As I drive home from work, with the evening
sun
still beating down hot on the windscreen, I
come
to an abhorrent obstruction in the
road,
a cyclist the worst site to any driver with
somewhere
to go and a finite time
to
get there. I was driving down a very
narrow
lane following a cyclist that I
knew
I couldn’t pass when I noticed the cyclist
for
the first time, her brown hair dancing across
her
shoulders contrasting starkly with the white of
the
cotton blouse which tapered down to her
narrow
waist before disappearing into
the
waist band of her gray checked skirt.
I
pondered briefly on the name of the pattern
was
it “Hounds tooth, Prince of Wales then the cloth
stretched
tight against her cheeks as she was stood
up
in the saddle as we climbed the hill, her long
tanned
legs powering her on and her
buttocks
reshaped themselves again
and
again, I could only imagine what
was
happening in front of her out of my
view,
then the material was tight against her
curves
once more as her bottom perched
back
on the saddle and every bump in the road
brought
a new quiver to her plaid clad cheeks
and
a delicious new tingling to my loins
then
all at once the lane ended and she was gone
down
a path went the girl and the bike she sat upon
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