So often we hear or use the phrase “bike porn,” (or “bike pron” for those wishing to mask their digital tracks) when talking about bikes we are lusting after. So, the other day while on the trainer, I started wondering what might happen if you crossed a story that one (might) find in a smut mag with a story about riding bikes. It seemed like it would be easy and sort of a goof to do, so I did a little Googling, followed by a bit of history deleting, and found a site that, (surprisingly) I had never been on before. The site had a ton of reprinted (so NOT MTBR) Forum stories that I think were featured in a that one mag that refers to their centerfolds as “pets” (please ignore that little dose of misogyny, thanks).
At first, the experiment was proving difficult, I mean some of the stories were freaking over the top! But after perusing a few, I found one that would work well enough and have shared my “new” version below. For the record I straight up plagiarized this story written by T.P. From Austin, Texas (no, I am not going to link you to the original and I don’t really care about the plagiarizing since Mr. T.P. didn’t even give his really freaking name). The red text is the text that I swapped or added to make this all happen.
Bike Mags, My Wife & Kevin
A little over two months ago, I stumbled onto something that would change my life forever. It was late at night and I was taking the trash out to the dumpster in the back alley when I tripped over a neatly stacked and tied bundle of cycling magazines. I quickly confiscated the dozen or so magazines and took them to my garage for further investigation. I glanced through them just long enough to get a major ride stoke on before returning to my unsuspecting wife. Our bikes both enjoyed the benefits of the the how-to articles I’d read that night, and over the next few days, I spent more and more time in the garage.
The articles that intrigued me most were about women who rode without their husbands with their husbands’ complete consent. They aroused something in me that I’d never known was there. Since my wife never rode until we were married, I knew that she had never experienced the joy of cycling with anyone else, and until now, I had never given it a second thought. Some of those articles raised thoughts and questions in me, though, like whether she would like riding bikes with others and how I would react if that happened. I was determined to find some answers.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, before, during or after rides, I would ask my wife questions pertaining to her future riding plans, trying to find a way to bring up going on a group ride without offending her. Then one night, out of the blue, she surprised me with a question of her own. She started out by telling me that she loved me, then asked, “Honey, what would you say if I told you that I wanted to ride my bike with others?”
I was thrilled with the thought, but needing to act like I was maybe too macho for that, I asked, “Where did you ever get an idea like that?”
She chuckled as she admitted she had found my stash of magazines, which had answered some of her questions regarding my recent behavior. Well, that broke the ice, and we talked about it well into the night. I explained to her my feelings about wanting her to experience riding with others since I’d rode with several groups before her. She wasn’t terribly interested in what I was proposing at first, but eventually she admitted that it could be fun. When we finished talking, we washed the bikes real good, and I secretly vowed not to give up my quest to get her riding with others.
The next evening, I started to work on it again, trying to get the kinks out of my plan. Right off the bat I ran into a snag. My wife was determined to only ride with someone we knew, while I was holding out for a group ride with strangers. We were at an impasse for several days, and then I got a call from a childhood friend who I hadn’t seen in years.
She explained that he’d pulled out his stiff aluminum hard tail, left the bike shop, got on his bike and rode off in the glare of the sun.
Kevin had joined the Army when we were 19, and this was the first time he was coming back home for a visit. He’d mostly be visiting family who were still in the area, but he thought it would be fun if we went for a ride we had when we were younger. I reminded him I’d gotten married since he left and told him I’d like to bring my wife along. I was aware that she and Kevin talked about riding bikes a couple of times when we were all teenagers, and I thought there was a chance that she may be interested in us going on a ride with him now.
When I told my wife about Kevin’s phone call, she recounted the last time she saw him for me, a few months before he left town. He’d taken her to a bike race and, afterwards, to the local bike shop. He’d spent most of the day trying to get her to buy a bike and start cycling, with her brushing him off. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in getting a bike or riding with him, she said, but she wanted to wait until she found the right bike and riding buddy. Instead, she said, she told him to take care of himself, and he did, in grand fashion by going for a long ride. She explained that he’d pulled out his stiff aluminum hard tail, left the bike shop, got on his bike and rode off in the glare of the sun. She told me it was like it happened in slow motion, and she’d watched each pedal stroke until he was out of site. “And then it was over,” she said. “I never saw him again.” My mind was racing. “Would you ride with him now?” I asked.
She took a minute to think. She said that the night of the incident she’d described, she had wished that she’d gone riding with him. “So would you go riding with him now?” I asked again. She didn’t answer, but when she took my hand in hers and nodded her head, I knew the deal was sealed. I reached out and hugged her close. I knew she was going to enjoy riding with me and Kevin.
There is way, WAY more to this story, but it started to be a bit much and I started feeling a tad strange being on that site for so long and not doing anything but copying and pasting [is THAT what they call it these days? OHHH!], so I am just going to end the story here. You’ll just have to use your imagination (“fantasize” if you will) about the ending.
Time to go double check that I deleted today’s history on my Mac before my boy comes home.