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I mentioned a recent writing contest involving a typewriter when I 
was out with a friend (omitting the erotica part of it).  She replied 
that a story about a typewriter wasn't much of a challenge, in 
improv they throw out at least three unrelated items to play off of.  
After several margaritas we had a typewriter, a bicycle and a 
windmill (oh my).  After briefly toying with the idea of a Dutch 
boy putting his finger in a dyke while riding a bike (the dyke riding 
on the handlebars of course), which seemed better suited for a 
limerick, this is what emerged from my tequila-inspired mind and 
a bit of sober editing.  

Warning:  This story contains graphic description of sexual activity 
involving consenting adults.  If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.  
If you are of age and reading this sort of thing is legal wherever 
you happen to be, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed 
writing it.

All of the characters depicted are fictional.  Any resemblance to 
you or anyone you know is entirely coincidental.  

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Bagging a Peak
(F-solo, M-solo)
(c) 2005, by robincurious

Mark heard her before he saw her.  She sat at a picnic table in a 
clearing, a muddy mountain bike leaned up against a nearby tree.  
Her honey-colored hair hung over her face as she concentrated on 
what she was doing.  He was just finishing his ride with a cool-
down loop through the park and slowed almost to a stop, admiring 
her muscular shoulders gleaming in the sunlight.  He passed by 
slowly, fascinated.  Her muscles flexed with her movements and 
her breasts jiggled slightly under the thin cropped white tank.  She 
was oblivious to his gaze, entirely engrossed in her efforts, entirely 
unaware of her eroticism.

He pedaled slowly as the trail entered a patch of woods, very much 
aware of his half-hard penis constrained by his biker shorts.  Mark 
savored the images of her in his mind, enthralled by the 
incongruity of what he had seen.  He'd never seen that in a park!  
He picked up his pace, weaving around the occasional jogger as he 
looped around to the clearing once more.  Her hair still kept him 
from seeing her face, but again he admired her arms and shoulders, 
tanned chestnut brown.  Flexing, purposeful.

Unable to help himself, he stopped and stared at what she was 
doing.  

-- Flex flex, DING!  Reach, jiggle, flex flex flex flex DING!  Reach, 
jiggle --

He was mesmerized watching her type.  When she looked up there 
was no way to disguise the fact that he was staring.  So he smiled.

She brushed her hair behind one ear and smiled in reply, a grin 
filling her narrow face and lighting up her big dark eyes.  Mark 
heard her chuckle, an odd hiccupy laugh that made him laugh with 
her.  He dismounted and wheeled his bike over to her table.

"Perv."  She chuckled again, throwing her hair back.

"I was just surprised to see you doing that here," Mark responded.  
"It stopped me in my tracks."

"And gave you a hard-on."  She looked from his crotch to his eyes 
and laughed again.  "So did that happen the first time you went by 
or after you came back?"

Mark felt himself flushing in embarrassment.  "Well I..."

"It's OK, I like looking at a nice hard-on in biker shorts."  The girl 
grinned.  "Perv."

He hesitated, feeling that this was definitely not going well.  "Well 
I'll let you get back to ... um ... work," he said resignedly, turning 
his bike back towards the path.

"Guys with cute butts can stay," she called to him.

He stopped and turned.  She was appraising him, head cocked to 
one side.  "So do I qualify?"

"Ooh yeah," she said softly.  "Very much so."  She patted the 
bench next to her.  "Come, sit."

He walked his bike over to lean it against the tree next to hers, 
slipped off his helmet and joined her at the picnic table, getting his 
first clear look at her.  At first glance her features were too large 
for her face.  Her mouth was broad with a full lower lip offsetting a 
narrow upper lip and giving her a pouty look in the rare moments 
when she wasn't smiling.  Her crooked teeth gleamed white 
against her bronzed skin.  Her nose could euphemistically be 
described as substantial.  But her eyes dominated, large and 
expressive ... and perpetually amused, it seemed.  She pushed her 
hair back behind her ears, revealing them to be only slightly less 
disproportionate than her nose.  Yet somehow she was beautiful in 
an elfin sort of way.

