Chloe Rides Again Pt. 08

This series is a sequel to the earlier work "Riding With Dirty Girls." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but to fully enjoy the story you really need to read Dirty Girls first.

This is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?

All characters are fictitious, and any that are involved in sexual activities are over 18.

***

Part 08: Slings and Arrows

I woke up in a strange bed. Well, not a STRANGE bed, it was a very nice comfortable bed actually, but it wasn't MY bed. It was an indictment of my promiscuity that I couldn't immediately think whose bed it was... Oh, Aimée. It was Aimée's bed.

The bed was in a wonderfully sunny room in Aimée's first floor flat and I had a feeling of warm convivialité, just as she'd promised. I could hear her in the kitchen, and there was a wonderful aroma of coffee and croissants being warmed.

I snuggled down luxuriously under the duvet and thought about the previous evening. I'd left the dinner table at the team hotel, and gone to visit the loo, and while I was in there, with the window cracked open, I heard voices outside.

There were some picnic tables nearby and, now that the weather had cleared up, there were some people out there chatting. I identified Helen, Marlen and Trude's voices, luckily speaking in English -- their only common language. I stood up on the toilet seat to get my head closer to the high window so I could eavesdrop, cos I'm nosy like that.

'Come on Trude, it will be hot,' Helen was saying. 'You enjoyed yourself with Chloe didn't you? Why not have some fun with us?' OMG, I thought. They were trying to talk Trude into a threesome.

I wasn't really surprised; Trude had said they'd suggested that already. I decided there and then that I'd message Aimée and take her up on the invitation she'd given me in the velodrome showers.

I went up to the room and sent a message : 'Hi Aimée, does your invitation still stand? I think I need some of your convivialité.'

'Of course, come now.'

I packed my tiny rucksack with overnight things and slipped out of the hotel, making a slight detour to the picnic tables. I walked over, tiny rucksack hanging from one shoulder, and said 'Enjoy yourselves you three, I'm off out for the night.'

They looked a little nonplussed. 'Really?' said Helen. I could tell she was dying to ask where I was going, and with whom, but she didn't. 'Don't you want to join us?' she asked, with a mischievous look. 'We are planning something you would enjoy.'

Obviously, I knew exactly what that was, so didn't need to ask. 'Tempting, but maybe another time. See you tomorrow.' I turned and strode away.

I expected to stay the night with Aimée, and I had no worries about needing to get back early in the morning because the men's race was on, and both male and female teams were staying on until Monday. I got a taxi straight to Aimèe's place.

It was a good decision. Aimée's flat was a haven of calm and tranquillity -- her promised amicale convivialité -- and wonderful, wonderful sex.

I expected the sex too, of course, and it was dreamy, soothing sex. Sex that calmed me, rather than inflaming me. Sex as a kind of therapy. And Aimée seemed to instinctively know that I needed some kind of succour. That the raging emotions of my monumental victory needed to be pacified. She was exactly what I needed that night.

We made love for hours. Beautiful, slow, and seemingly endless. Sharing the pleasure, the soft caresses, the scents, saveurs and sensations. It was sex as a kind of narcotic and it led, almost seamlessly into a wonderful restorative sleep.

Success in sport is not the bed of roses people often imagine. It brings with it a gamut of emotions, some of them are positive, of course, but some are not.

When I outsprinted that illustrious group of elite women to win in the Roubaix velodrome, I felt a blinding joy and euphoria, but there was also astonishment, disbelief, as well as slightly less wholesome feelings of triumphalism, arrogance, even a feeling of revenge. Yes, revenge for them catching me and snuffing out my breakaway. It was a tumult of feelings.

And then came the doubts. The feeling of "do I deserve this?" I have no doubts during the heat of battle, only a fiery determination and a steely resolve. I don't lack the killer instinct, but the doubts creep in afterwards... "Did she deserve it more than me?" Daft, I know. Maybe I'm just too introspective.

But now, here I was, lying deep under Aimée's decadent duvet, with all those feelings assuaged. Endorphins and melatonin had taken over, thanks to her palliative sex, and I felt wonderful.

As she rattled around in the kitchen, I was tasting the smell of coffee and croissants, then she came, carrying a tray, with two large steaming bowls of cafe au lait, and the bestest, most buttery croissants I've ever had.

'Bonjour joli,' she said. 'Would you like some breakfast?'

'Ooh, Aimée you're an angel,' I murmured.

She set the tray down, and I looked at her, so, so sexy in her white linen dressing gown that was like a giant shirt. It came down to mid-thigh, showing off the tanned skin of her legs, and was unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of her modest but shapely cleavage.

I took at her jumbled, curly hair, brushed back over her head, her sultry brown eyes, her roman nose, and her spare, almost gaunt cheeks, which just accentuated the fullness of her lips.

She was a very good-looking woman, but there was more, much more, to her. An extraordinarily deep sensitivity and empathy. I'd never had this feeling in quite the same way with anyone, not even Licia, who I'm so in tune with. Maybe only Helen came close. A kind of sisterly connection.

We sat propped up against the pillows and I followed her lead in dipping my croissant in my bowl of coffee. It was a super-fun way to share a delicious breakfast.

When I finished, I leaned over to kiss her cheek. 'Thank you, Aimée... For everything. You were exactly what I needed last night, and you are this morning. Thank you.' I kissed her again, and she turned her head to kiss me properly. The emotional temperature suddenly shot up by 100 degrees.

'Wait,' she said 'let's get rid of these bowls, then you can have me, again, if you like.'

