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The Fundraiser

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A two-part story of summer bliss

Note: This story does have sex…it just comes near the end. No one under 18 involved.

Every January for the past 15 years I have blocked out the fourth weekend of July to participate in a two hundred mile bike ride to raise money for medical research. Starting at one end of the state and ending at the other, thousands of spandex clad men and women of all ages, shapes and sizes come from all over the country to further the cause.

The event has been going on for almost thirty years and as the fund raising requirements have increased, so has the average age of the riders. Like me, there are lots of alums who make this a focus of their summer, perhaps even of their year. For some it is a calling and year after year you see many of the same faces and name tags. Oddly, these folks seem more familiar when wearing their form fitting uniforms and hair hiding bicycle helmets than when garbed in street clothes.

On this weekend pedaling, traffic and flat tires are everyone’s focus. The excitement of the event, the exhaustion of the ride and the essentially no privacy allowed accommodations make anything erotic impossible. Well, mostly.


I first met Julie 5 years ago. She had flown from Oregon to take part in her first major fundraising ride. She was an old and dear friend of Rachel, one of the women that I train with, and had come east both to see her friend and to be with the guy she was dating who was also riding. The mid-summer gods were almost always smiling on this event and once again were promising to bless the weekend with the best weather one could hope for…clear, warm but not hot and low humidity. That afternoon the sun was lazy and had started its trek toward the tree-line and was bathing the area in that familiar warm light before the magic hour between sunset and twilight. As riders we were treated well the entire weekend…the sponsors had set a $3,500 fundraising minimum and they went out of their way to make sure that food and support were in plenty of supply. The night before the ride began the sponsors offered a welcome spread of food and drink for the 1,500 cyclists that would begin their trek the next morning at sunrise. Situated adjacent to a lake, the food venue consisted of rows of tables filled with pastas, breads, fruit, poultry, cookies, water and sports drinks. After taking anything you wanted, you could sit anywhere on the hotel grounds including the many tables set-up underneath a huge outdoor tent.

That year, myself and several compatriots grabbed a table at the edge of the tent so that we could look out at the lake. One might think that because this event required riding two hundred miles over two days that everyone would be in top notch shape. Not true. One of the amazing things one learns about medical fundraisers in general is that most, if not all, of the people who participate in them do so because they know someone who has been impacted by the specific disease that money is being raised for. It could be cancer (take your pick as to which kind), AIDS, MS, Diabetes, ALS, etc. The point is that there are an incredible number of out of shape, even obese, individuals who take part out of love or to honor a memory or because they are a survivor themselves. Those of us who train and train hard have the utmost respect for these individuals because these events are tough even when you are in good shape. But, truth be told, many of these people should never, ever, wear spandex.

A few minutes after we sat down Rachel and Julie strode over, slightly backlit by the weakening afternoon sun. Though totally different in physique, Julie and Rachel belonged in spandex or anything else that they might ever have chosen to wear. That day Rachel looked much the same as she does today. She stood no more than five foot one with a muscular body that put most men to shame. A former competitive in-line skater, her powerful legs rippled with muscle when she walked. Her flat abdomen was the product of a daily regimen of hundreds of crunches and her arms were toned without being large. Her femininity was belied by her breasts which stood proud on her chest with nipples that, as always, seem taut and straining at the fabric that encased them. Her dark chestnut colored hair provided a sharp contrast to her brilliant white teeth and piercing blue eyes making her ever smile more attractive and alluring than it might otherwise have been. Sharp-witted and occasionally evil-tongued, Rachel has always been someone not to be trifled with. But, as she showed that day, she can sure fill out a pair of shorts.

Julie, to whom we had not yet been introduced, could not have been more different. Long-limbed and lithe, she looked to me to be about five foot seven. Her sandy blonde hair cascaded around her face and a few strands fell wistfully over her left eye immediately calling attention to what were two of the most incredible orbs I had ever seen. I instantly thought of Sting’s ‘Fields of Gold’ canlı bahis as I stared at Julie’s eyes. Like shimmering pots at the end of the rainbow, her eyes were deep amber flecked with copper points.

