From: man2man@netcom.com
Subject: The Bike Ride  (mm)
Date: Sat, 13 May 1995 14:53:52 GMT

The Bike Ride

I never thought anything like this would happen to me... I ride my racing
bike up and down the bike path between Marina Del Rey and Manhatten Beach.
It's not the prettiest stretch, especially near the El Segundo refineries,
but it's usually the least crowded and the best for serious speed
training. I also ride down there because there are almost no pedestrians
or roller skaters to get in my way. Whenever I encounter a skater, I'll
usually just blast past them and be done with them. Today, however, was
different. 

I was riding along at a good clip when this guy on roller blades whizzed
past me. He was hunched over like a speed skater, tearing up the path! My
biker's pride was seriously injured; how dare a SKATER go faster than me!
I downshifted and turned on the juice, my muscular thighs pumping
furiously to pick up speed. I couldn't over take this speed demon, but I
did manage to catch up to him. I was trailing behind him, riding as hard
as I could, but this guy was not letting up. 

He was blonde, about 5'10", with chisled, tight legs. He was wearing skin
tight running pants, and since he was bent over as he skated, I could see
every detail of his rock hard ass and the huge bulge between his legs
where apple-sized nuts pushed out at the fabric. Finally, he slowed at the
bridge between Playa and the Marina stands, and he stopped to catch his
breath. I slowed a bit, trying to get a better look at this stud. I got
off my bike and leaned it up against the rail near where he stood watching
the boats. 

Pretending to check my tire pressure, I checked him out. Those were
unquestionably the tightest, thinnest excercise pants I'd ever scene.
There was little left to the imagination, and I was aware that my
hardening dick would be easily visible through my own tight biker pants.
Wishing to avoid the embarrassment of this dude spotting my hard on, I
started to saddle up to ride away. 

Just then, he pulled off his pilot-style sunglasses and we made eye
contact. He smiled. "Killer day, huh?" I said it was, glad that my
sunglasses were still in place so he wouldn't be able to see where my eyes
were focused. He licked his lips and eyed the water bottle on my bike. 

"Don't suppose I could steal a slug of water from that thing." Sure, I
told him. I tossed him the bottle, which he caught witha muscular forearm.
He pulled open the tab and hoisted the bottle above his open mouth.
Squeezing the bottle, he squirt the water in his mouth, with some of it
streaming out the corners of his lips and on to his sweat drenched
T-shirt. (I can't describle how sexy this was--I imagined the excess water
was my cum, dribbling down his face and onto his athlete's body .... 

I remarked to Scott (that was his name, I learned) that he seemed to be
working really hard, hardly out for a Saturday afternoon pleasure skate.
He smiled and told me he was cross training -- his primary sport was
running. Judging from his lean, hard body which carried not an ounce of
extra fat, I believed him. 

He handed my water bottle back and said what he really wanted was a
protein shake, a special blender drink that he makes after each workout. I
commented that a beer sounded a lot better. He laughed, and agreed that a
beer would indeed hit the spot. "My apartment is a couple of blocks from
here," he said casually. "I may have some brews chilling in the back of my
fridge. Want to check it out?" My dick stiffened at the offer, and when
Scott reached down and adjusted himself (he took hold of those tight grey
pants and pulled it out slightly, pulling the cloth momentarily away from
where it clung to his crotch) that didn't help my condition at all. 

I've only been with one other guy in my life and have been curious to
relive that experience ever since. Unfortunately, marriage and lack of
courage have prevented much experimentation. I'm always up for making new
friends, however, and Scott seemed to be extremely friendly, so I took him
up on the offer. I followed him on my bike as he skated down the sidewalk
to his apartment. It was on the second floor, a large single room with a
small kitchen. 

Half the room was taken up by a soloflex-type weight machine, the other
with a futon. The walls were covered with framed photographs of
architecture and sunsets. I later found out that Scott was a location
scout who made his living with his camera. We walked in to the apartment
and Scott immediately pulled his shirt off. "Man, that was some work out!"
he said. I got my first look at his essentially hairless chest. It was
smooth and flat, with a chisled indentation between his small, hard
nipples. His stomach was the kind we all work toward but few achieve. My
meat was embarrassing ly noticeable; I have eight inches, thicker than I
can grasp with one hand (which is exactly what I wanted to do to it right
then!) and the tip was practically pushing its way out of my lycra cycling
shorts. 