'If I like...?' I chuckled, 'Oh yes, I like...'

The shirt came off (I was already naked) and we enjoyed each other again. Her soft, hungry lips, her shapely breasts, her deft sensitive fingers, her lusciously lush pubes, the soft, subtle fleshiness of her labia, her toned, lissome legs... all the flesh and bones of her. It was delicious, and all underlaid by that extraordinary empathy. She always timed her orgasms to come immediately after mine, however we got there, with fingers, lips, or tongues. What an incredible lover.

***

I returned to the hotel, and spotted Helen, Marlen and Trude in the lounge. They were all smiles and giddy laughing, so I hardly needed to ask how their little troika had gone.

'Hey, here she is,' they greeted me. 'The one who disappears for a mysterious liaison...'

I smiled, but didn't give them any more info. I could tell Helen wouldn't leave it there though.

'So, come on, tell us where you went and who you were with. Come on, come on '

I smirked and said nothing. I liked keeping them in suspenders... mm, come to think of it, I'd like all three of them in suspenders.

Eventually, I gave in. 'OK, nosy parkers... I was with Aimèe '

'Oo, Aimée... Lovely,' said Helen, nodding approvingly.

'Yes, thanks, it was. Did you three enjoy yourselves?'

'We did...' They all smiled at each other and looked almost bashful. Ah, it was good to see them like this.

'Hey, a group of us are riding out to Cysoing later to watch the race,' said Marlen. 'Are you joining us?'

The men had got a much better day for their race; dry with sunny spells, so it was a much more suitable for spectating, but I had to decline. 'No, I've arranged to meet Aimée at the velodrome later on, to watch the finish.'

'Oo, getting very friendly with Aimée, aren't you, Chloe?' said Helen.

'I'm a friendly girl, you know that Helen.' I gave a cheeky smirk and disappeared up to the room.

I lay on the bed, looking at all the stuff about me and my win on the 'net, which felt quite bizarre really, and I was glad to be distracted when Trude came up to the room to get ready for the ride out to Cysoing.

She gathered her kit together and made to go into the bathroom, but I said, 'Hey, you're not going to hide from me, are you? Don't we know each other well enough by now?'

She gave me a coy smile. 'Yes, but we mustn't get distracted.'

'Come on, I promise to behave myself.'

So, she stripped and changed in front of me. I pretended to continue looking at my phone, but I was making appreciative glances as she put on her sports bra, and adjusted her bike shorts, tugging the legs of them down so they were smooth and wrinkle free.

I managed to keep my hand away from my pussy as she put on a stretchy top that really showed off her trim torso, especially when she spent some time with her arms up, fixing her hair. Her breasts looked very alluring under that lycra, even compressed by the sports bra, and I definitely detected a hint of nipple. She knew I was watching, and I think she liked it.

'See you later, Chloe. Enjoy the velodrome,' and off she went.

I called Licia, and she went gaga again over my win. 'My God, Chloe. I've watched that finish in the velodrome over and over. How did you have the best legs of the bunch, even after almost 50k out on your own? Unbelievable.'

'I'm as surprised as you. I was thinking of a possible podium at best. I couldn't believe it when I passed them all, including Marieke. It still hasn't quite sunk in.'

'I can imagine. It was epic. Christ knows what your top speed was when you crossed that line.'

I was just reliving it in my head, when she startled me by changing the subject abruptly, saying 'Right Chloe, confessional time. I expect you'll have something to confess from last night, but it turns out, so have I.'

'Really? Go on then.'

'Well you know Lisa at the gym?'

'Yeees,' I said, slowly.

'Well... I didn't do anything really... I mean, I didn't set out to seduce her or anything.'

'But you did, didn't you?'

'Well no. She seduced herself really.'

'Or you, maybe?'

'Mm. Anyway, I was on the recumbent bike thing, and she came over, as she does -- and I was right, she was ogling my legs. I had my running shorts on, so they were on full display, y'know?'

I had my eyes closed, visualising. 'Oh yes, I know.'

'After a minute or two, she said, "You've got great legs. Not skinny catwalk legs, proper, athletic legs."

'I smiled and said "Thanks, it's all the hours of cycling."

'She watched me for a bit longer, and I was enjoying it, if I'm honest.'

'Tease.'

'Yeah, well... Anyway, straight out of the blue, she suddenly said "You're gay, aren't you, Licia?" I looked at her quizzically and said, "Yeh, why?" and she said, "Oh, I don't know. I wonder sometimes..." I was looking at her but she wouldn't make eye-contact.

'"Wonder about what?" says I.

'"About whether I'm gay, or bi or something. I see girls in here and... well, you're gay, you know what I mean."

'I said, "course I do. Like Colleen. Have you seen the tits on her? She was running on the treadmill yesterday, and I didn't even realise I'd stopped pedalling..." We both burst out laughing.'

'I chuckled. 'When do we get to the confessional?'

'Patience, I'm getting there... I felt devilish, so I said, "When you get this reaction, do you ever have to do something about it?"

'She blushed slightly, and nodded... "In the storeroom. A few times now."

'"And what about today?" says I, still pedalling slowly.

'She smirked and glanced at my legs again. "Probably," she said, and I was thinking, maybe she doesn't need to settle for that, y'know?'

'You're BAD, Licia.'

'I know, hence the confessional.'

'So what happened?' I could tell she was enjoying telling me this story...

'Well... I finished my session and headed towards the showers, but at the door, I turned and peeped. Just as I expected, she made straight for the storeroom.'

