The Bicycle Ride

This deserves an introduction,

Guilt or regret would be the wrong terms. It's more like being bewildered by a series of events that for me are totally out of character and rocked my world.

I consider myself a conservative woman in a conventional monogamous relationship, and although I am not overly religious I do believe that I had a strong moral upbringing and do abide by my Christian values.

Other than a few boyfriends in college, once I met Paul and we married, I have lived quite a conventional life, I am happy, and I am happy with our relationship even if our sex life has sunk into what you might consider a routine.

I always felt that Paul's needs mirrored mine and he never manifested any sexual interests past the life we led. He's shy, keeps to himself, has a limited social circle, and spends an inordinate time online, both at work and in his den at home.

A bit about me.

When I hit fifty I began to notice changes, not limited to my body, but also affecting my mind and my emotional well-being.

Seeing that my yearly medical was due, I took the opportunity to bring it up with my gynecologist. We talked about it, she examined me, she ran some blood tests and I was found to have "plunging hormone levels " so by her suggestion I started a hormone enhancement program, with the intent of avoiding some of the side effects of aging.

I did slowly notice some positive changes and my inquisitive nature led me to do a Google search on the drugs that she prescribed, finding that they were a combination of female hormones to minimize symptoms like night sweats, insomnia, dryness, but also male hormones that were meant to help with strength and avoid additional loss of muscle mass.

What I wasn't aware of, was the effect of these hormones on my psyche.

I began to have moments when I would wonder if!

If, I had got married too young.

If, I should had dated a broader circle of men.

If, I should have lived out scenarios I have only read about or heard from the mouth of some trusted friends.

These questions remained unanswered.

One curse of aging, not addressed by hormone replacement was weight gain. A steady, relentless deposition of fat, mostly lodging in my breasts and buttocks.

Paul innocently tries to allay my frustration, tells me that I am beautiful, that I should be proud, and that I have a great body, but invariably he follows that praise with a "For your age" comment.

When younger I exercised, I was never an endorphin addict but I did participate in some half marathons, and I continued to be active through my forties, More recently I have let up because my shins began bothering me, making the running, and even less, impact prone activities like jogging a thing of the past.

As much as I love to swim it is logistically more difficult, so I found a possible answer in cycling, and the articles I read convinced me that I should consider an E-bike.

Paul did the homework, and he chose what he felt was the most appropriate bike for me, but between being a popular item and pandemic related supply issues we ended up on a waiting list.

It took almost three months for the order to come in but a few weeks later I got the call,

"Your new bike is here and ready for delivery"

So I borrowed Paul's Tundra and drove to Houston to pick up my new toy. A candy apple red, top-of-the-line E-bike Paul had given me as a gift.

I sauntered into the shop and I was greeted by a receptionist who confirmed that my new toy has been waiting for pick up and that I needed to allot a couple of hours for measuring, adjustment, as well as safety and operation instructions.

"Your technician will be George, he will walk you through the process" I was told.

As I sat in the reception area, I saw an older guy working on a bike and a younger guy that seemed to be an apprentice.

Suddenly a very tall, young, dark gentleman approached me and introduced himself.

"Hello, miss Anna, I am George, your trainer" and I was floored!

Way over six feet tall, strong, chiseled looks, and truly handsome.

There are dark guys, black guys, and guys that seem to be made of obsidian. The latter was his case.

This was meant to be an instructional course, yet this guy's physique and demeanor hit me like a wall of bricks, and I knew I would be distracted.

He began his instructions by giving me the song and dance about the product but soon did move on to give me useful information about the functions and controls.

"I need to adjust the height of the seat and the handlebars," he told me,

Then pausing he followed by,

"That skirt is a bit inappropriate for this, did you bring some shorts"

At that point, I realized that in my rush I had come unprepared. I needed some attire anyway so I went to their garment section and hurriedly grabbed the most appropriate items I came across.

I picked out a tight, mid-thigh pair of shorts and a rather large, loose, tie-dye tee shirt I could knot around my waist.

Now decked out in my new skins I stood to be fitted.

