The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2844 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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Episode 237 dozen for dodecaphiles.

“That man is a genius,” said Simon as we snuggled together in bed.

“Who?” I asked for once not being linked with his train if thought.

“David, who else?”

I wasn’t going to argue. “The food was good, wasn’t it?”

“Good, it was absolutely brilliant, the meat was so succulent it just dissolved in your mouth.”

“Hmm,” I said snuggling into his chest with my arm round his tummy.

“I love my wife,” he said and stroked my back gently.

“Glad to hear it, are you going to tell her?”

“Nah, she’s not into sex unless it’s on a bicycle.”

I snorted and had to wipe his chest, serve him right saying something like that.

“Isn’t it difficult on a bike, in this cold weather?” I asked when I stopped giggling.

“It’s difficult in warm weather, especially going up hills.”

We’d had mushrooms with dinner; I began to wonder if Simon had got a funny one.

“Just as well you’ve got me then.”

“I keep telling her that, she doesn’t seem to care—you know...” he whispered, “I reckon those funny saddles she rides on give her some sort of sexual excitement.”

Now I know Specialized body geometry saddles are good but if anything after a long ride then tend to curb libido not encourage it, I’m just plain sore—mind you sex doesn’t always promote cycling afterwards, even on the Brooks saddle on my mountain bike. So this almost surreal conversation was mind boggling to say the least.

“I keep thinking I shall have tell my husband about you.” I said trying to keep the conversation almost sensible.

“Why’s that?”

“You’re such a gentle and patient lover.”

“Isn’t he then?”

“No, it’s wham, bam, thank you, mam, then he falls asleep almost immediately.”

“He doesn’t, does he?”

“Yes, sadly he does.”

“Leaving you unsatisfied?”

“Sometimes.”

“The cad.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, because he is my husband.”

“Still, he needs to put you first.”

“That’s true,” I said wondering if he was talking in his sleep or had got so deep into a role play, that he forgot who he was.

“So are you going to let me have my gentle and patient, if wicked way with you?”

“Why, what’s the alternative?”

“Your husband or the bike.”

“Uh—okay then.”

He still fell asleep before anything happened for me, except tender nipples and a tenderness elsewhere. We use lubrication—we have to, but the tissue there wasn’t exactly designed for the use it gets. Never mind, I enjoy knowing he had fun all I have to do is get him off me so I can have a little wash and go to sleep.

It was Friday when I woke, another work day. I showered and put some cream on a rather tender spot, but it was okay and I suspect I could have ridden my bike if I’d wanted to; but not with the outcome Si was suggesting last night.

Mind you I do remember doing a take-off of Meg Ryan’s diner scene, when she suggested women can and do fake orgasms, while riding over some rumble strips. He must have been with me and it possibly caused his comments last night. However, it was a joke and the vibration from them which comes up through the bike is anything but erotic.

Having said that I recall riding down a hill at speed and hit a rough patch of tarmac. The bike was vibrating so much my eyes went funny and I could barely focus enough to see where I was going, plus I discovered a butterfly was caught in my helmet and that was flapping away for all it was worth. It could have been worse, it could have been a bumble bee. I had one of those hit me on the forehead one time and it jolly well hurt—I was probably going twenty miles an hour and I suspect so was the bee—we impacted at ouch miles an hour. I suspect I was the only one to survive the collision. Had a bruise for days.

I roused the girls and got ready for work. Day two of realising the world was poorer for losing Alan Rickman. I must try and watch some of his films again, especially, ‘Truly, Madly, Deeply.’

Never really got into Jane Austen, just people wandering about in period clothes, that is frock coats and silly frocks, while being overly polite to each other. Did husbands and wives really address each other as mister and missus? I could just see us doing that. “How are you today, Lord Cameron?” “Very well thank you, Lady Cameron.”

Still I suppose it’s better than, ‘Oy mush, ’ow’s it ’angin’?’

The girls came grumbling down to breakfast. I told them to be quiet as I did them scrambled eggs on toast, having the same myself to see if it stopped me getting as hungry as cereal sometimes did. They were then squabbling over the tomato sauce. At this point I lost it and screamed at them to behave. They all looked at me as if I’d just had a funny turn. Moments later, Livvie said to Trish, “PMS I expect.” Trish agreed. It was going to be one of those days.

Life didn’t seem to improve with work as we had two staff off sick and I had to do some teaching. One was to some first years and I felt slightly uneasy to spot Delia sitting in the centre of the front row. Then I noticed Diane sitting up the back by the door—what was she doing here?

Thankfully, I had my own notes from when I used to teach taxonomy so was able to keep the mob entertained while retaining what little sanity I began the day with. After the conversations last night, I didn’t consider it was an awful lot.

I finished with ten minutes of questions, before realising I had the same lot for a lecture on evolution. Delia looked very happy before I dashed off for a quick cuppa with John the technician.

Flicking through my notes I wondered if there’d be any fundamentalists this time around. There’s usually one. What I don’t understand is why they take on a biology degree when they disagree with virtually everything we teach them. I mean, they can’t even decide whether God created man first or last and the supporters of the Gospel of John even rewrote Genesis so Jesus became the manifestation of the word at the beginning of creation. Let’s face it, these guys had far better imaginations than scientists do to be able to write such comedy classics.

Tea break over I returned to the fray and as we started I asked who understood what evolution was. I got a few opinions which were in the right direction and Darwin was mentioned, as was natural selection. I then asked if anyone had a problem with these principles and a young woman put up her hand suggesting that it was all created so faultlessly that God must have done it. Oh boy was she in for a surprise—if she allowed anything I said to penetrate her small mind. I asked about Intelligent Design and half a dozen hands went up. Delia was back in the same seat practically licking her lips. So I gave her a show while being gentle with those who were flawed in their logic. I doubt they believed me, but if there was intelligent design how come so many things became extinct? I showed them slide after slide of fossils which no longer existed or did this intelligent designer, design the mass extinctions as well?

I enjoyed being at the chalk face again but my own work was backing up and I had to excuse myself from Delia’s congratulations, I now had two hours rather than six to sort out my paperwork and I felt shattered.