samc
Retro Guru
I bought a Cannondale frame and forks for £30 (they were wrecked, paint bubbling up and stuff), but I've restored it. So this is just a restoration thread, only I've done it like a Mills & Boon sex scene because why not eh? Exactly. Glad you agree. You're welcome.
Geoff's grubby fingers picked at her yellow outfit, unable to find puchase. "What are you doing?!" she yelled. But Geoff had some control issues and threw her down to the floor "You shut up, you!", he slapped her hard, fighting with his own grammar and lighting a fire beneath her to see if that'd get her out of her uniform more rapidly.
It didn't.
Of course it didn't. "What the hell are you doing?!" - "I ... you only cost £30 and I'm bored of sanding! Shut up!" - "You treat me like crap!!" she wept. He tried everything, but her greasy decals were too much for the attention of his turgid flame thrower. He sweated all morning, trying new and exciting ways to prise her out of her ridiculously protective outfit. "Damn you!" he shouted, bored of the struggle and already haunted by the unnerving feeling that Sigmund Freud was peeking at him from behind a hedge.
She sneered at him "Shut up you stupid misogynist! I'm fire proof for some reason" - "Oh yeah?!" he retorted, "Well are you FLAP PROOF?!" - Geoff attached a flap wheel to his low quality drill and flayed the yellow sheath from her body, leaving her naked and spent in a cloud of aluminium oxide and guilt.
He took her to the shed and hung her up, displaying a shiny undercarriage "Ha!" he exclaimed, "Just as I thought; your metal heart is pretty much intact, apart from this little hole right here" - "Noooo!", she wriggled against his restraints, secretly liking where this was going for some reason DON'T BLAME ME THIS IS THE SORT OF THING IN A MILLS & BOON BOOK
ERR PROBABLY.
He filled her holes with P38 and OH GOD THIS HAS GONE TOO FAR ALREADY until she squealed and writhed in the grip of his hot hands, his pulsing spray can delivering lashings of etch primer, scoring her hardened skin on the atomic level, building matt layers of prime spray surface until all she could do was hang in the shed, exhilarated and spent.
The detritus of their grubby efforts lay strewn around the shed, a hot ozone fog clung restlessly to torn sheets of wet-and-dry as the dusts of their exuberance clung to every sticky surface like a shameful veil of guilt and ecstasy. Spots of sweat and lacquer adorned previously innocent tools, trophies of a summer evenings' rhythmic pummeling.
"PAINT ME!" she yelled, as he hurled layer upon layer of crap Halfords spray at her torso, rubbing incessantly like a teenager with a new hobby "Oh God!" Geoff exclaimed, after a particularly long session, "This is taking f#cken ages and my lungs are filling with acetone or whatever!" - with each sordid session a fug of chemical vapour lay itself upon Geoff's heaving respiratory system like whisky in a tramp's beard.
"What are you doing to me?!" she asked, as new and unexpected adornments appeared on her quivering thighs. "Shh now" he calmed her, his shaking hands applying each delicate marking, "I got these off of that ebay" he said, to calm her; "they'll help you heal and look the absolute business."
She wasn't convinced. "These decals aren't as thin as the originals!", she whined, sounding like Luke Skywalker complaining about cleaning droids, "I'll look like a cheap knockoff!" - "I said shut up! I'm doing all I can! I'm not going to spend much on custom decals when you only cost me thirty quid now, am I?" - Geoff barked his degrading response, eager to show his authority, when in fact he had no damn idea what he was doing. He tried not to let his shaking hands get the better of him, but really this was a Herculean task, covering her beautiful new torso in another man's icons. Geoff felt ashamed of what he was doing. Wiping his brow, he returned to his work, convinced of the need to complete the stickers phase. He removed his sodden tshirt, releasing his muscular physique from its cotton prison. "Ooh!" she gasped, seemingly impressed at his hairy nipples WHAT AM I WRITING AND WHY ARE YOU EVEN READING THIS
In one cider-fuelled evening tripping off his nut, Geoff filled his shed, like a steam room, with lacquer; pasting layer after layer of protective goodness all over her ample form. "Cor, that's coming up a treat!" he exclaimed, swaying in the heady aroma of a Turkish solvent den, his nose hairs brimming with colour-co-ordinated bogeys and dripping with giddying solvents. "Eee by eck I'm fair tripping off me t1ts" said Geoff, suddenly and inexplicably northern.
