Tour de DeGarde

Finally Marc let out a huge sigh.

"Man, fucker's on there, huh? Got any WD Forty, or maybe some Three in One Oil around?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sarah said and left the bedroom.

She returned a moment later with a large can of WE-40.

"My grandfather's a big believer in this stuff," she laughed, handing the can to Marc. "If he could drink it, he would."

Marc liberally sprayed the nut, handed the can back to Sarah, and then waited a moment before trying again.

With a loud squeak, the nut gave way and Marc smiled triumphantly.

He made quick work of installing the new seat.

"Why you don't like this?" Sarah asked, again feeling the seat.

"Feel, right here," Marc said, grabbing her small hand and rubbing it over a knot near the front of the narrow saddle. "Thing driving up into my boys? Pierre might get off on that; I sure don't. Of course, Babbage's is like 'you used it, we can't take it back,' even though I used it like once maybe for thirty minutes. That's seventy four bucks down the drain.

"Seventy four bucks?" Sarah cried out. "Marc! I can't afford that!"

"It's yours," he smiled, grabbing her old saddle. "Consider it payment for all them cookies... Oh! And that killer birthday cake you made me."

"Birth... I never made you..." Sarah puzzled.

"This Friday," he smiled. "Angel food's like my favorite, especially with vanilla frosting."

As soon as he left the apartment, Sarah locked the door, then ran to her bedroom and closed and locked that door as well. She put her skirt on the bed, pulled on a pair of shorts; she'd bought them only because they were trimmed in lace and got onto the bike.

The old man's mother must have been considerably taller than five feet two inches; Sarah had to lean way forward when the handle bars were at their farthest trajectory. She put the right thumb lever down and after the bars were matched in distance, they did click into a locked position. She pushed the lever down again and this time it was the pedals that locked into place, but both handlebars and seat post moved back and forth; the seat and bars coming nearly together when she pulled, and stretching far apart when she pushed. The last setting of the lever combined both pedaling and seat and handlebars moving. After only a moment of this setting, Sarah was tired; unlike the previous setting, she could not control how far apart the bars and seat would travel and nearly fell of, trying to hold onto the bars.

She flipped the lever back to the original position, put the resistance to 'Two' and sweated and grunted for a twenty minute work out.

"Hey, I got pizza; some ass hole ordered a large Veggie then didn't have the money," April called out, slamming the front door.

Sarah got to very shaky legs; obviously she was in worse shape than she had realized.

April noticed the shorts, raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Thanks," Sarah grunted after they'd devoured the pizza.

"Welcome," April smiled, already stripping off her work clothes.

Sarah almost insisted that she be allowed to shower first; she was convinced that the smell of her sweat was overwhelming. Before she could say anything, April was already in the shower, though.

Instead, she cleaned the kitchen, even wiping down the countertop, even though they weren't dirty.

The next afternoon, Sarah changed out of her school clothing, put on a clean pair of shorts, a lacy tank top and her bubble gum pink athletic shoes and got onto the bike. She then looked up, saw herself in the mirror, got off, and strained and heaved, and turned the bike away from the mirror.

Again, after twenty minutes, she was sweaty and shaky. She got off, unlocked her bedroom door and staggered down the hall to the kitchen.

She almost reached for the pound of ground beef to make spaghetti and meat sauce, but at the last minute decided to make something a little healthier.

"Warm salad for dinner," Sarah called out when April came in.

"With those beans?" April asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Uh huh," Sarah agreed.

"Um, cute outfit; why've you dressed like that?" April asked, noticing the shorts and lacy tank top.

Oh that's right!" Sarah laughed. "Come see."

April followed Sarah down the hall to her bedroom.

"Oh, cool!" April laughed. "Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle, I want to ride my bicycle..."

"What?" Sarah asked as April sang.

"Bicycle Race? By that group, oh, what was, those guys... Queen! They had this stupid song about their bicycle or something," April laughed.

"You'd know it if you heard it," April said, leaving Sarah's bedroom.

A moment later, Sarah smelled the unmistakable smell of marijuana as April shut her bedroom door.

"You're not eating?" Sarah called through the door.

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" April giggled. "In a minute."

Sarah gave it five minutes, then fixed both of them large bowls of the salad.

"This got that kale in it?" April asked as she sat down.

