The Randy Romance Novelist by Meghan Quinn

Author:Meghan Quinn [Quinn, Meghan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hot-Lanta Publishing, LLC
Published: 2016-04-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Man Balls Mahki

ROSIE

“Get ready, up your tension, and . . . go!” the instructor screamed into her microphone. “Eat that hill, push through it, pump those legs and eat it!”

The only thing eating anything in this psychedelic room of spin torture was the bike seat, chomping away at poor, poor Virginia.

I met Delaney at one of her spin classes for the third time, and what I’d come to find out was people in these classes didn’t have any sort of private parts. I was tempted to take a peek at Delaney’s vagina to see it was still intact while in the locker room, because there was no way in hell she still had any kind of peeing parts.

The seats on these spin bikes were made for Barbie and Ken dolls, in the land of plastic where sexual organs didn’t exist.

Every time the instructor told us to speed up, I swear to Jesus himself, the spin seat opened its jaws and started to chomp away at my vagina. Pedal after pedal, the digging of the seat against my area, drilling my underwear into my sensitive skin made me want to puke, to the point that I was numb for hours on end, unable to see if Virginia was still breathing.

It was painful.

Then there was the classroom.

Up front, on either side of the instructor’s bike were screens playing what looked like screensavers from the ’90s. Neon geometric shapes floated across the screen, changing colors at a rapid pace, causing any sober human to feel like they were tripping on acid.

Music blasted from every direction, and not basic music like Roy Orbison, talking about a pretty woman walking down the street. This was Kidz Bop on growth hormone steroids. The beat was entirely too fast—apparently to help you ride faster—and the singers sounded more like robots resurrected from the graveyard of an abandoned Star Wars set, than actual human beings.

Combine the music and screens with all the black lights—yes there were black lights—in the room, and you’ve got yourself a sensory overload of epic proportions. Kind of like cosmic bowling, but on shrooms.

Delaney claimed to love the atmosphere. I, on the other hand, despised everything about spin class. I wanted to ditch the class, but after putting on my spandex workout pants the other day, I realized, they weren’t lying, I needed to hit up the gym, so that was where I was, letting the bike seat eat away at my crotch in the worst way possible.

Ever have the sharp part of a pen cap try to jab its way through your slit? Yeah, me either until I came to this class.

I really wondered what it felt like for men to ride these torture devices. Were their balls shriveled up so far in their body that it didn’t affect them anymore? That was my only guess as to how they were able to exercise in the spin room.

“Let’s move! Up, down, up, down.”

In tandem, the whole class moved their bottoms up and down with the music, alternating from hill to flat in seconds.

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