I untucked my tank top, hoping that the bottom of the shirt would provide
me with some cover. I checked out his photos while he went for the beers.
"Make yourself at home," he called. I'm just gonna change out of these
pants. I was disappointed; those skintight shorts are what first brought
his assets to my attention! But when he came out of the bathroom wearing a
pair of loose fitting running shorts (and nothing else), my heart started
racing. Was it possible that he wasn't wearing anything underneath those
flimsy little shorts? 

He handed me my beer and motioned for me to sit down on the futon. He took
a seat on the soloflex bench and raised the beer to his lips. As he
savored the taste of the ice cold Coors, my eyes drifted down to his lap.
His legs stradled the bench, and just barely visible out of the side of
his shorts was a pink, semi-circumsized cock head. It was an effort to
hold up my part of our conversation with my eyes straining to see more of
that enticing cock head creeping out of Scott's shorts, but I did my best.
We had a lot in common; we were both from out of state, we both grew up
around horses, and we both had professional dreams which were, as yet,
unfulfilled. I told Scott I wanted to write a novel before I turned
thirty. 

He smiled and told me his secret ambition was to sell some of his art
work. I looked around at the walls, which were covered with photographs
Scott had taken. "You mean, like drawings?" I asked, still aware that his
one-eyed love snake was staring at me from between his legs. "Yeah," he
said. He said he didn't keep them on the walls because his sketches were
very personal, and that when they were ready, only then would he let
people have a look at them. I told him I was a big art fan, and that
someday I would love to see his stuff. His interest piqued, and he asked
me some questions about art, almost as if he were testing me to see if I
was being truthful. 

I must have passed, because he leaned back on the soloflex bench, his
sinewy body rippling as he moved. "Would you like to see my books?" he
asked. I told him I would, and I watched him walk across the room to a
closet. He opened the door and bent over to pull some books off the floor.
As he leaned over, I got a beautiful view of his perfect butt; those
cheeks were works of art even covered by shorts. I could see wisps of his
blonde pubes and a glimpse of his ballsack under the shorts as the fabric
creeped up his ass crack. 

While his back was turned, I rubbed my dick, which hardened even more with
my touch. I was beginning to worry I wouldn't be able to ride my bike home
because my throbbing cock would snap in half! I'd never felt such animal
desire for a man before, and knew I better leave soon... Scott walked over
to the futon with two large photo albums full of sketches. The first book
was fascinating; it contained rough pencil drawings of hands, feet, faces,
ears, mouths... Extremely detailed close ups, as if Scott had spent hours
studying the minutia of the human body. 

They were very good, and I told him so. He blushed, pleased by the
compliment. "I'm fascinated by the human body," he told me. That seemed
evident, I replied. He laughed, then took the book back. I asked him what
was in the second book. "Some figure drawings," he said with a shrug. "You
probably don't want to see these."\ I told him I did, and after a moment's
hesitation, he handed me the book. As he sat next to me, I positioned the
book on my lap so that he wouldn't be able to see my raging hard on. Thank
god I did, because my dick sprang to full attention when I saw what these
sketches were of; human bodies, male and female, nude. The first few
photos were not erotic; just muscular backs, firm and supple women's
breasts, a man and woman touching one another. They were beautiful. 

But as I continued to turn the pages, the sketches got increasingly hot. A
sultry woman fingering her pussy. A hunky man lying on his stomach,
seemingly arching his butt in the air. And one final shot, a full frontal
nude sketch of a tightly muscled blonde athlete sporting a fully erect
dick, which protruded from the side of his jockstrap. All the other
sketches were of people I'd never seen before, but there was no mistaking
the model for this picture; it was Scott! 

I looked at this stud who sat next to me and he smiled. Yes, he said, that
was a self-portrait. He didn't seem at all embarrassed, not even when I
looked down at his shorts and saw that same beautiful cock, stiff as a
cucumber, fully emerged out of his shorts, straining to be free from where
his shorts pinned it against his rock hard thigh. I gulped. I looked back
at the sketch; his cock seemed smaller in the sketch. I looked back at the
real thing, not sure what to say. "I know what you're thinking," he
grinned. "Why is it smaller in the sketch." Yes, I told him, unable to say
more. 