He brought out some kind of Laser contraption on a tripod, stood me against a wall about ten feet away, and focused it on my crotch. As I looked down I realized that the shorts fit me as I had been poured into them, they molded to my mound and folds and showcased quite a cameltoe.

He was staring and I was blushing, but still saw this as an inevitable part of the process.

He complimented me a lot and I felt he showered me with an inordinate amount of attention, he was an ego booster.

He then ended his spiel with the,

"If you need any more help, please call me" line, as he handed me his card.

I decided to wear my shorts home, I walked the bike to the truck and he helped me load this heavy thing into the bed, and then turned to me and said,

"We have a cycling group that rides every Saturday. If you would care to join us, we will be going to Brazos Bend Park next Saturday. If you are interested let me know"

As I clicked my seat belt I noticed a moist patch on my shorts and thought,

"Oh no"

The forty-five-minute drive back home gave me some alone time to sort out the conflicting thoughts in my head.

I said to myself, "I am happy, I am married and I have a satisfactory sex life.

I am madly in love with my husband and I would never hurt him."

Having said that: why do I feel this heaviness in my tummy and why do I need to sneak these wet shorts into the washer before my husband notices?

The following week was less than typical, both work and rest were interrupted by images concocted in my mind. I knew nothing about this guy except that he seemed interested and that I found him disturbingly attractive in a feral sense.

As the weekend approached I had to make a decision and deal with a couple of issues.

Problem number one, My husband.

Well, not an insurmountable problem. He is proud that I am making an effort to shed weight, and I had told him well ahead that I would be going to the ride and I had in passing mentioned that the instructor was a Nigerian.

Problem number two is major, it's about managing my feelings.

It was clear that there was a lot more drawing me to the Saturday ride than simply the exercise.

I consider myself a sensible, conservative woman, not one prone to spur-of-the-moment decisions and much less by hormone-driven ones.

I also realized that I might be misinterpreting his attitude setting myself up for a fall.

I hoped not, but, you never know, but once I made my decision I texted him and confirmed I would meet the group at nine.

Friday night I slept like a baby, but I was aware that I had had some sensual dreams. I awoke well-rested, and my motor was already humming.

I showered, paused, thought about it, and washed thoroughly again. I dried till I was pink and then stood in front of my mirror and assessed myself.

I have been told I have a beautiful face, My breasts are full but still firm. My belly is smooth and I have a well-defined waist and what my husband calls "Female hips". I have strong thighs and calves, most likely from my dancing years.

"I look good for fifty," I thought, yet wondered if this young stud would agree.

I had trimmed my bush a bit the night before, so I braided my hair, put on some very light makeup, and applied a bit of my favorite musk to my neck, under my breasts, and on that soft skin on the inside of my thighs.

I was ready, ready for the ride and ready for more.

Then it was a matter of donning my new biking outfit, a fanny pack, loading some water, and sunscreen, and was on my way.

The drive gave me time to think this over for the last time, to make the final decision It was now or never, I had time to bail!.

My dichotomy kicked in, I was getting conflictive messages. My rational side said

"Turn around, go home, it was a fun fantasy "

The feeling in my loins said, "Do it"

Yet the feral side overwhelmed my common sense.

While filling my gas tank at the truck stop, I thought, "You should cover all your bases," and in the women's bathroom found a vending machine that supplied both condoms and lube. I snuck these into my fanny pack, and now committed I drove on.

I arrived to find my trainer waiting for me but no one else.

"Sorry, I must have mistaken the departure time but it's alright, we might be able to catch up with them," he said.

And away we were, him in a comfortable stride, and me struggling with a heavy bike I had not ridden before.

We must have interrupted our ride three times to adjust the seat height, to coach me on how to navigate an irregular terrain, but you didn't have to be very perceptive to know that there was a strong sexual undertone and we were both flirting big-time.

We had not cycled that far when I felt the need to stop.

Blushing I told him,

"I am not sure if I can go much further, the seat is making me sore down there"

He laughed and replied with a smirk,

"That is something we don't want, we should give her a break"

He was standing in front of me with a look on his face that left no doubts that we had a common goal. I felt it was time to come clean about my feelings.

