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That Friday, I set off for the meeting in my best bib and tucker, hoping to
get there early enough to stop in the hotel first. But traffic being what
it is I eventually arrived with minutes to spare, having searched for the
pub in the wrong place first.

I managed to identify the sisters quite easily from Claire’s description,
and to my pleasant surprise her description wasn’t stretching the truth, in
fact it hardly did them justice. Both were very pretty and in their early

I introduced myself and we chatted generally for a while. Claire being the
oldest of the sisters was 25, blonde with large blue eyes, about 5′ 11″,
with a tanned, slim and athletic figure. From what I could see though she
had large firm breasts. Tracy, the other sister, was younger than Claire by
two years. She had very long black hair in a pony tail. Again tall, about
5′ 9″, with a fuller figure, but not fat and milky translucent white skin.

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Having bought a “direct contact” magazine recently hoping to find
excitement and a steady mate, and desperate to broaden my horizons. I
replied to an advert in it asking for a gentleman or gentlemen to show two
girls a good time, any suggestions seriously considered.

About a week later I received a reply from the girls, who as it turned out
were sisters. They had received only two replies, both from cranks, so they
were very wary at first about my letter. I wrote back suggesting a meeting
to discuss their fantasy, giving my home number to show I was serious.

The following Monday, Claire one of the sisters, phoned me to arrange a
meeting for that weekend at a pub near where they lived. I booked a hotel
room at once, as they lived some 200 miles away.

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Okay, so I hate exercise-I admit it-I hate exercise. I’m getting better about
it I met you. My body’s not the best but you’ve gotten me to at least move and
finally after watching your buns and those great legs of yours, I brought my
bike out of mothballs. You’re a jock-no doubt about it and I wish I had a body
to match yours but for right now I’ll settle for just being able to lose 2 lbs
a week.

I have found though that you’ve caused my rides to be a little more exciting
lately than I remember them as a child. Last week as I was arguing with myself
about the many reasons why I shouldn’t go for a ride like I don’t feel like
it…it’s too hot…I don’t want to…I need to do some paperwork for
work…when I heard a knock on the door. And there you were in your biking
shorts holding your bike. I was totally shocked because usually you never come
to visit and you’ve made so many remarks about the fact that I ride too slowly
so I assumed you would never ask me to go for a ride. But there you are-God,
how I lust after you when you’re in those black shorts-they leave nothing to my
overactive imagination. You’ve been out for a while because you’re soaked with
sweat making the curves of your muscles even more visible.

The look on your face is pure satisfaction-“So, want to go for a ride? I’ve
done 40 miles so far and you can survive another 10, can’t you?”

Oh, shit-I think to myself-he’s doing well-he’ll beat me into the ground but I
smile and sputter, “Sure, you know I’m slow though” I’ve got to change-oh,
damn, now he’s going see that I haven’t got a tan or even a shade of a tan-at
least my legs are shaved. I put on my sweat shorts and my jersey and wheel my
bike out.

I’m thinking-You’re used to racing and you’ve got a bike set up for it-there’s
no way I can match you-I’ve got a mountain bike that weighs twice as much as
yours-I outweigh you by a good amount. And you’ve been in training for months.
Oh, well the pain’ll be over soon.
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