The Motorcyclist
Copyright© 2026 by HAL
Chapter 5
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 5 - 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
Another night of close proximity with a near naked girl and boy was spent just chatting. Chatting about work and economics and accountancy and fashion and parents and home life. It was obvious that being better off didn’t make you happier, it brought different problems, that was all. Both of them agreed that parents could be a nuisance. This rough-it holiday was an escape for them both in different ways. They both knew that none of the parents would understand how they could be lying like this and not be, as Claire put it, ‘rutting like rabbits’. “That’s what my mother would say. She thinks young people are always looking for sex.” said Claire.
“And you aren’t? I suppose the risks are higher for girls, or they seem that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well a boy could just walk away, theoretically, if the girl got pregnant. But most boys wouldn’t, I don’t think. I wouldn’t.”
“You’d throw up your career chances and marry a one night stand?”
“You aren’t a – Oh, I see.” he’d just let on that he was thinking of sex with her, he hoped she hadn’t understood. “I think I might. I’ve always been careful. What about you?” he meant what would she do, she misunderstood.
“Well, I’ve never done it. Not keeping myself or anything. Just not found the right boy.” Until now, she thought, until now.
Her mother, she explained, was lovely, but very careful. She had not been keen on the modelling as she thought it would take over – she was right. She had told Claire to be very careful of the photographers. “She needn’t have worried, most of them dress in pink shirts and call everyone ducky. Dad is okay, but too pushy. He wants us to milk it all before the fashion changes. He can be rather tunnel-visioned. Is that a word? Obsessive, that’s probably it.”
“My Mum and Dad spend all their time in the shop. I think the only reason they liked the idea of me doing economics was so I could audit the accounts. S’true; I’ve tried explaining the wider concepts in economics, but they aren’t really interested. Still, they are generous. Just rather nosy.”
Once more, in the middle of the night they had to get up. It’s cold in a tent, and it doesn’t take much to make a bladder feel like emptying. They both got up, had a pee, and then looked up at the sky. “So many stars! You never see this many! It’s amazing.” They stood and looked for as long as they could; he, aware that he had dribbled a little and there was a damp patch on the front of his pants; she, aware that she had dribbled down her leg at the start and had nothing to wipe herself with. They crawled back in, this time she watched his retreating bottom and thought “It’s firm, solid, I wonder if I could grab it.” then they wrapped themselves in the sleeping bag and the blanket, and each other, and fell asleep. She awoke aware that his hand was cupping her breast, but he was asleep. She also then realised that her hand was flat across where his rock hard penis was inside his pants. She moved her hand, but left his where it was. She had let another boy do that in the past, but it had been tawdry and groping. He woke a little later and shifted his hand with a mumbled apology.
They looked out on bright sunshine. If not warm, at least it was dry and sunny. It was a good day to explore the island. They grabbed some tea and bread and then went to Castlebay. In conversations, Stephen had become confused about the contract arrangement. Claire clearly had money, it had been easy to transfer a lot of money at the drop of a hat. But where was it? He came to understand from things she said that the money went to a limited company. That was useful. He arranged to meet Claire at the cafe, she went shopping – to the shop. He went to the bank and the bank manager was happy to help. He got their head office to fax a copy of the last accounts to the bank, the bank manager passed it to him. “Excuse me, am I right? These payments amount to fifty percent of the income?”
“A little more I think. It is, as you see, listed as commission. It seems rather high. Your young friend is being rather taken for a ride, a different ride to your motorbike, haha. Yes, you were right to query it.”
“Yes, thank you so much for your help.”
In the post office/cafe, he gently explained that he thought her father was taking a very large agent fee. She looked at the figures. She could have been revolted that he had nosed into her private affairs. Truth was, she had suspected something, but hadn’t known how to find out without offending her father. “What can we do?”
“We?”
“Well, I’ll need your help. Please.”
“When we get back, we’ll have a look at the contract. Perhaps it needs re-negotiation. It may just be that your father is the wrong person to arrange it all. He isn’t an agent. Oh, did you get anything?”
“I did. They aren’t very flattering. I’ll show you later. No bras though. I’d rather go braless than wear the massive lobster pots that were on offer. Honestly, wired and strutted. They are for people with massive boobs that need holding up. No, definitely not, thank you.”
“You don’t need support? I would have thought you did.”
“Yes, you’ll just have to wash my one bra again.” she laughed at him. She knew that he was already aware of her reasonable size. She wasn’t huge, but she wasn’t like the fashionable small breasted models that were popular at the moment; if she didn’t have such an appealing face, she’d not stand much chance. He didn’t mind. Small breasts might be popular with girls at the moment, he still liked a larger bust. He suddenly had an image of his own mother, who had a large chest, and just the kind of bras that Claire was describing. He grimaced; “You don’t like my boobs?” “Oh, no. I mean yes. I mean I do like them. Not that I’ve looked. Oh, this isn’t fair.”
“Sorry, I know you’re a man. So you’re bound to have looked when you get the chance.”
He smiled at her and explained the mental image that had appeared about his mother. “You see? Nothing to do with you. You are, of course, perfect. And I will happily wash your bra and your pants anytime.” The woman who ran the cafe was about fifty; she had just come to pick up the plates and cups. She looked at the ‘wee slip of a girl’ and the ‘hairy biker’ and wondered ‘would my husband wash my pants? I doubt it. He wouldn’t know how to wash anything, come to that’.
Then they were off to explore more of the island. The wind was cold at first, as their still damp clothes dried; but they did dry, and the scenery and views were worth it. A bend in the road would reveal a bay of pristine sand with no foot prints, then another bend and there would be a rocky foreshore with seals basking on the rocks at low tide. It was another world to the city landscape they had become so used to where a large park felt like the countryside. This was the real open countryside. They slid off onto a track that went down along a cliffside and then stopped before they got to the sand. There, Stephen produced his ‘patent motorbike rest’ - a flattened commercial catering tin. It allowed the side stand not to sink in, and was big enough to sit under the narrow centre stand at the campsite. Then they walked to a narrow burn rushing down to the sea. With little or no hesitation, they both took off their jeans and waded across. Two young people in their pants, Claire’s, being white and lacy, became see-through when they got wet.
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