The Cyclist. - The story so far. (Including missing chapter and finally a kissing scene)
I was out on a bike ride and stopped at a bridge to have a quick ten-minute rest, grabbing a bite to eat and a drink to get my energy back up. I’d been out for two hours of non-stop cycling.
It was only as I packed up that a young twenty-something came by and took a seat on the bench. He nodded in acknowledgment, but rather than just nodding back, I spoke to him.
“Hi.” I kept it short and sweet, not knowing what else to say. “You alright?” I asked.
Nothing. I wasn't sure whether he’d heard me, but I knew I was loud enough—he was less than three meters away. All I got in response was the familiar sound of a notification chime as he stared down at his phone.
I hooked my backpack over my shoulders and swung a leg over my bike.
“Catch you later,” the lad said.
I nodded and smiled. “See you around.”
I stayed put for a second, my right foot resting on the pedal.
“If you're around sometime, fancy riding together?” I asked.
He looked at me, skeptical at first, then nodded in appreciation. “Sure, could be fun,” he responded.
After he gave me his number and I shot him a quick text, I finally made my way back out for another three hours.
I managed to get home before checking my phone. No messages. Damn, I thought, looking down at my screen. It was pushing seven in the evening, so I made myself a healthy dinner of chicken, salad greens, and lentils.
As I sat down, my phone buzzed.
I picked it up from the table as I began to eat, finding a text from the guy at the bridge.
‘Hey, it's Cal,’ it started. ‘Hope it's ok to text you. Are you cycling tomorrow?’
I responded, letting him know I was heading out on the same route as today, and that if he wanted, he could meet me at the bridge again.
'Great, I'll be there,’ Cal replied.
-
The next day came, and I texted Cal to let him know I was heading out on the bike and would be at the bridge in roughly two hours.
‘Bike got pinched last night, gonna run it instead. I may be late,’ his text came back.
?Not good. I drafted a reply: ‘If you want, we can go running. I can cycle to you and we can run together from yours?’ I hesitated, unsure whether I actually wanted to send it.
Right after deciding against it, my thumb accidentally hit the send button instead of delete. I couldn't take it back.
‘I mean, sure. But how far are you? I'm near Ashley Field Hospital,’ he messaged.
I knew where that was. I pulled on my lycra and packed a backpack with my running gear, food, and water.
I called him up, and the line rang five times before he answered.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hey Cal, I'm near the hospital too, so I'm on my way now. What's the address? I'll be there in about half an hour.”
He gave me his address, mentioning he was eating first but should be ready by the time I arrived.
We said our goodbyes and I set off.
I reached the address. The neighborhood was on the rougher side, but his house was kept in as good shape as it could be.
I knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal him standing there, completely topless.
“Sorry, I guess it didn't take me half an hour like I thought,” I said, a smile breaking out as I took in his lean figure.
My eyes soaked in the sight before me—piercing blue eyes, a smile showing off bright white teeth, a smooth chest with slightly prominent nipples, and further down, under defined abs a trail of dark fur reaching from beneath Cal's navel and straight into the waistband of his underwear that hugged the low v-line of his shorts.
“Sorry I'm early,” I added. “Is there anywhere I can change?”
“I would say pop your bike in the back, but sadly my bike was in the shed when they got in,” he responded. “You can leave it in the house, though. Upstairs maybe, so it's not on show. Bedrooms are up there too if you want to go ahead and change.”
I thanked him as he moved aside, opening the door wider.
I managed to haul my bike upstairs and into a bedroom. Before I could even look around, the smell hit me first—the distinct scent of sweat and musky chlorine. A heat stirred in my gut, and I turned to leave as I felt myself hardening.
I knew I was in his bedroom and didn't want to change in there without his say-so.
I shouted downstairs to ask if the room was okay to use, but before he could answer, I heard him quickly climbing the stairs, telling me to hang fire.
He slipped into the room to do a quick tidy. I heard drawers opening and closing as clutter was tossed inside. Turning slightly, my eyes caught a pair of black boxers on the floor near the laundry basket—freshly worn and stained.
The impure thoughts hit me like a freight train. Images filled my imagination as I waited, my length pressing heavily against my shorts. The smell in the room was intoxicating.
