Chloe's Sweet Pink Pt. 05

This the 5th and final part of a series which continues Chloe's timeline from "Riding With Dirty Girls," "Chloe Rides Again," and "Chloe's Return." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for background, you ideally need to have read the other series' 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.

***

Chloe's Sweet Pink Pt. 05

A 1.5 kilometre jog. Probably not the best warm-up on the morning of a mountain stage of the Giro d'Italia, but I'd left it late to depart Mari's bed, and I was in danger of being late for breakfast. So, here I was, jogging halfway across Bolzano to get back to our team hotel.

I made it just in time, and Trude was smirking and shaking her head as I sat down at the table, a little red faced.

Helen and Marlen were too deep in conversation to notice my arrival, and Zara barely looked up. I noticed Debbie looking at me thoughtfully though, obviously wondering where I'd been.

I tucked into a gamut of Italian delicacies with gusto, as ever, telling myself, once again, that it was good fuel for the stage. I definitely wasn't going to "bonk" due to lack of carbs, that was for sure. The almond cornettos (an Italian croissant) were to die for, and I had an extra one, just for good measure.

As we were having our final coffee, Robbie gave us a pep talk, as he does. We'd had a fantastic Giro up to now, but we weren't to underestimate the Zoncolan, or the time losses that we could suffer if we weren't 100%. 'Take good care of your drinking...' (I'm sure he glanced at me) '... and your feeding...' (I was still munching my third cornetto) '... and don't go crazy at the beginning. It's a sustained brute of a climb and it's easy to run out of legs half way up.'

There were quite big gaps between the top 6 on GC, but we all knew that minutes could evaporate if your legs gave out for whatever reason. All those behind me would just be waiting for an opportunity to pounce if I showed the slightest weakness. I needed to be absolutely ON IT.

We hadn't much time to socialise after breakfast because we had a 2-hour bus transfer to Cortina d'Ampezzo for the stage start, and we all packed our bags and trooped down to the main car park, where all the buses were lodged.

There was an air of apprehension, like that I'd experienced before the Angliru stage in the Vuelta. Everyone feared the Zoncolan, but there were two other passes to cross before we reached the foot of the final test; first, the Passo Tre Croci, straight out of Cortina - at 1800 metres, as high as Zoncolan itself - then the much milder Cima Sappada, before a helter-skelter descent, dropping 800 metres to Ovaro, at the foot of that final brute.

The sky was black as we boarded the bus, and the first spots of rain were speckling the windscreen as we pulled out of Bolzano. 'There's a thunderstorm coming in,' said Gabi, looking at her tablet. 'It should pass through before Zoncolan, but it could get nasty on Sappada.'

This was worrying. Thunderstorms can often result in cancellation of a mountain stage, and I didn't want that to happen. Of course, if the stage were to be neutralised at some point, or cancelled altogether, I'd still win, but who wants to win like that? Not me.

On the journey to Cortina, Zara sat alone, absorbed in her phone. Checking the weather, or maybe the stage profile again? Whatever, she didn't want to socialise. She was no doubt scheming on how to take that minute back from me.

She'd already won the Giro twice, but she was Italian; that pink jersey was like some sort of Holy Grail to her. Elisa too was in that position, but with two and a half minutes to make up, it would need something miraculous for her to retake the pink.

I sat in a little group with Trude, Helen and Marlen, and we chatted about the Vuelta, the Giro, and jerseys.

In the Vuelta, I'd won the final stage, but never wore the red jersey. Lucy had held it from start to finish. In the Giro, as Helen pointed out, I was already in pink, but might win the overall without winning a stage.

Oh my God. That was true, and I didn't like it. Not one bit. In a flash, my mindset changed; I had a one-minute lead. All I had to do was to defend, follow any moves, and cross the line with little or no time loss to win the Giro. It didn't matter whether I was 2nd, 3rd, 4th, as long as I didn't give away much time to my GC rivals. But I decided that would no longer do for me. I had to win the stage.

For some reason, the idea seized me. I had to win the stage!