Err ... even her blue bits were shiny.
Wiping the saliva from his chin, Geoff stood back to admire his handiwork. He crossed his fingers, hoping the rudimentary approach to respraying would prove hardy enough for the real world of a commuter bike. "Ride me!" she shouted, causing Geoff to jump and cough up parts of his Ginsters pasty; "You wait, missy" he said, slapping her rump playfully.
He fitted some XTR kit and lightweight Magura SL brakes; "No expense spared for my precious", he whispered to her. She frowned, replying "This is second hand crap you've had lying about in your perverted bl00dy shed for years! You've never bought me a single new thing! It's always been sloppy seconds from you DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!", she exclaimed through tears of frustration.
"Shhhh!" he put his finger to her lips "Don't ruin this. Don't ruin what we have."
He stood back, sated. Gasping, he zipped his corduroys back up and walked out into the pale moonlight, whistling the Airwolf themetune and swaying down the garden path, joy in his heart and Kronenbourg in his belly. "I'll leave her in the shed for a bit", he thought to himself, "Show her who's boss."
For weeks afterward, he would ride her before work, and most days ride her in the meadows after work as well. Smiling to himself and staring heavenward like Kermit the Frog.
After their torrid summer had sown its final seeds, she surprised him in a forest and stabbed him with a Ritchey SPD; spitting at his quivering torso "HA! I was playing you all along, I just wanted a good pampering! Now I'm off to live in that London with a fancy man!"
He wept as he picked late 90s equipment from his bloodied torso, safe in the knowledge that she'd return. One day, she'd come back to him. Nobody leaves Geoff for long.
For some reason.
The end.
----
You read it; you can't un-read it.
Geoff's grubby fingers picked at her yellow outfit, unable to find puchase. "What are you doing?!" she yelled. But Geoff had some control issues and threw her down to the floor "You shut up, you!", he slapped her hard, fighting with his own grammar and lighting a fire beneath her to see if that'd get her out of her uniform more rapidly.
It didn't.
Of course it didn't. "What the hell are you doing?!" - "I ... you only cost £30 and I'm bored of sanding! Shut up!" - "You treat me like crap!!" she wept. He tried everything, but her greasy decals were too much for the attention of his turgid flame thrower. He sweated all morning, trying new and exciting ways to prise her out of her ridiculously protective outfit. "Damn you!" he shouted, bored of the struggle and already haunted by the unnerving feeling that Sigmund Freud was peeking at him from behind a hedge.
She sneered at him "Shut up you stupid misogynist! I'm fire proof for some reason" - "Oh yeah?!" he retorted, "Well are you FLAP PROOF?!" - Geoff attached a flap wheel to his low quality drill and flayed the yellow sheath from her body, leaving her naked and spent in a cloud of aluminium oxide and guilt.
He took her to the shed and hung her up, displaying a shiny undercarriage "Ha!" he exclaimed, "Just as I thought; your metal heart is pretty much intact, apart from this little hole right here" - "Noooo!", she wriggled against his restraints, secretly liking where this was going for some reason DON'T BLAME ME THIS IS THE SORT OF THING IN A MILLS & BOON BOOK
ERR PROBABLY.
He filled her holes with P38 and OH GOD THIS HAS GONE TOO FAR ALREADY until she squealed and writhed in the grip of his hot hands, his pulsing spray can delivering lashings of etch primer, scoring her hardened skin on the atomic level, building matt layers of prime spray surface until all she could do was hang in the shed, exhilarated and spent.
