Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Biker Butt Bastille Day


It's one of the vexing ambiguities of contemporary English usage that if someone tells you that he's a biker, you don't know whether he's someone who sits on a motorcycle and makes his ass look great by outlining it in leather chaps or someone who pedals a bicycle and makes his ass look great with or without chaps, spandex, or anything else. Fortunately, the guy who came over last night to celebrate French independence1 belonged to the latter class, and after the usual introductory snog (French kissing!), as I followed him up the stairs, squeezing his cheeks, I couldn't help saying, "Yeah, that cycling thing is really working for you."2


After we were done (or at least after la petite mort; there was still some light play to come in the shower), I asked him some more about the cycling, and it turns out that one of his (many) outdoor activities is mountain bike racing. As we were on the way to the shower, I opined that he must look really great in bike shorts.

And in between, I had to stop what I was doing (eating his ass) to tell him just how pretty it was. I had worked my way down his very tan, very smooth (By which I do mean hairless, but I even more mean soft and pleasant to touch: he clearly takes his moisturizing regimen as seriously as he takes his ample time in the sun. I should learn from him, but I'm sure I won't.) back, and he had such a perfect ass that rather than dive right in, I caressed the opening with my tongue. I figured there would be plenty of time to dive in later, when he was going down on me.


Some guys really can make up for a lack of technique with their looks. This guy had an unremarkable face, but the great tan, the luscious skin, the smooth shaved head, the well-built torso, and -- above all -- the melonish posterior more than made up for the slightly toothish cocksucking, the Psycho-inspired kissing, (Think of the music you hear when Janet Leigh's getting stabbed in the shower; this guy kissed just like that, except maybe even a little faster. I almost said something about it, but I figured that he'd calm down in time, and he did, at least some.) and the nearly unresponsive nipples. On the plus side, all it took to make him whimper with glee was to grab his wrists, hold them down over his head, and lie on top of him.

Slapping his ass did the same thing, though in that case the whimpers were mostly muffled by my cock in his mouth, and, really, when a guy's going down on me, slapping his ass is not nearly as much fun as eating it. But I had to do both. Submissives will tell you that it's all about you, but, really, it's about you wanting to do to them what they want to have done to them. And what this guy most wanted me to do to him was straddle his chest and feed him my cock while I leaned forward and held his wrists down. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because it was lot of fun to fuck his face and listen as the whimpers escaped it.


And it was fun to roll him over on his stomach (after I'd made him put the condom3 on me) and fuck him. His ass was very tight, and I could never get quite all the way into him, but it felt great, and there was that incredibly soft, smooth back to play with. I didn't fuck him for very long, but we'd already been going at it for an hour when I started, and when I pulled out and turned him back over and held both wrists down with my left hand while my right hand grabbed his cock, his nuts were already pulled up tight to his body.

I offered him a dildo (baguettes make very impractical sex toys, alas), and he eagerly accepted. I pushed it into his ass (which accommodated the dildo a lot more easily than it had my cock), and he moved himself back and forth as I resumed kissing and stroking him. He said he wanted me to cum first, though, so I turned partly on my side, and jerked myself with my right hand while I kissed him. The left hand was still holding his wrists down.


I let them go when I was getting close so that he could sit up. He was still moving his mouth down to my cock when I started to cum, but he managed to catch the first spurts from six inches away. Then he lay back down, and I caught his whimpers in my mouth as he finished himself off. White cum looks really great on a deeply tanned chest. With a long, relaxed "Nom de plume," he pulled the dildo out of his ass and then relaxed into my arms.

Vive la France!



1The French take their cycling so seriously that there is an annual nude bike riding protest in Paris. The cyclonudistes are apparently more interested in protesting the vulnerability felt by cyclists en face de the Parisian traffic than they are in showing off their glutes, but chacun à son goût, I reckon. There is also apparently something called the Tour de France, but when I googled it, there were no hits, so I don't know for sure.

2You will understand, of course, that all conversations were carried on in French, comme il faut. I have rendered them in English here to make things easier for my non-Francophone readers.

3The French word for condom is préservatif. This fact sometimes makes for amusing misunderstandings when Americans attempt to discuss matters of food safety with the French.

4 comments:

Jack in Sydney said...

I think the "nom de plume" comment is the funniest (and cleverest) thing I've read in quite some time!

You're mas ruse', eh?

Anon in Paris said...

For some strange reason, Bastille Day is sometimes called French Independence Day - maybe an American English thing, to establish a parallel between 4th and 14th of July, I don't know - pretty puzzling since France was an independent country at that time.

Anyway, great text and great choice of photographs, as usual. I have to check the next nude bike riding protest!

tornwordo said...

They do that nude bike ride here too. Always at midnight though. Spouse says you missed an accent aigu on the condom.

The Neighbors Will Hear said...

Jack, I don't think I can take credit for using "nom de plume" as an interjection. It's an old (though, I think, largely forgotten) comic device. I had thought that it originated with the great, but misunderstood, Parisian paramour Pepé Le Pew, but I have been unable to confirm that.

Anon, I am very sorry to have misconstrued your national holiday. Americans conflate liberation with independence, but there is clearly a difference.

Torn, please thank Serge for pointing that out. I have made an appropriate edit, though I'll admit that it took a great deal of time to figure out which o in condom got the aigu.