“Hey, close your mouth”. I heard Rachel’s voice but didn’t realize that she was talking to me…until I got an elbow from Ken who was sitting next to me.

“Huh” I stammered, trying to look innocent.

“Close your mouth” she repeated. She shot me a knowing look but spared me further embarrassment by adding “I don’t want to see what you’re eating. Oh, and guys, this is Julie. She came in from the west coast for the ride”.

The six guys at the table each introduced ourselves with me going last. “Hi, I’m Jake” I said, managing to look straight into Julie’s eyes. “Hi Jake, I’m Julie” and she gave me a smile that radiated warmth. She and Rachel sat down and began eating. Naturally the guys just couldn’t help focusing our attention on the newbie and quickly got to the tricky and invasive questions that were on everyone’s mind.

‘So, Julie, what kind of bike do you ride? Compact or regular cranks? Wheelset? Shimano or Campy components? How many centuries have you ridden this year’? The questions flew at her in rapid succession.

“Man, you guys sure know how to charm a lady” piped in Rachel. “At least make it interesting” she whined. “Mario, how’s that new pump of yours, hmm? How many strokes does it take before you fill up what you’re pumping? And Jason, I hear you’re using a new lube these days…care to tell us what parts you’ve been making slick? Oh, and Ken, your WIFE told me you were using a new chamois cream…would you like to give us a review?”

“Hey Rachel, you know, I could use some help applying it tomorrow” Ken responded, “Can you swing by the room in the morning”

“Eeww”, said Rachel, scrunching her nose and grimacing. “There is absolutely no way I’m going to grease that fat ass for you, pal. I don’t even like to touch my own butt”.

I had been carefully watching Julie throughout this exchange, still mesmerized by her eyes yet beginning to appreciate how beautiful and well, hot, she was. She sat attentively listening, welcoming the opportunity to refrain from answering questions and to eat her dinner. In her early thirties, never married and with no children, Julie enjoyed the smooth skin of a teenager. She had thin lips that stretched over small, perfect teeth when she smiled. Her face was angular with high, wide cheekbones giving her an almost Native American look. Thin, when she stood she held her head high, with an almost regal air that made her seem taller than she was. She was not well-endowed and her breasts seemed to hide behind the loose pale lime shirt she was wearing that night. She had a small waist that arced into narrow hips. Her legs were strong and athletic, highly toned without being muscular. They stretched into a rear end formed of two round half-moons that begged to be squeezed. I felt myself press my legs together to crush the nascent erection I was getting from just looking at her.

“JAKE”, Rachel said in a sing-song tone, waving a hand towards me as she raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes as if to add ‘Wake up, you asshole’. “What group are you leaving with tomorrow”?

“Umm, I’ll go out with the fast group. What about you and Julie”? I responded.

“I’ll be going with you guys” Rachel answered. “Julie will be going slower and riding with her BOYFRIEND. Oh, and by the way, is your wife volunteering again this year”?

I could feel the heat rush into my cheeks as I sensed rather than saw Julie look at me curiously as I said “No, she’s staying at home with the kids”.


Three years ago Julie came to town to visit Rachel for the Fourth of July weekend. She had continued her regimen of participating in the fundraising ride and was gearing up for her third one. A bunch of us got together to do a training century (a century is a ride of 100 miles) out to Mount Nashitow. The Nashitow ride is both beautiful and difficult. Beautiful because it goes through farmland, woodlands and by some gorgeous reservoirs and ponds and difficult because over the course of 100 or so miles there is about 8,000 feet of climbing, some of it on some fairly steep grades.

Cycling as we practice it is a social sport. While you have to do all the work yourself (unless you are riding on a tandem) going out in groups makes the effort much more manageable. And even though we ride in a line most of the time, making constant conversation problematic, there is enough time, between our rest stops and time spent riding abreast, to learn a lot about the people you are with. Assuming of course that they are both social and able to talk and pant at the same time.

