The Ride

It was a weekday summer night at the Trane Station. For the evening, I had done nothing much more than keep the music going, talk with some customers, and nurse a single long ago warmed beer.

The night sky was full of stars with a moon somewhere between yellow and orange. It was beautiful outside and I found myself wanting to be out there, doing something, moving, experiencing it somehow.

I remember moving past a table and stopping to say hello when I heard someone at the door call my name. Trane, they called, there's someone outside asking for you. It seemed clear that whoever it was intended for me to come outside. Shit, I muttered, either somebody's locked their keys in their car again, or somebody's car has gotten scratched, or some fool thrown up in the sidewalk, it's gotta be one of those.

I walked out the door and saw none of that. I looked around for whoever it might be wanting me. I saw no one but a lone motorcyclist near the curb. It didn't take but a moment to realize the motorcyclist was a woman.

She sat astride a new Yamaha FJ1100. The bike rumbled impatiently between her legs as she looked at me from inside a black helmet with a dark grayed full face shield. Her long curly black hair hung from the back of the helmet. She wore a black leather riding jacket and black leather chaps over a hot pink bikini bottom. I didn't have time to wonder or see what was beneath the jacket before she waggled a finger at me telling me to come closer.

Long ago I determined that my momma didn't raise a complete fool, so accordingly I took the three steps across the sidewalk to her. She reached to the seat behind her, picked up a leather jacket and helmet, and tossed me both of them. The jacket fit perfectly, I noticed the XL when I put it on. How did she know, I wondered. I buckled the helmet and watched her pat the seat behind her. I had one leg over the bike and was settling onto the seat when the bike spoke and we were off moving east on Madison Avenue.

Cooper Avenue was only three city blocks east, but she'd already hit third gear before we got there. I had my hands on her sides, trying to be a gentleman rider, but still not wanting to fall off and bust my ass. She downshifted and slowed the bike, letting it lay into the curved as she turned.

At the next block we caught a red light. She braked and let the bike rumble as it waited for her instruction. As we waited and the light change became imminent, she reached back and took each of my hands. Her grip was firm but gentle. In a smooth motion she pulled my hands in front of her until I could grip my fingers in a wrestler's hold. I got the message: hold on or get fucked up.

The light changed and she leaned forward into a crouch as the bike responded. I leaned with her and we roared down Poplar Avenue, west this time toward the river.

As the bike gathered speed and the wind hammered up the legs of my khaki shorts I began to wonder who this woman was. Considering a few things, I thought I should be able to figure this out. Maybe five feet, four inches or so, I guessed, strong, broad shoulders and torso, great ass, presently pressing into my crotch, a hint of perfume, even in the wind, or was it her hair I smelled? Was the scent Poison?

When she passed between two cars driving beside each other I suddenly gave little specific thought to her identity anymore. The woman could handle a bike and my hard cock pressed against her ass certainly didn't seem to distract her.

Flying west to the river, I could smell the water, the smell of the Mississippi, coming to us in the air. My bike pilot was low over the gas tank, merging with the machine that screamed between her legs. Me, I got as close to her as I could. My chest was on her back without transferring my weight to her. My hands were beneath her belly coming into occasional contact with her bare skin. Goddamn, I told myself, this woman can ride.

We hit Riverside and screamed north alongside the river. The moonlight glistened across the water, giving dull light to the barge traffic that flew by us. Just north of the city we hit a long stretch of two lane road with nothing, absolutely nothing in front of us. The bike seemed to sense the circumstances for itself because we were suddenly transformed into a beam of black light. I peeked around the pilot's shoulder and saw the needle dance happily past one hundred miles an hour.

There is no other way to describe it than to say at that moment she and I and the bike became one. We traveled through the air as one hunk of roaring sound and pulse. Death was no issue, nor was life. It was Being then, merging with all that was around us, all that ever was or will be.

I thought those things, I actually did, but my philosophical reflection ended when her left hand took mine and eased it under the front edge of her jacket. After sending me there, she returned her hand to its proper place, mine was left to feel the hardened nipple, the full, aroused breast. Being a fair man at heart, I moved my right hand under her jacket to give her right breast equal time.

So, we rode there like that for eternity, or so it seemed, our bodies pressed into an almost perfect machine, her nipples pushing dents in my palms.