"Erm, you can come in now," he told me, picking up the boxers from the floor and tossing them into the basket. "Sorry about the mess."
He looked down, catching the obvious bulge pressing against the front of my crotch, and smiled before locking eyes with me again.
"I, er... I'll leave you to get changed," he said.
"You can change here too if you want?" I offered, a flicker of hope surging through me as I walked past him and placed my bag on his bed.
-
As he got to the door to his bedroom, Cal stopped.
“Sure?” he questioned.
He turned and saw me nod, then made tracks to the opposite side of the bed.
With his back to me, I pulled off my lycra top and unzipped my shorts, folding them onto the corner of the bed next to my bag. By the time I stripped down completely, his shorts had already hit the floor.
My hands covered what dignity I had left, given that I was over-excited from earlier and desperately trying to hide it from the youngster.
“Damn,” I whispered under my breath, thinking it was quiet enough to pass unnoticed.
He turned, catching me dead-on as I took him in from behind. His smile widened. My face flushed a bright, burning pink.
“Sorry,” I muttered, looking away.
“It’s fine,” he said, letting out a soft laugh and giving me a wink. “You’re definitely not the first guy to check me out.”
I swallowed, the air in the room suddenly feeling a lot thicker. The words slipped out before my brain could filter them.
“So... you’re okay with guys looking at you like that?”
“Sure. In fact, I kinda like the attention I get,” Cal offered, his tone laced with flirtatious heat.
A smile slowly grew on my face. The initial embarrassment faded, replaced by something much bolder. I lifted my head, locking eyes with him again, taking in the way he looked at me.
“Well,” I said, holding his blue gaze, “you’re certainly giving me plenty to look at.”
He took in my naked form as I stood, unmoved, his eyes dropping lower to where my hands were placed.
“You're not so bad yourself—for an older lad,” Cal retorted smoothly, his smile widening.
“We should, erm… yeah,” I stammered. Words were struggling to escape my lips. He had caught me completely off guard. Did he really just say that?
“How old are you, anyway?” he asked.
“Forty,” I said.
“Twenty-six,” he replied with a slight smirk. “I’m assuming you’re gay, then?”
I didn't nod, nor did I shake my head. Instead, I just shrugged. “Bi, maybe. I don't really know,” I answered, completely unsure of what label fit.
I just knew I had to have him.
“We should probably run before I act on impulse,” I said with a faint laugh, gesturing toward my kit.
“Sure thing,” he said, giving me another wink as he turned to grab his gear.
I reached down for my running shorts and pulled them up over my thighs and eventually rearranging the front through the tight fabric. Cal didn’t rush either; he took his time pulling on a fresh performance tee, the fabric stretching tight over his chest.
He moved close to me and reached for his trainers.
His shorts already on and showing what seems to be a good sized bulge, he bent over to tie his trainers. His shoulder brushed right against my hip and refused to pull away.
“Pace might be a bit quick today," Cal muttered from the floor, glancing up through his dark lashes with that same knowing smirk. "You reckon you can keep up?"
“Try me," I said, my voice dipping lower than intended.
-
We kept side by side as we ran. Twelve miles had gone by, and we were still running strong. Subtle glances were traded between us—each stealing a look when we thought the other wasn't paying attention.
Or so I thought.
“Want to stop here for a moment?” Cal asked between heavy breaths.
“Sure,” I responded. The sight of Cal standing in front of me in sweat-soaked gear was sending a fresh wave of heat straight to my gut. “I'll be back in a second.”
I stepped off the path to answer nature's call. When I looked up, I caught Cal gazing out over the view before letting his eyes drift deliberately down toward me.
“You alright down there, or do you need a hand?” he asked, giving me that same slow smile and a wink.
The mere thought of his hands on me did something fierce to my chest. I tried to fight the impulse, but I knew I was fighting a losing battle.
My length hardened right there, Cal's eyes locked onto me the entire time.
Once I finished, I tucked myself back into my shorts and climbed back up the embankment to rejoin him.
“This,” I said, gesturing down toward the prominent bulge in my shorts, “is entirely your doing.”
My confidence had surged, knowing now just how comfortable he was in his own skin—and around me.
Cal let out a light laugh, his eyes dropping back down to my crotch before snapping up to hold my gaze.
