterior cracked and he began to sob. His frustration and confusion of many years was coming to a head tonight. I couldn't help but think how lucky I was to be there to pick up the pieces. I put my arm around him and rubbed my hand across his silky back, and over to his other shoulder, pulling him close. Of course, I started to get horned up, as my arousal at having him so close wouldn't quit. My nips started tingling as they rubbed against the shoulder straps of my bib shorts. My cock began to slide in its lycra casing as it slithered up to say hello to a new friend. I noticed that he, too, was getting excited in more ways than one.
"I've been so confused" he sobbed. And added "I always thought all those feelings I had for other men were wrong."
"Shhh." I said, as I calmed him down. "Just go with what you're feeling." I brought his hands to my pecs then I massaged him through his silky jersey. Then, I sensed the incredible attraction between us, as I leaned in close and pressed my lips to his.
"Wait" he moaned,"
"Just go with your feelings" I assured him. He leaned in then, and pressed his lips into mine, I heard him groan as he pressed his body into mine, and slithered his tongue into my mouth. We kissed for some time, as I could tell each of us got harder and harder.
Finally I said
"Zack, you're such a manly stud, such a cyclist, I am so glad to know you. I wouldn't want to jeopardize what we have together, but I can show you so much more, if you want it. Just go with the feeling"
His moan told me all I wanted to know, so I pressed on. I lowered the zipper on his jersey, and slid it over his neck. As soon as that was done, I rubbed his pecs with my bare hands, and circled his nips with my fingers. Leaning in I sucked at them until he started to purr almost, or that's what it sounded like. I straightened up and layed him the rest of the way out on the couch, as I drove my still lycra clad dick into his...
"Unh, that feels so good" he groaned as I slid my warm body down over his and ended up at the hem of his shorts, actually my own shorts which I had craftily gotten onto him. Now I would just as craftily get him out of them. I rubbed him through those shorts, as I leaned in and then slid down his waistband and took his now nine inch cock to my lips. I tongued at his sweet spot, and then down his shaft to his balls, taken them both into my mouth. Then, I tongued back up and quickly took his head into my mouth, and then sunk his entire cock, well almost entire, into my throat. He moaned
"My wife does this, but nowhere near as good." And wriggled his toes and thighs in ecstacy. His glutes were still captive in his shorts, and I rubbed these globes with my hands. He began to rub my head and pull it closer.
"How does it taste" he asked, "I always wondered how a man's cock would taste," he said. I slid up and kissed him again, and then pulled on the back of his neck, his hard cock sliding against my cock which was hard, but still clad in my bib short... Kissing him deeply, and flicking my tongue through his lips, I pulled him past the TV and into my bedroom, and said
"If you want to taste another stud's cock, the time is now."
I pulled down my shoulder straps and peeled off my shorts, letting my cock, now at full masted attention, spring around unbound. He had stripped out of his shorts then, and came in for another kiss. As he pressed his lips to mine, I began to feel pleasure, from top to bottom. This is what it was all about! He sucked at my nipples as if he would never again have the chance to taste a real man. As he moved downward he even stuck his tongue in my belly button, and then followed the treasure trail downward with his tongue. As he took my cock into his mouth, just once I had to say "watch the teeth," and then he was like a pro about his business, surely imitating the expert lessons I had just given him. After about ten minutes of pure bliss, I was near the edge. I pulled out of his mouth and breathed in long enough to say
"69?" He looked up with a question on his face.
I said "lay down on the bed." Then I lay next to him in position, took his cock back into my mouth, and guided my cock to his lips. He finally worked out the rhythm, and began to suck for all he was worth, as he experienced exploring a buds ass with his hands for the first time. We went at it for some time, glorious man-sex passion, cyclist passion, jock stud passion. I knew I was getting close and I knew from the way he was writhing that he must be, so I took his hard cock out of my mouth long enough to say
"After I cum don't spit and don't swallow." As I finished, I wetted my index finger, and as I deep throated him again, I reached around and fingered him, then thrust my index finger into his hole, pulling on his ass flesh with my other hand. I could feel the vibrations of his pleasure on my cock as I did this to him, he was humming or purring or whatever, and it gave me spasms of pleasure, and then we released a the same time, with spurts of milky white cum coating our mouths and our lips. When I knew he was finished I turned again so that we were manhood to manhood, pecs to pecs, lips to lips. I pressed my lips into his and my tongue into his mouth, and had him taste his own man juices for the first time. As we lay after in a daze, he said
"Aw, I didn't know anything could be this great."
"Zack," I said, "it only gets better."
As I drifted off to sleep, I realized that I might have stripped completely, but good old Zack was still wearing the hip cycling fashion accents I had thrown at him before: the ONCE socks and the very pretty boy looking black, yellow, and metallic white cycling gloves...
If you like this let me know, if you want more, also:
speedorex@yahoo.com