"Why don't we go back and have a cup of coffee and have a conversation" I suggested, and soon we were headed back to the Sugarland Mall, a coffee shop called La Madeleine.

With some croissants and lattes in hand, we sat and began to chat, and before long we into a heavy conversation. Soon after I opened up.

"I find you very attractive." I blurted.

"I find you hot, and I was hoping you would join me today. Quite frankly this was a setup, there is no bicycling group"

That was devious I thought but him telling me his intentions, led to a fullness in my tummy and I felt a warmth spreading through my pelvis.

This hot young male lied just to meet me, but far from offended, I was aroused.

"My place isn't far" he blurted and soon I was back in my truck following him to his apartment.

I am going to digress a bit,

Find a guy who cycles fifty to a hundred miles a week and you have found one who can slide in and out of you for a couple of hours without breaking a sweat.

Before long we were making out on his sofa and I could feel his hardness pushing through his shorts as we kissed. He has thick lips and a thick tongue. Feeling his tongue twirling in my mouth gave me shivers as I imagined him giving my pussy the same attention.

The T-shirt gave away and he worked his lips down my neck, my shoulders towards my breasts.

A nibble on my nipple startled me because after my breast lift they are extremely sensitive.

"Suckle me instead," I said as I took one breast in both hands and proffered her to him and he treated me to a nice kneading, as he sucked and lapped at my nipples.

My nipples are not only sensitive but they would seem to have been designed with a nerve pathway connecting them to my loins, I could feel myself pulsating against my shorts, and I desperately needed them off.

I began to lower them, he assisted me and as they broke free I was left spread and exposed.

I do not shave and there was no way for him to suspect that, so I was curious about his reaction.

Any doubts I might have had were allayed by the look on his face.

"My God that looks beautiful" he said as his fingers spread my lips and he got his first view of my pulsating core.

I wanted him to feast on me, but he began a tease. He breathed and nibbled on that soft sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs. I knew I was swollen, that my lips were gaping and I could feel my juices running out. He avoided my pussy until I couldn't stand it any longer.

I took his face in my hands and guided him into me.

I was not disappointed, that thick tongue twirled and churned inside me the way I love.

I soon lost it, I was so worked up that I peaked, every sphincter let loose and I came in one throbbing mess.

By now I needed him inside me, but social niceties were such that I was going to return his oral favors. I knelt and began to slide his shorts down as he took off his Jersey.

He has an incredible body, defined muscles, great pecs, and a six-pack to die for. I had seen his legs earlier, strong cyclist legs.

And as I peeled them down, an awesome sight unfolded. A very large, thick dark shaft sprung from his shorts. Curving towards his belly button, beating as if it had a life of its own.

God blessed him physically, mmmmm he is large and thick, it looked intimidating.

He was uncircumcised to boot, which is something I had never encountered. Fascinated by this I gripped him, squeezed his hardness, and peeled down his foreskin exposing a shiny plum colored and sized head, coated with pre cum.

I licked him, my tongue went out to savor that salty taste. I tried to wrap my lips around him but he was way too thick, so I continued to kiss him and lick him until I couldn't stand the anticipation.

I rolled on my back, spread widely, and beckoned him.

I nodded toward my fanny pack and hoarsely said,

"Pass me a condom." The lube I was sure I wouldn't need, I was gaping and moist.

I digress again.

Here I lie, on my back, at his mercy.

As I looked down I was awed. My pale belly and pale thighs contrast with his obsidian black skin. My pink lips contrast with his purple knob.

This was the first time, not only of having sex outside my marriage but with a tall, strong, black guy, half my age.

He handed me the condom and I tore the package open with my teeth and leaned over him.

I began to roll the rubber on his head and found it difficult.

I lubricated his knob with some of my juices, tried to unravel it and the next I knew I tore it.

We just looked at each other floored,

"If I had suspected this I would have brought some Magnums, but I didn't!"

There was no going back and I simply just assented.

