Going West

I've always been a little unconventional, at least where men are concerned. I had a bit of a different upbringing to most of the kids in my year at school. It was more like southern California than south London. California in the sixties and seventies, instead of the mean streets of the eighties in England, when it seemed everybody had an idea for a fast buck or they were on the dole queue and on their uppers, married with three kids and no hope left.

My parents had decided not long after they met, seeing as they already knew they had both found "the one", that they would have no expectations from each other. They agreed to support whatever dreams they had, over and above making concrete plans years ahead which would inevitably lead to regret if expectations fell short. So they travelled together as soon as they finished college, just pooled all their cash, sold anything they didn't need to take with them, and bummed a lift to the coast and got a ferry to the continent. Then they hitch-hiked from one country to the next, finding short term jobs on the way. Eventually a few years later they had found themselves on the southern tip of India, running a travellers hostel and a bar, making new friends every day, watching the world go by.

But now they wanted to own their own home, instead of feeling like they were camping out every night, and some nights literally camping out under the stars when the full moon parties were in full swing. The parties were the deciding factor, now they had me to think about. I was a toddler then, running about barefoot under palm trees. Mum and Dad didn't want to just hang out and party anymore, they wanted more security. So with a fond farewell and many tears one moonlit night on the beach, they partied their last party and then packed up and headed back westwards until they rocked up on a friend's doorstep in Wandsworth, brown and dusty, bearing gifts and stories in return for a place to stay until they found their own. So I had a different perspective from most kids my age. I always thought home was where the palm trees were, not this grey, wet, cold concrete jungle.

I was lonely, but not for long once I worked out that every kid in London just wanted to be like all the others, trendy, fashionable and popular.

I didn't let the trendies intimidate me into cutting my hair or wearing the same old things they wore. I got a job in a shop and worked my way up to a local department store, so I had first dibs on the latest fads before they were even noticed. Although most of the time I didn't even like anything I saw there. I was always looking for something else. Something unique, something rare. Something honest and real.

Once I'd decided that I wanted something different from the mass market offerings, my taste knew no bounds. I would trawl through market stalls and charity shops for anything I liked the look of, anything vintage, quirky or classic, so that I could mix and match into any style I needed to blend into on any given day. One day I would be in a skirt suit, with my hair up and smart, another I would be in shorts, long flowing shirts and knee high boots with studs and spikes everywhere. I had acquired a taste for tattoos and piercings too, and harboured a secret wish to buy a classic motorbike and just ride for miles into the sunset, following the wanderlust inherited from my trail beaten parents.

That was how, in a roundabout way I met Michael. I always hung out with the bikers whenever I went out drinking, or went to gigs in the city when I had the spare cash. I loved the rock bars and old fashioned pubs where they would line up the bikes outside. On any Sunday afternoon there would be at least five or six parked on the forecourt, ticking slowly in the heat while the owners lounged on the wooden tables, or crowded around the bar waiting for the music to start. Later in the evening the bands would start up and if the weather was good and people stayed out late, it could get quite friendly by the end of the evening. It always seemed more natural that way, you would bump into somebody in a crowd, start chatting about music or bikes and then in no time you would be best friends, drinking until all hours, talking about anything and everything and sometimes end up crashing on somebody's sofa for the night if you had too many beers. Even though you'd only met them a few hours before.

Then in the morning you'd wake up and make your way home, never knowing the next time you would see them. Somehow that felt a bit too much like an obligation to ask if they were around again next weekend. People like that never expected anything from me, never wanted to know everything about me or where I was from, they were just happy to enjoy my company and I theirs, until the next day dawned and it was time to go home, or go to work for another week.

