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Switch-O Change-O (ff:first time, 4557 words)

Author: Jeanie
Added: Feb 05 2019Views / Reads: 872 / 621 [71%]Story vote: 8.50 (10 votes)
A psyche damaged athlete meets a stunning new friend who tests her tastes.
 


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Not long ago I was a consistent top placing steeplechase runner, a badass female competitor. Unfortunately, the extensive training ruined the relationship with my needy boyfriend and caused him to wander into the arms of another. I took that punch badly, feeling I had been treated unfairly, actually shocked by the treachery. This anger caused me to swear off demanding partners, I was not a fucking babysitter. But my bad luck displayed itself again by an even more debilitating event. I have since transitioned to becoming a competitive cyclist for a very good reason. Training on a lonely trail not a mile from my rowhouse, some scumbag assaulted me. I haven't felt safe in the company of men since.

Once you become a victim, you are much more alert and your naive sense of immortality disappears. Evil can fill your psyche. It felt a bit safer to add a couple of weapons mounted in handy locations on my bike, just in case. The idea of an icepick actually came from a movie, one can't tell that it's there. Just the short handle shows. And a can of wasp spray was donated by the boys at the police department. They figured if that stuff will take out a bunch of hornets at a distance of twenty feet, I can use it to total any asshole that's looking for a confrontation. When people ask, I state it's for varmints, human and otherwise. ...More than one racer has given me that look.

I wasn't hurt, but I was violated. The attack was interrupted and short lived. I was left gasping for air. It had really felt like the monster might kill me. My reprieve had been a runner couple who were too stunned to chase after him. They had saved my life. The weathered looking detective who interviewed me turned green at the bruises on my neck and my bloody legs and knees. I was afraid he was going to puke. When we were alone for a moment, he spoke in low tones. His eyes were watering with emotion. "Miss Raphael, I will catch the motherfucker, and when I do I'm going to call you and offer the opportunity for some one-on-one personal time before taking him in. It will sure as hell be illegal, but it's great trauma therapy for the victim. Your call."

I declined. "Thank you, but I'm sure I would want to castrate him at the least, or kill him which sounds much more appropriate. I don't want to go to jail."

Four days later my detective called. "We got lucky. Due to your alert description we caught the guy before he had a chance to do it again. I wanted to put my nine millimeter up his whazzo. I'm going to make his life a living hell. Take care of yourself, sweetheart. Now I can sleep a little better, and so can you."

Easy for him to say. The incident had demonstrated how defenseless I was. A security system was installed at my residence. Its video was in HD with night vision. There were sensors and a smartphone was my viewing screen whereby I could respond to a home invasion from anywhere in the world. And thanks to Detective Jim, I then secured licenses for the four pistols that were positioned strategically within arm's reach around my girl cave. If anyone trespassed, there would be mayhem.

The physique and muscles for cycling are not the same as running, therefore I had to start at ground zero if I was going to compete. Biking is much more difficult than it looks, and it can be frigging dangerous. Endurance training after my first painful month reached a peak pretty quick. As amateurs, we are all limited by the time available for workouts. The 40 plus hours we spend working per week to take care of bills is the major stumbling block. All I could do after reaching that endurance point was to work on improving my speed. The routine became two hours in the morning which ended up at work, an hour at lunch on the corporate parkway near our headquarters, and three hours in the evening taking a long route home.

Pedaling was at max output. The initial muscle pains had subsided, but leg cramps took their place, arriving during sleep and so severe as to cause me to scream as I became awake. Dehydration was the problem, no matter how many water bottles or sports drinks I consumed. Pill bottles lined the window sill over the kitchen sink. Magnesium, salt, aspirin, Tylenol, Ibuprofen, potassium. But no weird P.E.D.s (performance enhancing pharmacuticals) that some pro riders were so fond of. I didn't need them. I would be a winner through sheer determination.

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Public feedback for this story:

chuckles2000 writes Sat 9 Feb 2019 23:42:

OMG! What a hot story. thank you

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