Riding with Dirty Girls

This story is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?

All characters are fictitious. At the same time, they are all over 18.

***

Riding With Dirty Girls.

8. Willingen

I smiled at the headline on the Cycling Weekly website.

"THE LYONESS ROARS"

And the article was a nice read too;

"For the second time in as many races, Chloe Lyons is a race winner. After starting the season with a 4th, followed by three frustrating 2nd places, the British star finally got herself a victory - her first at World Cup level - at last week's snowy race in Italy. That first win, over Spain's Carmen Odara, was hard fought, despite the unfounded nonsense that we've heard about it from some quarters, but this week's race in Roubaix was completely different.

"Having flown out of the blocks to an emphatic holeshot, and a sizeable lead at the end of lap 1, Lyons was caught and briefly matched by Lucy van Barle and Femke van Veen mid race, but after a flurry of attacks on lap 4, the Febi-SRAM rider broke clear again and rode the rest of the race solo.

"Although van Barle and van Veen chased hard, there was no catching Lyons, who stretched her lead to a minute and a half by the finish, for an impressive victory.

'I am very happy,' she reflected after the race. 'I've had to wait a long time for it, and that was sometimes frustrating, but I knew was getting closer, and that wins would come in the end. It's especially great to win here in Roubaix, where there's so much history. I was amazed how good my legs were today. Now it's up to me to keep the momentum going.'

"Lyons now has a 29-point lead in the series, over Lucy van Barle, with World Champion Femke van Veen a further 9 points behind."

It was a totally different post-race experience than the previous week, and it was noticeable that Jake Logan had nothing to say. He'd switched his attention to some cross-country ski race; just the next sport for him to sully and, no doubt, the next one to shun him.

But it was Christmas. The time of goodwill to all men (and presumably women too) so not a time to speak ill of the dead. Well, he was dead to me.

I say Christmas, it was the week before, actually, but it was the time for buying stuff, wrapping presents etc, and I had already told a roll of sticky tape to fuck off, so it was definitely Christmas time.

The next race was on the 23rd, in Germany, and I would have to rush back to Edinburgh the day after, then drive 200 miles south to my parents' house to spend two days with them.

I love my parents in small doses, but two full days with them was a prospect I didn't relish, despite my love of Christmas dinner and all the goodies that go with it. So, I was glad I had invited Licia to spend a couple of days with me straight afterwards. It would be something to look forward to.

On the 30th, after two days together at my house, Licia and I would fly to Porto, Portugal, close to the venue for Round 8, which was on New Year's Eve.

The previous week, after the Trento victory, I'd had lots of phone calls supporting me through the Jake Logan debacle, but this week was rather different. I still had some calls, but they were much more light-hearted. Well, except for Maisie's, which became rather hot and heavy.

On the Monday, Licia called, just to touch base and confirm arrangements for her 'tween Christmas visit. She seemed quite excited, and said she was really looking forward to it (so was I). She even said it was going to be her 'real Christmas,' and 'a much better present than anything else I'll get.' Aww.

'What are you most looking forward to,' I asked, and her answer was disarmingly frank and forthright.

'Spending time in bed with you, Chloe.' Then she added, impishly, 'You're not going to banish me to the spare room, are you?'

'As if...'

I'm looking forward to a bike ride -- I want you to take me up Twatt Lane...' I cackled at her mischievous word-play. She was actually only continuing a little joke that I'd started. After I sent the picture of the Twatt Lane sign to Maisie, I'd also devilishly sent it to Licia, with the very simple caption 'Fancy a ride?' which she said made her snort coffee out of her nostrils.

'Oh I'll definitely take you for a ride up Twatt..' I said, continuing the silly sallies.

She laughed, but then more seriously, she said 'Can we spend a day in bed, Chloe? I'd love to spend a whole day, with nothing to do but doze, watch TV, eat chocolate, and fuck. Can you organise that for me?'

I smiled to myself. I liked that idea too. 'Oh I'm sure I can arrange something,' I murmured.

'Fantastic! This could be the best Christmas ever...'

'But there's a price.'

'Oh 'eck, what's that?'

'You have to bring those luscious thighs with you...'

'Well, I'm hardly going to arrive without them, am I...?...God, I haven't had sex for -- far too long.'

'Have you not?'