Michael was one of the crowd, but not in the places I was hanging out. A friend of his was having a birthday and had invited him to stay for the week while he was waiting for parts for his beaten up old Norton, and he had borrowed an equally old and beaten up Triumph to buzz around on. I was admiring the paintwork somewhat teasingly and he asked me my name, and right from that moment we seemed to just feel comfortable together, not together so much as side by side, just sharing the company and the vibe and the evening, which slid by slowly aided by the music, beer and sunshine. It was midsummer, the pubs were heaving, the music was pounding, the vibe was decidedly relaxed..... somehow that first time we met it was different, like the first day of a holiday feeling, everybody just let go and everything seemed to just click together and flow like the golden liquid sky and the music and the sunshine reflected off the cars and bikes passing by outside.

There was no denying the attraction either. It was like magic, an unspoken understanding that we clicked. We knew we were both thinking the same thing as soon as we looked at each other. Do you want another beer? Yes. Do you want to come outside? Yes. Looking back I don't think we even spoke much after that. We just knew what we both wanted by looking into each other's eyes. Not just that we liked each other already, but that we knew we wanted to talk, to find out more about each other, right now, even though it was late and noisy and there were too many people around us inside to make ourselves heard. We were supposed to be partying at his friend's birthday bash, but somehow it was pointless to pretend there wasn't something already there. Something in our faces that we saw in each other, and recognised in ourselves.

So we wound our way outside with our fresh beers and found a seat on the corner of the wall to perch for a while and talk. We wasted no time in finding out where we both lived, several hundred miles apart as it happened but quickly moved onto work and family and quickly discovered that yes we were both single and no there was nobody special in our lives. It didn't even seem like that was the most important thing we needed to find out, we just kept talking, about bikes, music, films we both liked, friends and families.

Once I'd told him about my half wish to get my own bike and travel like my parents had, his face lit up. He had had the same idea and was just waiting until he could afford a new bike, one that could take some serious miles on the open road. Maybe even off-road, if he ever found himself in some far flung country with no tarmac to speak of.

I told him my idea of selling my flat and just taking off, heading west as far as I could go, until I hit the sea. Then onwards to America and just keep going west, follow the sun until it sank into the Pacific on the Californian coast. He looked at me for a moment, not speaking, just staring straight into my eyes. I remember the way the light reflected off his deep green ones and he had that faraway look, the thousand mile stare. He smiled slowly and looked away and sort of coughed, then laughed and turned back to me and said, "You read my mind".

Looking back now I think that was it, the moment that we bonded. We had only met a couple of hours before that moment, but subconsciously a pact was made. Somehow we would do it, just make whatever needed to happen happen so that we could do that journey, just keep going west until we hit the sea. We hadn't even touched each other yet, apart from a brief handshake when we were introduced by Michael's friend Sam, and while we were sitting there, eyes locked in some silent confirmation, Sam had wandered out looking for us and shouted our names.

Suddenly we were transported back from some distant magical vision of sand and surf and we looked around for Sam and realised where we were again, in south London, on a hot sweaty Saturday in midsummer and it was Sam's birthday and we were being decidedly antisocial. Sam took one look and laughed out loud. "Uh-oh, he's got that look again"..."What look?" "That one you get when you talk about your bike and going for a long ride, yeah THAT one! Don't be fooled by his mild mannered exterior. This one has the wanderlust and won't be around for long. I can tell you now he's been saving up for years for a proper bike and one day soon he's going to disappear over the horizon and won't be back for a long time, maybe never."

We looked at each other again then, and we didn't have to say it. It was agreed, it was OK. We would do it. Together. Sam just stood there looking from one face to the other, his mouth hanging open. He slapped his forehead and groaned theatrically, spun round and threw his arms up in the air. Then he pointed at Michael, frowning, pointed at me, and rolled his eyes. We both blushed and looked at our feet.

"WHAT have you two been planning? You've only just met!"

