gay love

The unexpected and wonderful encounter with Miguel heralded the start of my double life, the difficult balance between the two defining parts of my existence. The twin passions which were inextricably entwined and yet had to kept completely separate. My first rendezvous with another man set me on the path of lies and secrecy which is the curse of so many professional cyclists. For most of the others doping was the dreaded skeleton hidden in the closet, but for me is was something quite different but with just as much potential for destroying my career.



Thinking back on my twenty five years in various cycling teams, I’ve suddenly realized that very few questions were asked when I had been away on ‘little excursions’. I always worried about nosy enquiries afterwards and was so relieved when my vague lies were taken at face value. How comical to consider that maybe my colleagues thought that I was getting doping shots. When in reality I was having clandestine meetings with men, either a regular lover or a casual fling, picked up in a bar or in even shadier places. Not that I dared do much of the latter, but sometimes I’d be desperate.



Anyway, when I’d parted with Miguel, with many ardent kisses and sweet words, and quickly rode my bike back home, I knew I was in for a difficult task. Apart from a bum that was sore from both cycling and fucking, I’d been gone for more hours than expected, and I had no idea how to explain this to my parents. But I think the Goddess of love may have felt pity for me and dealt me an unexpected lucky stroke. The rain storm passed right over my home and the lightening had struck a tree in a field nearby. Together with the simultaneous peal of thunder the fright had sent my thirteen year old sister tumbling down the stairs.



My parents were already worried about me by then, and my dad had actually gotten the car out to go looking for me. Instead he had to drive my sister to the hospital to be treated for a broken arm, a concussion and a gash over one ear that needed five stitches. My mother had gone with them, and they had to wait for ages, as the storm had also caused traffic accidents and other damages. Both women were so distraught that my father didn’t want to leave them. I actually got home half an hour before them, read the message they’d left on the kitchen table and took a quick shower, while sending up prayers of thanks.



Of course I felt sorry for my sister and would never have wished any harm to her. But it was very lucky for me that my parents had to worry about her. When they got home, they were so relieved to see me safe and sound that they didn’t question my vague story. Something about having taken shelter in a remote hut used by shepherds and later waiting in the café near the motorway went down with hardly a murmur. Another lie about trying to call from the payphone (no mobile phones then), but getting no answer, made my father shrug: “The phone line went dead with the stroke of lightening.” End of discussion, to my grateful amazement.



You might think that my new interest would put a damper on my devotion to cycling, but this wasn’t the case. Hard physical training was an effective substitute for my pent-up sexual frustration. In addition I concocted a system, where I denied myself release, refusing to indulge in my sexual fantasies unless I’d performed exceptionally well during training. My father would often go with me during weekends or in the late afternoon, driving alongside of me in his car, especially when it got darker as winter approached. He provided instructions, encouragement and safety.



My father was a demanding but also fair coach. I’d always felt proud and happy, whenever he praised me for doing well. But now some of the joy I felt was due to the reward that would be mine during my shower after we got home. According to my new rules, I’d be allowed to shove two cream slick fingers up my butt and use the other hand to jerk off. As part of my reward I’d recall my time with Miguel, the way he made love to me and how much I wanted him. I rarely got very far beyond imagining his mouth on my manhood or his cock up my ass, before I shot.



I guess it’s common for teenage boys to achieve climax within a few minutes, but sometimes I’d try to prolong the self-gratification. I was constantly on the lookout for something that could give me the feeling of being fucked in my butt. My mother would occasionally wonder why the longest and thickest carrots disappeared first from the larder. Whereas I’m sure the local rabbit colony very much appreciated the used but carefully washed carrots which were regularly dumped down their holes.



Luckily before she could get suspicious, I found the perfect substitute for Miguel’s rod quite by accident. On a Sunday afternoon, the family visited a colleague of my father’s. They were also childhood friends, but had only begun working together recently, when the man moved back to the area together with his Danish wife. When we went to their house, I had my first encounter with the funny Danish custom of having candles everywhere. For decoration and the unique concept of ‘hygge’ meaning something that makes you feel cozy and at home. Not just on the dinner table, but also other places including in windowsills, however the latter place wasn’t so smart in sunny France.



