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               Chapter One - Freewheeling Barbara Toys With Boys

          He had curly blond hair, he was about ninteen years old, and  the
     look in his eyes told Barbara that the young man had other thoughts in
     his  mind than the eggs Benedict he was eating.  Look how  his  tongue
     curls around the bacon, the woman thought.  Like it could curl  around
     my...
          He stared at her.  Then he smiled.  A shy, young smile.  What was
     she  thinking  of, anyway.  How silly!  Here she was  a  mature  woman
     watching a teenaged young man eat his breakfast, getting damp  between
     her  legs as she did, not knowing why, narrowing her eyes in  a  lust-
     filled  response to his lewd smile.  She hoped Annette didn't  notice.
     She directed her attention toward her partner, Annette.  Her  partner.
     How foolish that sounded.  Oh well.
          No, Annette hadn't noticed.  Good.
          Barbara  leaned  away from her cheese omelet and  glared  at  the
     thick  slices  of  French toast buried beneath  a  mountain  of  fresh
     strawberries and whipped cream on Annette's breakfast plate.
          "That's disgusting, Annette, how can you eat like that? she said.
     "Here,  I'll help you."  And she scooped up a bite, glancing  back  at
     the  young  man at the other table as she rather obviously  rolled  it
     around on her tongue, lips slightly parted.
          The  two women had just finished an eleven-day, 638-mile  bicycle
     tour  down state.  In past years they had peddled thousands  of  miles
     together,  150 miles in one stint, 500 in another.  They were  already
     planning a bike tour across Europe that might very well get them  into
     the Guinness Book of Records.  They had both often agreed that it  was
     their mutual "visions of hotcakes" that made them dedicated cyclists.
          The  two women never allowed themselves breakfast until they  had
     gone  20 or 25 miles.  They had long before agreed, "We'll have to  be
     starving  first,  and  then we will both agree that it  was  the  best
     breakfast  we  ever ate."  And every night they would  have  the  best
     shower they ever had.  But that seemed to be it.  No great sex, just a
     great shower.
          The  two women had been biking together for years.  They had  met
     four  years  before  when  a  mutual  friend,  a  real  estate  agent,
     introduced them, saying that, "Annette will be great for you! She will
     help  you  decorate your home."  Annette had, and now the  two  houses
     looked exactly alike.
          Their first long ride together had taken them some twelve  miles,
     to  meet their husbands for dinner at the beach.  As  they  approached
     the  restaurant Annette had called out, "That's twelve. Thirteen is  a
     luckier  number!"   So the two women circled a car wash, next  to  the
     restaurant, about fifteen times to make up the mile difference.
          The  difference  between them, Barbara had finally  decided,  was
     that  Annette  was a record-breaker idiot.  There was  something  else
     about cycling that Barbara loved, screw the records, the distance  and
     all  that.  She loved the wind in her hair, her face, the coolness  of
     it.  And her legs pumping, sometimes aching... and she associated that
     thought, strangely enough, with sex.  The moment of exhaustion was not
     unlike the moment of orgasm.
          But  then how would Barbara know?  She was in  her  mid-thirties,
     and  except  for  a little side-trip of sexual  adventure,  had  never
     experienced  true  sexual  fullfillment.  And that had  been  a  mind-
     bending experience.
          And of course it had been with the young man who had stared  over
     his  eggs Benedict at her during breakfast that morning at the  little
     roadside motel.  A soul-filled look in his eyes, that was what it  had
     been that turned her on so.  She had had a husband and many other  men
     in her life - so why was this youth's look so different, so  exciting?
     Perhaps  it  was  a case of Monday Morning  Quarterbacking  -  he  had
     satisfied her.  Oh, did he ever satisfy her!
          She  had  become sick to death of Annette's bribes of  "Tell  you
     what,  Barbara,  a  big luscious hot fudge sundae if we  push  on  for
     another three miles, what say?"  Annette was obsessed.  Annette was  a
     nut.
          There  had  been the feedback from friends - "You two  will  kill
     yourselves."  Actually, there had been few mishaps.  The two women had
     prepared thoroughly for their long-distance runs, and both had  worked
     themselves into demons for conditioning.  Barbara, in her first  burst
     of enthusiasm after meeting Annette, had taken a semester-long  course
     on bicycling at a local Junior college, and the whole thrust of it had
     been safety.  Safety was something Barbara was sick to death of.   The
     young  man's  eyes -ahh, there was danger, a much  spicier  dish  than
     safety.
          Annette  had  insisted they have their bikes checked  out  before
     each  and every trip, and then they would train, leaving  home  before
     5:45  a.m.,  getting in 12 or 20 miles of  vigorous  cycling.  Always,
     though,  they  were  back  before 7:45 in time  for  Annette  to  cook
     breakfast  for her husband.  Barbara had become jealous of that.   She
     had  no  one except her son Jerry to even think about  breakfast  for.
     And  her  son  Jerry,  at this point in his  life,  anyway,  needed  a
     bicycling mother like he needed a hole in the head.