"Welllllll....nothing's decided yet.....except maybe another beer?" Then you stood up and put your arm around Sam's shoulders and reached out for mine, and I slipped my arm around your waist and let you hold me like that, the three of us together. We laughed and spent the next hour or two getting drunk and laughing some more and singing, celebrating with Sam and our friends, letting the summer night wash over us until the small hours. Then we all walked back to Sam's house and collapsed on sofas while Sam drunkenly decided to play his entire record collection until morning. Sleep finally took us one by one. Except for you. Michael and I somehow didn't get quite as drunk as Sam did. He crawled off to bed, still singing, after showing me a place I could sleep for the night.

I came back downstairs to find you in the kitchen making tea, and I just felt so comfortable then. I walked up behind you and put my arms around your waist while you gathered cups and sugar and milk. I just held you for a moment, pressing my palms gently onto your belly. You turned around and looked into my eyes and then you kissed me, so softly, and it felt like a warm familiar feeling, like we had done it before. Only this was the first time we had really touched each other properly. It felt so right and so good, with a frisson of electricity and yet as if we had known each other for years.

Your hands moved up to my face. You held me gently while your lips slowly slipped across mine. Your fingers wound their way into my hair and you stepped closer. I moved into you and wrapped my arms around your back, letting my head tilt to one side as you pressed your lips to mine again, more firmly and with just the tip of your tongue you opened my mouth, and further in until my tongue found yours and we started kissing again. One kiss after the other, each one growing longer and deeper until we were pressed so tight together, we almost lost our balance. The music had stopped and the kettle clicked off, and it was suddenly silent, just the two of us alone. Just for a moment we stopped and looked into each other's eyes.

You were still holding my head and my hands had found their way under your shirt. Your skin was so warm and I suddenly felt hot all over. I didn't want to let go but I stepped back just one step and then I slipped off my jacket, dropping it on the table and kicked off my shoes. You stood there stock still, never moving your eyes from mine, you just waited to see what I would do next. I stepped forward again, and slid my hands back under your shirt, this time up the front until I could feel your belly again, which was so warm. It was like the way the hot pavement felt through my shoes on a hot day.

You took a deep breath in and your hands moved to hold mine, pressing my fingers into you and keeping them there, like you never wanted me to let go. There was a look in your eyes, like the stare I had seen earlier, but harder, more intense. A longing look, and a question hung in the air between us, and it was completely silent all around us.

Then our lips met again and we wrapped ourselves around each other. Your arms around my waist and mine around your neck, holding the back of your head, pressing you closer into me with every kiss. You closed the circle of your arms tighter and almost lifted me off my feet, your lips moving down the side of my face to my neck, across my collarbones and up the other side. I leaned back letting you bend me into you, my hair falling back over my shoulders. Your lips reaching for mine again and again. Your hands moving up and down my back.

We must have stood there for a while, letting the moments stretch, not moving too fast. Just holding each other and kissing more slowly. You broke free from my mouth and kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, my neck, making me shiver. I must have made a small noise, like a sigh, because you stopped again just for a second and looked into my eyes again. You reached down and in one swift move, lifted me off my feet and planted me on the table, pushing me back so I wouldn't fall off the edge.

My feet were dangling off the floor, and I reached for your shoulders to hold on to, but you held my hands for a second, then placed them on the table on each side of me. You quickly unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it open, your lips reaching down quickly to kiss my chest and then down to my bra. Your hands reached behind and unclipping it. Then you removed both my bra and shirt. Taking my breasts in both hands, you continued kissing me there. At first tiny kisses along the top and in between, and then pressing your tongue against my nipples..... I shivered again and moaned as you held them one by one between your lips, making them prickle with sensation.

I grabbed hold of your hair and the back of your neck, pressing you closer with each kiss. My legs lifted up and held you around your waist. You stopped kissing me, but held my breasts in each hand, slowly circling the nipples with your thumbs, and then slowly up and down just below each nipple, only just grazing my skin with the tip of each thumb.

I shivered and my nipples prickled, completely hard and erect.

