My cycling team meets every Saturday and we ride for several hours in the country outside the city I live in. Up until four years ago I was a professional cyclist in Europe -- I even competed in the Tour de France twice. I first met Carly two months ago when she joined our team. I was immediately attracted to her -- at 34, she's a few years older than me, but gorgeous nonetheless with a dynamite body and long, auburn hair. I knew she was attracted to me as well -- she frequently asked me about what it was like riding in the Tour, and each weekend our flirting would intensify.
One afternoon I ran into Carly, her husband, and kid at a soccer game. She seemed sheepish, almost uncomfortable throughout the conversation, but I was more stunned at what her husband looked like. Short and flabby, the guy seemed like a total loser. I couldn't understand how a woman as hot as Carly settled for a lump like that. It was then that I focused my efforts on getting between her long legs.
The following weekend when our team met, I was sure to take my cycling jersey off after our ride so she could see my hard body, and what a real man looked like. I caught her checking me out, and I started to talk to her about going on rides without the rest of the team. We agreed to get together the next day, Sunday, for a cycle through the hills.
I offered to pick her up at her house, but she insisted she drive to my place where we put her bike on my Jeep. I figured she didn't want her husband knowing where she was going, and I was right. That Sunday we headed to a remote area north of the city. After an exhilarating ride -- watching Carly's hot body move in spandex all afternoon -- we packed the bikes back on my Jeep and headed towards home. On the way back, I pulled off the main road into a remote clearing on a ridge, with a view for miles.
I leaned over and started kissing Carly, and she responded. But after a minute she pulled away. "I shouldn't do this," she said.