The revving of motorcycles, likely more than 10 coming off the bridge a short mile away. Then a succession of more motorcycles, probably another 10 or more.
It’s been quiet this morning. The loudness of the motorcycles is soothing somehow. I imagine they’re all showing off, and speeding, or demonstrating their unbelievable balance on a death machine.
I can hear the rumble like thunder in the distance; maybe they’ve all met up in an area not far from here. The thunder moves together and in my mind I see the riders bobbing and weaving, snaking through traffic.
Leaning up as they come to stop at a red light, taking their feet off the foot pegs; maybe they’ve lifted their helmet shield to talk about their ride or destination as they wait for the light to change. What a sight it must be to see all of them together. One or two checking the chains or break calipers and reaching to wipe off dirt on the polished chrome fuel tanks.
It’s been 15 minutes and the rumble is just as loud with various sounds of revved engines. They’re still pretty close, which means either they keep getting caught at lights and regrouping or their destination is close.
It takes me back to the first time I threw my leg over the seat of a motorcycle and wrapped my arms around and held onto the driver. He had a ninja, (crotch rocket; he called it) it was dark and we had been drinking. I had never been on a motorcycle and I was terrified, but fear never stopped me from trying anything. He drove for several miles bobbing and weaving through traffic and then the quiet suburban roads. He hit a 100 and it was thrilling and terrifying all at once. Then 104, then 110 and started to slow down. He pulled over on the side of the road to check to see if I was okay. I had been screaming, but it was pure adrenaline and excitement; man, what a rush.
He asked if I wanted to go further or was ready to go back to the party at his house. I said let’s go and he said hold on and shot off like a rocket. I thought for sure we were going to die. Maybe an animal would run out into the road or he’d have to make a sharp turn and we’d go sliding down the asphalt. We didn’t. He decided to drive normal and just let me enjoy being a passenger, clinging to him and just resting my head against the back of him as we drove for a while. The air was different, my olfactory sense of smell alive, the rush of wind against me, the way everything looked different at night. Then he turned around and we headed back to the party.
When we got back, we went through his garage, leading to the laundry room that would lead into the house. Everyone had already left, while we were gone. It had been two hours of driving nowhere. He closed the door to the garage and then pinned me against the washer, or was it the dryer, I can’t remember. We made out for what felt like an eternity. Just kissing and giggling hands moving and sloppy mouths, kissing and staring deeply into each other’s eyes, he caressed my face with tenderness, and then he lifted my skirt.
I was wet the moment we got on the bike, looking back, I’m pretty sure he knew that. And as his hand is moving and touching all the right spots I am just dripping. So he pulled my panties down, and then picked me up and sat me on top of the washing machine. He begged to taste me and eat me out, said he had to have me, and the look in his eyes was predatory. I said please and then he devoured every inch of me. I can’t remember how many times I felt my body come off the washer in the throes of ecstasy, he knew what he was doing and he fucking loved doing it. I mean he didn’t want to stop making me cum.
I remember hitting my head on the wire shelf that was above the washer, I didn’t care, he was going to possess me and I was surrendering without grace.
The way he just kept wanting more and the way I let him take what he wanted. His tongue, his mouth, his fingers the bruises he left on my thighs and ass as he grabbed to pull me closer as I came, him holding onto me, not letting go as I bucked and tried desperately to pull away. His hunger insatiable. And I kept calling for jesus and god, this wasn’t just worship; I was religion, an alter of desire.
When he finally came up for air and my thighs began to let go of the sides of his head, I was a mess, just a puddle of lust. I slipped down from the washing machine to find he had been rubbing and slowly jerking with one hand while he buried his face between my thighs, he was dripping and so so very hard. I was hungry, manic, starving, I needed to taste him. I needed to feed. I dropped to my knees and worshiped him. I wanted all of him in my mouth and I begged for it. And it was violating and still delicious, this carnal assault on my mouth and throat. It was shameful how fucking wet I was. I reached down between my legs and let my fingers slide over my wetness. He was building momentum and I knew he was going to cum. My hands moved to massage him and cup him, my mouth dripping with spit and then he grabbed my hair and moved faster, grabbing my hands and holding them spread out like the wings of an angel, as I took him. His legs were tensing and I could feel him grow as he moved faster and then, he exploded. I was already choking. My spit and his cum dripping as he thrust his hips harder and came, his weight seemingly lighter and his movement less intense. He held himself there, slowly emptying himself, then began to slowly pull out of my mouth. His muscles tensing and starting to relax, semi hard and still pulsing.
He leaned down and lifted me to my feet like I weighed nothing, kissing me deeply. The exchange of desire, the bouquet of our wantonness shared between our lips. I could feel him pressing against me and he was getting hard again. He lifted me back onto the washer and he spread my legs with his strong hands, he wrapped my legs around his waist and grabbed handfuls of my ass, he didn’t have to ask me to wrap my arms around him. I had never been carried like this, he carried me up the stairs to his room with ease. Us kissing and laughing as he tried to feel his way into his room while kissing me. He towered over me at 6’3”, his body sculpted and lean. It all felt so natural, so organic, so sensual and erotic. He changed me that night with his greediness. He had an oral fixation and I more than allowed him to fixate. He was obsessed, and would beg to go down on me.