“My bad,” he smirked, not looking even slightly sorry.
We decided it was best to linger there for a while, giving me a chance to soften up a little before making a sprint back to Cal's place.
“Looks like we may have an audience,” I said.
A passing cyclist slowed to a halt nearby. His eyes lingered shamelessly on the prominent bulge in my shorts before he reached for his bottle to refuel.
He gave a brief wave. Cal and I waved back.
“Reckon we should head back?” I asked Cal under my breath.
Before Cal could answer, the stranger dismounted his bike and unzipped his gear right there in front of us. He didn't seem to have a care in the world. Standing on the opposite side of the trail, he released a long, steady stream of clear urine, taking his sweet time while we stood watching.
My cock strained hard against the fabric, still prominently erect. Cal was watching. I glanced over at him and caught him looking right back at me, his eyes full of mischief.
“Want a hand?” Cal called out to the now-finished stranger.
My jaw nearly dropped. I couldn't believe he’d just asked that so openly, out in the middle of nowhere. I had assumed he was mostly straight or just playing around with me, but watching him call out to another guy proved he was far wilder than I had bargained for.
-
The cyclist smirked. "Maybe next time, if you're around."
Cal and I exchanged a look, then watched as the guy remounted his bike, pedaled off, and eventually disappeared around the bend.
“Well... that was something," I breathed out.
We both burst out laughing, but before I could process it, Cal took off into a sudden sprint.
?It took me a second to realize he was racing me, but soon I was hot on his heels, slowly closing the distance between us. In those few seconds before I reached him, my focus drifted entirely to his arse and the rhythmic way it moved as he ran—until I took a brutal stumble.
“ARGH!" I cried out, hitting the ground hard. The pain was immediate and intense.
Cal halted instantly, turning on his heel and rushing back to my side.
“You alright?" he asked, checking me over before gently helping me to my feet.
My knee was heavily scratched and bleeding, and a sharp throb was shooting up my arm. Between my limp and the slow walk back, it took us far longer than expected to reach his house—the clock pushing half past eight by the time we finally stepped through the front door.
-
He led me through to the bathroom, switching on a single flickering bulb. The room was small and bare, containing just the essentials: a worn bar of soap, a half-empty bottle of cheap antiseptic, and a couple of mismatched towels hanging from a hook.
“Could you sit on the edge of the tub and I'll take a look at your injuries," Cal said gently.
I did as I was told, watching him drop down to his knees in front of me. The position put him right between my legs. Even with my knee throbbing, the sheer sight of him kneeling there—sweat-slicked, broad-shouldered, and focused entirely on me—sent a low thrum of heat straight back down to my gut.
He ran a soft cloth under warm water and began dabbing at the gravel tucked into my skin. His fingers were surprisingly tender, resting against my calf for support.
They were soft against my calf, the low thrum moved to my groin again despite the injuries and the pain.
“Sorry I don't have proper plasters," he muttered, looking up at me through his lashes. “Losing the bike was a proper kick in the teeth. I had to put what little cash I had left toward rent, so a first-aid kit wasn't exactly high on the shopping list."
“It's fine, really," I said understandably, wincing slightly as the water hit the scrape, but holding his gaze. "What do you do for work, Cal?"
“Shift work at a local warehouse," he answered, dabbing gently. "Zero-hours contract, so the money's all over the place. Some weeks I'm pulling forty hours, other weeks I'm struggling to cover the electric meter. What about you? You look like you've got your life together."
I let out a soft laugh, resting my hand on his shoulder as he worked—partly for balance, but mostly just to feel the warm muscle under his skin.
"I work in corporate management," I told him. "Stable hours, decent pay, but... it gets lonely. Long days sitting behind a desk, surrounded by people, but not really connecting with anyone."
Cal paused, his hand remaining steady on my thigh, his thumb making a slow, absentminded stroke against my skin. His blue eyes locked onto mine, suddenly serious.
“Must be nice not having to worry about where your next meal's coming from, though," he said softly, a faint smirk returning to his lips. "Though I reckon a cushy desk job doesn't give you legs like these."
He slid his hand just an inch higher up my thigh, the warmth of his palm burning straight through the thin fabric of my running shorts.
“Trade-offs," I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.
