BIKERY
It was one of those rare warm evenings in San Francisco, the kind that comes after a hot fall day. All the outdoor tables at the café were taken, which was why Suzi and I were sitting inside, sweating along with our pints of cold beer. Outside, bikes were locked to every available vertical fixture, including the spindly saplings that lined the block. The slice of sky over Valencia Street was fading into a sultry darkness, and it seemed like everyone was up for a long night even though it was only Tuesday.
At least we had a table by the big open window so we could watch the crowd out on the sidewalk. I noticed a couple at the curb and gave Suzi a nudge. He was lanky and broad-shouldered, leaning against the crossbar of his bike with his back to us, a filigree of colorful ink decorating both his long arms. She was as tall as he was, with a serious face softened by a warm smile, arching brows, dark eyes and a strong jaw. I watched her face over his shoulder, her eyes moving down to his mouth, then away with a laugh, a flash of pink tongue wetting her lips. She held her bike between them, a barrier across her hips that she leaned into as they talked.
We watched him drop his hand to the seat of the girl’s bike, then languidly trace the length of the crotch-polished leather with his index finger, from back to front then back again. I saw her try to suppress a squirm, taking in a quick breath, blushing and laughing.
“Smooth,” Suzi said appreciatively, tucking a strand of unruly blonde hair back behind her ear as she leaned over her beer, her greased-stained hands cradling her small, round face. Suzi was an artist who’d gotten her start building kinetic sculptures for Burning Man and now had several gallery shows under her belt. She was also a mechanic at one of the trendiest bike shops in the city, five blocks up the street. “Bikes are sexy, no doubt about it.”
“Yup, they are, but why is that?” I asked.
“I think it’s all about the saddle really. For one thing, it shows off an ass like nothing else. Bike seats are pedestals for the ass. They make average asses into fucking works of art.”
I nodded. “It can be hypnotic. I almost died that way once, following a girl through a red light.”
“And another thing,” she continued. “The bike saddle is one of the few things specifically designed to snuggle into the crotch like that. It’s not a big leap of imagination to go from thinking about bikes to thinking about pussy, as demonstrated by our friend out there.” She nodded toward the window.
“And when did you make that leap of imagination?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know exactly, but I guess I’ve been into bikes ever since I was fourteen and inherited my older sister’s with a seat that was a little to high for me. I came all over that thing—rode it so much that summer, my cunt ached all time. I didn’t adjust the seat though!”
“Came?” I asked. “I always thought that was bullshit that girls could have orgasms from riding bikes.”
“Oh no, it’s absolutely fucking true.” She smirked into her glass and leaned back in her chair.
“All I ever got from my bike was bruised balls when I’d fall on the crossbar,” I grumbled.
Small and looking younger than her midthirties, Suzi was one of those women who’d get carded until she went gray. She looked particularly cute when she talked about sex, a favorite topic of ours. Her peaches-and-cream complexion and compact, strong body gave her a girlish innocence, an impression that she delighted in subverting with her pornographic vocabulary.
“I can’t believe you never told me about that before! It explains a lot—like your job.” I gestured to her grease-stained hands. “Do you still come riding bikes?”
“Sometimes,” she said flirtatiously. Then, after hesitating for a second, she leaned across the table with an impish look I’d learned to recognize as a sign that I might get lucky. “Let’s go to my place. I want to show you something. You’ll like it.”
Suzi mostly dated girls but she’d occasionally requested my friendly cock when she’d had a craving; I’d happily come along for the ride. There was a hopeful stirring in my jeans as I imagined what she might be hungry for tonight. I knew that she knew exactly what I was thinking but she refused to tell me anything in spite of a long series of my best sexually exaggerated facial expressions: raising an eyebrow, lip-biting, winking, along with nudges and flirty kicks under the table.
“Okay, I’m ready to go.” I drained my glass in a couple of large gulps. She giggled a little too loudly at my eagerness to leave. Was she nervous? That wasn’t like her and made me even more excited, requiring a covert through-the-pocket adjustment as I got up from my chair.
Her place was three blocks away, an old carriage house hidden behind a larger building that might have once been a stately home. She let me in through the heavy wooden door and flicked on the light of her studio, a sprawling workshop with a kitchen set up in a far corner. Her bedroom was on the top floor, so I turned toward the stairs.
“Uh-uh. Over here, dummy!” Taking my hand, she led me across the shadowy space, around crates of salvaged parts glinting in the dim light, battered toolboxes and welding equipment. Sculptures in various states of completion rose from the scarred and blackened floorboards like machines from a posta-pocalyptic civilization. In the far corner a space had been cleared away and a semicircle of mismatched chairs had been drawn up around a stained canvas tarp covering a bike-like form.
“You expecting an audience?” I asked, gesturing to the chairs.
“Maybe. I’m thinking about it. But you’re the first to see this. I finished it a couple days ago.” Pulling off the tarp, she revealed what used to be a bicycle but was now something much, much more.
I took a few steps back. “Shit, that’s amazing! It’s beautiful, Suzi! What is it?”
The shiny, black tubes of the frame and the sweeping chrome of the handlebars gave the thing the appearance of a beach cruiser made for a vampire, but it was obvious that this bike wasn’t meant for actually going anywhere. Instead of holding a wheel, the front fork swept down with a serpentine curl to the floor, supporting the frame. Delicate gold-and-white pinstriping flowed across the dark armature, and the words BOINK BIKES LTD. decorated the crossbar.