***

Stage 8: Cortina -- Monte Zoncolan

High Mountain. 105km / 2400m

We disembarked in Cortina under glowering skies, with thunder ominously rumbling around the surrounding hills, and occasional flashes of lightning, which set my nerves on edge. Come on, Chloe, concentrate on the race.

I was presented with a pristine pink version of my bike. Not only that, but a pink helmet, pink gloves, a fully pink skinsuit, and even pink-framed glasses. I have no idea how the team manage this. Amazing.

I got back on the bus to change, and Debbie came up to me with a grin and gave me a pair of pink socks. Exactly the same kind as my normal white ones, but pink. What a lovely little touch. I kissed her on both cheeks, and I may have had a tear in my eye. Come on Chloe, tears are for the finish.

As I rolled up to the start, resplendent in pink from head to toe, I felt immensely proud and emotional, and I had to give myself yet another mental slap. There was still a job to be done.

The front row posing and pictures over, we rolled out on the neutralised start, with the thunder getting louder, and I kept my fingers crossed that the weather would allow us to complete the stage. Please.

Rain was already falling as we passed km 0 and the flag was waved for the official start. Well, the rain didn't worry me - I'm from Lancashire, after all -- but those increasingly violent thunderclaps did. I figuratively shook my fist at them. Just stay away from the route, that's all.

The climb to Tre Croci started almost immediately, and the peloton fell silent, as everyone went to work, some standing, gently dancing up the hill and some, like me, remaining seated, heads rocking from side to side -- "pedalling with the ears," as the French call it.

Although the climb went above 1800 metres, it was not a big climb because the start in Cortina was at about 1200. It was big enough to discourage any attacks though, especially this far out, and the bunch stayed pretty much together, if a little elongated.

It got decidedly chilly above 1500m, and the rain got heavier. Everyone started donning their rain jackets. I was reluctant to cover up my beautiful pink, but I saw sense. Remember Liège -- Bastogne -- Liège? I wouldn't let myself get chilled this time.

Dehydration should hardly have been a problem, but I didn't take any chances. Remember the Angliru? I kept drinking, and Marlen, like a good domestique, went back to the team car to get me a fresh bottle when I'd emptied the first one. You see? I do learn.

We were 1km from the summit when the firecracker went off. Almost perfectly in synch with a peal of thunder, Zara La Petarda exploded into life.

Jeezus, this was early. She obviously knew she needed to do something special to overturn my lead, but this was very brave. Heroic in fact.

Just like on La Campa in the Vuelta, when she'd done the same thing, and went on to win, the peloton was stunned. Reaction was slow. Even I didn't immediately respond. I knew I had to chase. I couldn't let her escape, but I failed to get my legs into gear immediately. This is the secret of La Petarda's success. Surprise.

Trude sprinted past me shouting 'Come on, Chloe!' Wow. What had I created? She was like a different rider.

I latched onto her back wheel and we broke away. All the others were even slower to react; doubts about whether the attack was suicide was, as usual, the inhibiting factor. They hesitated, and we escaped.

Across the high land after the pass, the rain intensified to torrential, with a little sleet mixed in, and the road turned into a slick shiny, treacherous snake. Well, if that's the kind of ride it was going to be, so be it. It couldn't be worse than my local Tibbie Shiels climb in January, could it?

Trude's pace started to slacken a little and I came through to the front to take up the work. She was still going extremely well though, and we were able to work together quite effectively. I never really felt like she was holding me up, and by the summit of Cima Sappada we had Zara in sight again. Trude, you beauty.

The descent should have been my forte, Trude's too -- her mountain bike skills coming to the fore -- but in these conditions, it was a bit of a lottery. Grip was at a premium, and bikes don't have much grip at the best of times.

We continued to share the lead, and we got Zara's gap down to one bend. We kept getting glimpses of her disappearing round the next curve ahead, and I was sure we were going to catch her. If we could arrive at the foot of the Zoncolan together, I felt sure I'd have her measure on the climb.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple.

Trude was ahead, barrelling into a left-hander, with me glued to her wheel, but I overreacted when she braked, braked too hard, and momentarily locked the rear wheel.

I stayed on, but couldn't make the corner, and I ran wide and hit the barrier with a BANG! My body was catapulted over the barrier, and I rolled down a grass slope into the trees.

