Chloe's Getting Dirty Again

This series continues the timeline from "Riding With Dirty Girls," and Chloe's other five cycling series'. You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for some background context, you should read (at least) "Riding With Dirty Girls" before this.

This is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?

All characters are fictitious, and any that are involved in sexual activities are over 18.

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Chloe's Getting Dirty Again Pt. 06

I'm not usually so lucky. My curse arrived straight after I returned from Flamanville, and almost two weeks before World Cup round 4 at Namur, which meant I could get it out of the way and get back to normal well before I had to put my racing head on again.

As you may recall, I was skipping round 3 at Terralba, giving me a free weekend, and I'd also decided I wasn't going to do the Exact Cross at Kortrijk, the day before Namur, partly because I wanted to concentrate on the latter, and partly because it was described unpromisingly as "urban cross."

So, I spent four days just training gently and keeping up my iron levels with the magic potion that Debbie had taught me to make after my bout of post-menstrual weakness at the Tour de France.

As the weekend approached, I wondered what to do with myself. Licia was off to Sardinia, I had no race on, and I knew I wouldn't be ready for any seriously hard training, which was what I'd normally do on a race-free weekend.

Then, I had a brainwave. Round 5 of the British National Trophy was on the Sunday, in Bradford, and Bradford wasn't a million miles from my parents house in Lancashire. I could drive down on Saturday, stay the night with Mum and Dad, then nip over to watch the Bradford race on Sunday.

It would be perfect. A nice easy post-period weekend, a short visit with Mum and Dad (the best kind) and a race to watch, and yes, I had given in to my desire to see Maddy again.

My mum and dad are great, in small doses. Mum would make a fuss, and cook me something scrumptious, and Dad was always good for a laugh, with his crazy old-fashioned ideas about cycling. I gave them a call and Mum said, 'Yeh, of course darling, it will be great to see you. I'll make you a cottage pie.' Oo, Mum's cottage pie, one of my favourites.

I was humming to myself as I started packing an overnight bag on Friday afternoon. I was looking forward immensely to my little weekend excursion and, even better, my curse seemed to have left the building without having much of an impact. Debbie's magic potion?

On Saturday morning, as is often the case after my period, I woke up feeling achingly horny. My pussy was already moist (this is often my wettest time of the month) and I knew if I had a wank here in bed it would be very, very messy, so I jumped up and did it in the shower.

I leaned back on the cubicle wall, with the hot, steamy water cascading over me, and my feet spread to the outer limit of the shower tray, then I closed my eyes and let my fingers play, as I ran deliciously erotic images through my head. Images of Licia's long tongue, Lucy's incredible beauty, Maddy's lustful fervour, Debbie's big boobs, Molly's rubescent pussy lips and black pubes, Helen's overpowering thighs, Marlen's gorgeous copper- bronze hair, Maisie's nipples, Pam's clit...

The slipperiness bathing my fingers was exquisite, and I rubbed and stroked, and fucked myself steamily with both hands, one sliding lubriciously over my slick, fleshy folds while I thrust the fingers of the other into me, writhing them together and teasing my spot.

I loved how I could conjure up such pleasure with my own hands, rousing my orgasm like waking a dragon, and summoning it to consume me in a roaring wave of liquid bliss.

My legs shuddered and lost their strength as the climax engulfed me, and I slid slowly down the wall until I was sitting in the shower tray, legs akimbo, with mouth lolling open, and the hot rain of the shower spraying over me. Oh how I love to masturbate in the shower.

Eventually, I got up, rinsed myself off, then dried and dressed myself and went down for breakfast.

Something I often find is that hunger hits me almost instantly after an orgasm or orgasms, and I made what some people would regard as a three course breakfast; yoghurt with fruit, followed by porridge with fruity jam from the local farm shop, and then a toasted muffin. Gotta keep up the carb intake y'know.

Replete, with an inner glow, I threw my bag in the boot, along with my Finnish studded wellies. Team Lyon all have these, and I have a pair at Molly's, but I bought myself another pair to have at home.

They are only ankle length, and much less bulky than traditional Wellington boots, but they are waterproof, and the studs make them grippy. They were designed for orienteering, but they're ideal for walking around a muddy field, which I envisaged doing a lot of on Sunday.

I locked up, jumped in the car, and headed south towards England on the A702. I love that road. It's quiet, smooth, and rolling, with open, sweeping bends. Lovely.

