The Biker Lady Pt 02

A week after I pinned Robert to the couch and took him in, he left for medical school. Three weeks after that I felt morning nausea, and the usually regular spotting on my underwear did not occur. So I took a test, it was positive.

It's been 18 months since and my baby boy, Seth, is currently in my cousin Celia's arms. I've not seen Robert. I decided to let him enjoy his years training to be a doctor, and when Seth is older and asks about his father I'll tell them both. I won't ask Robert for money, but if he wants to take Seth for a trip or just spend some time with him, that is fine.

I do not mind being a single mother. I earned enough at work - and they provide generous maternity cover - for me to bring up Seth alone. And I have Celia, aunties, uncles, and some friends who have babysat. Seth will grow up loved.

But right now Celia is giving me a break. I've always loved red Merlot wine and camembert, France's greatest contribution to human civilization. But as soon as the test came back positive I couldn't drink. I craved the rich red wine, but as a substitute gorged on camembert. I couldn't stop eating it. Sometimes at midnight my hunger pangs prevented sleep, I had to go downstairs, air fry a camembert circle, sometimes two, and munch them in bed. Nothing seemed to quench the hunger as Seth grew and kicked. I'd finish a camembert with a whole baguette, hot chocolate warmed with pints of whole milk, and entire salami platters. But still Seth craved nourishment.

How much of it our bodies actually needed and how much was crazy hormones I do not know. The hunger cravings subsided after he was born, although I still breastfeed. But my body grew as Seth's did. After birth - and he was a big, nine pound and four baby - I did not have the lithe biker figure I'd kept even at 40.

At 41 and a half I'm chubby. A fuller face, yes heavier breasts for feeding him, but two rolls have grown in my stomach and my thighs, if I wear shorts, uncomfortably rub together. I have no figure to be proud of, I'm a frumpy thing that can no longer attract. I'm happier than as a childless career woman yes, Seth brings me that, but I'm not pretty anymore. So Celia is an angel - she gives Seth his bottle, puts on Paw Patrol and lets me go mountain biking over the hills. I will never again be what I was though I can at least be proud of trying. But just a minute first.

"I'll give him a quick feed."

"Sure," she says, and hands him back to me. I sit on the couch - the same one that I and his father lay on, bring down my top and a sleepy Seth takes my left breast.

Immediately my body is perfect. Thoughts of time, of societal judgment, of what anyone will say, cease. As he sucks, my eyes water, my chubbier cheeks glow and my eyes smile. I am love, I am only love for you my darling boy. He is mine, I am his, I will adore you Seth and this world shall never harm you as long as I breathe. Nothing I've done before means anything like this. My early modelling, my biking, my entry to the C-suite, it's forgotten right now. Meaningless. I'm a mother, that is my purpose. Protecting Seth and loving him forevermore is why I exist.

He falls asleep, drunk on the milk that dribbles from his lips and drips back onto my breast. Celia passes me a muslin cloth. I wipe myself, give him back to her, and take my bike from the garage to pedal across the hills.

I stop as I reach the Tri-state peak, where from New Mexico you can see Colorado and Utah at once. I rest here, drinking some lucozade and admiring the view. After about a minute I hear another bike pedalling up the trail. It steps a few yards away from me. And a man gets off.

A tall, muscular black man takes off biker sunglasses and sets down the bike rest to keep his Raleigh bike upright. He takes a thermos, undoes it, and drinks as he looks in the same direction as me.

I tingle inside. I've not said to Celia I want another baby. I've made it clear there is no man to have a baby with. I will not tell Celia about this man. I will, however, innocently speak with this man.

"Not seen you up here before?"

"Well how often do you come up?" his voice is a little like T'Challa in Black Panther. He's not by the sounds of it African American.

"Usually once a week or so. No view like it where I live"

"Where's that?" he says as he closes his thermos and straps it back on his bike.

I walk a little closer to him. "See the town there? The suburb just to the left." I slightly exaggerate my pointing motion with my left hand, allowing my right arm, although dammit I wore a long sleeved biker top, to brush the exposed left forearm that his University of Colorado t-shirt is not concealing.

"I'm down here for a few days. Usually that way." He points to the distant Colorado rockies.

"A student?"

He nods.

"Scholarship from St. Mark's Boys school, Nairobi."

I smile a wowed smile. "You didn't need to come here for the mountains, Kenya I've heard has everything."

"Yes, well it used to."

"Oh?"

