The Motorcyclist
Copyright© 2026 by HAL
Chapter 4
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 4 - 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
She came back out. “You know what I’ve forgotten? Underwear. I’ve been wearing these for days! I’ll have to buy some on Barra. Oh, wow, this is lovely!” They chugged across the bay and then through the Sound of Mull. They sat and ate stale sandwiches (made fresh for the morning ferry, and left on display all day), drank another coffee and watched the world go by.
Stephen felt that this was what he had been wanting, more than he had wanted. He had been looking forward to a week far away from ‘civilisation’; a week of no spreadsheets and international economic theory. It was interesting, but some of the students (and lecturers) seemed to feel economics was real life; it wasn’t. A huge bird drifted over the ship from Mull towards the mainland: osprey, golden eagle? He had no idea, but he loved that he was seeing it. And to cap it all, he had a beautiful girl with him. She was beautiful, more than pretty. In his mind, pretty meant that she was good looking and made better with a load of make up; beautiful meant that she could wear no make up and still be stunning. He’d seen her in the morning, hair everywhere, face just waking up; she was still beautiful. He wasn’t expecting anything. He’d slept with a few fellow students – English and History students usually, they seemed easier about such things – but he’d also had, and still had, a couple of female friends that he valued more for friendship than sex. He was thinking Claire would be a third.
Claire was feeling like a spring was winding down. She hadn’t realised how tense she had become. How on edge. Now, she could feel the Scottish air blasting that tension away. She had given herself over for a week into the control of a boy she did not know. It was all so out of control, and she loved it. She was sure she could trust him; admitting that she had no reason to think that. She realised later in life what a gift she had in being able to judge people.
They sat on deck for an hour, until they were both frozen to the core, then went below for an expensive bowl of cullenskink and tatties. A ripple of excitement drew them to the deck again to see a humpback whale. “A whale! I’ve seen a whale!” Stephen was repeating, like a young boy give is dream present at Christmas. Claire took his arm and put it round her shoulder and smiled. She smiled because he was so excited – and it was good to see such a big animal – and because he could easily have copped a feel and didn’t.
As they came into Castlebay, the weather was turning. The sunny ferry journey was promising to turn into a rainy road. They agreed that they should find the camping site and then look for a shop. So they rode out of the town, wondering at its smallness and the narrowness of the roads. This was an A road, the top level of road before motorways, and yet here it was a single track. Even a motorbike had to pull over into passing places if a car was coming the other way. Luckily, after the ferry emptied, there was little traffic. They marked where the Cooperative Stores was, and saw a sign for the bank. Maybe tomorrow there would be money in his account, he hoped that the Royal Bank of Scotland had some way of checking his TSB account from England.
He had thought of camping wild, but discarded that idea. Claire would want a proper toilet rather than a bush, he thought; and he quickly realised that bushes were few and far between on Barra. The campsite they had seen advertised on the boat was three miles out of the town of Castlebay. It had no protection from the wind, and the toilet block was a converted container. It was actually a mixed toilet block in that there were two cubicles, each with a sink, shower and toilet. That was pretty basic, but Stephen didn’t think they’d find any different anywhere else, and Claire was not going to complain. “If it’s all too basic, we’ll find a hotel.” he said, and she thought ‘An ‘otel, surely?’ Esher kicking in with a vengeance. She said nothing and nodded, then said she was sure it would be fine.
This was another land of trust. You paid when you left, and you were trusted enough to put the money in a box if nobody was around. The farmer/fisherman/campsite owner welcomed in three new customers and went off to move his cattle from one rough field to new rough grazing.
They just got the tent up before the rain came, had to run across the field to the toilets in the rain, realised that this was mistake as one was occupied. Someone would have to stand outside. “I’ll stand in the lee of the container, it’s not too wet there.” he said.
She took a deep breath, went red and said. “Come in, you can turn your back.” So he made a great play of studying the shower, and she did the same. Then they ran back through horizontal rain. He’d brought a sheet of plastic to cover the bike, he wasn’t sure it would help, but he tied it down more securely whilst she crawled into the tent. There would be no replacement clothes bought today.