"Yeah, it's good for you," Sarah said, sliding the bottle of fat-free raspberry dressing to April. "Food Network says it's a super food."

"Stuff tastes like grass or something," April made a face.

"Don't eat it," Sarah shrugged.

"I'm just saying," April said, dumping a large amount of the dressing on the salad.

Sarah's muscles were still shaky as she showered that night and she determined she'd have to ask Marc to lower the bars for her.

That Friday, while she frosted his birthday cake, Marc sprayed the bolts that held the individual bars with the WD-40, sprayed the sleeves that held the bars, sprayed the bars, strained, grunted and cursed. The bars did not move. The seat post did not move either when he had the bright idea to raise that, those making the bars and seat equal in height.

"Sorry," he sheepishly admitted when she asked if he'd had any luck.

"That's okay; you tried," she comforted, sliding the large birthday cake toward him. "Happy birthday anyway."

"Thanks; if this is as good as your cookies, we'll love it," he said, grabbing the cake and scurrying to the door before Sarah could ask who 'we' was.

Chapter 4

"Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle," April sang out as she carried in a slightly burnt pizza. "Double pepperoni dumb ass manager burnt, showing off for that bitch Heather. Get this, then he bitches at me for adding onions and jalapeno, believe that?"

"Ew, burnt? Why would..." Sarah complained.

"Just pick off the burnt part; he just torched around the crust," April said, looking at the new tee shirt and nylon shorts that Sarah was wearing.

The crust and a few of the pepperoni were charred pretty badly, but the pizza itself was still very edible.

"I didn't know you even owned a tee shirt," April commented as Sarah cleaned up the kitchen.

"Just bought them today; got this three pack," Sarah admitted.

She indicated the light pink shirt she was wearing.

"Had this, and a blue and the green and feel..." she said and held the hem out to April.

"Oh, soft," April agreed, feeling the material.

"Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle, I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike," April sang as she walked to the bathroom.

A moment later, Sarah heard the shower start up.

"That can't be the words to that song," she said to herself and went to her room and booted up her computer.

"Oh my God, look at this!" she called out to April as the video for the song played on her computer.

"Yeah, that's it!" April laughed as she heard the song playing.

"No, no, come see!" Sarah demanded.

April walked in, pulling her football jersey on over her nude body.

"Oh my God!" she laughed as she watched the several nude women bicycling around the track.

"They're all naked!" Sarah exclaimed.

Of course, the nudity itself was not fully visible, but it was apparent anyway.

"Let me..." April said as the song ended.

She typed rapidly on the keyboard and another video began to run, showing several women cycling nude on a Paris street.

Sarah stared at the sight of these women that cycled about, uncaring that they were overweight, that their bodies were hairy. Some of the women were attractive, slender women, some did not have hair sprouting from their underarms or on their legs. But the majority were grotesque, in Sarah's eyes.

"They let them do that?" Sarah asked, incredulous, as one scene showed a French police officer smiling broadly at the nude women.

"Yeah, well, they're not all freaked out about that kind of shit over there," April shrugged, scratching at her rear end, flashing her buttocks to Sarah.

April left the room and Sarah hit the 'Replay' button and watched as the women cycled through the streets of Paris, nude except for shoes.

She watched a few more similar videos, listening to the French reporter's commentary, wishing she'd paid more attention in her French class last semester.

Late the next morning Sarah got up, the tune of 'Bicycle Race' running in her head.

Returning from the bathroom, she reached for her baby blue tee shirt, then looked at the closed door of her bedroom. She had taken to closing her bedroom door when she and Maria had moved in together, to minimize the stench of marijuana smoke seeping into her bedroom. April, it seemed, smoked even more than Maria did, if that was possible, so Sarah's bedroom door stayed shut most of the time.

She quietly engaged the lock of her door and looked at the blinds on her bedroom window. They were angled up, so that no one could peek in. The fact that they'd have to be either on a tall ladder, or hanging upside down from the roof did not matter to Sarah. She wanted to minimize any opportunity for the unknown perverts that might be lurking around outside.

As a double precaution, Sarah pulled the lacy curtains together, darkening the room slightly.

She giggled as she stripped out of her filmy camisole and tap pants and lace bikini panties. Nude, she sat on the floor in front of her closet and pulled on her footies with the little pink fuzz balls at the heel, then laced up her athletic shoes.