"We have every type of scenery and every animal that you here put in coloring books."

I giggle. "Yes hippos aren't actually as cuddly."

He smiles at me. "That's right. No need to leave until a childhood good friend, Lupita, a year above me at St. Mary's, got a scholarship here first."

I should be an actress for how I kept smiling, nodding, and doing my happy for you face. "She's a senior?"

"Sophomore. I'm freshman. I thought I'd scout this out and take her here tomorrow."

"I'd recommend you do. Spectacu--"

His phone rings. "Lupita once and future bride!" he answers. "No no it's not crowded quite a lonely place... Yes yes we can picnic... Really? Alright on my way."

He hangs up. "I'm sorry," he says, "that's who I mentioned. Bit of a problem with her... Nevermind I have to--"

"Of course, safe trips back. I'm Catherine."

"Jomo."

"Alright Jomo, well enjoy America, land of the free."

He laughs, gets on his bike and rides back down. I observe the view a few minutes more. Then I sullenly head back, take Seth from Celia - the little thing doesn't wake, so I lay him in his cot by my bed. Say goodbye to my cousin and undress to sleep.

But I can't. And I don't crave camembert. Jomo was his name. A brother or sister for you Seth. You need one. And why Jomo why did you have to be with a girl a year older? I'm probably 22 years older than you but what I gave Robert I could give to you. Jomo was right for me. I hadn't craved another baby till tonight. Why couldn't you have just taken me there Jomo? I was free, I was willing, I showed with my smile and my body I wanted it.

Maybe that was the problem? If I had refused to talk, if I had been disinterested and rude, would Jomo have wanted me? Is there truth in that thing that men want a challenge, men need resistance, a shield to put up against their sword so that they may smash it apart and stab victoriously?

Stop it Catherine. Don't let more baby fever break your mind. Jomo has found somebody, somebody by the sounds of it he's loved a long time. There's someone else for him, perhaps for you.

I reinstall Tinder, Hinge, and browse. I set Hinge to filter only for those who may look like Jomo. But I can't swipe yes to any of them. They're not Jomo. He is the one I want. I delete those stupid apps. And I curse that Jomo is an intelligent, decent human.

I wished he was more animal than man. And that I had been a coy, shy, bitchy woman and he had shown his dominance over me. If he had pushed me onto my bike, then set me down on the dusty peak. Laughed as I screamed and my weak womanly hands vainly struggled against his muscular rage. If a rip had defeated my cycling shorts, and if I'd worn no underwear. What penetrative force would he bring into me? It could not be called rape because my shouty protests were silliest lies. I'd want him. I'd want him deep. I'd want his painful thrusting cock to bathe in loving waters and then, for him to leave. Having forced me to bike home with a sibling for baby Seth.

Stop, Catherine. You are a successful, strong single mother. Seth can be an only child or you can find someone you are mutually healthy with.

It's hours more before I barely fall asleep, and Seth wakes for milk. I feed him; looking down at my body I can rest him on my layers of fat. There is so much more of me now. But do I really need that extra, new life in there?

Fuck it I do. The way I see my boy suckle, the way I feel that motion of milking. It's not going to be for long. I need another one. And it will be with Jomo - if not, I must try.

At the same time as yesterday I give Seth back to Celia. She hands me some factor 50 sunblock. I apply it everywhere. My family heritage is from County Monaghan, Ireland, and Aberdeenshire, North Scotland. I'm a fair, light red-head. I can burn. I bike to the same place. I wait, hoping they chose this time or a later one to take this route. I set down a blanket and a picnic of my beloved camembert, slices of baguette, a selection of meats and olives, juice and Merlot.

It's half an hour before I see them riding up the hill. I look away, pretend to be on my phone. Eventually they stop.

As they get off, I call out: "Hi Jomo, you made it!"

"Who are you?" the girl I assume is Lupita asks.

"Oh I'm Catherine. I happened to see Jomo here yesterday, said to come again."

"You didn't?" Lupita said to Jomo with a look of annoyance, tapping his arm.

"It, it's nothing," he said.

"Have some bites. Beautiful day." I get up and offer them a little basket of baguettes. Lupita, looking unsure takes, one. "Come on, it's a tough climb," I say to Jomo as I point the basket at him. He takes one looking away.

"You young ones have a fiery metabolism," I say with a giggle as I hand the camembert and a knife to slice it. "Where did you come from?"

"Uber in from college," Jomo says. "Student offer on."

"Jomo has got me into biking."

