An unrequited love affair between a man and his bicycle

Some poor unfortunate cyclist in Scotland has been hassled for having sex with his bicycle, behind closed doors. However I’m not entirely sure how illegal it is shag a bicycle, and there’s no information on whether the bicycle was consenting or not. Bloody busybodies, labouring under the desperate fear that someone, somewhere, is having more fun than them. With a bicycle.

A man has been placed on the sex offenders’ register after being caught trying to have sex with a bicycle.
Robert Stewart was discovered in his room by two cleaners at the Aberley House Hostel in Ayr, south west Scotland, in October last year. On Wednesday Mr Stewart admitted to sexual breach of the peace in Ayr Sheriff Court, where depute fiscal Gail Davidson described how he had been found by the hostel workers.
She said: “They knocked on the door several times and there was no reply. “They used a master key to unlock the door and they then observed the accused wearing only a white T-shirt, naked from the waist down. “The accused was holding the bike and moving his hips back and forth as if to simulate sex.”

Man who had sex with bike in court »
Mind you, they don’t mention a) which part of the bicycle was being stimulated – the saddle? Or had the saddle been removed, and the seat tube violated? And b) did Mr Stewart have an erection? Otherwise, he may have been merely attempting to ride his bicycle (in a platonic sense) indoors, semi-naked.
This puts me in mind of one Flann O’Brien‘s The Third Policeman. Part of the plot concerns a “brief, unrequited love affair between a man and his bicycle. Read on…

“…the bicycle itself seemed to hale some peculiar quality of shape or personality which gave it distinction and importance far beyond that usually possessed by such machines. It was extremely well-kept with a pleasing lustre on its dark green bars and oil-bath and a clean sparkle on the rustless spokes and rims. resting before me like a tame domestic pony, it seemed unduly small and low in relation to the sergeant yet when I measured its height against myself I found it was bigger than any other bicycle that I knew. This was possibly due to the perfect proportion of its parts which combined merely to create a thing of surpassing grace and elegance. Transcending all standards of size and reality and existing only in the absolute validity of its own unexceptionable dimensions. notwithstanding the sturdy cross-bar it seemed ineffably female and fastidious, posing there like a mannequin rather than leaning idly like a loafer against the wall, and resting on its prim flawless tyres with irreproachable precision, two tiny points of clean contact with the level floor. I passed my hand with unintended tenderness — sensuously, indeed — across the saddle. Inexplicably it reminded me of human face, not by any simple resemblance of shape or feature but by some association of textures, some incomprehensible familiarity at the fingertips. The leather was dark with maturity, hard with noble hardness and scored with all the sharp lines and finer wrinkles which the years with their tribulations had carved into my own countenance. It was a gentle saddle yet calm and courageous, unembittered by its confinement and bearing no mark upon it save that of honourable suffering and honest duty. I knew that I liked this bicycle more than I had ever liked any other bicycle, better even than I had liked some people with two legs. I liked her unassuming competence, her docility, the simple dignity of her quiet way. she now seemed to rest beneath my friendly eyes like a tame fowl which will crouch submissively, awaiting with outhunched wings the caressing hand. Her saddle seemed to spread invitingly into the most enchanting of all seats while her two handlebars, floating finely with the wild grace of alighting wings, beckoned to me to lend my mystery for free and joyful journeyings, the lightest of light running in the company of the swift groundwinds to safe havens far away, the whir of the true front wheel in my ear as it spun perfectly beneath my clear eye and the strong fine back wheel with unadmired industry raising gentle dust on the dry roads. How desirable her seat was, how charming the invitation of her slim encircling handle-arms, how unaccountably competent and reassuring her pump resting warmly against her rear thigh!”

The Third Policeman, by Flann O’Brien

Seen on &raqou;

Update 16th November: Bike sex man placed on probation »

“Robert Stewart, 51, admitted a sexually aggravated breach of the peace by conducting himself in a disorderly manner and simulating sex… Stewart had denied the offence, claiming it was caused by a misunderstanding after he had too much to drink.”

Chief Bottle Washer at Blather
Writer, photographer, environmental campaigner and "known troublemaker" Dave Walsh is the founder of, described both as "possibly the most arrogant and depraved website to be found either side of the majestic Shannon River", and "the nicest website circulating in Ireland". Half Irishman, half-bicycle. He lives in southern Irish city of Barcelona.