'And you followed her, right?'

'Yeh, I nipped across tout suite and got my foot in the door just as she was closing it, saying "You don't have to do that by yourself, you know." I could tell she was unsure by the amount of "oo" and "ah" and "er" that came out of her, but she didn't stop me and I followed her in and locked the door behind us.'

I was actually getting excited now, anticipating what was going to happen. 'You know Liss, I'm gonna be wanking in a minute at this rate.' I said.

'Don't let me stop you. Anyway, I could tell she was hot for me so I didn't beat about the bush -- pardon the expression. I put my foot up on a box and said, "You wanna feel? Go on, feel it." I could tell she'd been dying to cop a feel of my legs for ages and her hands were immediately all over my thigh, squeezing it and raking her fingers along it, and groaning in a definitely lustful way. My legs are nothing like hers -- she's very skinny -- and they were obviously exciting to her.'

God, I was finding this so hot. Hearing her talk about it was incredibly horny and my fingers were soon busy inside my pants. I must have let out a little moan, and she said. 'Oo, are you playing with yourself? Naughty girl.'

'Mmm, just a sec...' I wasn't worried about Trude returning, but I got up and locked the door anyway, just in case a maid came in unexpectedly or something. Then I dropped my pants and lay back on the bed. OK, carry on with the story...'

She continued... 'Well, she was having a nice time, feeling me up, and I guided her hand further up and pulled my shorts aside so she could feel my pussy, and she gasped out "fuck,' as she found out how wet I was.

'There was no stopping her at this point. I could tell lust was taking her over. She pressed forward for a kiss, and I gave her a hot one. The kind of kiss no bloke ever gave her, then pushed her back onto a pile of exercise mats. I didn't give her any chance to get cold feet. I just sat on her face. Queened her there and then, with shorts still on and everything. You know there's not much of a gusset in those shorts. Easy access, you might say.'

'Jeeez.' I was wanking like crazy now. I wanted her to queen ME with her running shorts still on.

'She seemed to like it, and she had no trouble making me come. It made me so bloody horny somehow. Knowing that she was new to it, and I was fucking her in the storeroom, where she'd previously been getting herself off, y'know?'

'Mmm, yeh...'

'I didn't neglect her of course. After she'd got me off, I got her to stand over me while I sat on the mats, then I tongue fucked her from underneath, while holding her in place by her skinny arse. She seemed to like that too.'

'Oohhh, fuuuck.' I came in a lovely, shivery little rush, and I could hear her giggling as I jerked and jolted through my orgasm.

'Sounds like that little tale hit someone's spot,' she chuckled.

'Oh God, Liss,' I gasped. 'We have to re-enact that next time we're together.'

'Definitely, but you couldn't do an impression of Lisa's skinny arse if you tried.' I giggled. That was very true.

'Anyway,' she said, 'it's your turn to confess.'

Blimey, I'd almost forgotten. 'OK, but I need to go to the loo first. I'll call you back.' I went into the bathroom and had a pee, then changed my knickers and called her back.

'Spill it,' she said, brusquely.

'OK. Well, after the race it was crazy. There were thousands of people in that velodrome, and suddenly they were all focussed on me!'

'Well you had just won Roubaix, babe.'

'I know but it was wild. I was almost having a panic attack. I hardly even remember the podium. Anyway, Aimée came up to me and took me for a shower.'

'Aimée eh? Nice... I thought she looked kinda deep and thoughtful. A bit mysterious, even.'

'Yes, exactly. She's so empathic. She knew exactly what I needed at that moment.'

'If I'd been there, I'd have known... You know that, don't you?'

'Of course darlin'. You don't need to feel insecure. She's not replacing you any time soon.'

'But you did fuck her though?'

'Yeah... she lives in Roubaix and she invited me to her flat. Helen, Marlen and Trude were arranging a little trio between themselves, so I went to Aimée's.'

'Huh, sounds like it's all happening in my absence, as usual.'

'Hey, don't get like that. You've not exactly been deprived by the sound of things, and you'll be back. I'm gong to come and see you soon, anyway. Maybe you can introduce me to Lisa.'

She chuckled. 'Aye, that could be fun. I'm pretty sure she'll want more now she's had a taste of the good stuff.'

'Not a bad place for her to be as manager of a women-only gym, is it?'

'No, I guess not.'

'Anyway, how's your shoulder?

'Oh, it's a lot better now. Don't need the sling anymore. Still hurts in some positions though. Definitely not ready for the bike for a while yet.'

I pulled a sad face, which she obviously couldn't see, and said 'Bit of a bummer, but I'm sure you'll keep yourself entertained til you get back '

'Oh aye... I will.' She sighed.

'Catch you later, babe, I'm off to the velodrome in a bit, to watch the finish of the men's race.'

'Crap, forgot about that. I'll put it on now. See ya '

I went down to the lounge where they had live coverage on a big screen. Looked like the peloton was broken in pieces already, and they'd only done half the cobbled secteurs.

I had a coffee and watched the leading group attacking each other until there were only four of them left, then I set off to meet Aimée at the velodrome.

It was strange to be back in the velodrome after the previous days experience. Then, I'd ridden into a cauldron of noise, but now it seemed subdued, because the riders hadn't yet arrived.

We positioned ourselves where we could see the big screen, and saw that the Dutch rider Rudy van Dijk had broken clear and was in the Carrefour de l'Arbre secteur, with 16km to go. His nearest rival had crashed and was a minute behind.