Our Danish hostess had just discovered two candles that had bent from being in the sun, when I came into the living room to ask for a drink. Gazing at the unused and now unusable wax sticks, she was laughing about the misshapen candles and her mistake in placing them in a window. As I looked at them, I immediately realized the curvy shape and thickness made them very much like a long tapering penis. She brought them into the kitchen to throw them away and get me a drink. I followed her, speculating on how I could get hold of the candles.



As she opened the bin, it seemed quite full, so I grabbed the chance and offered to take it out. She said yes please, dropped the candles in and pulled the bag from the bin. I took it and pretended to close the top of the bag, then carried it into the yard. As soon as I was out of sight, I grabbed the two candles, wiped them on a tissue and hid them under my T-shirt. I tied the bag up and threw it in the container in the corner. Back inside the house I got hold of my school bag, and hid the candles at the bottom under my books. I’d brought them, as I had a math test the next day and needed to study.



The next week I impatiently waited for a chance to try out my new toy. Friday afternoon my father had taken some time off work in order to take me to a difficult climb on a mountain an hour’s drive away. I managed to get up it in record time, and when I collapsed at the top, my father jumped out the car and beamed at me. He was almost effusive in his praise, telling me that I was improving at an incredible rate. “I’m impressed, last time you did this, you lost the pace on the last part of the climb. Well done!”



I wanted to jump up and embrace him with joy, but my father wouldn’t have appreciated that. And he certainly would not have appreciated knowing that my determination and efforts on the mountain were fuelled by the insatiable urge to fuck myself up the ass with a bent candle. But you know, motivation is very important in sports, including cycling… When we got home, my father admonished me to take a long hot bath to soothe my aching leg muscles, which were stiff in spite of me massaging them on the drive back. I nodded obediently and tried to hide my happy grin. Ah qui, I’d have more than one stiff body part to take care of very soon.



I hurried into my room and found clean clothes. From a box hidden at the bottom of my closet I got out one of the candles and scuttled into the bath room. I’d already cut the wick from both ends of the candle, removed any unevenness and rubbed almond oil over the surface. All I had to decide was whether I wanted the thick or the thin end inside me. I was totally horny and my erection threatened to rupture my tight cycle shorts. I shed my clothes, jumped into the shower and turned on the water. When the temperature was right, I got under the hot water and let my fingers find my needy hole.



I was already proficient in lubing myself inside as well as out. But it still gave me a wonderful frisson to touch the sensitive areas, tickling the tight star, sliding one finger in and rotating it carefully, feeling my sphincter contract in anticipation. Pushing two fingers inside I couldn’t help moaning quietly, Mon Dieu c’est bon ça, especially knowing what was to come. I rested my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. Slowly the candle slid down my hip, across one taut buttock, into the crack. It was so easy to slip into my favorite fantasy:



Miguel is behind me, his hard, warm cock slides over my butt, finds rest in the slick ravine. His arm is around me, fingers pinching my nipples. His voice in my ear whispers words of love, telling me he needs me. He wants to put his cock inside me, fuck me and stroke my sweet French baton until I come. I whimper and arch my back, pressing my ass backwards, and I beg him to make love to me. The tip of his cock finds my puckered rose, and I immediately give in to the light pressure. The long hard rod glides into my bowels, fills me, gives me pleasure deep inside my asshole where I’m unable to reach with my fingers. A hand closes on my cock, rubs, fondles, strokes…



I had to bite my shoulder in order not to scream in ecstasy when I exploded within two minutes of inserting the candle in my rectum. My whole body shook from the violent orgasm, and tears were running down my face. Ah Miguel, tu me manques tellement. But the candles had proven to be a hit, and I repeated the success many times in the subsequent years, i.e. got an orgasm with a substitute penis deeply buried in my bum. Nowadays you can buy dildos and butt plugs and whatnot, but this was impossible in rural France in 1983. So I had to make do with other solutions, and I was grateful for the silly habit of a Danish lady to have candles in her windowsills.



