This deserves an introduction,
Guilt or regret would be the wrong terms. It's more like being bewildered by a series of events that for me are totally out of character and rocked my world.
I consider myself a conservative woman in a conventional monogamous relationship, and although I am not overly religious I do believe that I had a strong moral upbringing and do abide by my Christian values.
Other than a few boyfriends in college, once I met Paul and we married, I have lived quite a conventional life, I am happy, and I am happy with our relationship even if our sex life has sunk into what you might consider a routine.
I always felt that Paul's needs mirrored mine and he never manifested any sexual interests past the life we led. He's shy, keeps to himself, has a limited social circle, and spends an inordinate time online, both at work and in his den at home.
A bit about me.
When I hit fifty I began to notice changes, not limited to my body, but also affecting my mind and my emotional well-being.
Seeing that my yearly medical was due, I took the opportunity to bring it up with my gynecologist. We talked about it, she examined me, she ran some blood tests and I was found to have "plunging hormone levels " so by her suggestion I started a hormone enhancement program, with the intent of avoiding some of the side effects of aging.
I did slowly notice some positive changes and my inquisitive nature led me to do a Google search on the drugs that she prescribed, finding that they were a combination of female hormones to minimize symptoms like night sweats, insomnia, dryness, but also male hormones that were meant to help with strength and avoid additional loss of muscle mass.
What I wasn't aware of, was the effect of these hormones on my psyche.
I began to have moments when I would wonder if!
If, I had got married too young.
If, I should had dated a broader circle of men.
If, I should have lived out scenarios I have only read about or heard from the mouth of some trusted friends.
These questions remained unanswered.
One curse of aging, not addressed by hormone replacement was weight gain. A steady, relentless deposition of fat, mostly lodging in my breasts and buttocks.
Paul innocently tries to allay my frustration, tells me that I am beautiful, that I should be proud, and that I have a great body, but invariably he follows that praise with a "For your age" comment.
When younger I exercised, I was never an endorphin addict but I did participate in some half marathons, and I continued to be active through my forties, More recently I have let up because my shins began bothering me, making the running, and even less, impact prone activities like jogging a thing of the past.
As much as I love to swim it is logistically more difficult, so I found a possible answer in cycling, and the articles I read convinced me that I should consider an E-bike.
Paul did the homework, and he chose what he felt was the most appropriate bike for me, but between being a popular item and pandemic related supply issues we ended up on a waiting list.
It took almost three months for the order to come in but a few weeks later I got the call,
"Your new bike is here and ready for delivery"
So I borrowed Paul's Tundra and drove to Houston to pick up my new toy. A candy apple red, top-of-the-line E-bike Paul had given me as a gift.
I sauntered into the shop and I was greeted by a receptionist who confirmed that my new toy has been waiting for pick up and that I needed to allot a couple of hours for measuring, adjustment, as well as safety and operation instructions.
"Your technician will be George, he will walk you through the process" I was told.
As I sat in the reception area, I saw an older guy working on a bike and a younger guy that seemed to be an apprentice.
Suddenly a very tall, young, dark gentleman approached me and introduced himself.
"Hello, miss Anna, I am George, your trainer" and I was floored!
Way over six feet tall, strong, chiseled looks, and truly handsome.
There are dark guys, black guys, and guys that seem to be made of obsidian. The latter was his case.
This was meant to be an instructional course, yet this guy's physique and demeanor hit me like a wall of bricks, and I knew I would be distracted.
He began his instructions by giving me the song and dance about the product but soon did move on to give me useful information about the functions and controls.
"I need to adjust the height of the seat and the handlebars," he told me,
Then pausing he followed by,
"That skirt is a bit inappropriate for this, did you bring some shorts"
At that point, I realized that in my rush I had come unprepared. I needed some attire anyway so I went to their garment section and hurriedly grabbed the most appropriate items I came across.
I picked out a tight, mid-thigh pair of shorts and a rather large, loose, tie-dye tee shirt I could knot around my waist.