"Brilliant form of exercise," I reply.

"Without a young metabolism you need it," Lupita fires back. She says it with a clearly aggressive laugh, that passive diss laugh that's clearly a burn attempt. She bites into her baguette, licking the camembert off her thicker lips. I'm angry, yes at her remark but more because those lips get to be on Jomo and mine may never be.

"Bride," Jomo says to her, "do I find good places to visit or do I find them?" He hugs her. I turn to the drink.

"Orange or red?"

"Red please. Is it?"

"French red. Champagne region, but velvety." I pour into two small plastic glasses.

"Oh we shouldn't drink," she says. "Not good for biking while--"

"It's fine, it's fine. One won't hurt you'll burn it straight off."

I hand a glass to each of them, and looking like they don't want to be rude, they sip.

"So where did the Uber drop you guys off?"

"Apache Dip," Jomo says.

"Right that's a long way round."

"About an hour."

"Try the Phoenix Road. See if you can do it under two."

"Alright we could tomorrow if--"

"Jomo," Lupita taps him hard, "lecture day remember?" She explains to me: "At school all day tomorrow. Guest lecturer, from Harvard coming."

"Wow, what do you study?"

"Electrical engineering. Both of us."

"Smart."

"I would have preferred art. But from our country you need a Stem subject or no bursary."

"Right right."

She finishes the wine and taps Jomo again.

"Baby I'm tired and it's another trip. Come on."

He looks at her, nods, finishes the wine. They give their glasses back.

"We better head to school. Thank you for all this."

"No problem. We're not famous for hospitality round here but we should be!"

"I can see," he says, his eyes smiling but his mouth trying to prevent any mirth.

"Come on," Lupita says harshly. They get on their bikes, wave, and depart.

When they're out of sight I pack and head back. I formulate a plan. A small chance of working but better than nothing. Returning home I thank Celia, feed Seth, and put him to bed. My mind wants to continue the plan but my tired, sleep-deprived body won't let me and I fall unconscious.

But I'd called my sister to look after Seth for the day. She's happy to, she comes with her husband and I leave early. It's an insane idea that depends on everything working but it's worth it.

First I visit my brother's friend Jonathan. He lives in a filthy, disgustingly unkempt apartment. He's a rich computer nerd, a genius with no social skills or life. I knock on his door and explain what I need.

"I only saw it briefly, but I'm pretty sure it's the latest iPhone model."

"You're in luck, I found the exploit three days ago, buffer overflow in the Bluetooth driver, the iOS kernel is bad for--"

"Yeah yeah Mr. Technobabble. How much?"

"50 grand."

"How much?"

"I'm selling it to some dodgy broker in Dubai for a million in Bitcoin. I can't let it get burned within six months. But because you're Sam's, and you know, you must promise to use it only once?"

"Promise."

"Hand on heart."

I put both hands on my heart. "Promise. I'm crossing this heart."

"Give me your phone."

I hand it over. "Need to jailbreak this and put the kit on. His Bluetooth must be enabled, connect to it through here" - he shows me an app on another phone - "and you'll control the device."

Once he's explained it a bit more, I transfer some of my 401k to him and I leave for Phoenix Road. It's an off chance. I hide my bike a bit away from where the trail begins and hide away from the convenience store by the start. After an hour I see Jomo. But I think he misses me. He enters the store.

I get on my bike, avoid other bikers as I reach his, undo the thermos just a little, move it at a slight angle. And I pedal. I pedal like hell is swallowing all behind me. My belly fights me, my thighs rub and burn. My motherly beasts weigh me. But if I never can move again I will reach that peak first.

I get there in nearly two hours. No stopping. I couldn't. I see other bikers reach the peak before returning down. And I rest. I'm panting. My pale skin is fiery red. It was like the saying that you can lift a bus if your baby's underneath. I know that feeling now. I finish a bottle of lucozade and just rest. Maybe he beat me and I didn't see. I've done what I can.

Then a sight, if there is a God he must be favoring me and blessing my fertile womb. Jomo's Raleigh bike ascends the hill. Again I look away, staring into the distance I pretend to notice nothing except the snowy caps of Colorado.

I move for him not to notice me, but I can see him in my phone's reflection. He stops, puts his bike down again and dismounts, going for a drink. Then a "What? How?"

The thermos plan worked at least. He's thirsty. And I am going to damn well rub that in. "Thirsty?!" I hold up another orange lucozade bottle, smiling triumphantly.

