CYCLEROTIC TALES: Nice wheels, and the bike ain’t bad either
The following is from a news release by the Winnipeg Police that was issued on June 1 – the first day of Bike Month:
A 21-year-old female was walking in the area of the St. James Cemetery when she noticed a man on a bike pass her a number of times. The female continued walking when she was approached from behind by the same male on the bike. It was at this time she noticed the male exposing himself while performing an indecent act. The victim fled the area and notified police.
Cyclists have such wholesome reputations – even though some of them favour Lycra clothing that’s not dissimilar to BDSM gear. Perhaps it’s because people assume that the fitter the body, the fitter the mind. We here at Gig City know better, and as a public service during Bike Month in June, we’re exposing dirty secrets that cyclists keep to themselves.
Last week, we told you about cyclists who enjoy riding while stoned. This week it’s all about perversion.
Bicycles are rarely considered sexual objects in the same way automobiles are. No one ever remarks upon seeing a man on an expensive bike that he is compensating for a really short penis. Also, it’s hard to have sex while riding a bike. Cycle-related sex usually takes place after the riders have dismounted … their bicycles. But there is an entire subset of public exhibitionist pornography where bikes are modified so that dildos extend from a hole in the saddle, thrusting up and down as the bicycles are pedaled forward. There are cyclo-exhibitionists into wearing skimpy shorts while riding – or nothing at all. Other folks are fond of sniffing bicycle seats. There was even a British man arrested in 2007 for allegedly trying to have sex with his bicycle. You want us to spell it out for you? Look it up on the Internet.
Cyclists can get up to a lot of naughty things. Consider this particular case told to us in an e-mail from a somewhat-prominent Edmonton cyclist, who wishes to remain anonymous:
“I was 18 and cycling home from the closing party of an arts festival. The drinking, dancing, and feelings of communal accomplishment were still buzzing in me. It was well after midnight, and the streets of my residential neighbourhood were dark and abandoned. Inspired by the warm summer night and my unaccustomed intoxication, I decided to pleasure myself as I rode. Being a male, this was accomplished easily and discretely under the cover of a loose-fitting jacket. Savouring the lovely combination of moonlight, momentum, and auto-eroticism, and not wanting to make a mess, I maintained a leisurely pace until I reached home and was able to safely dismount. I don’t endorse this behaviour, and at my current age it would definitely qualify as creepy, but it was a sublime ride!”
This next true story – from another respondent who wished to remain anonymous – happened only a few blocks away from the headquarters of the Edmonton Bicycle Commuters and is worthy of Penthouse Letters:
It was 2006 when the Oilers were in the Stanley Cup finals and the rider was heading home late from work on his bike. He’d turned from 109 Street onto Whyte Avenue and was heading East when he noticed a car passing him more slowly than the others. It wasn’t a game night so the Avenue wasn’t packed, but the bars were still busy. When the car got ahead of him, it slowed down and allowed him to pass. Then it passed him again. When they were both stopped side-by-side for a red light at Gateway Blvd., he could see through the open passenger window that the driver was a woman – and she was alone.
She leaned over to to speak to him, “‘Excuse me? Can I talk to you?’ She was kind of small, blonde hair, and glasses. I asked her what she wanted to talk about, but she said she just wanted me to pull over up ahead,” the cyclist says. “I stopped where the bus stop bench is on the other side of the railway crossing, but she drove further ahead and waited with the car still running. I waited for her to get out, but she didn’t. I was worried it might be some kind of scam.”
Eventually, he rode up to the car, a late model Acura. The woman told him to follow her as she made a right turn into the street by the CP Rail yard. She stopped in front of Derks Men’s Wear and asked him to open the door and climb in.
“I was looking in the back seat to make sure there wasn’t some guy waiting to hit me with a hammer. But then I thought, I’m on a bike. Why would a girl in an Acura want to rob a guy on a bike? Then I looked at what she was wearing. It was like a terry-cloth towel with two little straps at the top. I leaned my bike against a post and got in.”
The straps were Velcro, the cyclist says, and she opened them right away. Within 90 seconds she was jerking him off in the Acura’s front seat. He said her breasts were silicone but everything else was real. When it was over – and he said it was briefly interrupted by a woman who was a bottle picker hauling a shopping cart – he got on his bike and never saw her again.
And why did she choose him? He’s not sure. Nothing similar happened to him before or since.
“Maybe she thought a guy on a commuter-style bike wasn’t dangerous,” he speculates. “That means this would never have happened to me if I’d been in a car.”
He says he still rides home late sometimes along Whyte Avenue.