The detritus of their grubby efforts lay strewn around the shed, a hot ozone fog clung restlessly to torn sheets of wet-and-dry as the dusts of their exuberance clung to every sticky surface like a shameful veil of guilt and ecstasy. Spots of sweat and lacquer adorned previously innocent tools, trophies of a summer evenings' rhythmic pummeling.
"PAINT ME!" she yelled, as he hurled layer upon layer of crap Halfords spray at her torso, rubbing incessantly like a teenager with a new hobby "Oh God!" Geoff exclaimed, after a particularly long session, "This is taking f#cken ages and my lungs are filling with acetone or whatever!" - with each sordid session a fug of chemical vapour lay itself upon Geoff's heaving respiratory system like whisky in a tramp's beard.
"What are you doing to me?!" she asked, as new and unexpected adornments appeared on her quivering thighs. "Shh now" he calmed her, his shaking hands applying each delicate marking, "I got these off of that ebay" he said, to calm her; "they'll help you heal and look the absolute business."
She wasn't convinced. "These decals aren't as thin as the originals!", she whined, sounding like Luke Skywalker complaining about cleaning droids, "I'll look like a cheap knockoff!" - "I said shut up! I'm doing all I can! I'm not going to spend much on custom decals when you only cost me thirty quid now, am I?" - Geoff barked his degrading response, eager to show his authority, when in fact he had no damn idea what he was doing. He tried not to let his shaking hands get the better of him, but really this was a Herculean task, covering her beautiful new torso in another man's icons. Geoff felt ashamed of what he was doing. Wiping his brow, he returned to his work, convinced of the need to complete the stickers phase. He removed his sodden tshirt, releasing his muscular physique from its cotton prison. "Ooh!" she gasped, seemingly impressed at his hairy nipples WHAT AM I WRITING AND WHY ARE YOU EVEN READING THIS
In one cider-fuelled evening tripping off his nut, Geoff filled his shed, like a steam room, with lacquer; pasting layer after layer of protective goodness all over her ample form. "Cor, that's coming up a treat!" he exclaimed, swaying in the heady aroma of a Turkish solvent den, his nose hairs brimming with colour-co-ordinated bogeys and dripping with giddying solvents. "Eee by eck I'm fair tripping off me t1ts" said Geoff, suddenly and inexplicably northern.
Err ... even her blue bits were shiny.
Wiping the saliva from his chin, Geoff stood back to admire his handiwork. He crossed his fingers, hoping the rudimentary approach to respraying would prove hardy enough for the real world of a commuter bike. "Ride me!" she shouted, causing Geoff to jump and cough up parts of his Ginsters pasty; "You wait, missy" he said, slapping her rump playfully.
He fitted some XTR kit and lightweight Magura SL brakes; "No expense spared for my precious", he whispered to her. She frowned, replying "This is second hand crap you've had lying about in your perverted bl00dy shed for years! You've never bought me a single new thing! It's always been sloppy seconds from you DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!", she exclaimed through tears of frustration.
"Shhhh!" he put his finger to her lips "Don't ruin this. Don't ruin what we have."
He stood back, sated. Gasping, he zipped his corduroys back up and walked out into the pale moonlight, whistling the Airwolf themetune and swaying down the garden path, joy in his heart and Kronenbourg in his belly. "I'll leave her in the shed for a bit", he thought to himself, "Show her who's boss."
For weeks afterward, he would ride her before work, and most days ride her in the meadows after work as well. Smiling to himself and staring heavenward like Kermit the Frog.
After their torrid summer had sown its final seeds, she surprised him in a forest and stabbed him with a Ritchey SPD; spitting at his quivering torso "HA! I was playing you all along, I just wanted a good pampering! Now I'm off to live in that London with a fancy man!"
He wept as he picked late 90s equipment from his bloodied torso, safe in the knowledge that she'd return. One day, she'd come back to him. Nobody leaves Geoff for long.
For some reason.
The end.
----
You read it; you can't un-read it.