I looked around the velodrome, scene of my triumph, and tried to relive it, but it still seemed otherworldly. It seemed like a different place.

When van Dijk entered the arena we all got up on our feet to applaud, but it wasn't like our dramatic finish. I think the failed breakaway, and then me still being in the group for final showdown had got the crowd whipped up.

Rudy van Dijk, rode the lap and a half, waving to the crowd, and he got warm applause throughout, but compared to our finish it was a bit of a damp squib, really.

We emerged onto the street and embraced. 'See you next week,' she said.

'Actually, no. I'm not doing Amstel Gold. Flèche Wallonne is my next one, the following Wednesday.'

'Oh, OK. See you there then.'

'Yeh, au revoir, Aimée.' (well I like to try).

She smiled. 'à bientôt, Chloe,' and she walked off up the street.

***

You're free this weekend, aren't you babe? Not doing the Amstel Gold race.' It was the Wednesday after Roubaix, and Licia had called me.

'No, that race wasn't on Molly's list. Not sure why.'

'Oh I know why.'

'Do you.'

'Yeah. It's a Dutch race, innit? Molly is Belgian.'

'But there were Italian races and...'

'Yeahhh, but it's a special kind of rivalry between Belgium and Holland...'

'Hm, I never realised she was so partisan...'

I suspected Licia might be about to suggest a visit, either me to her or her to me, but I had emailed Melvyn in the cycling club to tell him I was coming on Sunday's club ride.

I'm not doing Amstel, but I'm not completely free. I want to go on the club ride on Sunday. I haven't been on one for a while.'

'D'oh, I'd have joined you if I were fit... Nice change though. Enjoy.'

'Yeh, thanks. When you're fit again, you must come over and join us on one. They're good fun.

'Yeh, definitely will.'

'Are you still improving?'

'Oh yeh, I can move it through a good range now. Still doesn't like supporting my weight though. No press-ups for a while, that's for sure.'

I chuckled. 'You look after yourself.'

'Oh I will... On a regular basis...' I could almost see her cheeky smirk.

'See you, babe.'

'Ciao'

I felt a little guilty for putting Licia off, just to go on the club ride, but I convinced myself that she'd be better off resting and concentrating on recovery.

I was surprised by the idea that Molly had excluded the Amstel just because it was Dutch, but I didn't mind. Having looked at the details, I decided my next race, 'La Flèche Wallonne' (The Walloon Arrow) was better, and it would be nice to have a quiet weekend and go out with the club for a change.

Quiet. Yeh, right.

Sunday morning, I got my kit on and rolled down the hill to the Woolly Sheep Cafe, in bright, warm (!) spring sunshine. When I turned the last corner, I was greeted by an astonishing sight.

A club ride usually attracts a dozen members, maybe 20 on a day like this, but the market square was FULL of cyclists. Almost the full membership of the club -- over 100 people were there. Mel must have emailed everyone that I was coming and, OMG, I'd forgotten; I was a celebrity now.

As I rolled up to the cafe, spontaneous applause broke out. It was astonishing. I was just little Chloe Lyons, yet all these people were applauding ME. I wasn't even one of their own. I was an off-comer from England, but the people of this little Scottish town had taken me to their hearts. Even the staff of the cafe came out to greet me.

I stood on the wall and waved to everyone with both hands, and I had a beaming grin on my face, even though there were tears in my eyes. I spotted Mel in the crowd, and Brenda, and even Stuart was putting his hands together for me. It was just phenomenal.

We set off in a massive group -- a motley peloton - and there were all sorts of people there; youngsters on bikes too big for them, older people, people on bikes that maybe hadn't been out of the shed for months or years, and even a couple on a tandem. Everyone wanted to be part of the ride.

This obviously wasn't going to be one of our forays into the hills. It was just a little jaunt around the Penicouls valley, with Mel leading the way at a very sedate pace. No-one got left behind and I found out later that someone was driving a van at the back, acting as a "broom wagon," to collect anyone who fell by the wayside. No-one did.

We returned to the caff after an hour or two, and the staff did a sterling job of keeping everyone supplied with drinks and food. It was a stunning, humbling day, and I rode back up to the house with my head in a bit of a spin.

I immediately called Licia, who said, 'Wow, what a fantastic thing to happen. I wish I could've been there.'

'So do I, actually,' I said, a little wistfully.

Later that evening, I checked the results of the women's Amstel Gold race, to see that it had ended, predictably, in a bunch sprint, and that Tera had won, from Marieke, with Mae (yes, Molly's Mae) completing the podium. Wow. Fantastic for Mae, but it was hard to ignore the fact that Marieke had suffered two sprint defeats on successive weekends. She was definitely losing her edge.

I rang Molly. 'Hi Mol, just seen the finish of Amstel. Brilliant sprint by Mae. She's really knocking on the door, and still not even 20 yet.'

'Yes, isn't it fantastic?' She sounded more excited than I'd ever heard her. 'Your wins at De Ronde and Roubaix, and now a second podium for Mae. It's a dream for a coach. A dream.'

'You deserve it Mol. You're a great coach '

'Or maybe I just got lucky with talented riders.'

'Nonsense, we couldn't do it without you. I couldn't, anyway.'

'You're very sweet Chloe, but you have to have the talent.'

'Well let's just say it's a symbiotic relationship then.'

'OK,' she chuckled.

I told her about the club ride, and how the club had turned out en-mass to ride with me, and she said, 'Fantastic. It's lovely when people show their support like that. A similar thing happened to me in Oudenaarde after I won my first European title. It made me dizzy.'