We rendezvoused at our regular weekday starting place which is the Dunkin’ Donuts on the outskirts of Walton. I got there at about 6:00 in the morning, a half-hour early so that I could get a cup of coffee prior to beginning the ride. We leave bahis siteleri early in the morning for several reasons including safety, avoidance of mid-day heat and a desire to at least try and have some part of a day left when we finish. Like golf, cycling can eat up a lot of time and requires one to have very understanding families or significant others or a deep pocketbook in order to bribe your loved ones into submission.

Rachel and Julie got to the donut shop at 6:10 and leaned their bikes against the building. Rachel made a beeline into the shop muttering something like ‘Bathroom, now’. It had been almost a year since Julie and I had last seen each other and she skipped over, radiant as always and we gave each other huge hugs and kisses. As we separated ourselves, Julie slid her face across mine and I felt her lips trace across my cheek and brush my lips.

I stood back from her with my hand still on her back and stared into her eyes to see if there was some message she was trying to send me. “Hey Jules” I said “You look great. How have you been?”

She squeezed my hand hard and replied “I am wonderful Jake, how about you”?

Before I could answer, Brian swooped in on his bike and shouted “Julie! How the hell are you”? Julie twirled and ran over to him and gave him a hug and kiss as least as friendly as what she had given me and they stood with arms around each other chatting. It wasn’t the first time I had mistakenly interpreted a friendly hello from someone as an overt statement of attraction and interest.

“Morning Jake” said Rachel who had emerged from the store with a glazed donut and a small coffee. “I hate her” she continued gazing over at her friend.

“Why?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“Come on” she said giving me a ‘you can’t be that stupid’ look. “She’s gorgeous and all of you married men drool over her whenever you see her. I mean, look at you. Your shorts aren’t normally that tight. I can see your dick right now and generally speaking, it’s too small to notice.”

I didn’t put a hand down to cover myself but I thought about it.

“Why are you looking there anyway Rach?” I stated, not rising to the bait regarding my manhood. “Aren’t things with Billy okay?” I figured pointing out that she was married too and not above looking at other men’s crotches might level the playing field just a little bit.

“Touché, I guess” she responded, “Though en garde might be more appropriate. You better cool down quick” she said with another glance my way. “Anyway, she’s a nut case. She’s here chasing some guy again. I don’t know why she can’t find someone on the west coast.”

I climbed onto my bike to hide my rapidly shrinking tumescence and waited there until 6:30 when we took off on our ride and promised myself that I would maneuver throughout the day to ride behind Julie so that I could observe her body as she pedaled and her butt when she stood in the saddle to conquer a particularly rigorous climb.

She wore an outfit that accentuated her figure. A tank top riding shirt hugged her chest like a sports bra flattening her breasts but allowing her small nipples to clearly poke through the material. Her stomach was flat and her riding shorts looked painted on stretching from just above her hips to mid-thigh. The outfit was her favorite pale-green color, like a lawn faded from the sun but not yet bleached out. The padding in the shorts was ample yet form fitting and hid the valley between her legs. But the shorts were well worn and in the back were close to sheer in spots, especially right above her apple bottom. As she rode and leaned forward on her handlebars the material stretched and part of the cleft between her globes was visible over the padding. As the day wore on we all took turns leading at the front of the line. Whenever I wasn’t in the front I was behind Julie, observing as her legs circled rhythmically on her pedals, muscles tensing with each revolution. The sweat of her exertion trickled down her back and began to stain the back of her shorts increasing the contrast of the space between her cheeks. Throughout the day I visualized my hands coming off my handlebars and grabbing her hips, grinding myself into her. In many ways it was the hardest ride of my life.


Last year’s fundraiser was unique. Over time, the event has grown so large that there are multiple starting and ending points to allow for more participants and therefore enabling the sponsors to raise more money. After riding from the alternative start for a couple of years I returned to the old original jumping off place for the ride.

As before, a slew of us met under the tent for dinner the night before the first day of the ride. Over the prior two years I had barely seen or spoken to Julie because if where I started the ride and because after finishing the first day every year there are so many people to catch up with that we never sat down for a real heart-to-heart conversation.

I had heard from Rachel that bahis şirketleri Julie was, for once, there without a guy. Actually, she was without a job too. Rachel, who herself had some recent experience with being out of work was, as always, somewhat unkind.

