The Motorcyclist
Copyright© 2026 by HAL
Chapter 3
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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
Then they set off North.
It took a TV interview from her father to trigger something in the ticket seller’s mind, it was just before Football Highlights, or he might not have been watching. He rang his boss, who called the transport police, who checked the cctv. Yes, that was her, no doubt. The ticket seller was carefully interrogated but he couldn’t remember who bought what, when. He did remember that she had talked about the ferry. “So it must be Fishguard! We got her!” said Detective Sergeant Jackson, who was sure he could get on television with this. The local police were notified. The press called local press. The TV stations contacted Cardiff, who sent their vans West. And the 500cc motorbike made its way up the M1 and then the M6.
Just past Birmingham, they pulled into services and edged their way stiffly off the bike. She hadn’t complained at all, he was impressed with that. “I need a wee.” she said, and rushed off. He followed not far behind, he too was getting to the point of no return. Then they bought overpriced plastic food, walked around a bit and set off again.
“Sure you’re okay? Alright. I booked a room at Carlisle services. I thought I’d be there in plenty of time; but it is going to be fairly late.”
“Sorry.” she said, and again he waved that away. He figured that if sitting on a motorbike in a mini-skirt for hours was better than what she was doing, he couldn’t complain. It was pretty good having a girl on the back. He filled the tank and they set off again. They didn’t get to Carlisle until well past midnight; the check in desk guy was just a night watchman really. The chain hotel had already taken the night’s fee, that was automatic after six pm. The hotel was over the bridge, on the down side of the motorway and it felt risky leaving the motorbicycle just parked up. Leaving Claire in the services for a few minutes, nursing a coffee, he went to the small police station.
It barely counted as one, but there was a policeman there. He explained his predicament. “Yeah, sure. Park it at the side. No promises, but it should be safer than being in the car park. You do right to break the journey. Where you headed?” He didn’t like lying, but felt he had to now. He named Stranraer. If the media got on his trail, they would once again be led to a ferry port.
The services at Carlisle had a burger bar open, that was it. So two burgers and two fries and two teas. “You treat all your dates like this?” she laughed.
“Only the ones I’m trying to impress; I don’t spend so much on the rest.” He joked back. They had checked in with barely a flicker from the man at the desk. He had no interest in who came and went. The room was paid for, so here was the key.
Inside, they switched on the television whilst they ate, the news came on “That’s dad! Turn it up.”
“So, Mr Hallbury, any news?”
“None so far. If anybody has any information then we need to hear about it, there is a reward. We’ll catch up with her soon, I’ve no doubt. She’s only a silly young girl, she can’t get far.” Seemed they weren’t thinking it was abduction now.
“And Mrs Hallbury, any comment from you? I suppose you just want your daughter back safe and sound?”
“Yes, of course. But as for not getting far: that ‘silly young girl’ seems to have led a lot of clever men on a wild goose chase doesn’t she? Perhaps not all blondes are dumb?” she said with a smile. “Claire, if you see this, stay safe.” Claire sat open mouthed, her mother had just stood up for blondes, told her husband he wasn’t as clever as he thought, spoke her mind; all on national TV. The trip was worth it just to hear that.
Stephen suggested “You should ring again tomorrow. If only to let your mum know you’re okay. She seems nice.”
They climbed into their separate twin beds in their underwear and fell asleep, simple as that. Both were far too tired to think of what could be, what might be, or what the risk could be.
The morning dawned far too early, Claire was up and wrapped in a towel, drying her hair. “Oh? Awake? Can I use the hair dryer? Here.” She had made tea, luckily they had been too tired for coffee the night before, there was a limited supply of milk sachets in the room. The hair dryer started up and made all conversation impossible. She put on the TV even though neither could hear it. Suddenly Stephen leapt out of bed, forgetting he was in his underpants, and switched the dryer off at the socket. He sensed that the melee being shown was something to do with them – the sign Fishguard had flashed up.
‘ ... the train pulled in and Mr Hallibury and the representative from Angus, Block and Smitten were there to meet Miss Hallibury before she got onto the waiting ferry; they had the name wrong on their documents (seeking to put an injunction on her abductor to cease and desist). But no-one appeared. It seemed that either she had taken fright at the publicity, or, as her mother suggested, it was all a ruse... ‘ they played the interview clip from her mother again.
“They got my name wrong! Hallbury, not Hallibury! I should ring an’ tell them!”
“No, that’s good. If they are looking for Hallibury they are less likely to find you. It looks like they opted to use it as a publicity piece, there are national newspapers, see?” The fashion correspondent from The Times was interviewed as if she had special information; she had met Claire once.
“Oh, well yes, she always struck me as a very bright girl. I expect she caught a flight instead when she saw the furore she had caused. I believe she had connections in Ireland.”
Claire was angry “Stupid bint! She doesn’t know me. And what connections in Ireland? I don’t know what they are so why does she? And I’ve got no money! How could I have bought a ticket? And I have no passport.”
“You don’t need a passport. Still, means they are still focussed on the wrong place. Ring your Mum.”
“We’ll do it from the services, the charges for hotel phones are huge.” She was still thinking about the money. “I could reverse the charges -”
“No! No, no, no. That would mean they’d know where you called from.”
“Yeah, I know. But it will cost you so much.”
“Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Your towel is slipping.”
“Oh, sorry.” It had opened at the bottom as she sat watching the television. The towels were not large, bath towel size. They were the minimum that the hotel thought they could get away with. Her inner thigh had become dangerously visible.
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