He straddled the picnic bench and she turned, swinging a long lean 
leg over to straddle the bench facing him.  "OK, you'll want to 
know everything eventually so I'll tell you up front.  I'm 23, grad 
student in chem, not in a relationship, not looking for a 
relationship, live alone."  She grinned.  "And I'm typing in the 
park."  She stuck out her hand.  "I'm Parker."

Mark grinned in reply, taking her hand.  "Mark, 34, programmer, 
no girlfriend, live alone, finishing up my Sunday ride."  He had 
shaken her hand, but realized she wasn't letting go, and their 
joined hands dropped to rest on her leg.  He glanced down, taking 
in her taut belly and firm breasts under the thin white tank.  
"Parker's an unusual name ..."

Her laugh burbled out of her.  "Mom idolized Dorothy Parker but 
didn't want to subject me to a lifetime of Wizard of Oz jokes."  

The smooth skin of her thigh was warm against his hand.  "You 
said you're studying chemistry?" he asked.

"Lubricants."  She looked into his eyes.  "Our team is working on 
organic lubricants that will stand up to high temperatures and still 
maintain their properties.  Astroglide for wind generators."

"Astroglide won't work then?" Mark smiled and received a laugh 
in reply.

"Oh it works, but not for wind generators."  She smirked and 
looked down.  "You have great thighs," she observed with another 
laugh, running her free hand over his thigh, squeezing his muscle.  
"You must ride a lot."

"Every chance I get," Mark replied, smiling, his body responding 
to her touch.  "I race sometimes."  They looked into each others' 
eyes, her hand stroking his thigh.  "Do you ride?"

"Everywhere I go," she replied.  Mark felt his cock twitch.

"I'm part of an experiment," she announced abruptly.

"Pardon?"  

"That's why I'm typing."  Mark had forgotten about the typewriter 
that had caught his attention in the first place.  "For three months I 
can't use any energy that isn't generated through alternative 
means, not even conventional batteries.  No computer.  No air 
conditioning.  No lights.  No car.  I'm about a month into it."

"So how do you cook?" he asked.

"They provide a gas stove that uses methane from their own sheep-
shit digester and they have solar cells and a wind farm to generate 
enough electricity to run a small fridge in each room.  Lights too, 
but we're supposed to limit that to emergencies."  She squeezed his 
thigh again.  "Do you ride long distances?"

"Just 50k today."  He watched the muscles in her shoulder and arm 
flexing as she tested his thigh muscle with long fingers.

"Legs tired?"  She cocked her head to one side, momentarily 
serious, her pouty expression making him want to kiss her.

"Not at all," he said, leaning forward slightly, deciding to chance a 
kiss.

"Cool!"  Parker laughed, popping up from the bench before his lips 
could make contact.  "Come back to my place."

Mark leaned back, startled.  "Your place?" 

She was busy putting the typewriter back in its case along with her 
papers.  She tossed the rock she had used as a paperweight into the 
trees.  "Uh huh, you're perfect.  I need you to help me."

The typewriter was back in its case and she carried it to her bike, 
strapping it to a rack on the back with a web of bungee cords.

"Help you do what?" Mark asked, confused.

"Get off," she said with another chuckle.

He looked at her as she bent over her bike, her back lean and 
muscular, butt round and firm in her spandex shorts.

She turned to face him, her hair back around her face again.  
"Interested?"

He stood and took a step towards her.  "Definitely," he said softly, 
slipping a hand around her waist and pulling her close.  She 
pressed her lithe body into his and gave him a quick kiss on the 
lips, then pirouetted away.

