She Just Left The Room

She was the only girl in room full of men and their bikes – exchanging titbits and regaling stories, with handles reminiscent of mountain bike brands: Mongoose, Kuna, Fox1979.

You were one of them and your handle was also a play on the Swahili version of ‘no worries, mate’. Perfect.

For months, each night on night shift, she would sneak in and hang out. It wasn’t intended to be sexual – she was gleaning information, feeling part of a club so that on the weekends, when she flung herself down hills on thin rubber, surrounded by men in her actual vicinity, she didn’t feel quite so aware of her tits, her fear and her lack of killer biceps.

You were there in the same way all the others were. Just hanging out, shooting the breeze, getting specced. And for some reason, you started it. You mentioned the bubblebath. She didn’t even think that you were like that, but suddenly there you were. Both of you, flirting outrageously, typing furiously through a raunchy scene where you were both naked, covered in bubbles and trying to find your way.

At no point, did anybody say ‘get a room’.

Everyone else just kept on chatting about chain grease, the newest rear derailleur and oiled forks.

But the two of you kept at it and their talk suddenly became even more loaded. Sitting in a chair at work, pretending to focus on the finer points of desktop publishing, whilst imagining a naked, finely tuned downhill dude from the West Coast of somewhere (probably the US), slipping around in soapy water, trying to find a different kind of wet spot.

It was hot.
It’s hard to say how long it lasted, too. Maybe 20 minutes, maybe only 5. A little like sex in real time.
And yet, there was no climax. Not in a way that could be called sexual. It was more of an awareness of getting caught and realising that, actually, you were having Cyber Sex. It was suddenly all too… cliched… and the mood died.

She Just Left The Room.

No goodbye. No finishing off. No pursuit of anything actually physical, even.

Just wet and longing in her pants for the rest of night shift, and a vague blush every now and again.

No worries, mate.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s