'No, I don't have the opportunities that you seem to. All the girls in my team are straight, apart from Pekka, and there's no chance there. I shared a room with her once, and she spent most of her time on the phone to her girlfriend in Finland. I was going crazy. I couldn't even have a wank.'

'Sounds a bit grim. Don't worry, we'll make up for it when you come here.'

'Ohh, yes please.'

After the call, I mused to myself about Licia, and how great she was. How well we got on, and how much I enjoyed her company, the easy banter between us, and her bawdy sense of humour. I also remembered what a great lover she was, and those luscious legs of hers.

Inevitably, when I thought about her legs, I also thought about Helen's which are quite similar. I thought how much I'd like to see them together... Mm, a threesome with Licia and Helen. Thigh heaven. I pondered on how I could arrange that...

On the Tuesday, I spoke to Sharon, and Molly. Just routine stuff about training, travel arrangements, hotels, and stuff like that. At one point, when I was talking to Molly, I heard Fanny shout something to her - I didn't catch what - and she laughed. I had a sudden glimpse of their domestic bliss and it gave me a little pang of... something. After the calls, I suddenly felt quite alone and I realised how nice it would be, sometimes, to have a regular girlfriend. What a shame Licia lived in Dublin and not Edinburgh.

On the Wednesday, Maisie called, and she was, as usual, a little sexual minx. After a very brief bit of small talk, she got straight down to the sexual stuff.

'Did you like my little show in the showers with Sabina?'

'it was strangely compelling,' I said, cagily.

Did it turn you on though? It did me, doing it.'

I suppose it did, but watching is one thing. I don't think I'd have liked to have been in Sabina's place.'

'Oh she loves it. She's a real sensualist. I called her last night and she drove me crazy with detailed descriptions of how it felt for her, both ways around. Can you imagine that, in her accent? I should have recorded it. I could get off anytime listening to that.'

I chuckled. 'Yes, I can imagine... Get her to record it for you. I'm sure she'd be willing.'

'Hey, not a bad Idea... I'm roomies with her again this weekend. I can see some very wet bathroom fun on the horizon.'

Maisie seemed to have really got into kinky pee sex. It made me wonder if we would ever get together again, sexually. I certainly couldn't share this new passion with her, unlike Sabina. In fact, I could see Maisie finishing up just wanting to be with Sabina -- unless she found someone else who was into it - but if that turned out to be the case, so be it.

She was still up for a little phone naughtiness though, and she revealed yet another little kink of hers. Fruit. She startled me by saying 'Do you ever use fruit when you masturbate, Chloe?'

'Errrm, well I have used a courgette once... with a ribbed condom on it.' I chuckled at the memory.

'Courgette... that's a zucchini, isn't it.'

'Is it?' (Britain and America; two nations separated by a common language).

'Yeh, I think so. Green, like a smaller cucumber.'

'Yeh, this was quite a big one though,' I smirked to myself.

'You didn't eat it afterwards though?'

'Not immediately, no. I washed it and used it in a pasta gratin.'

'I like to eat it at the time. You know, a peeled banana, or orange segments, grapes, strawberries... I have some here now, and, well...you get the picture.'

'Do I?' I said mischievously.

'Hmm, yes you do...'

There was a pause, then there was the ping of a message arriving on my phone. I could almost hear Maisie chuckling to herself as I opened it to be greeted by a stunning close-up image of her spread pussy, with her dainty fingers pressing an orange segment between her glistening wet lips.

'BAD girl,' I said, as I started taking my pants off. 'are you going to eat that?'

'Already have. It's a great way to get your vitamin C, don't you think?'

'Do you always wank off when you call me?' I asked.

'Not always but... Your accent turns me on.'

I was already on my way to the kitchen to see what fruit I had... Hmm bananas in the fruit bowl, and a punnet of strawberries in the fridge. They would do nicely.

Another ping. This time, she had inserted the segment into her vag, and her finger was just pressing the last tip of it into her hole. Ping... another image, this time she was pulling it out, pinched between finger and thumb, with everything looking very juicy indeed. God, this was hot.

'Have you got your phone on a stand or something,'

'Yeh, hands free and a self-timer. Come on Clo, get with the program.'

Now naked from the waist down, I climbed onto my big wooden kitchen table and set the phone between the apples in the fruit bowl, so that it was angled up slightly, then I peeled a banana and used some saliva to get the slipperiness started. 'Get ready for this,' I said to Maisie.

