I recommend morning bike rides to everyone.

I must tell you, it was a real ass. With a capital A! Ah, what am I saying, with a capital A, all the letters in that word, looking at this marvel, were uppercase — ASS! No more, no less. What other butts, buns, and such nonsense, or whatever else they call that part of the body in conversation? Looking at the swaying forms in front of me, I was agitated no worse than those agitated cushions, clad in sportswear. Oof! And I, fool that I was, didn't even want to come. Now I'll definitely be riding with Seryoga all week. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let's take it in order.

I was on vacation. My old friend, taking advantage of his family's absence and his vacation coinciding

with mine, invited me over. I agreed without thinking, we used to party hard with Seryoga back in the day. What an unpleasant surprise it was for me to find out that Seryoga had quit drinking, left his immoral lifestyle in the past, and generally taken up sports. Not that I was completely upset, no, I'm happy for Seryoga, but my vacation plans went down the drain. Because of this, yesterday, on my first evening at his place, I got completely plastered and fell asleep like a stuffed baby.

In the morning, naturally, my head was not my own, my mouth tasted like crap, my body ached. Rubbing my eyes open, I saw Seryoga's smiling mug above me:

"Awake, Sanya (that's me, I mean)? Come on, get up, I know how to get you back on your feet."

He was dressed in something sporty, radiating optimism and a fragrant appearance.

"You look great," I paused to drink some pickle brine, prepared in advance within arm's reach, "care to share the recipe?"

The answer was my comrade's hearty laugh:

"Of course I'll share. Here are some clothes for you," they handed me some underwear resembling what he himself was wearing, "you're coming with me on a bike ride."

I remember my friend is quite the joker, but not to this extent. I was with a killer hangover, and they were suggesting serious physical exertion, just lovely.

"Seryozha, I respect you and all that, but this is overkill."

To this, I got no answer, only got grabbed under the armpits and forcibly planted my long-suffering body in the middle of the room.

"It only seems that way to you. Today will be tough for you, of course, but oh well, the first step is the hardest."

All this was accompanied by me getting changed, or rather, starting with getting undressed; I didn't even have time to protest before I was in my underwear. Seryoga felt me all over, walked around me a couple of times, clicking his tongue, and delivered his verdict:

"Hmm, you've really let yourself go, buddy, definitely. Time to change your lifestyle, Sash, time."

"Alright," I snatched the clothes from his hands, "keep lecturing, our gym teacher has appeared."

After ten minutes of shower and five of wardrobe, I looked rather ambiguous. My clothes personified a seasoned athlete, but my face... a crumpled mug signaled a clear diagnosis of 'Hangover Horribilis,' requiring definitive treatment via consumption of alcohol-containing liquid. Or at least some hot borscht. Or better yet, both. This external inconsistency didn't satisfy me, so I solved the problem by putting on some trendy sports glasses, which I shamelessly took off Seryoga.

"Let's go, you damn champion."

When they brought over the two-wheeled unknown animal—yes, animal, because I hadn't been on a bike in about twenty years—I gasped. Think it was because of its cosmic beauty and coolness? Hell no. It was pink, with white wheels. Uh-huh, all sporty like that, a bunch of gadgets, and a cute pink color. I looked closer at the name, was 'Paris Hilton' written on it by any chance?

"Seryozha, I'm not riding this."

"What do you mean? Well, yeah, it's my wife's bike, we ride together. Don't worry, I adjusted everything for you. You won't regret it, the machine is a beast, and it doesn't require much effort. Plus, the route isn't crowded."

"Are you kidding me? It's pink!!!"

Seryoga looked at the bike, then at me, then back at the bike, and so on. He blinked his eyes and seemingly didn't understand why I was so displeased.

"I don't get it, what difference does it make to you. Anyone who knows anything about this would give a lot for such tech. Pink," he snorted, and quite fiercely at that, "get on, come on."

Sinking lower and lower. I wasn't a prude or a chauvinist, but if I saw a grown man on a pink bike on the street, I'd definitely smirk. But here, it seemed Seryoga genuinely didn't understand why I was making such a fuss, so I had to, with a heavy sigh, swing my leg over and lower my seat onto the saddle, I think that's what it's called. Very strange, the saddle turned out to be quite narrow, I didn't notice at first. Nevertheless, it was comfortable to sit on.