          But the conditioning had paid off.  She was slim, tight of  body,
     didn't pant, even when cycling up a continuous twenty-five mile  hill.
     Maybe  it had all put her in condition for the very young man who  was
     to be her first satisfying lover.
          In  his arms, she was to forget the challenges of roads that  had
     no shoulders, logging trucks and sawdust trucks whizzing by, hills  to
     pump up.
          But,  in young Jim's arms, Barbara, a bit late in life,  realized
     the wonderful exhileration of another kind of uphill pumping, her mind
     screaming to itself, "Look what your body is doing now!"
          "Hi!" he had said to her as she sat outside her motel room  door.
     She  and Annette always had their own room, no matter where they  were
     cycling to or from.  It had been Annette's husband's idea.  "If you do
     break  any mileage records, people will get to talking, and  the  next
     thing  you  know you'll have reputations as being lesbians.   I  don't
     mind the bike rides off into nowhere, but I don't think I can hack the
     lesbian  talk bit," he had declared.  Both women  agreed  immediately,
     for that was not their game.
          Barbara  now  lifted her sun glasses and looked  into  the  young
     man's handsome face.  She said nothing, but did manage a smile.
          "You and your girlfriend are bike freaks too, eh?" he said.
          "Freaks?  I don't like to think of it exactly that way,"  Barbara
     replied,  crossing  her  legs, a  subconscious  protective  measure  -
     against  her  own  compulsions,  not against the  young  man  who  had
     approached her.
          "Sorry.   No  offense.  I call myself a bike freak.  I  biked  up
     here all the way from State College.  There are bike freaks and  there
     are  bike freaks, see?"  He pulled up a deck chair next to  her.   His
     body was tight, compact, tanned.  "I live on a particular street  down
     at  college.   "It's  off  campus, actually, and  I  have  a  basement
     apartment.  Anyway, this street is known for bachelor parties, and out
     on  the  street  and on the balconies, anywhere.   Sort  of  like  New
     Orleans.   And  the  girls that live there  in  the  dorms,  freshmen,
     mostly, they ride their bikes by this street every morning, see.  It's
     like a beauty parade.  They know that only studs that are seniors  and
     have  some  bread can afford apartments on the street.  Not  that  the
     apartments are so great - mine was flooded knee deep last year  during
     the  rains  - but then I got a basement two-roomer, the  rent's  cool.
     Anyway,  these freshies ride by, and whoever doesn't have  a  hangover
     from  a  bash  the night before watches.  Good  watching,  too.   They
     purposely wear these little bikinis and no bras under their  T-shirts,
     so their boobs bounce and all."
          Barbara smiled, and reddened a bit.  He's so young, she  thought,
     so  fresh,  so ready to attack life.  I wish I was like that.   I  was
     once.
          He grinned, and his teeth were very young and white and square.
          "So  there they go, pedaling along, dozens of them, up  and  down
     the street.  Their boobs bounce, and sometimes when I look up from  my
     basement  window I can almost see the balconies above bouncing in  the
     same  cadence.  Lots of horny dudes, see.  Anyway, like I was  saying,
     there's  bikers and then there's bikers.  Those girls are not  bikers.
     You  and  your  friend, you're bikers.  I could  tell.   Bikes  oiled,
     everything in balance."  He looked down at her breasts.  "And  nothing
     bouncing."
          He wore nothing but blue satin bathing trunks, and her eyes  fell
     on the thick bulge, the almost invisible throb at the skimpy center.
          She  looked  back  up into his eyes.  And she  knew.   They  both
     knew...

          Later,  in her motel room that night, while Annette obtained  her
     necessary  "health sleep, eight hours, no less!", the young man  named
     Jim stared again into Barbara's eyes.
          Running his middle finger over the crispy curling strands of  her
     pubic  hair, he hissed down at her, his teeth bared in an  animalistic
     mask of lust.  "Don't worry," he told her.  "I'm going to give you the
     fucking of your life!"
          "Oooooooooh!" moaned Barbara.  "Yeeeeeees!"
          His  obscene words triggered still more excitement in her  wildly
     impassioned  body, and she groaned louder, "Do it to me... fuck me  as
     hard as you can!"  Her small ringed hand tightened about the shaft  of
     his  pulsing penis as she spoke, and her naked white ass-cheeks  began
     to  rotate  in wanton little circles on the mattress as she  felt  his
     prodding finger swirling around and around the sensitive little bud of
     her clitoris.  "Aaaaaaah," she cried.
          Her  new lover's penis lurched violently and he new he could  not
     wait  any longer.  Suddenly inspired by her lewd gyrations and  wanton
     pleadings, he decided what his plan of attack would be with the woman.
     He wanted to shove his bursting cock up inside her tight little belly,
     and he wanted the salacious view of her jouncing breasts and her lust-
     contorted face as he did so.  There was only one way to do it.
          "Get on top of me!" he commanded, and before Barbara had a chance
     to  protest or to consent, she felt herself being pulled up  over  his
     passion-fevered loins.