You leaned in even closer and grabbing my legs, I leaned back onto the table, allowing my shoulders to rest my weight there for a moment, then sitting up and holding your arms I kissed you again. You ran your hands slowly along the outside of my thighs, feeling the tight fabric of my denim shorts, the knee length ones with the little zips that dangled just below the knees. I always loved those shorts, the way they hugged me in all the right places and made my legs look longer. Your hands moved to the inside, you let them slide all the way up from my knees to the crease at my groin, and you pressed your thumbs into the seam at the centre, feeling the heat there. I moaned again and you sighed.

You reached for my belt buckle, and pulled. It came free and then the button. Hooking your fingers over the waistband, you pulled them off in one swoop, from behind, knickers and all, leaving my naked butt suddenly floating in mid air. I sat down on the table and winced. It was cold against my skin, and I gasped and must have looked at you with a little shocked smile. Your eyes lit up again and you smiled, pushing my knees a little wider you moved closer, between my legs, and kissed my nipples again quickly, moving swiftly downwards until you reached my waist. Your hands pressing my thighs further apart until my legs were spread wide. You looked down at my pussy, and said mmmmmm.... You pressed your thumbs gently into the creases on each side, squeezing my lips together....

Oh it was so sweet. Your eyes were on fire, so deep. Your gaze never lifting from my sex while you massaged my lips so slowly. I could no longer stay sitting upright, moaning and sighing I could only let myself lay back while you teased my aching flesh with your fingers and thumbs. You rubbed two fingers up and down, so lightly at first just grazing the slit, until it opened and you found my bud. You circled it with one finger while your other hand squeezed my thigh. I bucked my hips forward, pressing you closer, lifting my feet up onto the edge of the table .

My hands tried to grip your arms but I couldn't reach. I was immobile on my back. With your other hand you started to stroke my breasts, so gently, making circles around first one then the other. All the while your fingers pressing and circling my clit, until with two fingers you pinched it lightly and held it there, making me gasp and moan again.

Then slowly, so slowly, you slid one finger inside, then a second, just to the second knuckle, just far enough to make my muscles contract and grasp you inside. I gasped deeper then and moaned, "Aaaaaaahhhh.... " It was too good. So gentle, so slow, not letting me move or reach for you. I was pinned to the table with your fingers inside me.

So gently now you pressed upwards, inside me, finding my g-spot and making me quiver again from head to toe. I couldn't stop moaning and sighing now if I wanted to. The thumb of your other hand slid up and down inside my thigh, pressing into my flesh for a moment, then releasing and suddenly finding my clit again. The thumb pressed there firmly now, while your fingers slowly worked in and out. I cried out loudly, throwing my head back against the table and shuddered. It was so good, so slow. I couldn't come yet. You were holding me back, but I couldn't move any part of my body away from you.

I tried to reach for you again, tried to pull you towards me by grabbing your shirt, but only catching the edge with one hand. You pressed yourself forwards and I could feel your bulge through your jeans, pressing against my thigh. I pulled my hands back to lift myself up level with you again. You stared deep into my eyes, and you kissed me so deep, your fingers still stroking me slowly inside.

I reached for your belt and pulled it free. You withdrew your fingers and stepped back, letting my hands fall to my sides, my legs still wide and my feet dangling again. I reached for you again, but you leaned back, away from me, just for a second then giving me one swift hard kiss. You stood upright and undid your jeans, letting them fall to your knees, and throwing your shirt on the floor.

Your cock stood straight out, rigid and pointing straight at my pussy. I reached for you and held you, wrapping my fingers around your shaft, just below the head, I felt you throb in time with your pulse.

I moved my hand up to the head, letting my fingers close around the end and then back down to the root. You let out a low moan as I gripped you more firmly there, my other hand reaching under your balls and just clasping them just tight enough to press them together in my palm.

You watched as I stroked you slowly up and down, never letting my grip loosen, but never pausing in one spot for too long. Your precum began to ooze out of the tip, the head swelling, darkening and throbbing more intensely now. Your pulse quickened as I squeezed the shaft just behind the ridge, and your balls tightening in my other hand.