Of course all of this playing around was nothing but training for the real event. Just as the many hours on the bike are only properly rewarded when you get to ride in a race. I’d already gotten three messages from Miguel in the meantime, and we’d managed two short but satisfying rendezvous. Especially the first one had been keenly awaited. In the weeks after I lost my virginity, I’d gone past the hollow oak many times to check the small plastic container hidden under a pile of dead leaves.



Miguel had told me that he usually did the run to Paris twice a month, and about two weeks after our first meeting there was a message from him, making my heart jump with joy. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to meet him at the suggested time, so I had to leave him a note. I waited another two long weeks in agony, hoping I wouldn’t have to refuse again and worrying that he’d give up on me. When I finally found a new message from him, I trembled and barely dared to read it. But this time the suggested day and time suited me, and I knew I’d soon see him.



The next four days were spent in an even greater turmoil of mind and body. I couldn’t help imagining what would happen, when I was in Miguel’s arms again. Every night I lay in my bed with an aching erection, but I refused to touch myself, wanting to save it all for my lover. Naturally this just resulted in me waking in the morning of the day before the day with soiled underpants, having had a hot dream about Miguel and his hands and mouth on my cock. I was distracted in lycée, and only going out on my bike could take my mind of my longings.



Finally, it was time for me to leave. I told my parents that I would go on a long ride, as the weather was nice. They’d been invited to dine with our neighbors, and my sister was staying the night with a friend. Thus I was free to spend a couple of hours with Miguel and might even get to do some cycling afterwards. When I got to the meeting place, his truck was there already. But there were also some other cars, which probably belonged to locals or visitors taking a walk in the forest. Luckily we’d already agreed what we would do in such cases.



Miguel had parked close and parallel to the road. I cycled past very slowly and looked up at the open side window. The sight of Miguel’s handsome face with the tousled brown curls made my heart thud, and his smile turned my knees into jelly. I continued and when I’d gone almost out of sight on the road, Miguel started his truck and followed me. Now I went as fast as possible, and just before he reached me, I turned into a forest road. I knew it led to an abandoned forest worker’s hut, which had been in ruins for several years, but behind it was a large barn which could easily hide a truck.



Not that anyone ever came in this part of the forest, it was mainly conifers, dark and not connected to the pretty parts with waterfalls and marked paths for tourists. I left my bike against the wall just inside the open end of the barn, and when Miguel had parked the truck, I ran up to the driver’s side. He opened the door and reached down to me, when our hands met, I wanted to shout with joy. He pulled me up and kept my hand in his, while I shut the door behind me. Miguel didn’t say a word just embraced me, our lips met, and I thought my heart would burst from happiness.



We kissed and caressed each other; our tongues twisted in an intricate mating ritual, while our hands touched shoulders, hair, necks, faces. Soon Miguel’s warm palms were against my naked skin under my jersey, and my cock tried to burst out through my constraining cycle shorts. When my lover finally let go of me, I was panting hard. Not even the toughest mountain climb or sprint finish could create such shortness of breath. Miguel locked the doors and led me back into paradise.



My lover sat at the edge of the bed in the sleeping part of the cabin. I stood between his legs after having shed my shoes and socks. The brown eyes regarded me with a desire and longing matching mine, what had I done to deserve this? We helped each other get rid of his T-shirt and my top. Miguel’s strong fingers slid down my spine and continued along the crevice between my buttocks. I whimpered in need, when the tips of his fingers caressed the smooth skintight material encasing my butt. One hand followed the curve of my hip and ended on the bulge in front.



My groans of lust got loud as my lover teasingly outlined the contours of my package with two fingers. Suddenly, he grabbed the edges of my shorts and pulled them down. Now he was the one to grunt excitedly when my cock was released and slapped against my taut stomach. Miguel leaned down to kiss my exposed, wet helmet, then licked it, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed his neck with one hand and forced my cock past his lips with the other.