'YES! Me too! I'm still a bit swimmy now to be honest.'

She switched into coach mode; 'Better get your feet back on the ground for Wednesday though. La Flèche is not to be taken lightly.'

'Molly?'

'Yes?'

'Did you leave Amstel off my programme because it's a Dutch race?'

She laughed. 'No, of course not. I just thought doing it and La Flèche was too much, and if one of them had to go it had to be Amstel because, well, it's a Dutch race...'

I cackled. 'Belgian partisanism alive and well in the Koppen household then...'

'Only a little. I do coach three Dutch girls and a Brit, you know.'

'Oh yeh, I forgot that.'

I got a little ping, saying I had a message waiting, so I said, 'Gotta go Mol, Licia's trying to contact me. See you at the airport on Wednesday.'

I opened Licia's message and my socks nearly fell off. It was captioned, 'Just a reminder of what you are missing. In case you forget,' and it was the most indecently lurid close-up of her pussy, with two hands spreading it wide. Her inner lips were dripping wet and glistening, and her clit looked just about ready to burst. She had even painted her nails red for the occasion.'

After I'd picked my jaw up from the floor and wiped the drool from my chin, I sent back a one-word reply. 'FUCK'

'if only... I'm yearning for your tongue babe. Do you remember how I taste?'

'Oh God yes I do.'

My pants were on the floor almost instantly, and I lay in the corner of the sofa and plunged two fingers deep into my pussy as I gazed at that shocking image. My juice factory was already in turbo mode.

'Bet you're already wanking aren't you?'

'Yes. Oh God Liss, you're so bad.'

'Send me a pic.'

Oh jeez, I turned my phone camera on, held it close and snapped a pic with my juicy fingers just emerging from my drooling vag.

'Ohh, nice.'

We spent maybe half an hour trading obscene pussy fingering images, and getting our phones all messy with girl juice, until we'd both had at least two orgasms. There was a lull as we recovered, then -- PINGG -- 'Night x'

Apart from being fucking horny, I was quietly pleased that she had the desire to do this. I felt like it was her way of keeping herself prominent on my sexual radar, during our current separation, and that gladdened me. Despite our various libertine liaisons, we were still solid.

***

La Flèche Wallonne

There are many races across the cycling season that are regarded as classics, but the term is not well-defined. However, the so-called "spring classics" are divided into the "cobbled classics," culminating with Paris-Roubaix and the "Ardennes classics."

I had completed a phenomenally successful cobbled classics season, with two victories in races that are regarded as "monuments" of cycling, and I was now moving into the Ardennes classics. I had skipped the first of them, but was now about to tackle La Flèche Wallonne (The Waloon Arrow) the Femmes edition being the second oldest women's race on the World Tour, having been inaugurated in the 1990s.

Unlike the previous races I had done, I had ridden all 140km of this one on Molly's mini training camp back in January. My memory of it was sketchy, but I did remember the steep climb of the Mur de Huy, the most famous feature of the route.

The Mur (wall) is only 1.2 km long, but it averages almost 10%, with a lot of it steeper than that. It's definitely a brute of a climb. The women's race climbs it twice, with the finish at the top of the second ascent, giving a true hilltop finish, and ensuring that the race is almost always decided on that final climb.

I had confidence in my climbing ability, especially on a short steep climb like this, so the finish on the "wall" held no fear for me. I'd have been much less confident in a flat sprint finish, but then again, at Roubaix I'd outsprinting Marieke Vox, the best sprinter in the peloton, so who knows? I still haven't discovered all my strengths.

Anyway, I felt ready, and I flew to Brussels to be collected by Molly on Wednesday morning. Because the race started in the late afternoon, the plan was for Molly to collect me on her way from Waregem to Huy (which is only just over an hour's drive from the airport) and drop me with the team. She would park the car in Huy and walk up the Mur to find a good place to watch, where she could see me go past twice, including the final climb.

After the race, we'd return to her place, where I would stay until the weekend, when the Liège-Bastogne-Liège race was on. So, no team hotel for me this time. It would be a flying visit; swoop in, race, and then flap out again.

Mid-week races can be strange. Some people have to work, so the crowds can be smaller, but not as small as you might expect. Belgian fans are so fanatical that they will usually find a way to attend big races like La Flèche, even if it means taking time off work, and there's always a throng of people watching on some of the climbs, and especially on the Mur.

I emerged into Arrivals at Brussels to be met by, not just Molly, but Fanny and Marianne as well. Yay, the full team! There's always a buzz and a bit of a thrill whenever I'm met by these three, and I was a very happy girl as we walked across to the Lyonmobile in pleasant spring sunshine. Suddenly, I was really looking forward to the race.

On the drive to Huy, the chat in the car was all about recent races, my amazing wins and, of course, how to win La Flèche. Molly had an amazing series of 5 wins between 2009 and 2013 and another one in 2016, so she definitely knew how to win it.

'I was your age when I first won, Chloe, and I did it with a final attack up the Mur. In fact, all six wins were done in exactly the same way. In 2012, we only caught the break at the bottom of the Mur, and then hell broke loose, with everyone attacking. You have to time it right though, and measure your effort, or you run out of energy before the line.'

I was listening avidly. When it came to La Flèche, Molly was The Oracle. She's still the most successful female rider ever at this race.

I wasn't surprised that Molly had achieved all her wins on the Mur. I'd looked back at the last 5 races and they were all won like that too.