I leaned back and he crawled above me, the difference with his six-foot-plus height now less critical.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, lifted my thighs and wrapped them around his waist, looked into his eyes, and waited. I was ready, vulnerable, and accessible.

I could feel my heartbeat in my loins, my pussy was spread like a Calla Lilly, and my clitoris was engorged and sensitive, I don't remember when I was this aroused before.

He slid his shaft between my lips, coating himself with my moisture.

We began to kiss again, his tongue twirling in my mouth, I didn't want him to stop but my pussy begged for attention.

But when he did stop he said,

"It's time for you to be bred."

That comment set off an explosion in my mind, it tripped some primitive mating call and I felt I melted and began flowing as he lifted himself, changed his angle, and his tip lodged at my entrance. I shifted, and he pushed deliciously sliding into me, bumped my cervix, lodged behind it, and in one swift stroke had found the spot that makes me beg and moan.

I hugged him tightly as I opened as far as my hips would give.

He was gentle yet relentless and we found a rhythm that suited both of us.

I felt an increasing congestion, a fullness in my pelvis that made me beg and moan and as I reached the top of this rollercoaster I shook uncontrollably peaked and was now plunging into a free fall. I was pressing him to me as I squeezed that beautiful shaft with my vagina, and then exploded, soiling his sheets with a torrent of juices.

I had not quite caught my breath when he lifted me, he rolled me face down and placed a pillow under my hips.

I am not sure if I mentioned this but I have put on some pounds and a good amount on my behind.

"Us Nigerians love a butt" he said as he spread my cheeks and wetly entered my vagina from behind.

In this position, he reached even deeper, to folds and creases seldom reached, and soon had me in tears. Mind you, not from pain but pleasure.

I can't recall the ways we used each other, we could have written another chapter of the Kama Sutra.

We only played for a couple of hours, but what an experience it was.

Twice I felt him peak and used my Kegels to milk him, and as he emptied himself inside me I found him saying,

"I want my seed in your married pussy," which gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction and led to yet another explosive orgasm.

As I lie on my side, feeling that I had been invaded, stretched, and seeded I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. I ran my hand down and felt that my bush was matted and my fingers came out coated with cum. I licked my fingers and couldn't help but smile and "Uhmmmm"

It was our post-coital conversation that dwelled on him being a postgraduate student from Nigeria who has a passion for cycling and works at it for pocket money. About being single in a new city and the difficulty of finding suitable dates.

I had no experience playing with black guys, while he confessed to having a fetish for white women and that this was not the first time he had owned one.

The time to leave arrived, and we both decided that this deserved an encore, we kissed and hugged, and he helped me put on my shorts which by the time I got home would be completely starched.

He walked me to the truck, we hugged, we kissed and he then told me:

"I see it in your eyes, you want more, and you will be coming back. I own you and that pussy is mine."

He had marked his territory and yes, I knew this was true, and told him so as I loaded my butt in the truck and texted Paul to report my ETA.

Driving home gave me again time to think, and reminisce on how intensely erotic the experience had been.

Once home I hugged Paul, and told him that the ride had been a good workout, that the group was very friendly, and that I should do this often.

I snuck into the bathroom, undressed, and showered to erase at least any external evidence of my misbehaving. The next few days I remained swollen, stretched, and pleasantly sore, so I avoided anything that could lead to sex.

Then came a conflicting week, the battle within my mind.

My rational side told me "This was an unbelievable experience but I should quit while I am ahead."

My animal side said to me,

"You were treated to the most intense sexual experience of your life. Do you really want to quit"?

The situation became a bit more complicated because as I hinted that I would like to join the cycling group, Paul suggested that I find a group closer to home so as to not steal that many hours on Saturdays.

The next weekend found me driving to Houston after promising Paul that I would search for another cycling group as soon as possible.

This time I drove directly to his house and the only I can describe the encounter is that we indulged in every sex act ever described and then a few more.

Once satiated and after a brief rest. I showered at his place. As much as I wanted to keep his seed inside me I needed to hide any external evidence of what I had been up to.