I've never been much of a car person. Even when I signed my big road contract with Canyon-Zipp, and suddenly had more money than I knew what to do with, I was never tempted to buy a flash car.

I do like driving though, especially on a road like the 702, and I whizzed along, balancing my braking and acceleration, and taking smooth lines through the corners. In a way, they're the same things I enjoy on the bike. There was lots of zoom zoom going on, even with my car's tiny engine.

After 30 miles of this fun, I reached the motorway and resigned myself to just droning along for the next couple of hours.

My time at Mum and Dad's was good. I helped Mum with the cottage pie, taking notice of the recipe so that I could make it for Licia sometime, and I learned something new.

Apparently, Mum's cottage pie is actually based on a French recipe called "hachis parmentier" which starts off with something called "mirepoix' (a mix of chopped onions, carrots and celery) then adds minced beef and garlic before topping it with mashed potatoes - 'Plenty of butter in your mash,' said Mum -- and 'just a light sprinkle of cheese on top.'

All these years I never knew Mum's cottage pie was a French recipe. Funny how your parents can surprise you sometimes.

Dad drank quite a lot of wine and then came over all misty-eyed. I was sat on the sofa and he leaned over from his armchair and took my hand in his big rough one.

'We're so proud of you, chuck. In those early days of crossing, we knew you had a gift, but we never dreamed you'd go as far as you have. You're a great champion. You've achieved more than we thought possible'

I smiled. 'Thanks Dad. I couldn't have done it without you. Not just buying me that first bike, but supporting me at all those races with Phil and Jo.'

'Yeh, there were a lot of muddy boots and buckets of water, eh?

'Yep, and now look at me.'

'On top if the world, literally... Are you still loving 'cross as much?'

'Oh, yeh. It's still my favourite. I get fed up of all the tactics in road racing, sometimes, but it's where the big money is, so I'll keep on with it.' I grinned.

We talked about cycling for a bit, and Dad scoffed at things like electronic gear-shifting, and team radios, then Mum asked me a slightly awkward question about my love life. They had long-since accepted and become comfortable with me being gay, but they hadn't yet been introduced to a girlfriend.

'We know you have a girlfriend, Chloe. You've even mentioned her in TV interviews, but we haven't got to meet her yet. When will we?'

I wasn't exactly avoiding introducing them to Licia, but I was a little reticent because I thought it might be a bit awkward. I hadn't met Licia's parents yet, either. Probably for the same reason.

'Well, it's a bit difficult, with our racing schedules, and her living in Ireland, but I will bring her... when I can.'

'Where is she this weekend?'

'In Sardinia, for the World Cup race.'

'But you didn't fancy going with her?'

'No... '

I could tell they were baffled by my capricious decisions but I didn't feel like I had to explain myself to them. Thank GOD I didn't need to explain the free girls.

I just said, 'I have a big race next Sunday, so I'm saving myself for that,' an explanation they seemed to accept.

It was time to escape. I yawned and said, 'I'm off to bed,' then kissed them both on the cheek and departed to my room, which was still much as it was when I left home, four years before, though I could tell the bed was freshly made.

I stripped to my knickers and tee shirt and slipped under the covers, and I smiled to myself at the comfortable familiarity of it. I clicked off the lamp and lay looking at the pattern the street lights made on the ceiling through a chink above the curtains, just as I remembered it.

That room held a lot of memories for me; nights of not being able to sleep the night before a race during my early years (I soon grew out of that), nights of sleeping like a baby, AFTER the race, and my first sexual experiences too: Masturbating while fantasising about women, which just seemed the most natural thing in the world.

I didn't masturbate that night, but I drifted off to sleep thinking about all my girlfriends and how lucky I was to have them all in my life.

In the morning, I breakfasted like a much younger Chloe, on Weetabix and toast and marmalade made with Warburton's white sliced "Toastie" bread. Not something I'd ever eat at home, but sometimes it's nice to revisit your childhood.

I kissed Mum and Dad, thanked them for looking after me, slung my bag in the car, and headed for Bradford.

It was a dull, dank, North of England December day, and the one-hour drive over to Yorkshire was grim. This was nothing like swooping along the A702. The two routes offered to me by Google consisted of lots of droning along on spray-smogged motorways, all driving pleasure subsumed under the grey miasma.