Unlike De Ronde or Paris-Roubaix, there aren't really any obstacles difficult enough to split the peloton, which often arrives intact at the foot of the final climb. People have made attempts to escape at various points on the course, and sometimes a group has gone clear, but none has ever survived to the finish, and it all comes down to the struggle up the Mur.

I knew my climbing was at least equal to anyone in the peloton, and I have an explosive attack, but just knowing the race was always won like that made me want to buck that trend.

We arrived on the main parking in the middle of Huy, where team buses and cars were gathered, and I transferred my kit bag into the bus. Molly talked to some fans (she always gets recognised when she goes to races) and Marianne too, had her share of admirers wanting to talk to her. There are no fans quite as knowledgeable as Belgian fans, and I guessed it would be like this for them for the whole four hours of the race. There's no way they could walk up the Mur on La Flèche day and not be besieged by a million fans.

They wished me luck and I got onto the bus and started changing and preparing for the race, putting on my thinner summer panties, and a tight sports bra. I noticed Helen trying to quell her much bigger boobs, stretching the material of her sports bra this way and that until they sat just right.

She sighed with slight exasperation and I said 'That's a nice problem to have.'

'Is it? You wouldn't say that if you had them.'

'Oh, I think I would.'

'They're not good for cycling. My nipples were really sore after Roubaix. I had to ask Marlen and Trude to steer clear of them that night, which was a shame.'

'It definitely was,' said Marlen from further down the bus.

It's funny how women with larger breasts often complain about them, whereas those of us who are not so well-endowed always view them with a touch of envy.

I noticed Tera and Selina were keeping well out of the conversation. Being both straight, and not especially blessed in the boob department, I guess they hadn't much to contribute.

I was just fiddling with the straps on my shoes, when Robbie and Gabi stood up at the front of the bus and got our attention. 'Slight change for this one,' said Robbie. 'After Chloe's recent performances, we've decided to go with two leaders today, so we're all-in for Tera and Chloe.'

Oh, cripes. I guess I knew it was going to happen at some point, but sprung on me like this, just a few minutes from the start, it threw me a little. Rather than working like a trojan on the front for 140k, and hoping I had a little left at the end, I'd be spending the race drafting. Helen, Marlen, Trude and Selina's workloads had just gone up significantly, but there were no complaints.

I did feel a little extra pressure, but at least it meant I was free to attack if I wanted to, and I was almost certain to be tempted.

I looked again at the race profile. There were two modest climbs in the first part of the race, one only 8km in, and the second at 58km. I couldn't see much happening here, apart from a hopeful break forming.

At about 76km, the race entered the final circuit of 35km, to be covered twice, with three climbs each time round; Côte D'Ereffe, Côte de Cherave, and the Mur de Huy, finishing at the top of the Mur on the second ascent. I decided that one of the climbs on the second circuit would be the place to attack.

I pondered on which one. The Ereffe -- 2.1km at 5% - or the Cherave -- 1.3km at 8.1%? The latter was more suited to my style, but it came at only 5km from the final ascent of the Mur, so everyone would be on high alert. I decided to wait and see how the race panned out.

We formed up for the start, and I whispered to Helen. 'I'm thinking of attacking, maybe second time up the Ereffe. I'll let you know.'

A little smile flickered across her lips. 'OK.'

It was a full-strength peloton, and it was good to see both Suzy and Lucy back and raring to go. I looked around; Tera, Elisa, Marieke, Gracie, Leona, Becca, Pam... Was it ridiculously presumptuous of me to think I could attack with almost 20km to go, and ride these women off my wheel, then beat them all up one of the most infamous climbs in one-day cycling? Maybe, but my confidence was on an all-time high, and you'll never win anything if you don't believe.

We rolled out on a very short neutralised start, and as soon as we passed km 0 the pace started picking up. It took a while for attacks to start, but on the modest ascent of the Côte de Bohissau, a little group of 5 went clear. Gabi told us the make up of the group over the radio; Franka Stellner, Esther Cruyff, Trixi ten Dam, Leonie Rissveld, and Inga van Touren. This was quite a handy group, and Molly was going to be so stoked to have Leonie and Inga -- 2 of her Dutch girls -- in the break.

The peloton continued to ride at a brisk but not blistering pace, and the break built a lead of almost 3 minutes by Modave at 76km, where we entered the circuit. There were no new attacks, but the pace stepped up a notch here, and we started to close the gap on the breakaway group.

As we climbed the Ereffe for the first time, I got a feel for it, and decided that's where I would make my move. I noted that there was a fast descent after it, which would play into my hands and enable me to prise open a decent gap.

The break was coming back to us quite quickly now, and we heard over the radio that Inga had attacked the group and gone solo. Brave girl.

We crossed the Cherave, which was nice and short, and had almost caught the remains of the break as we started the first ascent of the Mur.

It's definitely bloody steep. There's a bend about halfway up where the gradient on the inside is said to be well over 20% and there's a longish section of 10-15% after that before it finally eases off just before the finish.

The peloton started to fracture here, and we caught the four from the break. Inga was still out in front though and I smiled to myself as I thought of her riding past Molly at the top. A proud moment for both of them, I'm sure.

I didn't find the Mur too daunting and I could imagine myself surviving a solo ascent to the finish if I could stay clear to the bottom of the climb.

35km to go. Everyone was sitting tight, obviously waiting for that final showdown. That gruelling struggle up the Mur. Well, I was hoping to be on my own by then, but first we had to catch Inga.