Now decked out in my new skins I stood to be fitted.
He brought out some kind of Laser contraption on a tripod, stood me against a wall about ten feet away, and focused it on my crotch. As I looked down I realized that the shorts fit me as I had been poured into them, they molded to my mound and folds and showcased quite a cameltoe.
He was staring and I was blushing, but still saw this as an inevitable part of the process.
He complimented me a lot and I felt he showered me with an inordinate amount of attention, he was an ego booster.
He then ended his spiel with the,
"If you need any more help, please call me" line, as he handed me his card.
I decided to wear my shorts home, I walked the bike to the truck and he helped me load this heavy thing into the bed, and then turned to me and said,
"We have a cycling group that rides every Saturday. If you would care to join us, we will be going to Brazos Bend Park next Saturday. If you are interested let me know"
As I clicked my seat belt I noticed a moist patch on my shorts and thought,
"Oh no"
The forty-five-minute drive back home gave me some alone time to sort out the conflicting thoughts in my head.
I said to myself, "I am happy, I am married and I have a satisfactory sex life.
I am madly in love with my husband and I would never hurt him."
Having said that: why do I feel this heaviness in my tummy and why do I need to sneak these wet shorts into the washer before my husband notices?
The following week was less than typical, both work and rest were interrupted by images concocted in my mind. I knew nothing about this guy except that he seemed interested and that I found him disturbingly attractive in a feral sense.
As the weekend approached I had to make a decision and deal with a couple of issues.
Problem number one, My husband.
Well, not an insurmountable problem. He is proud that I am making an effort to shed weight, and I had told him well ahead that I would be going to the ride and I had in passing mentioned that the instructor was a Nigerian.
Problem number two is major, it's about managing my feelings.
It was clear that there was a lot more drawing me to the Saturday ride than simply the exercise.
I consider myself a sensible, conservative woman, not one prone to spur-of-the-moment decisions and much less by hormone-driven ones.
I also realized that I might be misinterpreting his attitude setting myself up for a fall.
I hoped not, but, you never know, but once I made my decision I texted him and confirmed I would meet the group at nine.
Friday night I slept like a baby, but I was aware that I had had some sensual dreams. I awoke well-rested, and my motor was already humming.
I showered, paused, thought about it, and washed thoroughly again. I dried till I was pink and then stood in front of my mirror and assessed myself.
I have been told I have a beautiful face, My breasts are full but still firm. My belly is smooth and I have a well-defined waist and what my husband calls "Female hips". I have strong thighs and calves, most likely from my dancing years.
"I look good for fifty," I thought, yet wondered if this young stud would agree.
I had trimmed my bush a bit the night before, so I braided my hair, put on some very light makeup, and applied a bit of my favorite musk to my neck, under my breasts, and on that soft skin on the inside of my thighs.
I was ready, ready for the ride and ready for more.
Then it was a matter of donning my new biking outfit, a fanny pack, loading some water, and sunscreen, and was on my way.
The drive gave me time to think this over for the last time, to make the final decision It was now or never, I had time to bail!.
My dichotomy kicked in, I was getting conflictive messages. My rational side said
"Turn around, go home, it was a fun fantasy "
The feeling in my loins said, "Do it"
Yet the feral side overwhelmed my common sense.
While filling my gas tank at the truck stop, I thought, "You should cover all your bases," and in the women's bathroom found a vending machine that supplied both condoms and lube. I snuck these into my fanny pack, and now committed I drove on.
I arrived to find my trainer waiting for me but no one else.
"Sorry, I must have mistaken the departure time but it's alright, we might be able to catch up with them," he said.
And away we were, him in a comfortable stride, and me struggling with a heavy bike I had not ridden before.
We must have interrupted our ride three times to adjust the seat height, to coach me on how to navigate an irregular terrain, but you didn't have to be very perceptive to know that there was a strong sexual undertone and we were both flirting big-time.
We had not cycled that far when I felt the need to stop.
Blushing I told him,
"I am not sure if I can go much further, the seat is making me sore down there"