Still, the rain had stopped, and the forecast was for a dry afternoon, which would make spectating more pleasurable. The race was going to be a spectacular mudfest though.

The venue was near the city centre, bizarrely, in one of those urban green-spaces, and I rolled up to the entrance and was directed to parking by hi-vis marshals.

A junior race was already going on, and the PA was barking on, as they do. I sat in the car and texted Licia.

'Hey babe, how's Sardinia?'

There was no response. She was obviously busy with her race prep, so I just sent 'Good luck,' and put the phone away.

I sat on the rear bumper of the car and put my little Nokian welly boots on, then I sallied forth to see what I could see.

The juniors looked like mudmen, completely encased in mud. Flandrian Facials were one thing, but here were full-on Yorkshire mud-packs. Many riders had discarded their glasses, and were squinting, glinty-eyed, through a coating of brown gloop.

I wandered about, and found a place where I could see the action on three different sections with just short walks; some tight double-backs, a sandpit, and a steep, slippery descent that the riders had to take diagonally. Tricky.

Happy that I'd identified my spectating places, I headed to the pits, which were a hive of activity, with multiple bike changes happening at once. Jetwashing was confined to a designated concrete area nearby, where all the Fanny and Jerry Jetwashes were congregated amid a cloud of claggy vapour.

People were running back and forth with bikes and it looked like total chaos at a glance, but everyone knew exactly what they were doing, and pristine clean bikes were always ready and waiting when riders came in for a change.

Suddenly, there was a voice behind me. 'Chloe?' I turned. 'Chloe Lyons. I knew it was you!' There was a woman who I didn't know standing there, holding a girl of about 10 by the hand. 'You don't know us, but my daughter idolises you. She's cycling mad, and you're her hero.'

I smiled, and shook their hands. 'Hello. Thank you.'

The girl looked starry-eyed and speechless, so I asked her name. 'Zoe,' she said, shyly.

'That sounds similar to mine,' I said, and she grinned.

I had no merch with me, not even in the car, but I had a Team Lyon beanie hat on, so I took it off and said, 'Would you like this hat?'

Her eyes lit up. 'Yes, please,' she said.

I handed her the hat, and she put it on with a beaming smile. They both had beaming smiles, actually.

'Are you riding?' the mum said, looking doubtful.

'No, I'm just here to watch.'

'Come on,' she said to Zoe, 'let's leave Chloe in peace. Thanks, Chloe you've made her day.'

'Thank youuu,' said Zoe, and they walked off.

I'll never get used to little encounters like this. So heart-warming, but hard to believe, sometimes. I made a mental note to always have some merchandise with me.

I headed for the paddock where girls were warming up for the Elite Women's race. There was a marshal on the gateway, stopping all and sundry from just walking in, but he recognised me and let me in with a wave and a nod. Just another perk of stardom.

A number of girls were on rollers, pedalling with heads down, and one of them was Maddy. I sneaked up unnoticed and casually said. 'Hi Maddy '

She looked up and her eyes widened. 'What the f... Chloe? What are you doing here?' She rapidly unclipped, broke into the biggest dazzling grin I'd ever seen on her face, and clasped me in a tight embrace.

'Oh, I was nearby, so I thought I'd pop in.' I said, feigning nonchalance.

'Bloody awesome,' she beamed, and hugged me again. It was a nice welcome.

'Hey don't let me stop you. Carry on with your warm-up.'

She clipped in and started pedalling again, but now she was wearing a permanent grin. Perhaps she was the second person who's day I had made that day.

'Were you really just passing by?' she probed.

'Well, I was visiting my parents, so not so far away. I just thought it would be nice to come and see the race... and you.'

'Really? You came to see me?'

'Yeah, partly,' I shrugged.

It was true. I couldn't deny that her presence was a big factor in my decision to come and watch this race, and I knew that, after our superheated tryst a fortnight before, the likelihood of sex was high, but I also knew the chances of Licia hooking up with someone in Sardinia were high, so I thought why not? Lucy would be in Sardinia, and so would the French girls, Lauren and Magi, and I knew Licia had been with them before.

I liked Maddy, and I really quite liked the idea of more sex with her. In truth, I was just hedonistically pursuing what I wanted.