The first minutes of riding were tough. Sweat poured in streams, my hands shook, my legs wouldn't obey. It became clear the park we entered would be my grave. Seryoga immediately set a pace and flew ahead. I, however, trailed at the end of our little caravan, drawing unconfident zigzags. No surprise that after a while I stopped. My body demanded rest, and my lungs demanded air. Since standing was a pain, I stopped near a bench and sank onto it with a sense of injustice and reproach for the imperfect world. I understood this was my last bike ride, at least after a drinking session. After drinking plenty of water from a plastic bottle, my eyelids closed, seemingly forever.

That's when everything changed. Opening my eyes, which I had closed from exhaustion, to the white light for a moment, my gaze immediately rested on a woman slowly moving away on her two-wheeled friend. It would have been fine, a woman like any other, if not for her outstanding, both literally and figuratively, ass. Even with glasses on, even in such a worn-out state, I managed to capture all the splendor of such a masterpiece, gradually drifting away from me down the path.

Where did the fatigue go? In an instant, I positioned myself in the wake of the vision that had struck me. Maybe I was imagining things? Tossing the damn glasses aside, I looked closer and realized, I had fallen in love! The object of my adoration was riding two meters ahead of me. The ass was big, precisely big, I insist! How to describe it figuratively? Oh, take two large apples, place them side by side. That's roughly the picture. And no signs of cellulite, obesity, or other ugliness. Gray sports tights, or pants, or leggings, whatever, clung perfectly to the two hemispheres. Hiding anything was impossible. Holy cow, where are the panties? Through the stretched fabric, they should have been visible. Oh my god, was she without underwear?! Blood was boiling inside me, I was ready to forget everything and immediately grab onto that ass. And also, laugh if you want, don't laugh if you want, I really wished I could be in the place of her bicycle saddle right now. A-a-a-a, what the hell.

I don't know if I bleated something out loud, or if the owner of the treasure sensed the gaze, but she turned around. Damn it, she's also pretty. Not as much as her stern, of course, but quite alright, cute. I was granted a brief glance, and it was returned to the path ahead. Oh, good lady, don't interfere with the admiration. But admiring didn't work out; the owner of the butt—there, I'll call her Butt—spurred her steed and rolled away much faster. Oh dear, I tried not to fall behind and also picked up speed.

Every meter of the chase drove me crazy. The thing is, the owner of my currently unrequited love had to rise slightly to pedal harder. I didn't fall behind, where did I even get the strength?! And accordingly, the butt presented itself before me in all its dazzling fullness, unconstrained by the bicycle saddle. That's it, I'm completely lost. The butt halves rolled over each other, back and forth, back and forth. I stopped paying attention to the road altogether, what the hell with the road. My guiding star led me, I raced after it on the pink wonder-beast in hopes of reciprocity. Of course, such frivolous behavior, even if not on a real road with cars, led to a logical result.

My pink lightning crashed into, or maybe was crashed into, anyway, the crash of two bikes colliding brought me out of the fog of pursuit and contemplation for a moment. The most offensive words in the world instantly formed in my head, addressed to the scoundrel and swine who tore me away from my beloved. Moreover, because of this bitch, I'm not afraid of the word, I lost sight of the actual object of my adoration. Well, that's it, you're done for. Turning towards the addressee for first-class cursing, I heard the first swearing:

"F...k, Sanya, why are you rushing like a madman. And where were you, I've been looking all over the park for you."

Oops, my buddy Seryoga was sitting on his butt, rubbing his elbow and knee simultaneously. What a meeting on the Elbe. Swallowing all the offensive phrases, I picked up my two-wheeled blonde girlfriend:

"Seryoga, later. I'm busy right now."

Yes, the treacherous villainous fate decided to laugh at me. The front wheel had a shape I remember from school. The classic figure eight. Bummer.

"Is your bike okay?" I helpfully picked up my comrade's iron steed, "yeah, seems fine."

Seryoga didn't share my optimism:

"What do you mean fine? Look, you scraped the paint, bent the pedal," his gaze shifted to his wife's transport, "damn, I'm in for trouble. Wait, where are you going?"