          Her husband had never made love to her this way, and she was  not
     quite  sure of what to do.  She stared down with wide wondering  eyes,
     afraid  he was going to do something else that would only satisfy  his
     own  needs instead of giving her the fucking she needed.   Her  breath
     came  in  quick labored gasps, and she only wished he  would  put  his
     penis inside her aching pussy quick!  It felt as though her cunt  were
     on fire, and the spirit of licentious liberation from all  inhibitions
     drove  her  to  heights of wanton desire which she  had  never  before
     known.
          "Like  this,  baby,"  explained  the  youth  whose  fingers  were
     clasping  the  satin-smooth  cheeks  of  her  resilient  buttocks  and
     positioning  her  temptingly  small cuntal mouth  directly  above  his
     throbbing hardness.  A lewd little smile lighted his face as he  noted
     the  half-fearful,  half-lustful  gleam  in her  eyes  as  she  stared
     greedily down at the size of his penis.
          "Is  it  big enough?" he asked lecherously,  his  eyes  gleaming.
     "This what your hot cunt is needing?"
          Barbara  could  hardly answer.  The sight of  his  rigid  pulsing
     flesh rising straight up from his hairy loins to her unprotected pussy
     made the lustful woman almost faint with desire.
          But  it's so big, she thought in terror.  It will surely tear  me
     apart.   Suddenly her lust was forgotten in a flood of  terror.  "No!"
     she gasped.  "Stop!  Let go of me!"
          Forgotten now, in the moment of truth, were all the other massive
     penises  that  she  had thought too big for her.   But  there  was  no
     stopping  now.  The panting youth was quite sure that she'd  like  his
     big  thick  cock well enough once it was firmly ensconced  within  her
     trembling cunt.
          "Take  it in your hand and put it in your cunt," he ordered,  too
     impatient to pay attention to the cock-teasing woman's objections.
          "No!" she wailed.  "I can't!  I'm afraid!  I won't!"
          Oh God in heaven! thought Barbara, he is surely going to tear  me
     to  pieces.   But she was helpless against his every wish.   Her  body
     ceased  to  struggle  and strain, and much  to  her  astonishment  the
     needles  of  desire and thrills of excitement  began  again,  prurient
     flames of eroticism flooding through her loins.
          "Now  you  put  my cock in your pussy and  hurry  up  about  it,"
     commanded the boy who lay below her, still leering.
          Oh  God.   How did I ever get in a position like this?   But  she
     obediently reached out her hand and guided his lust-distended hardness
     toward  the  small  quivering mouth of her vagina.   As  she  somewhat
     gingerly parted her soaked vaginal lips to guide the blunt-nosed shaft
     up into the depths of her belly, her earlier passion began to return.
          Unable  to  wait another second, the lusting youth with  the  big
     penis flicked his muscular hips upward and plunged his aching hardness
     deep into her open cunt without thinking whether he was hurting her or
     not.
          Sharp needles of sensual agony shot through her impaled body. The
     boy's  massive thickness was thrust inside her.  His mammoth  hardness
     throbbed within the suffering walls of her stretched cunt.
          And  then  before she realized what she was doing, she  began  to
     undulate her own firm-fleshed ass-cheeks around the obscenely impaling
     rod  of hardened male flesh, all traces of pain easing until  she  was
     floating in between hurt and happiness, between pain and pleasure, far
     away from reality.  Something was so erotic, so forbidden about  being
     fucked  half to death by a stranger, far away from her son,  far  away
     from  home.   A powerful wave of pleasure rippled  through  her  over-
     stimulated body.
          "Oh, yes," she breathed.  "Yes, fuck me like that."
          Eager to oblige the lust-ridden woman the youth began to fuck his
     pulsating  thickness  hard  up  into her  heated  vagina  with  smooth
     straight  strokes that sank all the way to her spongy cervix.  At  the
     same  time,  he teased his thumb wildly at the sensitive  bud  of  her
     throbbing clitoris.
          Incoherent  gurgles of joy spurted from Barbara's  lushly  parted
     lips,  and her ripe body squirmed in orgiastic ecstasy.  She felt  his
     hand  attack  her  vulnerable  anus with  savage  insistence,  as  the
     outstretched  finger wormed its way up into her clenching  rectum,  to
     move  back and forth in time to the wild fucking strokes of the  youth
     beneath her.  She felt herself floating higher and higher, far removed
     from space and time.
          Then,   suddenly,  the  long  desired  climax  hit  her  like   a
     jackhammer.   Unexpectedly  it  came over her aroused  flesh  and  she
     howled  like a wounded animal, as great swirls of incredible  pleasure
     stormed  through her overloaded nervous system.  And at precisely  the
     same moment, the plunging penis that brought her to such heights, came
     also,  expanding  to  spurt  its  hot load  of  semen  deep  into  her
     convulsing body.
          Maddened  by the pungent aroma of sexual release, Barbara  fucked
     harder  and  wilder down upon his stiff  exploding  penis.   Orgiastic
     liquid poured from her own convulsing body and overflowed upon the bed
     below them.  She swallowed in the delights of orgasm and the  slippery
     warm cum.