She finished her roller warm-up and started getting ready for a pre race lap of the course. 'Shame you're not here to race or you could join me,' she said, getting on one of her race bikes.

'Yeh, that would've been good... See you after the race.'

She rolled off, and gave me a wave, and I called after her 'Good luck,' then I made my way to the start, ready to watch. I spotted Nikki Cray and Zandi James, from afar, but they didn't spot me. They were deep in concentration, preparing themselves for what would probably be another duel between them. Zandi still led the series, but Nikki was not far behind, and her form seemed to be on the up. I could sense the tension between them.

By contrast, when Maddy appeared, rolling down to the start, slightly mud-spattered but on a clean bike, she seemed full of joy, weaving the bike from side to side flamboyantly, high-fiving people, and wearing a broad grin. She picked me out in the crowd and waved to me excitedly.

Was I the reason for all this elan? Even if I wasn't, it was great to see.

Maddy was lying 5th in the series, so she was on the front row as the field of 27 riders lined up. Each front-row rider was introduced over the PA, and when Maddy was announced, I joined in the cheers. Suddenly, I was her fan.

A strange quiet fell as the final seconds ticked away, then the flag dropped and they were off, all sprinting away and jostling for position.

It was impossible to see who led into the first corner as the field swept past, but I hurried over to my first vantage point by the double-backs. The field came through, all close together, with Zandi leading, Nikki close behind, and Maddy in third!

I pottered across to the sand, accompanied by others who obviously had the same plan. It was quite deep, heavy wet sand. Definitely not rideable.

Zandi hit it first, and made a doomed attempt to ride through, but Nikki jumped off straight away. Zandi was dragged to a standstill and lost momentum, and Nikki ran past into the lead.

Meanwhile, Maddy drove hard into the sand, and timed her dismount perfectly, just as her momentum ran out. She gained ground, and Zandi had to fight at the exit to hold onto second place.

I crossed to the awkward diagonal descent to see Zandi and Nikki come over the top almost together. Tussling. Half way down, they bumped each other and both fell, slithering down to the barrier at the foot of the slope, as Maddy, perfectly poised, teetered delicately down and passed both of them. Good grief, she was in the lead.

I peered across towards the pits and could see them making bike changes. Maddy, Nikki, then Zandi, and those three were opening a gap over Judy Miller in 4th place. Ooo, exciting.

I walked back over to the double-backs to see the three of them come through close together, with clear daylight between them and Judy. Maddy was still holding the lead, and I gave her a shout. 'Goo Maddy!'

I repeated the same pattern; double-backs, sandpit, awkward descent, peer across to the pits, then back to the double-backs, each lap, and the three of them swapped the lead between them a number of times. Maddy was staying with them amazingly well, and by lap 4 she was getting a 'Go Maddy' from me at each location.

Down the awkward banking, she was smashing it every lap, while Zandi and Nikki struggled each time, and often had to fight back after losing ground. Maddy was looking good!

On lap 5, Zandi came through with a small gap. She had attacked, and this was her bid for victory, but by the sand, they were all back together, all running through together. It looked like it was going to be a tight finish.

Last time down the awkward descent, Maddy was in front, and she side-slipped spectacularly down, showing impressive bike handling skills, and opened up a slight advantage. 'Go Maddy!'

I hot-footed it over to the finish, and managed to find a gap where I could lean over and bang on the barrier when they appeared.

They were all back together - Nikki and Zandi had fought back again -- it was going to be a three-way sprint, and I couldn't remember which one had the best finish.

Nikki was the first to launch, and it was immediately apparent that Maddy had nothing left. Zandi sprinted and passed Nikki on the line, and Maddy subsided into her saddle and rolled in third, head hanging with exhaustion.

She had ridden out of her skin, really. She would never have been expected to stay with Nikki and Zandi, and this was her first ever podium at this level. The other girls who finished behind her, Judy, Wendy, Dierdre, all hugged her like she'd won. There's definitely something in the theory that lesbian sex improves your racing form.

The podium was a low-key affair, with three blokes actually holding up the backdrop while the ceremony took place, and Maddy was grinning from ear to ear. She was clearly happy with the podium. I took a photo on my phone and she blew me a kiss. Steady, Maddy, don't let the rumour mill rumble into life.

She stepped down from the wooden box that served as step three of the podium and came over to me. 'I've gotta go and have a shower and change. Don't go and leave me, will you,'