It was easier said than done. She was flying, and as we passed Modave again she still had a minute and a half. I came alongside Helen and said 'Fast into Ereffe.' She knew exactly what I meant. I wanted her to set a fast pace, to string the reduced peloton out, to soften them up for my attack, and she did it beautifully.

She went to the front as we approached the climb and absolutely drilled it, reducing the peloton to a long single line of riders, all concentrating on hanging onto the wheel in front.

Helen was burying herself, sacrificing herself for me, with Marlen on her wheel, followed by Selina, Trude, Tera, then me. Tera gave me a look as the pace cranked up. She knew something was afoot. So did everyone else, but before anyone could do anything, I threw in my attack.

My acceleration was sudden and decisive, and as soon as I went past her, Helen immediately eased off, putting the peloton into disarray. By the time other teams had organised themselves to chase, I was away, and hurtling down the descent. Helen, you beauty.

I had two objectives now if I wanted to win. Firstly, to keep the chasers behind me, and secondly, to catch a flying Inga, which honestly looked like it might be more difficult than expected.

As I reached the top of the Côte de Cherave, Gabi informed me that, in a neat bit of symmetry, I had 40 seconds over the remains of the peloton, and Inga had 40 seconds over me.

5km to go. I went deep into wild and reckless territory on the descent, and flirted with my aerobic threshold on the undulating road that followed, head down, time-trialling. As I came into Huy, I could see Inga turning onto the Chemin des Chapelles (the road up the Mur) her bright orange jersey like a carrot enticing me.

1.3km to go. I could see that she was struggling now. She weaved from side to side as the gradient increased, and I dragged her back, inch by inch, then got out of the saddle for the final effort. At the steep bend, she made a fatal error. She was way too close to the steep inside line and I kept well to the outside where the gradient was easier and prepared to make the pass.

I was about to take the lead, but the elite chasing group were close, snapping at our heels almost. I still had to survive to the finish, and the gradient was really biting now, but my legs were good. Come ON Chloe! You can do it, YOU CAN DO IT!

400m to go. The crowd were going crazy, shouting and cheering in my ear as I laboured past them. I glimpsed something yellow out of the corner of my eye, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground.

My head had been whiplashed onto the tarmac in the fall and I was momentarily dazed. I got up onto my knees as the elite group passed me one by one, and I saw Inga cresting the brow of the hill, still bravely fighting to stay clear.

Spectators rushed to pick me up and put me back on my bike, but the race was lost. A push got me moving again and I grovelled to the top and rolled in - 11th.

What had happened? After the fog in my head had cleared, it transpired that a spectator had been waving a plastic carrier bag. Don't know why. Perhaps because it was yellow and he just wanted to wave something brightly coloured. The bag had caught my brake lever and down I went. Game over.

There was a lot of effort post-race, to identify the culprit, but it was only the next day that I learned that it was a young lad of 12, who was mortified by what had happened. He, and his parents, presented themselves to the race organisers later in the day, after we had left Huy.

It was a disappointing -- even shocking -- end to the race, but I didn't really bear the lad any ill-feeling. Yes it was stupid, and he'd obviously learned a lesson, and yes, I was bitterly disappointed, but it wasn't like he'd maliciously thrown something at me -- which has happened in bike racing, sadly. Plus, it had certainly made for a dramatic finish.

But what about Inga? Did she survive? Lamentably, no. In the last 200 metres, she was passed by Suzy. Then Tera. Then Elisa. Then Lucy. It had been an amazing effort though, and to finish 5th, and come so close to winning at just 20 years of age, is amazing really.

Inevitably, we were a little subdued in the car on the way back to Waregem. Molly had been so close to seeing a dream 1-2 finish for two of her girls, but had then had to watch it all unravel on the top half of the Mur. That's La Flèche though. Many must have seen their dreams go up in smoke in those last few hundred metres.

We went round and round the post-mortem of the race as we drove along, until I felt like I wanted to change the subject. To be honest, I'd already put it behind me. Liège-Bastogne-Liège, just 4 days away, was my next objective, so I needed to focus on that next.

'Hey,' I said, 'I know we've nothing much to celebrate, but why don't I take you all out to dinner? What's that great restaurant near your house Mol? The hoola hooper or something.

They all chuckled at me. 'You mean the Hooiopper?' Molly grinned. 'It means the haystack in English.'

'Yeh that one. Will it be open?'

'I'll call them,' said Fanny, picking up her phone. A few sentences of rapid-fire Dutch later, and she said, 'There. Booked in for 8.'

'Yay,' I said. 'I'm starving...'

10pm. We were all a little giddy. We'd walked to the restaurant, eaten like queens, drunk a lot of wine, talked about food, wine, bikes, races, friendships, relationships, and sex, and we were all feeling fuzzy and happy.

Marianne said, 'I'd better call for a taxi.'

'Why don't you stay with us at Molly's,' I said. 'That'd be alright, wouldn't it Mol?'

'Yeah, sure, but there's only one spare room. One of you might end up on the sofa.' She and Fanny grinned at each other. They knew no-one was ending up on the sofa.

'We'll think of something,' I said, looking at Mari, and she smirked.

'I'll call a taxi anyway,' she said. 'I don't fancy walking back in the dark. Might fall into the dijk.'

'How terrible that would be,' I said looking at her with a cheeky grin, and we all burst out laughing.