I stopped without hitting anything, and sat up. I was muddy, covered in leaf debris, and slightly stunned, but I seemed miraculously uninjured, so I got to my feet and started clambering back up the grass slope to the road. Amazingly, I had the presence of mind to radio the team car: 'I'm down, but OK. Getting back on the bike.'

SHIT! The impact with the barrier had broken my carbon-fibre front fork. My beautiful pink bike was kaput. 'Gabi, my bike is busted.'

'We are some distance back, Chloe. Shimano neutral service will be next to get to you... Trude is waiting down the road.'

The Shimano neutral service are a team who have no riders. They are just available to help whoever needs it. And I needed it.

A Shimano motorbike appeared but, of course, they only had wheels. I waved them on.

Riders were going past, but I hardly noticed who they were. I was beside myself, waiting for the next Shimano car.

Helen arrived, and gave me her bike. I could have kissed her, but there was no time for that. I jumped on her bike and set off. I was mobile again.

Helen would have to wait for the team car to give her a replacement bike. Just one of the sacrifices that domestiques have to make, sometimes.

Helen's bike was not quite right for me, but I was back in the fight. I had no idea how much time I'd lost, but I knew it would be over a minute. I had, virtually, lost pink.

Finally, a Shimano car came alongside. Did I want to change bikes? I wasn't quite comfortable on Helen's bike, so I said yes. We rolled to a stop, and Konstanze, one of their senior staff, jumped out and grabbed a bike from the roof rack. She knew my size and set up and she chose well -- it was almost perfect.

The bike change was slick - thank you Konstanze - and I jumped on and started pedalling madly. Adrenaline and anxiety driving me.

I linked up with Trude again, and we set about reducing the deficit. Zara was still out in front, driving on, and I now had Tera, Lucy, and Elisa in between, along with their domestiques, Olga, Pam, Selina, and Kat.

It was weird that the battle was partly between team mates, but personal loyalties inevitably emerged; Zara was on her own out front -- that was her choice -- but Tera had Selina working with her, and me? Well, I had already had help from Marlen (remember the bottle?) Helen had given me her bike, and now Trude was absolutely burying herself to try to pace me back into contention. I guess I was reaping the benefit of all that sexual bonding.

Gabi came on the radio to tell me -- I think reluctantly -- that I was now three and a half minutes behind Zara on the road, and 2:27 behind her on the virtual GC.

It could easily have made my head go down. It was an insurmountable gap, especially against someone of Zara's calibre. The whole of Italy was watching with relish as Zara headed for her third victory, but I took one look at Trude in front of me, pumping the pedals like her life depended on it. Desperately trying to give me the tow she knew I needed, and I felt the roar rising in me.

Gabi had gambled well. She knew me better than I realised. She knew that telling me the gap would only serve to fire me up, and she was right. A hard resolve formed inside me, like an unquenchable flame. We still had a monstrous climb to do and, as Licia was fond of telling me, I was the best climber in the world, just now.

I took turns on the front, but in between I accepted Trude's selfless striving. She was going to suffer horribly on the Zoncolan after this, but she was prepared to sacrifice herself for the team. For me. I guess it was her payback for Stelvio.

Finally, the team car caught us and I was able to switch to my spare bike, with my perfect set up. Thank goodness.

As we approached Ovaro, we caught and passed a tiring Elisa, and Kat, which was quite a fillip, and Gabi informed us that the gap to Zara was down to 2.46, meaning I needed to pull back another 1.43 to win the Giro.

Trude was running out of steam now, but what a job she'd done. She'd put me back in with a chance of pink. In the outskirts of Ovaro, we parted. I came alongside her and we shared a lingering hand-clasp. I wished it could've been more, but we were on bikes.

'Thank you,' I mouthed to her.

'Go Chloe,' she gasped.

I made the left turn, and passed under the metal arch that announces the start of the climb, guzzling water and taking a couple of energy gels as I went, and I spied a little group up ahead. It was time for the Lyoness to roar.

The early part of the climb is not steep, and I remained in the saddle and kept my heart rate to 175. I didn't want to go too deep. Not yet.