"Follow me."  She fastened her helmet and straddled her bike, 
waiting while he did the same.  Then she was off, pedaling quickly 
and easily down the path.  He followed, regretting the square bulk 
of the typewriter case that blocked his view of her butt until she 
stood on her pedals to pump her way up a hill.  Then his eyes never 
left the perfect hemispheres of her bottom, flexing rhythmically 
with her efforts.  He was close behind her as they reached the crest, 
but he zoomed past when she turned sharply onto a dirt side path.  
He braked and turned, threading his way onto the path and 
catching a glimpse of her far ahead through the trees.  He pedaled 
hard to catch up with her, but she knew the path and had an 
advantage in off-road riding with her mountain bike.  His narrower 
tires skidded dangerously on the dirt and more than once he felt the 
sting of a tree branch whipping him.  He started wondering what 
he was doing following this strange girl.  As the trail started 
downhill the trail became rocky and it took all his concentration to 
keep from wrecking until the trail burst from the woods and he 
skidded to a halt, breathless and bathed in sweat.

"Shortcut," she said, grinning.  He looked at her in disbelief.

"You're nuts!"

She laughed and he found himself laughing with her.  Her tank top 
was plastered to her, molded to her contours, perspiration 
glistening on her face and chest.  He remembered why he had been 
following her.

"It's right over there."  He looked and saw a small two-story white 
frame building they had approached from the rear.  To one side the 
sun glinted off a myriad of silvery blades, a small sea of windmills 
turning languidly.  She followed his look.  "The wind farm," she 
said simply.  "Solar panels on the roof."  The building was in the 
midst of farmland, fields dotted with the cottony forms of the 
methane producers.  The building itself looked like it contained 
four units and there was an empty parking lot in front.  "They built 
it just for the project," she explained as they wheeled their bikes up 
to the building.  She leaned hers up against the wall, pulled off her 
helmet and began unfastening the typewriter.  He leaned his bike 
next to hers and removed his helmet as well.

"Carry this," she said, handing him the case.  He was surprised at 
its weight.  As they walked to the door she casually peeled off her 
sweaty tank top.  "I'm on the second floor," she commented over 
her shoulder.  She had no tan lines on her back and when she 
pulled the door open he saw she had none in front either.  "Tops 
aren't a big deal out here," she explained with a grin.  He admired 
her body as he followed her up the stairs.  Then he followed her 
through the door of her apartment and she closed it behind him, 
locking it with a click.

The stifling heat of the apartment closed around them as they 
moved through a tiny kitchen into the apartment's other sparsely 
furnished room.  To one side stood a small table and a sofa, to the 
other an exercise bike next to a mattress positioned in front of a 
sliding door leading onto a balcony.  The door was open and a faint 
breeze attempted to stir the heat of the room.  

"Ready?" she asked.  He turned to see her sliding off her shorts.  
He pulled off his jersey and started to pull down his shorts as well.

"No, keep your shorts on, we're not going to fuck."  

Mark stopped, shorts halfway to his knees, erection bobbing in the 
half light.  She laughed her infectious laugh.  

"I'm first, then you can get off while I watch."  

She flopped down on the mattress, spreading her legs wide to 
reveal a neatly trimmed pussy, glistening with perspiration and 
arousal. 

"If you want me to watch, that is.  So pull 'em back up, bud," she 
ordered with another laugh.  

Confused, he pulled them back over his painfully hard erection 
while he watched her run her hands over her thighs, then up over 
her pussy.  She nodded towards the exercise bike.  

"I need you to pedal."  

She was concentrating now, the muscles in her arms and shoulders 
flexing as she worked.  Mark walked slowly to the bike as if in a 
trance, his eyes never leaving her body, admiring her breasts and 
flat tummy.  Her thighs spread further apart as she worked her 
fingers into her sex.  Definitely crazy, he thought.  Committable.  
But with a body like that... As he mounted the bike, she reached 
for something cylindrical alongside the mattress.  

"Pedal," she coaxed.  

Mark started pedaling slowly, feeling heavy resistance on the bike 
as she placed the smooth cylinder of the vibrator between her legs, 
alongside of her clit.  

"Faster," she ordered, her voice serious now.  He pedaled faster, 
noting the wire that trailed from one end of the vibrator towards an 
odd box near the bike.  He heard a faint hum coming from the 
vibrator.  "Yessss, harder Mark, pedal harder!"  

Mark began pumping at the pedals, moving his legs faster, 
powering the generator.  The hum turned into a buzz.  

"That's it, keep going."  