I wondered in that moment if we could live the rest of our lives like that, both of us straddling a screaming machine, her breasts doing wondering things to my hands, her ass taunting my cock, but it was my youth wondering all that, I know. When she began to slow the machine and make several turns taking us further north of the city, into rolling farm country, I sensed she had a grander plan.

I was right.

Shelby Forest is a state park maybe fifteen miles north of Memphis. It's wooded area covers the natural rolling bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River. In years past, a lot of river traffic avoided landing in the city by beaching themselves on these bluff, but no more. Now the park was a dawn to dusk preserve with hiking trails and a lake with pretty good fishing.

The barrier across the road with the sign saying, "Park Closed," barely slowed the bike pilot and her magnificent machine. We wove around the barrier and she was back into third gear in perhaps four of my heartbeats, probably only two of hers.

The park was ours along with some sleeping ranger somewhere. She took us artfully through tight hairpin curves, downshifting and accelerating skillfully. The woman could ride.

We rode maybe three miles into the park to the fishing lake. I had given up guessing what she had in mind when she pulled into the parking lot. We rode right up to the boat dock before she cut off the machine beneath us. The sound of its cooling engine mixed with the night sounds of crickets, and frogs, and my heart.

Ever being the gentleman, I had taken my hands from her breasts when we had moved into the park. I'm not exactly sure why, but it seemed like the thing to do. We sat there in silence, her back to me, both of us looking out over the moonlit lake. She reached up and loosened the helmet strap, lifted it off her head, and shook her hair. My helmet was already off, so I just watched and smelled, realizing that it was Poison I smelled.

I moved off the bike to give her room to dismount. She still hadn't taken her eyes off the lake.

"How about a boat ride, John?" was all she said.

"It would be my pleasure," I told her, trying to convince myself I knew it was her all along.

The line of john boats along the bank was neat and unsecured. We chose the one on the end and pushed out into the lake. I rowed as she sat facing me. Her smile and dark eyes were magnificent, her hands slender, one hand growing nails, I noticed, as she unzipped the front of her jacket. Her breasts caught the moonlight proudly, her nipples still hard from the ride.

I stopped rowing when we reached the middle of the lake. We drifted for a moment, still not talking. I reached across to her drawing her closer until we sat facing each other. I kissed her then and immediately remembered how good it had been and how long ago it was.

Her lips were so soft yet expressive. Her tongue so alive, aggressive but patient. A man doesn't often like to admit it but I melted then as she kissed me. As with the ride, I wondered in that moment why we just couldn't live the rest of our lives like that, our mouths pressed together. Again, it was surely my youth but a person can dream.

Clothes came off in the midst of our kiss. I thought my shirt ended up in the lake but didn't care. I don't think our lips parts before we were both naked in the night air, the moonlight, and the mosquitoes.

I was on my back in the bottom of the john boat, my head resting on a slated seat when she mounted me. Her lips held me with her kiss as her pussy slid down the length of me. Our breath came as one movement of air as her hips moved up and down on me, occasionally pausing to grind her pubic bone into mine.

I put my hands on her breasts and pushed her up, breaking the kiss to move my mouth to her nipples. I watched her eyes close as she began to grind herself into me in earnest. She was fucking me, fucking herself, riding me as she had ridden the bike. The juice from her pussy ran down over me, wetting my cock, my pubic hair, my balls, as she fucked me. I pulled her nipples into my mouth, sucking them harder and harder while running my tongue around them.

When she came her pussy gripped and released me irregularly while she held her breath. Her eyes opened to find mine and she smiled. The smile stayed on her face, in her eyes, as she moved off my cock and down my body. She took me in her hand and began to lick her cum from my cock with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue. She watched me watch her, enjoying, I could tell, the way I was transfixed by what she did to me.

My guess is that she could tell from the flinch in my balls that I was about to cum, because she moved to lick the underside of the head while she stroked the shaft with her hand. No matter how, she was right, I soon sent spasms of white cum upward and onto my stomach. She smiled at me and watch each surge from my cock as she milked me with her hand until the last bead of cum ran down the front of my cock. She caught it with her tongue and began to move up my body. She stretched out flat on top of me and kissed me, the tastes of our passion mingling in our mouths.

I caught sight of a mosquito on her ass and reached down to slap it.

"Naughty, naughty," she giggled and kissed me again.