"I always screw it on. I don't know. Thank you."

He takes the bottle.

"This is weird but. You've been here at the same time as me twice."

An innocent who me? expression doesn't seem to fool him. But the next part is acrobatic in its skill. He finishes three quarters of the bottle, screws the lid back on, and being the lush and lovely gentleman he is offers it back.

With a "thank you" I go to take it. I have set my phone camera open, on ten second delay with the flash. As I reach for the bottle I move forward, move the phone up and away, press my lips to his, take the bottle, and there's the snap. I have a picture.

"Sorry sorry sorry. We're a lot friendlier here than people know us for. Technically you can call it the South and we are over hospitable."

I giggle and move away.

"You behave odd," he says with an authoritative tone. I look to the distance. Yes, his Bluetooth is on. "Jomo's Journal" he calls his phone.

Jonathan's computer hacking abilities are no lie. In a minute I can remotely bring up Jomo's WhatsApp. I tap on Lupita, send the picture through Bluetooth and then to her as a message with the text "Up on the mountain."

At this time I'm pretending to adjust my gears and Jomo, not quite aware what's happening, stands away looking again at the mountains. It doesn't take long.

His phone rings. "Bride. What? I've no idea. What the... It's fake it can't... Hello?"

The call ends, he checks WhatsApp and throws the empty thermos at me. I dodge it. But his rage is growing. He throws the phone. I duck, it misses, I hear the shattering as it rolls down the other side.

"Who the hell are you and how?" he moves towards me. "Was that you?" he points to the thermos, which clashed against my bike. I nod as he reaches me, slapping my face.

I drop to the ground like I've been shot. It's somewhat acted, maybe I can get more out of him. But I hear he's not going to change to sympathy yet.

"Why would you? I would never fancy you."

"No?" I ask as I turn around.

"The hell would you think? Look at you."

I get up. "I'm sorry. I saw you and I liked you and I hoped..." Then I look back down. "I've only made you hate me."

"Yeah. For ten years we've been together."

"But we had a good three days."

"Slutty bitch." He slaps my face again. "Cows like you shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't?"

"Shouldn't get away with it." He pushes me. Lightly, but I let myself fall back. That seems to do it. I'm on the grassy dust on the other side of the hill and with a concerned "are you?" he comes to check on me.

When he reaches me my eyes are closed and I try to look like I've been knocked out. My head is resting to my left side. He moves it to the center. I open my eyes. He has a quick look of relief.

"Why do you hurt me?" I say in the most gentle, Princess-pleading voice I can muster.

"You've hurt me worse."

"Then hurt me even worse. Punish me."

He spits in my face. I lick it from under my nose and my left cheek.

"I hate you."

"Make hate to me. Just make it."

A force in him seems to snap. He pins my shoulders hard into the dirt. Another slap. Then a kiss on my right cheek. I move my lips to his and those black giant lips touch mine. It's brief, he doesn't seem to want a long good kiss but it's something. I touch my left breast and through my short sleeved top he squeezes both. Tight. Then tighter, I try and suppress a wince until I cannot. I rip the top off over my head. It's tight and I have no bra.

"Bite," I command him. He does. Squeezing the left he eats into the right nipple. Then his incisor teeth tuck into my full, milky left. I can just see and feel blood running from both. Then to my neck he goes. Oh those large, rounded lips feel designed to please! But he bites, barely I think missing the vein.

I'm bleeding through three places in my body and with my hands - luckily I have longer arms - I get down my cycling shorts. I'm not wearing pants. I go to pull his down as he squeezes with his nails into my belly. The fat is soft. He wrings pain out of both rolls and I cry. But it's good. I deserve this and want this.

Another slap. Another hard stroke of his palm on my cheek. Then those masculine, tough hands pin once more onto my shoulders. But I am so so ready for what's next. My waters feel like they have released enough to fill thirty thermos bottles. I am teeming with juice now. And he responds.

First it's hard against my thigh. The next is an aim more precise. He enters me. With each thrust he slightly lifts me by shoulders, pushing me back down. My head knocks each time. But he keeps going, keeps the thrust. I can feel him all throughout. That dick of his has reached far, far enough to batter the walls that held a baby in for many months. He won't stop battering. Battering my walls, battering at my shoulders, battering my head against the ground. Then another bite, my right breast is almost cut fully open. I'm hit against the ground, battered inside. But cream, gorgeous cream as lovely as the milk of my breast, rushes in.