This text is copyright 1996 by Joe Parsons. Permission is hereby granted to repost it electronically, provided that it is posted in its entirety. Any deletion or alteration without the express written permission of the owner is a violation of domestic and international copyright law.
"Put something exciting between your legs...ride a motorcycle!"
I smiled to myself as I read the bumper sticker affixed to the rear of the Toyota 4 x 4 ahead of me. As I pulled to the left to pass, I glanced at the muddy off-road bike securely strapped into the truck's bed. The driver, a girl of no more than 20, drove confidently, a tanned arm propped negligently against the window sill. Her hair was cut very short, and she wore a half smile as though remembering how she had covered the bike with mud.
I remembered my own biking days, driving a Triumph 500 through three sloppy Rhode Island winters. It was the most unreliable piece of machinery ever created, but it eventually managed to get me where I wanted to go, with a lot of noise, leaking oil and making enough racket to collect a couple of tickets each month. I always ignored them.
It was cheap transportation, and was disreputable enough to collect girls like a noisy butterfly net. I began to think of the balmy summer days, days much like today.
Suddenly I realized that I had pulled into the parking lot of a motorcycle dealership. An ornate sign over the store front announced that this was the home of
"QUALITY GERMAN MOTORCYCLES"
In front of the plate glass window, standing as though at attention, were twenty new BMWs, gleaming proudly in the July sun.
What the hell, I thought to myself; it won't hurt to take a look.
I parked the car and got out, sauntering nonchalantly towards the row of bikes. It was immediately evident that things had changed in the twenty years since I had ridden motorcycles. I caught my breath as I approached the first in line: a pearlescent gray K100RS. Four cylinders, horizontally opposed and water cooled. Each part of the machine was obviously designed for a purpose, to work in harmony with every other part. The fairing, with its oversized rectangular headlight, seemed to be shaped by the wind itself, and the handlebars and fuel tank invited a laid-out riding position.
I walked around the machine, not daring to touch it. I knew that, once I had my hands on it, I would have a hard time letting go. As I inspected the German machine, I began to feel the familiar tingle in my crotch, the slightly horny feeling I always used to get around motorcycles.
Gently I laid a hand on the aluminum fuel tank. It was warm to the touch. I brushed my fingers across the seat, then traced the outline of the alloy wheels with my fingers. It was all coming back to me now. I was crouching next to the bike, fondling and caressing the machine as a lover would, oblivious to the world around me. I could feel the beginning of an erection.
"You seem to appreciate the German equipment." I jumped, startled by the interruption. I looked up at the source of the voice, feeling my face redden slightly.
From my crouching vantage point she seemed to tower over me, and her breasts seemed so large as to block out the sun. I stood up, conscious of the slight bulge in my pants.
She was tall, nearly my height, and wore her long blonde hair pulled back severely. Her hips and shoulders were rather broad, implying physical strength. Her left hand rested familiarly on the left handgrip, her right on her hip. She wore a t-shirt with the blue and white BMW logo and the name of the dealership just above the waistband of her tight, faded jeans. The logo on her shirt was rather badly distorted by her large breasts, and her nipples poked prominently through the material of the shirt, one at each side of the circular design.
"Actually, I was just looking to see how far bikes have come since I rode," I offered, lamely. I tore my eyes reluctantly away from her breasts to meet her steady gaze. She looked back at me confidently.
"My name is Inge," she said, proffering her hand. I took it, surprised at the strength of her grip.
"Would you like to take a test ride?" I released her hand reluctantly and she rested it on the saddle of the motorcycle, inches from mine. She had moved almost imperceptibly closer to me and I found that my eyes kept wandering to her breasts.
"I'd like that," I said, "but it has been quite a while since I did any serious riding." She was absently stroking the bike's saddle with the backs of her fingernails as she looked steadily at me. I could smell the soap she bathed with this morning. I had a quick mental picture of this statuesque woman in the shower, her perfect breasts slick with lather...again I felt a stirring in my groin. I swallowed, trying to control my thoughts.