“I don’t know what the fuck she does with herself out there every day. Every time I talk to her she is just out and about. I don’t know where she has the money to not work” sniped Rachel as we piled food onto our dinner plates.

“You’re just jealous” I said, watching Julie’s backside as she went down the line at the serving table next to ours. I let out a sigh.

“What”? asked Rachel. Then, noticing what I was looking at she offered “You are pathetic”.

I leeringly nodded my agreement and we went to sit down.

The first day of the ride is more than a century. Two thousand riders huddle together in the parking lot of an office park and wait as we are urged to warm up and stretch and then listen to the national anthem before heading out on the journey from the starting point to the edge of the ocean where we spend the first night. It is exhilarating though, all that much pent-up energy. Everyone has been riding for months to get prepared for this day and the veteran riders know that regardless of road and weather conditions this will be glorious with throngs of cheering people thanking you as you whiz by.

While it is supposed to be a ride and not a race, many of our group try and finish as fast as possible. We are never the first ones to arrive at the seaside college campus where we spend the night but we are always among the first 50 to 100 or so. It feels good to ride hard, grab your gear, shower and get some food knowing that the rest of the almost 4,000 riders from both starts are still out on the road working to get to the same place. The campus does get a little crowded by the end of the day.

Julie never rides with us because she just can’t keep up. But this particular year the work she had been putting in clearly paid off as she finished way earlier than she ever had. She was beaming as she strode through the campus and signed up for her complimentary massage. “Hey Jake” she cried out to me as I exited the hall where I had just received what could only be described as a pretty lame rubdown from an overweight masseuse-in-training.

“Jules” I said coming over and giving her a quick hug. “Pretty good time this year kiddo.”

“You bet” she agreed as she grabbed my hand and placed it on her thigh. “I have been training very hard and it shows, don’t you think”? She had said essentially the same thing last night but without letting anyone stroke her leg.

“You look and feel very strong this year Julie” I agreed. I began kneading her thigh and asked “What time is your massage?”

“In an hour” she replied.

“Mine was pretty bogus” I said. “I’m thinking of going for a swim a little later. Interested”?

She thought for a second and said “Sure. I’ll wear my bathing suit to the massage and we can go right after I’m done”.

“Sounds great” I said. “I’ll meet you right here in an hour and fifteen minutes”.

I spent most of the next 75 minutes taking care of things in my tent. We were given a few different options for sleeping arrangements…the school dormitories, our own tents, tents provided by the sponsors, off-site hotels, etc. After a year or two in the dorms I opted for either my own tent or one supplied by the event. I just found them cooler and offering somewhat more privacy. Though, to be fair, pitching your tent next to someone else doesn’t really offer much in the way of privacy.

I flopped down on my air mattress and began setting out clothes for the next day. I would be waking at 3:30 in the morning to get ready; breaking down the tent, getting breakfast, packing my gear into the trucks waiting to take it to the finish, etc. It was always a short night because the next day was so long.

At the appointed time, I went to get Julie and said hello to many people as I worked my way over to the massage hall. Julie walked out in a bikini top and a little sun skirt that she had worn over her bathing suit and that barely reached her mid-thigh. “So, how was it?” I said trying not to stare.

“Better than nothing-barely” she replied. “And I’m beginning to feel the ride.”

“Come on” I said, “The water will help take the ache out of your legs”.

We strode to the ocean and stepped tenuously out into the water, toeing our way over the rocks and pebbles that constituted the beach.

“It’s pretty fucking cold” said Julie, surprising me with a rare outburst of profanity.

“Come on you chicken” I laughed and reached a hand out to her. She grabbed my arm and we continued picking our way out to where the rocks became more manageable. We were about thigh high in the water when all of a sudden Julie clenched her fist around my bicep and cried out “Ahhh, fuck. I’m cramping. My calf. Fuck”. She leaned on me hard and said “I have got to go back”.

“Sure thing” I responded. “Come on, I’ve got you”. I put an arm around her waist and helped her walk slowly back over the rocks to the shore. She was clearly in agony by the time we got to the beach.

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