Where, where, there. Seryoga's indignations drowned in the distance quickly separating us. You'll understand everything, I'll explain later. Squeezing every last drop out of Seryoga's bike, and out of myself too, I rode at maximum speed, as fast as I could. Where are you, where. I didn't know the park at all, and as luck would have it, it turned out we weren't the only ones engaged in bike rides. I probably didn't pay attention initially, I had other things on my mind, to my surprise there were loads of people pedaling. So where do I look for my beloved now?

After about ten minutes, I was exhausted. The hangover and unexpected exertion had taken their toll. Realizing I had no strength left, I stopped at a bench, that's it, basta. Cursing myself, Seryoga, vodka, and bad luck, I fell onto the bench and closed my eyes. My mind was immediately captured by images of the butt. There it is in a calm state, as if carved from marble, majestic and beautiful. There it is alive, every movement of the legs resonates with pleasant vibrations across its vast expanses. The butt envelops the bicycle saddle, oooh, how sexy. How does she even ride a bike calmly, no one follows her, no one harasses her? The butt gently yet insistently squeezes the saddle between its halves, softly enveloping its contours. A picture worthy of driving one mad. There she rides past, adding fuel to the fire. I watched the receding butt, burning inside with regret; we were unlikely to meet again.

A second later, I realized I needed to stop drinking. And all because the receding object of desire wasn't an image in my head. SHE HAD JUST RIDDEN PAST ME FOR REAL! Caramba! Like a dashing cavalryman, I was in the saddle instantly. I didn't even have time to take a breath, and my legs were already pedaling no worse than at a world championship. As a result, a minute later I was right next to her. She's with me again, my butt, my precious!

I was discovered very quickly. Only now, the little mistress didn't try to ride away. She simply stopped and watched as I, frantically pressing the brakes, tried to save face and not crash into her.

"Would you kindly explain why you are pursuing me? Try to answer honestly. Otherwise, I will call security and the police. Are you a maniac?"

Nice maniac. Covered in sweat, mouth dry, legs disobedient, my panting was probably audible at the other end of the park.

"Do I look like one?"

"Like what?"

"A maniac."

"Not really, actually."

"Right, I'm not a maniac."

Her gaze softened somewhat, but her eyebrows were drawn together very combatively.

"Then why are you following me?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"As is?"

"Just say it already."

"I'm not following you."

Now the little mistress was completely bewildered:

"I don't understand anything. You're just glued to me."

"Not you."

"Explain yourself, finally."

"I was following your ass."

If I said the slap was a surprise, I'd be lying. Something like that was expected. And you know, that slap even invigorated me.

"Boor!" and she rode on.

Our proud Varangian does not surrender to the enemy. Scared me. Ha, if only she could see her own ass from the angle I did, she'd understand that a dozen more slaps could be endured. And I didn't fall behind.

Summing up the next fifteen minutes, we can add four more slaps to the scoreboard, and she missed twice. After the third miss, she didn't ride away.

"Good lord, what do you want from me?"

Since things have gone this far, cut the last cucumber. What the hell, gotta speak as is.

"I want your ass from you. And also, I have a request, let's stand for a bit, I'm not very used to such pedal loads."

"Astounding. Unthinkable. And do you often confide your desires to unfamiliar women like this?"

"Phew," I caught my breath, "you won't believe it, first time. Don't recognize myself."

"And the fact that my, as you were pleased to declare, ass, well, that's me, doesn't seem to interest you much, I see?"

"I see, I'm not blind. That's why I'm talking to you, and getting slaps from you. Sorry, but before we continue this movement mixed with slaps, let's rest. And... and I have a request, could you deliver the slaps to the right side from now on? The left side has gone numb from the unfamiliarity."

She looked at me, blinking her eyes:

"So you're firmly decided not to stop?"

I shook my head negatively.

"And still, like a broken record, demanding my ass?"

I nodded affirmatively.

"And what am I supposed to do with you?"

Well, finally, because I was already on the verge of dropping this whole venture and this damned ass that had practically cursed me:

"Come with me."

You'll ask, where's the sex? The fuck? At least some erotica? You