“I should have brought waterproofs, I don’t know what I was thinking. We’re both soaked.”
“Doesn’t matter, but there is something else – one sleeping bag.”
“Oh shit! I ... oh.”
“It’s just that if I stay lying on it in these clothes, it will get damp.” said Claire. A voice in the back of his head said she was proving way more practical than him, a small, momentary resentment, born of male chauvinism, gave way to respect. It could have gone either way, he could have felt his masculinity under threat; but instead he made himself accept what she said was true. The last girl, the one he’d woken up with after the end of term party, the girl whose name he had got wrong (Tamsin, not Tasmin); she had been irritating when she had ‘suggested’ things in her posh accent. Claire, was genuinely turning into a friend. “If you look away, I’ll take off these jeans and shirt and ... is it alright if I get in for now?” He was as wet as she was, but he simply nodded; there was a blanket too. His mother had insisted on him bringing an extra blanket ‘just in case’. An extra blanket was always an option that solved everything, to her. He focussed on setting up the two small stoves at the entrance, between the inner and outer tents, until she said it was okay. Then he unceremoniously pulled off his jeans and jumper and shirt and wrapped himself in his blanket.
They lay close together on one side of the tent pole, they had to be very close to avoid touching the tent fabric. On the other side, they laid out their clothes. “Look, if it helps. I know we aren’t going to get shopping today. It’s just, well. I ... The thing is ... You can have my emergency pants if you like.” He had three pairs with him. He was wearing pair number two, the first pair needing to be washed. He had planned to use two pairs, turn and turn about, washing one pair and drying them for the next day. He had one ‘emergency’ pair, ‘just in case’ (like mother, like son).
She smiled, “Are you sure? That is so nice of you.”
“And I could wash yours if you like. I have to wash mine too.” He moved away a little as she struggled and wriggled out of her lacy, fashion pants. She took off her bra too after he offered her a dry teeshirt (actually his only dry tee shirt). She was falling in love; a boy who would willingly wash her dirty knickers! He was special. There was one other container near the toilets, it contained a sink and a table. This was a concession to the idea that people might not want to lie in miniscule tents and eat. The table had no chairs, and there was no cooker. It had been locked earlier, it was opened at 6pm; there was no obvious reason for this, but it transpired that a year ago someone has spent the night there, so it was open from 6 to 10 only. The sink did, at least, have a hot and cold tap. “I’ll do that after dinner, it might have eased off by then.” Fat chance. This was the west of Scotland, it could rain for a week now, non-stop, and locals would still call it a drought.
He heated up some baked beans, tried making toast on an open flame and gave it up as too risky. So they had baked beans on buttered (well, margarine – it was in a plastic pot, so it travelled better) bread, and tea. They could not sit up, they swung round and lay facing out, opening the outer door a little to look at the horizontal rain, the grey sky merging perfectly with the grey sea. Supporting herself on one arm, there was a large void under her body, in which her breasts were well visible. He tried not to look, but he was only human. She tried not to notice that he was looking. In the tiny tent, with the pouring rain and the scratch tea (followed by Oat Crumbly biscuits, which left crumbs in the sleeping bag for days); it should have been the most unromantic first meal ever, and wasn’t.
The rain did lessen, briefly. Stephen rushed to the washing up shed, and Claire pulled her damp jeans over her naked body pulled on a damp shirt and ran to the toilets. Three days ago, she had been dressed up to the nines and was looking out to the distance and being photographed. Now she was sitting on a toilet in a steel container, with no knickers, and the view outside was unremittingly grey. She laughed “Be careful what you wish for.” They had agreed that she would go straight back and get into the sleeping bag; he would visit the toilets too and then come back. As an experienced camper, he knew full well that he would need to get up in the night, and was pretty convinced that she would. He had left out his shirt and pants. She got into them and into the sleeping bag.
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