I saw my name painted on the road a few times, and heard people calling it. I had fans! In Italy! You have no idea how much that lifted me. The roadside support, and the selflessness of my team mates, imbued me with an indomitable determination, and a kind of joy.

I reeled in Selina, who had been dropped by the group ahead, and I touched her on her back as an acknowledgement of her effort as I passed, and got a little breathless 'Go Chloe,' in reply. She may have been working for Tera up to now, but she was still a team mate.

Gabi told me over the radio that the group just ahead of me consisted of Tera, Lucy, Pam, and Olga, and ahead of them there was only Zara, now less than 2 minutes away.

The effort she'd put in, solo, to create her gap, must have been immense. It was bound to take its toll, and she was now on the steepest part of the climb: 2.5 kilometres at an average of over 16%, with a maximum of 20%. I could almost feel her struggle.

The thunder and lightning had gone now. The sky was brightening, and so were my prospects. I shed my rain jacket and displayed my lurid pink again.

I caught the little group just as we got onto the steep section, and I got out of the saddle and started dancing. Lucy and Pam also stood, while Tera and Olga remained seated. For now.

Some riders are reluctant to get out of the saddle, preferring to grind away in a seated position. Some find standing too tiring, but I have no problem with it. I could probably do the whole climb standing. Possibly because of my core strength from cyclocross.

I knew we'd all be standing soon enough, anyway, as the relentless gradient started to bite, and so it proved.

This section was tough, and it seemed endless, winding its way up, and up, and up through oppressive trees, but make no mistake, it isn't quite as tough as the top part of the Angliru.

I was reasonably comfortable with it, and we were still pulling Zara back, albeit slowly, so I remained with the group for the time being.

Pam and Olga were incredibly strong, spending a lot of time on the front, with Lucy tucked in behind, but Tera and I were probably getting as much benefit as Lucy was, just following.

I didn't really have a strategy at this point. The crash had, for a while, made me think I had lost the Giro, but then my wonderful team mates had put me back in with a chance, and now I believed I could hold onto pink after all.

I wondered who would attack from this group. Tera seemed to be concentrating quite hard just to stay with us, and Pam and Olga, who were sharing the pacemaking, were definitely starting to suffer. As so often, I realised that Lucy was the biggest threat. Not for the overall -- she had too much time to make up -- but to break from this group.

We emerged from the steep section still locked together. We were just beyond halfway up the climb, with less than 5km to go, and Gabi informed me that the gap to Zara was now only a minute and 12 seconds. Her time in virtual pink was almost up.

I say we emerged from the steep section, but there were still almost 3km at between 11% and 15% before it finally eased with 2km to go, so it wasn't easy. The group was still grinding it out, and only Lucy and I seemed to have something in reserve.

I was almost back in the pink, but thoughts of actually winning the stage began to resurface. I was feeling good, and I realised that 4.5km on a climb like this was plenty of distance to pull back that last minute to a rapidly fading Zara. Lucy, too could move into 2nd place overall if she could gain something like 51 or 52 seconds. Come on Lucy, what are you waiting for?

I decided to give her a nudge. The gradient was 14%, most of the group were at the limit. It was the perfect time. I came alongside her and waited until she looked at me, then I nodded in the direction of "up the road." She didn't need more. A little smirk came over her face and the next second, she was off!

Despite instigating it, the ferocity of her attack took me by surprise. I guess it shouldn't have. I'd been on the receiving end of many Lucy attacks, and I know how explosive she can be. I gave chase, but she sustained the attack for a long time, and I struggled to reach her wheel. When I did, I immediately counter attacked, and she hung on until spiralling oxygen debt forced us to desist.

We exchanged pained grins. This was fun. Beautiful excruciating fun. The rest of the group were left in our wake, and Gabi came on the radio, saying, 'Steady, Chloe. You don't need to fight with Lucy.' I almost shrieked with laughter. I knew that, but I wanted to. This was racing. We were racing for the stage. It was like those epic battles we used to have in 'cross races. It was ace!

We worked together for a while, taking turns, then attacked each other again, just for the pure, unadulterated joy of it. I could almost see Robbie and Gabi in the team car, shaking their po-faced heads.