She swung a leg over and gasped as the cool leather came in contact with her warm flesh. She moved the thumb lever to '1' and began pedaling.

At '1' she was able to pedal quite rapidly; '3' was the highest she'd managed to get, '4' remained far too difficult for her.

Sara's eyes opened wide as she leaned forward to maintain her grip on the right handlebar. This position splayed her pussy lips open slightly.

She had noticed this before, but had always had shorts and panties between herself and the seat.

Furthering the movement brought her clitoris directly in contact with the seat, rasping against the thick stitching. At the apex of the handlebar's path, the knot Marc had complained about rubbed against her and she moaned slightly.

She pedaled a little faster and followed the progression of the left handlebar as it began to pull away from her. Again her pussy lips splayed open slightly and her clitoris again rubbed on the stitching.

"Oh fuck!" she giggled as the knot rubbed her again.

On the tenth rapid rotation of the bars, she stiffened, stopping the maddening friction, then shuddered in orgasm.

Flipping the lever to '2' meant she had to strain a little harder and her orgasm was quick to come. By the time she'd had two more orgasms, she was too weak to flip the lever to '3' and instead flipped the other lever to the rowing motion setting.

"Oh God!" she laughed as she pushed the bars away, leaning forward and mashing her now far too sensitive clitoris against the seat.

After her next orgasm, Sarah collapsed to the floor and lay there, trying to catch her breath.

"God, I love my bike!" she panted out loud.

"See you later," April called out.

A moment later, Sarah reached for something to cover herself when April knocked lightly on her door.

"Going to be kind of late," she called through the door. "Remember? Going to that Sigma Phi Iota party? You want to go?"

"No thanks," Sarah called back, now struggling into her tee shirt.

The University of Louisiana at DeGarde had already placed the Sigma Phi Iota fraternity on strict warning for their last party; a party in which two girls had to be rushed to St. Elizabeth's Trauma Center. Both girls had consumed far too much alcohol, even though both girls were only eighteen and had fallen from the roof of the three story building. No one knew what they were doing on the roof, or where their clothes had disappeared to, but the fraternity knew there would be no second warning for them.

A moment later, the door slammed. Sarah, however, pulled a pair of khakis on, the thrill of naughtiness waning.

Sarah unlocked the bedroom door and peered out, making sure she was alone. She then went into the kitchen to make herself lunch

"Damn it, April!" she cursed.

April had obviously had the munchies last night and had consumed the last of the ham.

"Damn it, April!" she cursed again as she looked at the garbage can, the wreckage of April's late night refrigerator raid spilling out onto the floor.

She sighed, made sure she had her keys with her and grabbed the garbage can.

"Hey, that cake was awesome," Marc said, carrying his bicycle down the stairs ahead of Sarah.

"Was? You ate the whole thing?" Sarah asked as he put his helmet on.

"Well, yeah,"he said, then pedaled away.

Twice more that day, Sarah made sure the front door was locked, made sure her bedroom door was locked, made sure the blinds were angled correctly and the curtains were tightly drawn. Then she stripped out of her clothing, put on her shoes, and pedaled her way to orgasm.

After eating a quiet dinner, Sarah gathered her things together and allowed herself her favorite pastime, a slow bubble bath. She only did this on the nights April worked the evening shift, or on nights like tonight, when April had plans that would keep her out late.

Normally, she would slowly, sensuously masturbate, pulling her inner lips out and wiggling slightly so that the water would caress her clitoris. Then she would softly stroke a slippery finger along her lips, then lightly touch her clitoris. Then she'd repeat this until the pressure had built up to a boiling point.

Her boiling point was reached almost immediately and a second orgasm was almost painful so Sarah concentrated instead on slowly, carefully removing any razor stubble.

When the water was cold, she flipped the stopper up, then stood and showered off any remaining suds and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair and the light mud pack off of her face. Then she rubbed baby oil into her skin, groaning slightly when she rubbed into her pubic mound, which was a little tender.

Chapter 5

April did not come home that evening and still was not home by Sunday evening. Sarah was a little concerned but reasoned that April was a big girl.

"She knows my number; she'd call if she was in trouble," Sarah told herself and cleaned the apartment, all except for April's room.

