Thursday, 8 January 2015

My bicycle fantasy

Courtesy of farconville at
FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Two years ago, while clad in a burgundy onesie that my daughter had bought me – she’s always had a devilish sense of humour - I glimpsed my 54-year-old torso in a mirror. The grotesque sight of my beer gut, shrouding my waistline like a wobbly canopy, shocked me into action. The potent mix of onesie and male vanity compelled me, for the first time in a quarter of a century, to enter into a regular exercise regime and, as a result, I have since shed 25 pounds.  

Part of my workout involves three 30-minute bursts per week on a static bike – I’m too wimpy to ride a real one. Although effective in maintaining fitness and burning off blubber, heavy-duty pedalling alone in our back room is a tedious affair. As such, my wild and fantastical imagination is an asset … …

I’m back at my old workplace and it is the annual charity event. My team has selected me to represent them in the ‘static-bike challenge’. At 56, I’m the oldest competitor. My friends at work express respect for me for ‘giving it a go’, despite their belief that I have no chance of winning this test of endurance.

A huge and boisterous crowd, almost exclusively comprising of attractive females, has gathered to witness the contest. As I walk – nay, strut – to my bike, wearing my knee-length navy shorts and white vest, I overhear two vivacious blonde girls talking about me:
‘Wow, how fit is he!’
‘Just look at those muscular legs, and his firm, chiselled torso!’

There are five other men in the competition. One of my opponents is Mike, 20 years my junior and an arrogant nob-head from the neighbouring office. I dislike him intensely, and always have done. He smirks when he sees me. ‘I hope there’s a defibrillator handy,’ he says, evoking laughs from the few cronies who have accompanied him. I ignore him, maintaining my laser-like focus on the task in hand.

We mount our bikes and, at the starter’s command, begin to pedal vigorously. The decibel level in the arena rises to a point where everything sounds distorted. After 15 minutes of frenetic pedalling, my rivals start to drop out, one by one, each exhausted and spent. Twenty minutes, and only Mike and I remain in the contest. As I pump the pedals, the rhythmic thrusting of my thighs has not gone unnoticed by the ladies in the front row.
‘He’s so powerful!’
‘Goodness gracious, that man oozes testosterone!’
'What a gladiator!’

Giggling, they share crudities about what they would like to do to my body. They yearn to be the bike under my pounding limbs. Their lady-bits moisten. They stare at the bulge in front of my shorts, imagining a truncheon-like phallus lurking within. They redden at the awareness of their own arousal.

In scenes unwitnessed since Beatle-mania, swooning girls, overcome by my athletic beauty, are helped from the stadium. While being lifted onto the stretchers they cry, ‘We love you, Bryan! We love you, Bryan!’

After 25 minutes, Mike crumbles over the handlebars, wheezing like an asthmatic 19th-century steam locomotive, defeated. A crescendo of cheering greets my resounding victory. To humiliate him further, I continue to pedal for an additional five minutes as the ladies scream their approval. As I dismount, triumphant, I’m swamped in a surge of adoring female flesh.

 ************

Alone in the austere back room of our house, I tentatively get off the bike, feeling groggy and on the point of collapse. I almost slip on the puddles of gooey sweat on the floor-tiles under each handlebar. My haemorrhoids are stinging like a swarm of vindictive hornets. I head to the bathroom, undress and inspect myself in the mirror. I resemble a withered Dumbledore after a fruitless night scouring the earth for Horcruxes. The grey hairs on my chest spiral downwards, limp and aimless. My trouser-snake appears to have tunnelled into my abdomen, rendering my genitals concave. I smell like a vagrant’s arsehole.

Ah well, I’d better get showered; I’ve got the weekly shop to do.    

 
PS
A bowel-blastingly funny e-book will shortly be published on Amazon, titled 'Does Not Write Well With Others'. Together with some of the zaniest bloggers on the planet, I have contributed to a compilation of hilarious stories that may well evoke incontinence in the unsuspecting reader; you have been warned! Watch this space for further details.

28 comments:

  1. It's a good fantasy. There's a few things I might add to it, but still a good fantasy.

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    1. I'm intrigued, Stephen. I suggest - nay insist - that your next blog post is titled, 'The secret fantasies of Stephen Hayes.' It would be at the top of my reading list.

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  2. With a fantasy like that you don't need reality - it would only be a let down compared with what you imagined. You've clearly reached that time in a man's life when he's ready to write advertising copy for men's toiletries. Making the vivacious blonde girls laugh is your best bet.

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    1. Yes, GB, I think you're right. I've never had any problem making girls laugh (none of it intentional). And the writing advertising copy for men's toiletries will be my next career move. Thank you.

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  3. If that's what gets the wheels turning and the sweat dripping, you fantasize about those wet females all you want! Keep up the good work.

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  4. The only thing missing was Queen singing, "I love to ride my bicycle, I love to ride my bike!" in the background. Well done, Old Boy! (I think the "Old Boy" came from the James Bond movie "From Russia With Love." You remember that one ... right? :)

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    1. I certainly do remember that one, 'old boy'. It was the Sean Connery era wasn't it? Perhaps more appropriate music would be The Pushbike Song by ?The Mixtures!

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  5. Did you know that I was on the sidelines admiring your abs?!! Oh, I was the brunette. xx

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    1. Sadly, I couldn't detect you in the mass frenzy of adoring female flesh!

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  6. Congrats on the soon-to-be published e-book!

    If it's anywhere near as funny as this post was, then I'll be sure to check it out.

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    1. Well thanks, Chiz, for your generous comments.

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  7. Reading this, I realized that I was controlling my laughter; like a little girl sneaking a peep at a "dirty magazine." I must have thought that my husband and children could read my mind and know that I was having too much fun reading your fantasy.

    Very funny!

    Happy New Year!

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    1. Glad you enjoyed it, Anita. I won't spill the beans to your family either!

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  8. That was excellent. I especially like the Dumbledore reference. Whatever you do on that bike, it's still better than my "mostly walking to the kitchen and back" routine. Try to put an exciting fantasy spin on THAT...wait, don't.

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    1. Oh, I don't know, Daniel; bobbing to the kitchen and back, sharing Frankfurters (with copious lashings of mustard), licking whipped cream from .. .. I better stop there. I appreciate the positive feedback.

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  9. Well, that's a good fitness fantasy. Should have included the sex scene where you were engulfed in a group orgy with all those admiring women!

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  10. I'll leave the description of the orgy in your capable hands - now that didn't sound quite right!

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  11. Just found your blog through Phil Holtberg. Whatever it takes to stay fit!!

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    1. Yes, extreme measures are sometimes required.

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  12. Hmmm usually I try to make my mind wander to get through some boring runs. This is a superior technique. Just found your blog via Phil Holtberg.

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    1. So pleased you dropped by. I'm now off to look at your stuff.

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  13. Thanks for the word painting of your trouser snake! hahahaha good for you for torturing the young girls!

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    1. Your welcome! Keep the young girls in a frenzy, I say!!

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  14. I look forward to reading the book. Sadly, I have no need for help when it comes to incontinence.

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    1. I think we are both fast approaching that 'funny' age when sphincters develop a mind of their own!

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