Miguel willingly let me into his mouth, and every inch of my throbbing manhood disappeared into the wet cave. He grabbed my buttocks and started to fuck me with his mouth. It felt much too good and I’d needed this for far too long, so the sucking and his skilled lips and tongue took me to the edge in no time at all. Undoubtedly, my lover was very much aware of the consequences of his intensive treatment. When I came without warning, shouting his name as I spurted my load down his throat, Miguel just swallowed every drop and licked me clean with obvious pleasure.



Then he picked me up and deposited me on the bed. He shed his pants, spread my legs and took me. I’d prepared for this, my chamois butter was not just outside but also inside my ass. Miguel’s engorged cock slid into me without resistance, Mon Dieu, il est incroyable, I would never get enough of feeling him deep inside me. Miguel rested his weight on his hands on either side of my head, he looked down at me, meeting my eyes. “Ah mon amour, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve dreamt of making love to you again. No one turns me on like you do, Jean, you make me so happy.”



We had not spoken a word until then. The sound of his deep voice, the sweet words, the look in his eyes, and most of all the feeling of his body against mine made me shiver in delight. Right then I could not explain how I felt, all I knew was that nothing could compare with the joy of being in Miguel’s arms. Being taken by him, made love to, filled with his cum, and having my body claimed as his. I clung to him with arms and legs as he fucked me hard until he came deep in my channel.



Afterwards we lay in each other’s arms and talked, kissing and caressing all the time. We both bemoaned our long separation and agreed that we must meet soon again. I wanted to spend the whole night in his arms, but we knew that we had to be sensible and careful. Before I left, he asked me to fuck his ass while he stroked himself to completion. So this time Miguel convulsed around my spurting manhood in a simultaneous orgasm that had us both seeing stars. His hot tunnel milked my balls for cum, while he emptied his own on the towel he had ready underneath us.



Saying goodbye after cleaning up a bit and getting back into my clothes was very difficult. But Miguel swore he’d be back soon, and this was my only comfort as I got on my bike and went home. Any plans of having a real training ride were of course void, due to every possible minute being spent with Miguel and even more to the soreness of all my intimate parts. I didn’t care, I’d had another amazing experience with gay sex, and I knew there was still more in store. I looked forward to expand my horizons and improve my abilities, just as with my other passion.



One thing became clear from this and our subsequent rendezvous three weeks later: I much preferred to be the recipient in sex, i.e. I loved being sucked and fucked. Oh I enjoyed sucking cock too, and I liked fucking Miguel’s hot ass. But if I could chose, I preferred coming with a hard cock in my butt, or with two fingers fucking me as I unloaded in a warm mouth. Luckily my Spanish lover was more than happy to fulfill my wishes and needs.



After the first two wonderful but short meetings with Miguel, another long period occurred without seeing him. It was during this time that I had my candle revelation. The time with my Spanish trucker only sated my curiosity and needs for a short time, I craved more carnal knowledge. Pleasuring myself while fantasizing about my lover just increased my longing of being in his arms. As the weeks passed without any message, I was going crazy from pent-up sexual frustration. But finally there was another note in the hollow oak, and this time the date was absolutely perfect.



Miguel suggested a Saturday around 11 o’clock, and that particular weekend my parents and sister were away, visiting my father’s elderly aunt. I’d already been allowed to stay at home, as long as I promised not to go on any dangerous cycle routes. My mother had talked about calling home on Saturday night to make sure I was OK. But after I’d received Miguel’s note, I began hinting of plans to spend the night with a friend from school. As the aunt had no phone, and my father grunted something about me being sensible and dependable, my mother conceded that I didn’t have to be checked.



My family left early Saturday morning, and I spent two hours in a dither, while I packed a rucksack with a few clothes and toiletries. I wore a track suit on top of my cycle clothes, after all it was November and quite chilly. Our house was in the outskirts of the village, but I made sure none of the neighbors were home, before I locked up and left on an old bike rather than my proper racer. I didn’t want them telling my dad about my unusual choice of training gear. Even taking my time and going slow I was still at the meeting place almost half an hour early.

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