For a while, we were hardly aware that we were still pulling away from those behind, and gaining rapidly on Zara. We were a couple of kids, playing on bikes -- on one of the toughest climbs on the World Tour! I never want to lose this from my cycling.

When we caught Zara, with 2km to go, it was like coming upon a wounded animal. There she was, meandering, pushing weakly on the pedals, hunched over the 'bars, most definitely "pedalling with the ears," and I felt a sharp pang of sympathy, and a momentary regret that she didn't make it.

Hers had been an incredibly brave attempt. She knew she had to do something bold, and she'd thrown everything at it. Chapeau, Zara.

Lucy and I came up, each side of her, and we laid our hands on her back in a silent acknowledgement. She knew her day was done.

But I had a race to win, and I moved ahead. We kept it steady for a while, and Zara rallied a little and stayed with us for a short spell, but then Lucy attacked, and this time it was in earnest. She wanted to win as well, and she opened a small gap.

Lucy is a formidable competitor, and a match for me on most terrains, and for a while I wondered whether I could get back to her wheel. As we passed under the flamme rouge (1km to go) we were separated by a handful of metres and she looked like she was going to maintain this effort all the way to the finish. Dig in, Chloe. Dig deep.

The angle was now only about 6% and there were just a couple of bends left before the summit. My speed was going up but I wasn't making any impression as Lucy powered on.

The crowds up here were huge, and they were going crazy, shouting in our ears, stupidly trying to run alongside us (always men, of course) waving banners, and encroaching too much on the road.

Suddenly I heard a familiar chant: 'GO-EE, CHLO-EE, GO-EE, CHLO-EE,' and I caught a glimpse of Molly, almost submerged in the crowd, but unmistakeable with that spiky hair and her cool shades on. It was the final boost I needed.

I changed UP a gear, and started to claw Lucy back, throwing all my remaining strength into it. As she rounded the final bend, she looked back anxiously. I could see her legs straining to turn the pedals. Her strength was waning, while mine was waxing. She couldn't hold me off, and I passed her on the last incline, no more than 30 metres from the line. Wow.

We were both spent to the point of collapse, and our soigneurs were quick to rush forward to support us before we fell off our bikes with exhaustion. Adam's strong arms held me up until my equilibrium returned, and then I unclipped and turned to hug Lucy, as we had in the past after so many epic struggles.

We both shed tears. Of what? Joy? Relief? Pain? I don't know, it's just a massive emotional release after an effort like this.

I was delighted to see Zara finishing next, and Debbie was there to provide her with support and a warm welcome. I couldn't help noticing how attentive she was to Zara's needs, and Zara even managed a smile as Debbie wrapped her in a down jacket.

What an epic! I couldn't believe I'd won after the crash, and not just the GC, the stage as well. For so many reasons, I thought this was my best day ever on the bike, even with a crash included.

Before I'd even repaid the oxygen debt, I was, slightly breathlessly, interviewed by multiple journalists. Mark Richards of Eurosport was one of the first: 'Wow, Chloe, that was some ride. A crash, four different bikes, and you still won. How does it feel?'

It was a hard question to answer. 'Emotional, Mark. Very emotional. I'm grateful to so many people today. My team, who were fantastic, my coach, who's always there when I need her, to the neutral service team, even to Lucy. She gave me such a fantastic race, as she always does...' I sniffed as I was almost overcome with tears again.

'You're a sensation, Chloe. People are already calling you a generational talent, and I agree. I've never seen anything like it in my twenty years in the sport. And you're popular. Everyone loves you. Even here in Italy. You've just beaten two of their big favourites, but nobody is bitter. You just watch them cheer when you pull that pink on again.'

'Mark, stop... I'm filling up here...' I fought back tears and composed myself. 'I'm very grateful for everyone's support, and the Maglia Rosa is something I've dreamed of since I was a junior. This is a dream come true..'

He was right about the podium. Zara got a big cheer, of course, and so did Lucy, but the roar that went up when I mounted the top step was extraordinary, Those damn tears just wouldn't stay inside. I'd won the Giro Donne. It was, literally, a dream come true.

When I got my posy of flowers, I looked for Team Lyon, and I threw them to Molly, then I sprayed champagne (or was it Franciacorta?) with real enthusiasm.