I set the camera timer to 5 seconds, then knelt astride the bowl, and pressed the button. 5 seconds later, the fake shutter sound went ka-chink, just as I was easing the banana into my pussy. The camera captured a lurid, thoroughly obscene close-up of the white banana disappearing into my wet hole and I sent it to Maisie, who gave a prurient 'Fuck,' as she opened it.

'This is fun,' I said as I began fucking myself with the banana.

'Now you're getting it. I knew you'd enjoy it.'

Unfortunately, a peeled banana is not very robust and, even though I tried to be gentle, and even though I was wet enough for it to slip in and out easily, it soon started to suffer. After just a few long slow strokes it was almost too slimy to hold, and it was starting to disintegrate, so I stopped and ate it.

The combination of banana and pussy juice made a strange taste, but I liked it simply because it was so bloody naughty.

'Strawberries next,' I said with glee. I was really getting into this now.

'I'm on my second orange now,' said Maisie... Ping. Another photo. This time of a whole, peeled, orange, held between Maisie's legs, with a dribble of pussy cream trickling over it. Fuck... why hasn't porn cottoned onto the eroticism of this?

I pushed a strawberry into my pussy, and took a shot of it just peeping out between my lips, then another where I was holding it just above my clit, with a viscous string of pussy grool connecting them together.

Maisie was going, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck... she was nearly there, and I took the strawberry and rubbed it's rough, slightly raspy surface against my clit until I erupted, with a plaintive wail.

Maisie was right behind me; her own cries of pleasure just intensified and prolonged mine and we moaned at each other in sexual bliss, shrinking the miles between us to almost nothing.

'Thank fuck for the smartphone,' I said when I'd recovered.

'Oh, we must do the fruit play when we are actually together Chloe. It's way better.' Now that's a little kink I could definitely go for.

***

Round 7: Willingen

Willingen is situated in a hilly part of central Germany, called the Sauerland, and travelling there was not so straightforward for me. It involved two flights; Edinburgh to Munich, and Munich to Paderborn and, due to the scheduling, it would take me longer than Team Lyon's drive from Belgium.

Molly and co had a fairly easy drive east, through the Netherlands and into Germany. About 5 hours, including the usual little detour to collect Marianne. Whereas I would have to drive to Edinburgh airport (30 minutes) hang about, waiting to fly, then fly to Munich (2:20) then hang about, waiting to fly, then fly to Paderborn (1 hour). The total time, including all the loitering, would be almost 7 hours. I would then be collected by Team Lyon for the final 1 hour drive to Willingen.

Yep, there's a lot of tedious travel involved in this Word Cup Cyclo-cross game, and next year I believe there's going to be a round in the US -- in Wisconsin. Getting there with all my bikes and paraphernalia will be a challenge.

Anyway, Willingen is a growing resort. It's most well-known for its giant ski-jumping hill, the awkwardly named "Mühlenkopfschanze" ("mill head hill") where a round of the ski-jumping World Cup is held in January every year, but it also now has a small Alpine-style ski resort, a big mountain bike park, and one of the longest and highest footbridges ever built, called the Willingen Skywalk, 670 metres long, which gives a dizzying view of the ski jump hill. I hear you need a good head for heights.

It would also give a great view of the cyclocross course because the race was based at the sports complex that has grown up around the Mühlenkopfschanze, and the course was laid out in its vicinity. It all sounded quite interesting, and I was looking forward to discovering a new venue.

Unusually for me, I arranged with the team that I would join them for a course recce on Friday afternoon, so that meant another early flight would be needed, if I was to arrive in time.

It was another dark start, but the weather had become much milder now, and there was no de-icing needed, and no encounters with Spready. I arrived at the airport, as required, a ridiculous 2 hours before the flight, and embarked a tedious few hours of airline red tape and hanging around in airports. I was glad when I was disgorged at Paderborn and could rendezvous with Team Lyon for the final leg of the journey.

On reflection, I think I would have been better off flying to Brussels a day earlier, staying with Molly, and then travelling with them from Flanders. Next time, I will.

