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2009/05/29

Bicycle Boy

In honor of Friday and it being such a beautiful, sunny day, I will share with you the story of Bicycle Boy.

Bicycle Boy is one of those re-occurring people in my life. I never know when I will run into him, although, if I do, I know exactly where it is I will see him.

I frequent a park that runs along a very quiet, out of the way stretch of the Mississippi River. When I go there, I always park in the lot on the South end. South is also the direction I head once I hit the trail. The trail ends at this little lagoon which is lined with a very high wall of stone and dirt. In order to get there, you must go through an area that I call The Enchanted Forest.

The Enchanted Forest is the grotto like area of malformed trees, saplings, bushes and brush. The whole thing runs right along the river and is pretty interesting looking year around. I have hiked along this area so much that I have identified several landmark and invested each with a mythology and a name. Examples:

- The Three Sisters: a single tree with three large trunks protruding from the ground next to which stands their daughters – The Three Daughters: again a single tree with three trunks, but obviously a bit younger than the sisters.
- The Old Man: A huge tree – the trunk is at least 30 feet wide and it is hidden behind a field of young saplings. It stands majestically on a hill.
- The Holy Grotto: is this area of oddly twisted trees, brush and shrubs lined with a labyrinth of paths and alcoves. It is dark and mysterious. I love winding my way through it.
- The Arch of Safety: This is the area where, I tell myself, that it is safe to be naked, if you wish to be. It is a tree that has died or been struck by lightening. Its breached trunk split open and curved backwards to form a three-quarters arch under which to pass.
- The Gremlin’s Cove: A small sandy beach where I imagine small ships dock in the still of the night.
- Watcher of the Cove: A large, tall tree right on the trail that keeps the secrets of those who pass by.

There are others I could name, but they just get sillier. This came about one day when, bored with my walk, I began to take note of a given tree or area and infuse it with magical meaning. It became a kind of quest; to visit each of these landmarks and pay them respect.

It is during one such trip when I first ran into The Bicycle Boy.

The Bicycle Boy is a man of indeterminate age (probably early 20’s). His body is totally smooth, save for his pubic hair. He is very slim, quite tall and has a full head of light reddish brown hair. His face is perfectly boy-like set with a pair of shy, hazel eyes and his skin is creamy, smooth, blemish free and pale white.

He rides a mountain bike.

Now… biking along this particular trek is not common at all. The trail is filled with perils that make it virtually impossible.

But not for Bicycle Boy.

I don’t know how he does it, for there are trees that have fallen directly over the path. He must jump them or something.

He’s always wearing something quite sporty and non-descript. Shorts and a t-shirt. Tennies. Sometimes a pair of sunglasses. And usually a cap.

He also always seems to appear out of nowhere. That’s part of his charm.

The first time we met, we ended up doing this hour long dance where he would ride his bike a bit and stop and I would hike up to him, catch his eye, and then continue on. I would then pause a few yards away from him seeing if anything would happen. After a half an hour of this I thought perhaps I was wasting my time. He seemed so young and what would he want with me. But he kept hanging about and so did I. We kept stealing glances at one another and the anticipation of what it was the other wanted or would do kept us enthralled.

Finally we found ourselves to the South of the Arch of Safety, and at the foot of the The Holy Grotto. This time when I continued on, he failed to follow. Then I realized why… his bike couldn’t navigate parts of the Grotto. It would be impossible. So returned to he had stopped - this area at the foot of the entrance to the grotto, where a large, fallen tree lay horizontally – it’s bark worn, revealing a smooth, rounded, dry surface. Here, he parked his bike and sat.

I stood a good five yards away, partially hidden by saplings and brush.

He began a slow strip tease. Leaning and lying on the tree trunk, displaying his jutting ass and languid legs. It seemed to stretch on forever. I indicated my interest by rubbing my crotch. This seemed to relax him even more and he began to disrobe.

The basic scenario is always the same, but there are also variations on this theme: underneath the manly sport shorts he will reveal a thong, a pair of pale pink girly short-shorts, a jock strap, tightie whities… all of which are filled out quite nicely front and back. His cock is an icon, his ass is smooth and sweet. He likes to show off what he’s got. He also likes it when I do the same. I just have my jeans or shorts to drop. I usually go commando when hiking. So no special kinky under-things for me. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

We both come with supplies: I have my cock ring and poppers. He has his spray lubes and odd plastic sexual devices: they are like a condom, only you masturbate with them. He seems to revel in stretching out naked on the trunk of the tree, naked, displaying and playing with his hard dick.

And what a nice dick it is. Really very pretty. Nicely thick and long (probably 8 inches or more) with a set of nice low hangers dangling beneath.

That is the extent of our physical contact. He’s never spoken a word to me. We’ve never touched. We’ve never stood closer than three yards. In a way, it is the perfect safe-sex relationship. On occasion I will break the silence by whispering that I’m going to shoot, or congratulate him on his orgasm – which really is a thing of beauty – for the man can shoot like no tomorrow. When lying on his back, it is not uncommon for the first shot to fly over his head, with each subsequent spurt landing on his neck and chest. It’s a very beautiful sight when timed correctly. He seems to know exactly when the sun is setting just so; with its dying light filtering through the overhanging greenery, creating a background the best stage lighting could never achieve. And in front of this glow, he silently shoots his load, each jutting squirt glinting like long tears of glass caught in the light of the sun. It’s very magical.

He cums, and then I do. Then we dress and go our separate way; he rides away on his bike and I hike off in the opposite direction. We’re never rushed and we have yet to be intruded upon.

This has been going on for four years. This year he has a mustache, which looks a little silly on his baby face. But it is a full stash, handsomely trimmed, all the same. In a given year I will only see him 3 or 4 times, but then again – that is enough.

I doubt that Bicycle Boy realizes all the mythology I have created along that path and in that area, or how he now plays a part of that world. He’ll never know, because I doubt if we’ll ever speak.

Sometimes silence is best.

Sometimes words get in the way.

Sometimes they get in the way of our very private mythologies.

Some things, like magical places in the forest and certain rituals, are sacred and should remain unchanged.

I think it’s time for another hike.

Until next time…

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