It was the same three of us on the GC podium as the stage podium, and I looked at Zara and Lucy, each side of me. They were both gorgeous women; Zara oozes a sultry Italian sex appeal, but Lucy... oh my God, she's so beautiful. Every time I see her, I notice something else exquisite about her. Captivating. She captivates me, anyway.

I came off the podium, resplendent in pink, once again, and into a barrage of hugs and kisses; Trude, Helen, Marlen, Selina, Molly, Mari, Fanny... even Gabi deigned to give me quick squeeze.

I went in search of Konstanze, to thank her for her support out on the road, and found her handing Helen's bike back to one of our team mechanics. All this cooperation, all this effort, all to put me back in pink. I was humbled.

I gave Konstanze a thank you hug, then returned to where our team cars were parked. There, I found Lucy, who was looking for me. 'Hey Chloe, I like your pink...'

'I know that, but what about the jersey?' I said, devilishly.

'Ooo, naughty.' She smirked. I could tell she liked it... 'Hei, listen, would you join me for a drink later, in Cortina? After that race, I think we deserve a little sister time.'

Sister time? That seemed a strange thing to call it, but I knew what she meant. An intense tussle, like we'd just had, creates a strange but powerful bonding. It reminded me of the affinity between Carmen and me, after our intense grapple in the snow of Val di Sole. I felt the same now.

'Yeah, I'd like that.' I smiled.

'Great. Meet me in the Bar Croci at 9pm.'

That was interesting. Not the Bar Sport, where most of the post-race socialising was to take place. She obviously wanted it a little more intimate.

A little thrum of excitement started growing in me. Lucy still had that effect on me, even though nothing romantic had ever developed between us. I'd never felt myself falling for her, but she definitely still had the power to bewitch me.

I jumped in a team car with Zara, Debbie, Adam, and Selina, for the return to Cortina, and all the talk was about what a phenomenal race it was, and how fascinating it had been to watch. I imagined so.

Zara didn't say much, but one thing she did say was 'Complimenti, Chloe. You deserve to win.' Aww, gracious of her. I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

I enjoyed the celebratory dinner. The team were euphoric with the result; 1st, 3rd, and 4th was phenomenal, really, and it was bound to start some people grumbling about Canyon-Zipp dominance.

After coffee, I grabbed some time to call Licia, and she was breathless with excitement, as expected. 'How, do you do it, babe? HOW? When you crashed over the barrier, I yelped, but the next minute, you're back on it, chasing back, on whatever bike you could grab. I think if there was a kids tricycle lying by the roadside, you'd have used that - and still won probably... Feckin awesome... Are you really my girlfriend?'

'Yep, for as long as you want me.'

'Oh, God. I can't wait to see you.'

'Soon, babe, soon.'

'I know it's supposed to be my turn to come to you, but I really think you should come here.'

'Oh, really? Why?'

'Well, remember, in Siena, when Gigi told us about her fuck friends in Breda?'

'Mm, yes.'

'Well, it's looking like that here, these days. I was over in the gym earlier, and Candy and Sian were both there. Candy is totally wicked. She says she's been going to the lesbian rooftop for months, looking for girls as sexual as her, but hadn't found anyone without inhibitions until Lisa, Sian, and me.

'"Nobody was up for the kind of free fucking I like," she said. "They were all tight-arses. Then you three showed up and I could just tell you were different." I told her about you and me, and the free girls, and her eyes went wide and she said, "Fecking lush." I think she wants us to be a loose, unbound group of sex mates - like Gigi talked about.'

'Wow,' I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say. My mind was racing.

'So, whaddyathink? Are you up for that?

'Gotta go,' I said. 'I need to book a flight to Dublin.'

OMG, SO much potential to come... But first, I had a date with Lucy.

I set off with the whole team, to walk to the bar. They had plans for post-race indulgence, including pizza and beer. I also had plans for post-race indulgence, but they didn't involve pizza or beer.

At the corner of Via Maggio and Via Bepino, I unexpectedly turned off. 'Hey, where are you going?' said Debbie.

