his bicycle the entranceway (cycloerotic reveries)

He pumped them pedals real proper the both of them, little calves bulging like bagged squeezed bread guts, the wind in his face made his hooter tickle, eyes streamed tears like a sorrowful babe, oh it were good to be alivealiveoh, his dickhead on his shorts front was delicious with the pot holes some little gentle pressures; he wished to disrobe and scream through the fields and industrial estates with his saddle nestled in his crack like a resting beast, bare himself to all and sundry, the summer wind on his hard teats, and the throb of his muscles roasted brilliant and blood surged and with it the oxygen and he felt very alive, mighty, and called to all the middle aged bints he passed lest one should swallow his offer whole and bed him to bits, grateful for whatever he had left for their titties and slices and othersuch anatomicals, purveyor of lust and the self-made motions of the casual rider, cheap jersey a sweaty heap that whiffed his bag out, he saw tights and painted nails and bit fat buttocks flashing before him like life, his life, rode close enough to smell their soap flakes, tang of bra straps, wholesome smells, yeasty, fungal, to hear their phonecalls, he adored the middle aged, past as they would be the arid carnal rut of one’s 30s or the tedious self-consciousness of younger and into the seedy nighttime realms of needy-rumpy-pumpy-plenty pouring forth like a running bath, ready to do a sick call to bosses or underlings for a solid session of attentive perversion, and he plotting the narratives of their lives through their displayed paraphernalia alone as he drove at and into it, cooked like confit in their essential oils, trailing them in silence to their residences, a gestural relation in exclusivity from first winked offer to final humped milking, luxuriating in the hotshot pressure of their showers, soiling their immaculate linens, pocketing their non-perishable food items, and my goodness they would weep for their slight memories of his methodology, Santa of the sexual, he was!, he was!, proficient, organised, committed, insightful, generous, cunning, violent, eccentric, merciful, adept, deft, rhythmical, bananas, oh what a listener!, oh what a male!, in revelry he pumped and pedalled, pedalled them pedals, legs like kebabs, his bicycle the entranceway to the cunt of the world.