'Quick nightcap?' Said Molly, when we got to her house, and she got out the bottle of 16-year-old Lagavulin whisky I'd bought her as a thank you after I won the Cyclocross World Championship. Molly had got quite a taste for single malt Scotch since I introduced her to it, and this was the first time the Lagavulin had been opened.

'I know you didn't win today, Chloe, but let's call this a late celebration of De Ronde and Roubaix.'

We toasted De Ronde and Roubaix, and sat there murmuring our approval of the whisky and feeling very mellow indeed. I think we were all almost dozing off by the time Molly got up and said, decisively, 'Bed time.'

Of course, Mari and I both went into the spare room, but I think anything energetic would have been a miracle. We kissed, and caressed each other a little clumsily, and she rambled a little about how flattered she was that I wanted to sleep with her, making me kiss her quiet, then we drifted off.

However, in the early hours, I was woken by a finger gently flicking back and forth across my nipple. I opened my eyes, and saw Marianne looking at me. Well, I couldn't see her really, but even in the dim light I could tell she was wearing an impish smile.

I liked the feeling of that finger on my nipple, but I wanted her mouth. I was lying on my side, facing her, and I put my hand on her head and pulled her towards me, guiding her gently to my tit as I slowly rolled onto my back.

She groaned, a lusty sexual groan, as she took my nipple between her lips and began suckling it and rolling her tongue round and round it.

I kissed the top of her head, and my hand was drawn irresistibly to my pussy, which was already feeling hot and moist. I dipped a finger inside and brought it up to slip it between my boob and her hungry lips and she groaned again. The sound of pure rapture.

Her mouth was working magic on my ever-hardening nipple, and I gathered more of my sapid sex syrup for her to enjoy. And she was loving it, eagerly sucking my fingers into her mouth every time I brought them up, then returning to my nipple with renewed gusto.

I thought she might enjoy tasting it at the source, so I put my hand on her head again, and spread my legs wider as a hint. She started moving down, and, with the other hand, I reached out and turned the bedside lamp on. As I've said, I'm a very visual person and I wanted to watch her eating me in all it's lurid glory.

It wasn't cold, so I got rid of the duvet too, so I'd have an uninterrupted view, and I shuffled up slightly, to lean against bed's headboard. Now I could really see what was going on.

My pussy had that delicious tingly ache of anticipation as she settled herself between my legs, and she gazed at my sex and pursed her lips in a silent 'oo.'

'Show me that gorgeous little clit, Chloe,' she whispered, and I placed a finger each side of it and pulled up, spreading my lips slightly so my little button peeped out of its hood. She touched its shiny little head with the tip of her nose and rubbed it gently from side to side, eyes closed in bliss, and a little jerky spasm shook my body. Fuck, this was hot.

She caressed my clit with her nose for a little while, just savouring the feel of it, and the sexual scent of me, and then her tongue came out for a taste of honey.

She licked slowly up the length of my pussy, from perineum to clit hood, and back down again, and again, and again. I was already dribbling wet and I could see her tongue was bathed in my whitish cream as she lapped me up. Occasionally, she made firm, twirling circles around my clit, making it twitch and pulse. For a relatively new lesbian, she was extraordinarily good at cunnilingus.

Her tongues gyrations on my clit, were sheer heaven, and I raked my nails gently over my nipples as I watched her. The stimulation was building up wonderfully, and she concentrated more and more on twirling my clit round and round. Round and round, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise, until my vaginal muscles were clenching and squeezing in a delightful sexual reflex.

She sensed I was close, and she introduced a finger, just a single finger, into my entrance and ran it round and round, stretching that fleshy opening exquisitely and tugging at my clit until I erupted helplessly into a jolting, pulsating orgasm.

When I opened my eyes, she was smiling up at me, and without breaking eye-contact, she turned her head and kissed my pussy lips affectionately, like a loving mouth-to-mouth kiss. God she was hot.

'Oh, how I love this,' she said. 'This whole dynamic. This FEELING. It's beautiful.'

I chuckled slightly. 'It is, isn't it? I'm so glad you discovered it, Mari.'

She pulled me toward her, with her arms around my thighs, and she kissed my hairy mons, over and over, making kissy noises. 'mwa, mwa mwa. I love it, love it, love it!'

I laughed. 'I'm very happy for you. Now get up here and queen the living daylights out of me.'

I wriggled down and she moved up, her luscious breasts swinging and jiggling delightfully as she did so. There was a pause as she got herself into the perfect position, during which I noticed how startlingly erect her clitoris was, then she settled her squishy lips down onto my face.

She fucked me slowly and salaciously, sliding back and forth and rolling from side to side, coating my whole face in her creamy goo. "Ooh, Chloe, that feels so good... Ah... your lips... so soft... uhh... uhh... skin... so smooth... uhh... uhh... fuuuck, yesss... Oh.. so g... gorgeous... oh, oh, ohhh. I'm coming... ah, ah, ah, ahh... fuuck, fuck fuck... coming ahhhh... I felt that delicious increase in her wetness and the change on her taste as she treated me to an ambrosial little dribble of orgasm juice. Such a lascivious thrill.

My hand had been busy finger fucking my hot little hole as I savoured the queening, and now it was a blur, making fruity squelching noises as I drove myself determinedly to a second orgasm.

She flopped down sideways, her leg still draped across me and we lay, panting slightly as calm gradually returned. Eventually, we resurfaced and both visited the bathroom, then got back into bed. Just before we slept again, I looked at her and said, 'Jeez, Mari, you're such an amazing fuck...'

(End of Part 08)