'I gave a cheeky grin over my shoulder. 'I have a date,' I said, and I walked on, leaving them bemused. Well, it would give them something else to talk about, other than the race.

The Bar Croci was tucked away up a narrow side street, and it was a cozy place, with comfy chairs and sofas. It was busy, but not packed, and I immediately spotted Lucy, sitting alone on a sofa. She was dressed sportily, in white trainers, a pair of red shorts, and a white vest top, and her wavy dark hair was pulled back off her face with a plastic Alice band, which just emphasised her exquisite features.

She smiled and waved, and I went and joined her.

Despite the Bar Sport being the post-race social centre of choice, we weren't the only pro cyclists in the Croci, and we were interrupted a few times initially by riders who wanted to congratulate us, and enthuse over the epic final battle we'd had.

Eventually things settled down, and we got some peace. 'So, how do you feel about today, Lucy?' I was wondering whether she was disappointed not to win.

I was surprised when she said, 'It was great, wasn't it? I love a battle like that.'

'Not disappointed then?'

'No. I was never going to win the Giro today, but I gained a place. I knew my chances on the stage were slim, once you caught us. I'm just glad I was able to make you work for it.'

'Well you certainly did that. Once we were away in front, I thought my chances were about 50-50. With 500 to go, I thought you had it.'

She chuckled. 'Chloe, I'm nearly 36 years old. I've only regained the form I have now in the last few months, and my days must be numbered at this level. I'm just enjoying it while it lasts. You are 22. You could have ten years of improvement ahead of you, which is a scary thought, really.'

I blushed and shook my head. 'But you've taken over as Amstel-Rabo number one. You are going SO well. That ride at Gent-Wevelgem was awesome, and you won the Vuelta.'

'Yeh, I'm feeling good, but I've only become number 1 because Suzy is struggling to find form at the moment. She'll come back though, I'm sure.'

'Are you on for Le Tour?'

'Yes, same team, I think. You?'

'Yep. I don't think Tera is going though. She's concentrating on the, er... Worlds time-trial'

'Le Tour is less than two weeks away now,' she said. 'I hope recovery goes OK.'

'Yeah, but the men do a full three-week tour with only two rest days. I'm sure we'll cope.'

She smiled her spellbinding smile.

The thought that I was probably going to end up in bed with Lucy again was dominating my thoughts, distracting me from any other subject. Why did she do this to me? None of the other women I'd had sex with had this effect. I'm excited to go to bed with any of them, of course, but not quite like this. I was buzzing, trembling slightly, nervous. There was even a bit of fear there. Of what, I don't know. It was a primitive response.

I've always been an aesthete. I like beautiful things: bikes, cars, furniture, ornaments, and I think Lucy's sheer beauty intimidated me a little. All the women I have had sex with have their own beauty, and things about them that are adorable, but Lucy just takes my breath away.

I looked at her as she was talking, appreciating the perfection of her jawline, the way her mouth moved, her teeth when she smiled, and her eyelashes, which almost looked like she had used an eyelash curler on them, though I knew she hadn't.

'So what about you and Licia,' she was saying. 'How is the open relationship working?'

'It's good. We're doing fine. I think we've struck the right balance. She even has girlfriends in Ireland now.'

'Does she? And are you OK with it?'

'Of course. They are my girlfriends too, sometimes.' I was getting ahead of myself a bit, but that's how I saw it going at that point.

I had to ask the question that had been gnawing away at me. 'Sorry if I'm prying, Lucy, but what happened with you and Helen?'

She looked down at her drink. 'Oh, I don't know. We never "struck the right balance," I guess. I thought at one time that she was getting quite serious. Was falling for me even...'

'Well I can understand that.'

A smile flickered across her lips. 'I didn't really want that, but I also didn't want to hurt her. It was difficult. Now though, she's with Marlen and hardly wants to know me. I want to stay friends with her, but...' She trailed off.

'I think she may be a little sore. A little disappointed, but it won't last. Helen isn't the kind to harbour any ill-feeling. She'll still be your friend. I'd bet on it.'

She looked at me thoughtfully. 'Thanks Chloe. I'm so glad you are in my life.'

'Me too... That you're in mine, I mean...' We chuckled.