Monday morning, Sarah got the news; there had been a raid at the Sigma Phi Iota house and nearly all in attendance were arrested on various charges, drugs being among the more serious ones.

"Oh shit," Sarah muttered and called the St. Elizabeth Parish Courthouse.

"Sigma Phi... Arraignment's this morning, ten o'clock, Courtroom D," the chipper woman informed Sarah.

April was easy to spot, looking quite haggard and frightened.

"Bail is thirty five thousand," the judge said and hammered the gavel.

"But that shit wasn't mine!" April protested.

"Bring it up at the trial, Honey," Judge Jesse Johnson said and again motioned for the next defendant to enter a plea.

"Got the Bail Bondsman on it," Sarah said and April broke down in tears.

"Thank you," she sobbed. "I tried to call you but their fucking phone won't let you call a cell phone."

Sarah drove April to the frat house so that April could pick up her car. The whole way, April kept repeating that the meth they'd found in her pose wasn't hers.

"Fuck, fucking hate that shit; why would I be holding it?" April protested.

Sarah was glad when April finally got out of the car.

"I mean, fuck! I told them the fucking weed was mine; why would I lie about that other shit?" April was still muttering when she closed the car door.

It was too late for Sarah to go to her last class for the day, so she simply followed April to their apartment.

When she let herself in, April was sitting on the couch, crying again.

"And if that ain't fucked up enough, get this shit!" April screamed angrily. "Fucking ass hole Gilbert just fired me! Said he don't need no fucking dope heads there!"

"Oh no," Sarah moaned.

Rent was due in two days; she had enough money to pay the rent in full, if she had to, but that would leave very little for utilities or food or other expenses.

"I still got another paycheck coming," April quickly said, sensing Sarah's concerns.

"And then what?" Sarah asked herself, lugging her books to her bedroom.

"Aw fuck! Them mother fuckers!" she heard April yell out.

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Fuck! They took my weed!" April complained, rifling through her purse.

"Um, no kidding?" Sarah asked sarcastically.

"Man if I ever needed that shit before..." April muttered angrily as she stomped into her bedroom.

She must have had a stash somewhere because a moment later, Sarah smelled the sickly sweet smell of marijuana. She firmly shut her door and booted her computer.

Sarah sent notes to the Teacher's Aides of the three classes she'd missed that day. Two of the Aides must have been on their computers; she had that day's lesson plans in her In Box within moments. An hour later, the third Aide responded with a very snotty message that Professor Begnaud was not interested in her personal problems; if she didn't know better than to attend the party of a fraternity that was under investigation, then Maybe College wasn't the place for her.

"God, what a sanctimonious bitch," Sarah muttered and rapidly typed out a new e-mail, letting the Aide know she had not been in attendance; her roommate had been.

"Get better friends/roommates," was the snide reply and Sarah forwarded both e-mail communications to Dr. Sims, the University's Dean and to Professor Owens, the head of the Liberal Arts Department.

Someone must have gotten the message; twenty minutes later she had the third lesson plan as well as an apology from Professor Begnaud herself.

Sarah quickly completed the assignments, looked at the computer's clock and realized she'd completely missed lunch. In just another hour, it would be their customary dinner time.

She opened the door and saw that April's door was open. Then she heard the shower and smiled to herself.

If she'd been in jail overnight, or over two nights as April had been, a shower is the first thing she would have done, rather than smoke a joint or two.

She went to the kitchen and looked into the pantry to see what they had.

"Can I have Potato soup and a tuna fish sandwich?" April tearfully asked, standing nude and still wet from her shower.

Just as fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy was Sarah's comfort food, Tuna salad sandwiches and cream of potato soup was April's . It was what she requested when she was sick, or depressed, or even happy.

"Of course," Sarah smiled.

"Thank you," April said and a few more tears slid down her face.

"It'll be all right," Sarah soothed.

"How, Sarah? Huh?" April asked, voice rising. "I'm a fucking high school drop out, no fucking skills, and now I've got a drug bust on my record! Who the fuck's going to hire me?"

Sarah did not have an answer so she opened the can of tuna fish and began preparing the salad.

"How you always get it just right?" April asked a moment later as Sarah used a fork to mash the mayonnaise and fish together.

"Just do it a little at a time," Sarah said, sprinkling the black pepper into the bowl.