Mark watched, pedaling hard, while Parker ran the tip of the 
vibrator around her clit, then down into her folds.  She shifted on 
the mattress to face the bike, offering him an unobstructed view.  
He bit his lip as he watched the tip of the vibrator enter her.  
Parker's body undulated on the mattress as she worked the vibrator 
deeper inside herself.  

"Feels so good," she gasped.  

She looked up at him, into his eyes, then over his muscled torso 
gleaming with sweat.  She slipped the vibe out and ran it over her 
clit, her eyes never leaving Mark, then guided it back to her 
opening and pushed it deep inside.  Her thumb found her clit and 
he watched as she massaged it, rubbing in little circles while her 
hips squirmed.  He leaned forward on the bike, bringing the base of 
his erection against the bike seat while he pedaled, watching her 
work the toy in and out.  Her other hand cupped her breast, 
squeezing, her fingers finding a nipple and pulling at it.  All the 
while she gasped and moaned, her body writhing and gleaming 
from her exertions.  Her eyes never left him and the scent of her 
arousal gradually filled the room.  Mark pedaled as if in a race, 
pumping hard to achieve a glorious finish.  Finally she pressed the 
vibe hard against her clit and arched her back, eyes rolling back in 
her head.

Parker came loud and long, her thighs closing to trap the vibe 
against her clit as she let out a wail.  Then with her eyes clenched 
tightly shut she opened them again and plunged it inside herself, 
her hips bucking.  Rolling onto her side, she buried her face in the 
pillow, body shaking silently.  Finally she lay still, gasping for 
breath and bathed in sweat.  Mark kept pedaling mechanically, 
unable to stop.  After a few moments, she rolled onto her back and 
slipped the vibrator from her pussy, a laugh bubbling out of her.  

"That was wicked good," she said breathlessly.  "The last guy 
couldn't keep it up long enough to get me off."  She laughed again.  
"The biking, that is."

Mark slowed his pace, pondering the absurdity of a cool down in 
the stifling apartment and finally slid off the bike seat onto wobbly 
legs.  He felt a rush of victory sweeter than any he'd gotten from 
winning a race.  He dropped to his knees alongside the mattress, 
his eyes never leaving Parker's glistening body.  She rolled to face 
him, grabbing his shorts with both hands and pulling them to his 
knees.  

"Your turn," she whispered, a serious look on her face.  

He knelt, looking down at her upturned face, his cock throbbing 
inches from her lips.  Imagining her lips engulfing his cock, he 
circled his fingers around his erection, squeezing and slowly 
stroking, a drop of precum forming at the tip.

"Cocks are so cool," she whispered.  

"Suck me," he whispered in reply, but she just giggled.

"No, wank it!"  

He began stroking faster and she got onto her knees facing him, 
eyes never leaving his cock.  He squeezed harder, increasing the 
friction while his eyes roamed over her smooth skin, her erect 
nipples, the gentle curve of her breasts.  She reached between his 
legs and ran her fingers lightly over his scrotum, eliciting a moan 
from him as his balls tightened.  She grinned at his reaction.  He 
moved his hand with greater urgency.  

"Yeah, do it," she cooed, running her fingers from his balls and 
over his stroking fingers, encouraging him.  "Shoot for me."  

While he stroked his shaft she stroked the underside of his glans 
with her finger tips.  Mark felt his tension mounting, felt the cum 
gathering inside and then exploding in a powerful orgasm, cock 
pulsing as his hand pumped.  Parker caught his cum in her palm 
with a contented giggle.

When he had finished pulsing, she caught the last drop hanging 
from the tip of his cock on her finger and looked at the puddle in 
her hand.  "Once we get to know each other better, I'll suck you 
off," she said softly.  "And if we click I'll let you fuck me if you 
still want to." She looked up into his eyes.  "Until then, maybe you 
can do your biking at my place.  You go biking a lot, right?"

"Every chance I get."

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Feedback is welcome, send comments to [despammed] 
robincurious at hotmail dot com.

You can read my other stories at 
/files/Authors/Robin_Curious