'So are you coming to bed with me tonight, Chloe?'

Oh my God. Those words. Coming from Lucy. I could listen to them on a loop for a very long time.

'Yes, Lucy, I'd love to, but don't you have a roomie?'

She grinned devilishly. 'No. Don't you remember? Ariana went home with a stomach bug. I'm all on my own.'

OMG... 'Don't want to seem too eager or anything, but can we go now?'

'Let's'

We got up and set off to her team hotel, which was a couple of streets away. On the way there, totally unexpectedly, she took my hand and smiled at me.

Amstel-Rabo had a much better hotel than ours, and Lucy's room was huge, with two beds that were much bigger than the narrow little things we had to make do with.

'Wow, what a great hotel,' I said. --'Ours is rubbish compared to this.'

'Yes, but you had the Marzia in Vicenza.'

Oh, yes, I remembered the Marzia, and that vexing night with Zara. I wondered whether Debbie was having any luck with her in the Bar Sport.

Lucy and I were both dressed sportily, and it didn't take us long to strip. I had a pink vest and my pink undies on (well, I had just won pink after all) and as I was dropping my knickers, Lucy said, 'Oo, pink right down to your underwear.'

'It goes further down than that... See?' and I teased my pussy lips apart to give her a flash.

'Oh, you're so naughty, Chloe. I love it!'

She stood naked in front of me, and she held her arms out, as if to say 'Here I am.'

What a vision. A picture of feminine perfection. I came to her and slipped my arms around her waist, just savouring the feeling of our bodies touching. I didn't kiss her. I just tilted my head up and waited, with my lips slightly parted. I wanted her to kiss ME.

Her eyes were almost hypnotic as she bent her head, then our lips touched, and electricity coursed through me, hardening my nipples, and making my hair stand on end, or that's how it felt.

My pussy went ZING, and my juice machine went up a couple of gears. I was on the receiving end of a Lucy attack again, but this was very different to those on the Zoncolan.

I was stunned. Almost overcome with how this felt. I remembered our very first kiss, at the New Year party in Porto, and how disappointing it had been. This was nothing like that.

Was it the port wine that had dulled my senses that night in Portugal? Possibly, but I had kissed Lucy a number of times since then, and it had never been quite like this.

We separated and looked at each other. I think we both knew that something magical had just passed between us.

I very nearly got cold feet and ran away -- something that NEVER happens to me -- but I didn't. I knew something momentous was about to happen, and I was powerless to resist it.

My voice was a little trembly as I said, 'Remember Troyes, Lucy? In the shower cubicle?'... She nodded. 'Do you remember the electricity when we touched?'... She nodded. 'I feel like that now.'

'Me too.'

We came back together; hungry, ardent, ravening. Devouring each other, trying to pour all our lust and passion into this unbelievably cathartic kiss. Finally. THIS was the kiss I'd always dreamed of with Lucy.

She pushed me back until we fell onto the bed, and the kiss continued, my desire for her spreading like wildfire through my loins, bringing out goosebumps on my skin and setting my pussy aflame.

Our hands swept across our skin, exploring our subtle curves, feeling our bones, our flesh, our sinewy cyclist's muscles. Her body felt wonderful; toned, sleek, perfect.

We tweaked each other's startling nipples, teased each other's aching clits, slipped fingers into hot, wanting pussies, and we kissed and kissed and kissed.

When I ate her, there was that ineffable lesbian empathy, but also a sense of exaltation, like I'd finally scaled the ultimate peak of sexual desire, and when she ate me, it was like being adored by an angel. I saw the stars that people in love always talk about.

Our lovemaking went on for hours. Adoring each other, feeling each other (physically and emotionally) teasing each other, tasting each other, kissing each other, and it all became a pink orgasmic blur.

God knows when we finally slept, but sometime in the early hours, with weak dawn light filtering through the curtains, I needed to get up for a pee.

When I returned to the bed, I looked at her, lying there, curled up, fast asleep under just a thin sheet, and looking like an otherworldly vision of beguiling dreaminess.

I sighed, and thought 'Oh God, what am I going to do about you, Lucy?'

***

The End.

(but Chloe will return in the Tour de France Femmes)