"I would be happy to ride with you," she said, and for the first time I was conscious of a slight accent, her W's tending toward V's and a hint of a guttural roll to her R's. I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. She swung her leg expertly over the saddle and started the bike.
BMWs have always appealed to me, and as she started the motor, I remembered why. The German bike's four cylinders sang a seductive mechanical song, with a slight whirr of cam chains. My pulse rate increased slightly at the sound. She pushed the bike off the center stand, toed the transmission into gear, and twisted the throttle slightly as she pulled the big machine out of line into the clear area of the parking lot.
"I'll drive first," she suggested, "and then I'll give you a chance at it." Hesitating just a moment, I swung my leg over the low saddle and put my feet on the rear pegs. It was a short saddle, not meant for two people over a long distance. The slight forward tilt of the seat caused me to slide forward against her. I could feel her warmth against my chest. I searched under the saddle for passenger handgrips and found none.
"Put your arms around me," she said over her shoulder, "and I'll show you something." I complied, willingly. My hands held her waist, just under the curve of her breasts. She pulled the bike smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the main thoroughfare. Seeing no traffic, she twisted the throttle and released the clutch. With a turbine-like rush, the 1,000 cc bike accelerated. Unprepared for the acceleration, I nearly lost my grasp of Inge's waist. My feet came off the footpegs, and I desperately grabbed for a handhold. I realized that I had grabbed at her breasts. As I released them (somewhat reluctantly), I could feel her chuckle. I wondered whether to apologize and decided against it.
"You notice that the BMW has adequate power for acceleration, yes?" she said over her shoulder, raising her voice against the wind. The smile was still there, playing with the corners of her mouth. She squirmed slightly on the saddle, rubbing against my hardening crotch. The slight vibration of the bike seemed to be concentrating there.
"It's impressive, all right," I replied, wondering if she could perceive just how impressed I really was. She turned off the main road and headed towards the hills and their winding roads.
"Would you like to try it out yourself?" she asked, braking to a stop.
"Sure," I replied. I dismounted carefully, hoping she would not see the now-prominent bulge in my pants. She smiled at me as she stood the motorcycle on its side stand and got off. She glanced at my crotch quickly and her smile widened slightly.
"Get on," she said. "I'll be right behind you." I swung a leg over the saddle, settling onto the seat, and she got on behind, pressing her breasts into my back. Was it my imagination, or did I feel her nipples harden as they touched me? She encircled my waist with her arms, holding tighter than seemed necessary.
"I am ready when you are," she said, her voice lower and huskier than before. I put the transmission into first, twisted the throttle and eased the clutch out. We were rolling. I shifted into second, then third, and we entered the first series of tight switchbacks on the deserted road. The bike seemed made for this road, and I gained confidence with each sweeping turn.
I increased my speed and leaned the bike more aggressively into each turn, extending my inside knee and accelerating hard as I exited each turn. I began to remember why I rode motorcycles. Inge seemed to be enjoying the ride, as she clung more and more tightly to me. Her breasts seemed rock hard, as they dug into my back. Her hands were now flat against my stomach. Her right hand was just above my belt, the little finger beginning to insinuate itself down the front of my pants. I was definitely and visibly aroused now, both from the ride and from Inge's closeness and increasing familiarity.
There was no longer any doubt about her; she was clinging to me more tightly, and I could feel the heaving of her chest as we negotiated the curves. She laid her cheek against my back. I sensed that her eyes were closed.
I slowed the bike. The sound of the wind abated, and I could hear the slight rasp of her breathing. With the road requiring less of my attention, I could feel that she was pressing her crotch tightly against me, squirming slightly on the seat.
I stopped. She tensed slightly against me, then slid her hand inside my shirt, resting it on the skin of my belly. She made small noises barely audible above the soft purr of the bike's idle.
She continued to caress the skin of my stomach and chest inside my shirt. I felt moisture at the tip of my cock. As I was deciding what I might do next, Inge abruptly swung off the bike, pulling me with her.
.... There is more of this story ...