The Motorcyclist
Copyright© 2026 by HAL
Chapter 2
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Just another student with long hair and a motorbike until that chance encounter in his high street. Then life takes off.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Consensual Heterosexual
“Hello? Is that Miss Kleinwort? It’s Claire. Is my Dad there? Yes, I’m fine. Dad? Yes ... Look ... Yes ... I know. Look ... Can I explain? I ... Yes.”
At the other end it had been “Claire? Where are you? Do you know how many people have been out looking for you? You are very selfish. A lot of people are working on Saturday to get these pictures. You only think of yourself. I’m very disappointed in you. Where are you? We’ll come and get you. I hope you haven’t got the clothes dirty. They need to be used for tomorrow too. It’s just ridiculous that you should treat us so badly. Your mother is very angry.” This last was not true. Her mother was worried, concerned that her daughter was working too hard, and had suggested that and had the suggestion dismissed by her husband. “We give up our weekend for you and this is how you treat us. Well I just don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t bother anymore.” which was somewhat contradictory since he was the one insisting on getting the work while it was around. “You will come back RIGHT NOW young lady and apologise to everybody.”
That last was probably what did it. “No! No, I’m just ringing to say I’m fine. Thanks for asking -”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady!”
“Oh Dad!” she took a breath. “Anyway, I’m taking some time off. I’ll ring home later to speak to Mum.” And she put the phone down. The cafe owner had no idea who she was, but was sure he’d seen her somewhere – since she was on the side of the number 43 bus, he had seen her, but she was advertising some food for kids, he wasn’t interested. He looked at her and said:
“Girl. If those men were looking for you, maybe you want to go out through the kitchen?” He didn’t miss much, and he wasn’t a huge fan of men in suits; and, though he’d not admit it, her big doe eyes had had the same effect on him as they had on everybody.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him and he felt what every man feels when a pretty girl smiles at him.
She sat down again while they finished their tea and biscuits. She explained that her mother had started it all by entering her at age three in a local competition that ‘Mother and Baby’ had organised. They were expanding their range and wanted a pretty little girl or boy to have pictures on the wall. “I was a photogenic as a baby.”
“Still are, I’d say.”
She had won, and the pictures had been up for the next five years. When she reached puberty, she still looked pretty good, and her father had had some photos taken professionally, which had got her noticed. He was her manager. He said they had to milk it while it was good; that it was creating a nest egg for her future. No, she didn’t know how much she was worth. The money didn’t go into her bank account, her dad looked after all that. She got an allowance. Stephen found a small spider-sense tingling. She asked him about himself. Well, he was doing economics at university.
“You don’t look like an accountant.”
“What do they look like?”
“Well ... more like those two who were looking for me. They were from the ad agency. But that kind of thing.”
He had to agree. He was interested in the theory of economics rather than being an accountant, but that had come in to it. Some modules were about the detail of understanding a set of accounts, same as an accountant might need to understand the impact of the broader economic processes on a single business. He knew that even amongst those aspiring to be ‘real’ economists, he stood out a little. He liked to think he was an outlier; someone who challenged the norm. He had actually read a few interesting papers on Marxism and the deterministic nature of Marxist theories; a few of his fellow students accepted that the whole Marxist theory of economics was bunk and never bothered with it.
Stephen drank his tea. “Do you need to get some stuff?”
“I can’t, if I go back, then I’ll get dragged back into it all again. Let’s just go.”
So it was agreed. They walked back to his parents house where his bike was packed and ready to go. It might have been lucky that both parents were in the shop; it saved a lot of questions. Repacking the bike to make space for a second person took a little time, then he found her a jumper and gave her his jacket. He had to admit, his old jacket made him feel more like a greaser; it was dirty and had seen a couple of crashes – the patches showed where. Whilst she put her helmet on and adjusted it, he took his jacket off again and went to say goodbye. “Oh? Just off? Bit late isn’t it?”