"Well, you know the importance of proportion in certain forms of art. If
I'd drawn it to scale, it would have looked ... " now a bit of
embarrassment crept across his perfect features, "... well, it would have
looked unnatural." He took the book away from me, and there was no hiding
my boner now. It was as visible through my cycling shorts as Scott's dick
was against his leg. 

"Would you like to see what it looks like full size?" he asked me. I wet
my lips unconsciously, and nodded my head. Scott rose with difficulty,
adjust his sword so that he could walk. He closed the blinds which looked
out on the ocean, then turned to face me. He undid the draw string on his
shorts, losened the waistband so that it would get around his meat, then
dropped the shorts to the ground. Scott stood before me, completely nude.
I can still see every inch of him in my mind. That straight blonde hair,
those blue eyes, the chisled features, his slim, cut torso rippling with
muscles, his flat hard stomach, and this...this beautiful cut peice of
meat. 

It was the biggest cock I've ever scene except in some magazines.... It
was at least two inches bigger than my own throbbing dick. I have a
thicker sword, but his was at least nine inches, slender and hard, just
like the rest of him. It was angled upward, and the pink mushroomed tip
was pointing right at me, as if accusing me of the raw lust I was feeling.
Scott fluffed his blonde pubes at looked at me invitingly. 

"Would you like to touch it?" I was paralyzed. "I can't," I stammered.
"I'm married, man. I've never cheated, not even with a woman. And
certainly not a man." Scott smiled reassuringly. "This isn't sex. This is
art. Like in my sketches." I laughed nervously. "I'm afraid I'm not much
of an artist. Just an art lover." Scott was not to be deterred. He glanced
down, and I realized I had started stroking my meat through my lycra bike
shorts. I took my hand away, embarrassed. "I'm a really good teacher,"
said Scott. 

"How would you like an art lesson?" Before I could answer, he grabbed a
sketch pad and a pencil and handed them to me. "First lesson: Sketch my
cock." My heart was pounding, and I thought I was going to explode if I
didn't get out of this stud's apartment and back on the bike path where I
belonged. I didn't move. "The first thing you need to do," he said, taking
my hand, "is to study the general shape of an object." He placed my hands
on his stiff prick. It felt warm and smooth to my touch, a bit sticky from
the dried sweat that had run down on it from his balls during his skating.
It was so hard... "Start at the base, where my balls are. Grasp it with
your fist. Get a feel for its thickness, feel the shaft." I did as I was
told, unable to speak. "See how it angles up... look at the angle. Run
your hands up along the shaft. Feel how long my cock is." 

"It's very long," I mumbled. "Yes," he said softly. He put his hands on
his ass cheeks, arching his pelvis toward me. "Get a feel for my cock." I
sat there, eye level with his meat, both my hands exploring that
magnificient shaft. This was unreal, it seemed like time had stopped. Then
Scott took hold of my fingers and placed them gently on his cock head.
"Feel the head. Feel how the rim sticks out over the shaft. Feel my piss
hole, how it points down to the underside of my cockhead. Notice how
smooth the cock head is... smoother than the shaft." "Yes," was all I
could say. After a brief moment, Scott pulled away from me and leaned back
on the bench of the soloflex machine. He adjusted that magnificent cock so
that it stood out by itself. He was flexing it! His abs tightened up, and
his nipples were hard. 

He was posing for me. "Now..." he said soothingly, as if trying not to
break the surreal spell in the room, "Sketch my cock." I grabbed the
sketch pad and, eyes riveted to Scott's dick, furiously sketched with the
pencil. I was amazed at the details I remembered from touch and could see
across the small room. My sketch wasn't bad. I even drew his balls and the
wisps of hair covering them. I handed Scott the sketch of this disembodied
cock. He smiled. "Very nice. But you forgot something. You missed a
detail." 

"What?" I asked. (Again, I realized I was stroking my hard on through my
pant.) Scott took the pencil from me, erased a bit, then drew some shading
and showed me the picture. I couldn't notice the difference., "What did
you do?" I asked, the curiosity burning within me. Scott smiled and
pointed to the tip of the cock sketch. He had somehow managed to make it
look like it was glistening. "Pre-cum drops," he smiled, pointing to the
moist tip of his dick. Before I could say more, he stood up and walk
toward me. "Now," he said, "it's time for me to sketch you."