We arrived in Willingen at 2pm, with the recce ride scheduled for 2:30, so it was a matter of going directly to the car park at the foot of the monstrous ski-jumping hill, and changing in the open air. There was snow on the hills, but none at valley level, and hardly any on the course, or so we were told. It actually felt fairly mild. Certainly not as cold as Trentino had been.

Both the Febi-SRAM team cars were already there, plus a number of others, and all the girls were getting ready, Sandi, Ingrid, Annike, Mari, and Helen, and there was a definite buzz of excitement. 'This is a great place, isn't it?' said Sandi. 'Look at that footbridge!' We all craned our necks to look up at the impossibly high and narrow bridge crossing the whole valley. It looked mad.

'We should come and walk it on Sunday,' said Mari, but I had to demur, because I'd have to leave early. Phew.

We got on our bikes and set off for the recon, and we were in for a treat. Willingen had never hosted cyclocross before but the organisers had come up with an absolute cracker of a course. Sometimes, cyclocross courses are on flat fields, and rely on man-made obstacles to add interest; sand-pits, plank barriers, built bridges with steps etc. This course was nothing like that.

The course made full use of the available natural terrain -- something course planners are not always good at -- and the result was that the course didn't need any man-made obstacles at all.

There were two long climbs -- the first one draggy but borderline rideable, the second, steeper and a definite bike carry -- with a hair-raising descent after each of them. Between the climbs/descents there was a twisty-turny section through trees, a section of deep mud with rocks (another definite bike carry) and a kind of bomb-hole that you had to bravely dive into and then struggle out of. After the second big descent, there was a fast, flat loop around the ski-jump stadium, with a couple of double-backs, leading into the start and finish straight. I'd never seen a UCI World Cup course with so much elevation gain. It was going to be tough.

We arrived back breathless and buzzing, and all talking at once, trying to tell Molly, Sharon, and the other non-riders how brilliant it was. Helen was amazed how the UCI (the governing body of cycle racing) had approved it, because they are usually quite cautious and conservative about courses. She definitely had a point.

The buzz continued right through dinner at the hotel. I don't think I've ever seen so much enthusiasm for a course before. EVERYONE loved it, though Helen did speculate that it would quickly become impractical under snow. As it was, there was only a very small amount of slush in some places, so no big problems.

After dinner, we all went out to the bar at the ski jump stadium, which had opened specially for "X-weekend," as they'd dubbed it, and Molly and co were in a place across the road from the team hotel, so we collected them on the way.

We made a merry troupe walking up to the bar, which was quite fitting for two days before Christmas, and there was much banter and badinage between us and other teams that were heading to the same destination. Annike even found a bank of old snow and started a snowball fight with the Trek-Schwalbe team (Pekka and Licia's team) which we reckoned we'd won when they ran off up the road.

The bar/cafe/restaurant was called "Aufwind," which means "updraft," something that is apparently the holy-grail to ski-jumpers, and that night it was roaring. The buzz in that place was testament to the fact that you don't need alcohol to have a jumping good night. Almost everyone was on soft drinks, but the atmosphere was boisterous and festive.

The biggest surprise of the night was when we were introduced to Pekka's girlfriend/wife-to-be, Venni who had come down 'specially to watch. There was a lovely little pause on the double 'n' when they pronounced it. Ven-ni.

Venni was small, slightly dumpy, and impressively busty. She wasn't what I expected at all, but she was an absolute bundle of joy, brimming with vitality. I could tell by the way Pekka looked at her that she was besotted.

'Funny this place is called Aufwind. My full name, Venla, also means wind. The raw natural one, not the bodily one... '

We cackled. 'What does your name mean Pekka?' I asked in all innocence.

'It means stone. It's the Finnish form of Peter.'

'Peter?'

She laughed. 'Yes. A boy's name. It's not my real name. My real name is Petra, but I was such a tomboy at school that they called me Pekka. It was meant to mock me, but I embraced it. I've been Pekka ever since.'

I looked at her. I'd never thought of her as a tomboy, but now she mentioned it...

'I thought it was funny when we met,' said Venni, 'To me, she always looked like a girl, but she had a boy's name. It was weird at first but now I don't really notice it.

'So what brings you down here, so close to Christmas?' I asked her.

'Well I promised Pekka that I'd come to a race to watch her before the end of the year. I've never seen her race live before. Only on TV. I've left it late really. It had to be this one, or Portugal next week.'