My cock reacted instantly, reaching full peak at the warmth of his hand resting against my thigh. I broke eye contact for a second, glancing down to see if he’d take it any further.
He knew exactly what he was doing. The moment his knuckles brushed deliberately past my erection, a sharp throb went straight through me, and I couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped my throat.
“Cal,” I whispered.
When I looked down, he slowly raised his head to meet my gaze, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Right, sorry,” he muttered softly, his voice thick with mischief. “I’m supposed to be cleaning you up.”
He finished dabbing at my knee before his eyes drifted up to my left arm, which I was cradling against my ribcage.
“Let me see that," Cal said, setting the cloth aside.
He shifted closer on his knees, his hands reaching up to gently take hold of my forearm and wrist. His touch was warm and unexpectedly light, contrasting sharply with his broad, calloused hands.
“Can you move your fingers for me?" he asked quietly, his eyes focused on my wrist.
I wiggled them, wincing as a dull throb radiated up toward my elbow. "It hurts, but I can move them."
Cal gently probed with his thumbs, pressing lightly along the muscle and bone. "Doesn't look to be misshapen, and I don't feel any crunching, but it’s already starting to swell up. Hard to tell if it's just a nasty sprain or a hairline crack without an X-ray."
“If it’s still throbbing like this in the morning, we’re hopping on a bus to minor injuries,” Cal said, looking up at me. “Or I’m walking you there myself. But for tonight, we need to get some ice on it—and get you cleaned up.”
“I'll be fine to get-” I started, but he cut me off.
“Take my bed,” he insisted. “I'm more than happy to take the sofa. Are you hungry?”
“I could definitely do with a bite,” I answered. “Fancy take out? My treat.”
Cal looked at me, a grateful smile before he nodded. We both agreed on pizza with a side of fries each and bottles of soda, and we can't have pizza without the ice cream for dessert. It was set to arrive within the hour.
“We should probably grab a shower before it gets here.” I suggested. Though the smell of Cal was pleasantly inviting to my senses.
We stepped into the shower together under the steaming stream. Taking care not to knock my aching arm, Cal helped rinse down my olive-tanned skin, slowly lathering his hands and washing the sweat and trail grime as he smothered soap across my back, leaving no part of me untouched.
I turned as he continued to lather and smother the entirety of my skin.
Every time his palm slid across my torso, my breath hitched. I leaned back against the wet tile, trapped between the heat of the water and the sheer weight of him standing inches away.
"You've gone quiet," Cal murmured softly. He moved closer, rinsing the soap from my chest, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the tiny bathroom.
"Just... trying to keep my head," I admitted, my voice rough.
Cal let out a low, breathless laugh that vibrated against my skin. His eyes, dark in the dim light of the shower, dropped to my lips before snapping back to mine.
"Who says you have to?" he whispered.
That was all it took. The restraint I’d been clinging to all evening snapped completely. I reached out with my good arm, my hand catching the back of his wet neck, and pulled him toward me.
The kiss was desperate, wet, and heavy with everything we’d been holding back since I stepped through his front door. Cal gasped into my mouth, his arms instantly wrapping tight around my waist, pulling my body flush against his. The taste of him, mixed with the warm spray of the shower, was completely intoxicating. His tongue met mine, hard and uninhibited, and for a few fleeting seconds, the pain in my arm and knee vanished entirely.
But just as fast as the spark caught fire, a sudden cold wave of reality hit me.
‘He's twenty-six. He's struggling to pay his bills. I'm his forty-year-old guest with a battered body and a wallet full of corporate money.’
The sheer power dynamic and the sudden realization of how far we'd just pushed past the line made my pulse spike with instant panic.
I pulled back abruptly, my hand slipping from his neck. Our lips parted with a wet, heavy sound.
Both of us were breathing heavily, water streaming down our faces, staring at each other through the rising steam. Cal looked completely stunned, his blue eyes wide, his chest heaving as his hands lingered uncertainly on my hips.
"I... I shouldn't have done that,” I stammered, my voice trailing off into the quiet hum of the running water. “Fuck, Cal... I’m sorry. I shouldn't have.”
|
.
I often see a young guy probably early 20s in full cycling gear getting ready to set off from his house. The outfit leaves little to the imagination and I am pretty certain he sees staring everywhere time I see him.
💦