Like the front, arching struts supported the back of the bike frame, and a large, heavy-looking silver disk took the place of the rear wheel. “That’s the flywheel,” Suzie pointed out. “And see here? This is where the magic happens.” She pointed to where a second chain ran from the flywheel up to a dense assembly of clockwork under the saddle.
The saddle itself was a sleek wedge of black leather with a horn that curved upward to cup the rider’s crotch. “I think I get the idea, but that thing doesn’t look very comfortable.” I pointed to the bare metal rod poking up through a hole in the middle of the seat. Suzi pressed a short, thick red dildo down onto the rod. She reached down to give the leather-wrapped pedals a quick spin with her hand until the flywheel was turning, and then flicked a lever on the handlebars. The machinery below started a rhythmic whir as the dildo vibrated and writhed like a sea cucumber doing the hula. I blushed at the mental image of Suzi riding this thing.
“Take a seat,” she said in a businesslike voice, nodding to a sagging velour armchair behind me.
“Okay!” I grinned nervously and flopped down into the dusty upholstery.
“I’m feeling shy now, but fuck it. I’m going to just pretend you’re not here for a minute, okay?” She turned her back and unceremoniously pulled off her white cotton tank top, then undid her belt and peeled her jeans and panties down to the floor. My breath caught at the sight of her nude body, her skin a creamy white except for the freckly farmer’s tan on her arms and neck. She kicked the tangled wad of her clothes aside and turned around.
“Okay. Now some lube just to get things started.” She picked up a bottle from the floor, squeezed a generous dollop into her palm and stroked the dildo to a slippery shine. I stirred in my seat, my cock trying to poke up under the waistband of my pants in solidarity.
Suzi slipped her lubed hand between her legs, her fingers dipping in and then out again to give her clit a few light rubs. Wiping her hands on a rag, she threw a leg over the crossbar and stepped up onto the pedals. She reached back and held the dildo in position as she slowly lowered herself down into a riding position, the thick cock sliding into her. Taking a breath, she took hold of the handlebars, closed her eyes and began to pedal. When the silver flywheel was spinning with a heavy whir she thumbed the lever upward. The clockwork under the seat shuddered rhythmically, and Suzi with it. “Fuck yeah!” she groaned loudly and threw back her head, mouth open in a sigh of pleasure.
She turned toward me now, confident and flushed. “Now watch this,” she said, and with the flick of a switch lights flickered on from somewhere on the frame, bathing her face and swaying breasts in a pulsing red glow. “Feel free to pay homage to my creation,” she added with a melodramatic sweep of her arm, nodding in the general direction of my erection.
I pulled off my shirt, wriggled my jeans down around my ankles and gave my rigid cock a liberal squirt from her bottle of lube. It was time to take in a full account of this pedal-powered erotic tour de force. Suzi had found her cadence and looked utterly transported, eyes closed, her hair sticking to her face and shoulders as she pedaled and moaned and swore softly to herself. I stroked away to the rhythm of her machine, watching pleasure sweep across her face, my balls tight with anticipation.
She was caught by surprise as her first orgasm surged through her. Watching her suddenly writhe and curse with pleasure, I could feel the same stabbing urge to come lapping at the base of my spine. I quickly pulled my hand off my shaft and closed my eyes, warm precome spilling onto my belly.
When the fluttering deep in my crotch subsided I opened my eyes to find her watching me intently through heavy-lidded eyes, pedaling slowly. “Shit, that was close!” I groaned. “I want to wait and come with you.” I trailed my fingers through the slippery drops on my belly and lifted them to my mouth. “Mmmm, look what you’re making me do,” I teased her.
“Fucking pervert,” Suzi chuckled, and bit her lip in that utterly adorable way of hers, thumbing the lever on the handlebars again as she began to pedal in earnest. The red lights pulsed faster; her head dropped between her shoulders as she murmured obscenities in a tight, husky voice. I knew she was close so I stroked slowly, trying to pace myself, but I wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this amazing erotic spectacle.
Thankfully I didn’t have to wait long. Her knuckles were white on the handgrips now, her eyes shut tight and her lips pulled back over her teeth as she gasped for breath. Then her face softened in a spasm of slack-jawed pleasure and she yelled out and bucked on the seat as she came. I had a second to take it all in before a final tug on my slippery cock blinded me. An endorphin-soaked firebomb detonated in my head with a whoosh, and, as if from a great distance, I felt come splash on my chest as my body jackknifed and shuddered in a cataclysm.
When I opened my eyes I saw that Suzi had stopped pedaling and lay draped over the handlebars in a sweaty mess. The flywheel still whirred behind her but the clockwork was disengaged and still. She slowly stood up, letting the dildo flop out of her, wobbled over and collapsed into the chair next to me. “Holy fuckin’ shit. It made it even better having an audience. I loved having you watch me!”
“Anytime,” I mumbled. Then I asked, “Are you going to build something like that for guys?”
Suzi looked me over with sex-glazed eyes, from where my jeans were still gathered around my ankles up to the ribbons of come decorating my chest. “I think I already have,” she said, smirking, then kissed me softly on the mouth and tossed me a greasy shop rag.