We dated just shy of four months he was a military man and ended up getting stationed in Hawaii.
He treated me like a lady and he was such a gentleman. Opening doors and pulling out chairs, standing up when I stepped away, I mean his manners were impeccable. And I learned that chivalry was so very much alive still. He wanted to know everything about me, he would pick me up for a date and would be so proud to be with me. He didn’t ask what I wanted to do, he just made plans and somehow it was always a wonderful time, excellent restaurant, or some cool experience we both wanted to go do and he would call to talk all the time. I loved that, he liked to communicate and this was different. He would ask real questions and we would talk about everything and anything. He was brilliant and funny; an old soul, obsessed with live music like me - he loved jazz, and he would play for me on his pretty acoustic guitar. His eyes on me the whole time. His fingers dancing across the strings, a smirk on his face.
I remember how he hinted naughty things and would ask to meet him in the bathroom of a nice restaurant where he’d bend me over the sink until I was a whimpering mess. Or take me on a hike and take me off trail and ravage me in the woods. My hair and clothes covered in twigs and dirt. The bruises and scrapes; badges of honor. He would leave handprints on my ass; he loved to smack and jiggle it, laughing with fervor and devilishness. He was insatiable, he was always wanting to lick me or taste my skin, like I was some delicacy and he was a cannibal. It was tenderness and savagery, a need he couldn’t explain, he would just say the way I tasted was an aphrodisiac and he was addicted and just had to feed. I didn’t hesitate to let him satisfy his hunger. It was bloodlust, he even asked when I was on my period, but I wouldn’t let him.
He made me feel beautiful and exquisite, he didn’t care that my body had been marked by three children. He worshipped every inch of me and said I was the loveliest, most beautiful woman. He made me feel desired and it had been a long time since I had felt pure passion and yearning.
I was in my late 30’s and he was a couple years younger, maybe 3 or 4 years. He didn’t have kids, and he never met mine. I was still reeling from an abusive relationship and not ready - I wanted to know he would stay, I didn’t want my kids meeting someone I was dating that might not stick around, and he was patient with me, he didn’t push or pressure me. He knew I needed to go slow.
We just didn’t get very far. He came to my work the day he got his new assignment, took me to lunch by the water; we ate crabs and made a mess, (even though I wore a plastic bib). He was emotional as he was honest, he said he was moving to Hawaii and that given the distance and how long he would be there it was unfair to both of us to try to hold on. Strangely enough, and despite my growing affections for him - I agreed. His vulnerability in the moment was breathtaking and I could see in his eyes that he had also developed feelings for me. It wasn’t an easy conversation to have. And looking back he may have been the only emotionally intelligent man I ever dated. Deep down we both knew the truth, we weren’t in love and there wasn’t a future for us, I was still healing and he was moving on. We cried and held hands then made plans one more time.
We went on one last date before he left, it was our goodbye; no animosity, no jealousy, no disrespect, no expectation, just a man and a woman responsibly accepting that our time together, as beautiful and incredible as it had been, had come to an end. He still touched me with fire and passion, he still kissed me like it was the first time; but it was the last time.
I would never see him or hear from him again. He changed the way I saw sex as something that wasn’t casual at all or something dutiful in a relationship, it was blissful and he made me feel feminine, but also powerful, and to him it was important that I take my time to learn myself and what I wanted. He taught me that a man could be tender and vulnerable, without losing pride or masculinity. He was the most confident man I ever dated, not arrogant or conceited, not insecure or possessive. He taught me that a man could treat me like a gift and that I was meant to be cherished.
I needed that after an abusive marriage followed by a terrible 2 year divorce then a 4 year nightmare with an abusive fiancé.
He changed the way I saw relationships, the way honesty was paramount and necessary to grow. We didn’t spend every moment together, but we were exclusive. He had hobbies and friends, he even had friends that were girls. I remember his sister would tell me he would get hit on all the time by gorgeous women but his respect and commitment for our exclusivity was never rocked in the slightest. He would laugh and say he already had the most beautiful woman in the world. I learned a man can be focused and loyal even if he found other women attractive. He didn’t ever look at other women in front of me, he never disrespected me like that and that was new.
I could say he ruined me, but he didn’t, he helped me grow. He opened my eyes. I saw a good man that didn’t entertain a dozen other women or disrespect me by commenting or looking (even when I looked because a woman was stunning) he taught me there are a few good men left, and they can be real men. Responsible and respectful, honest and loyal. He taught me to love my body and embrace my imperfections. He taught me sex wasn’t an act, it was emotion and feeling and an exchange of energy, its true essence was pleasure between two people that enjoyed each other deeply. He taught me a man could be patient and a gentleman. I will never forget him, though this is the first time I reminisced on our brief but beautiful moment in time.
He left a lasting impression on my life with our shared experience, and I hope he’s happy and thriving, living a beautiful life with someone that cares deeply for him and is in love with everything he has to offer. He made me feel safe. And that’s all I really want, despite the men that followed that said I asked for too much or that I was unreasonable for wanting the relationship I know I deserve, I do know I can have what I want, need and deserve. And maybe, just maybe I can even have all of it with someone I love.
Wherever you are, my gratitude is endless. I wish you love and beauty and grace in your life. I am ashamed that I haven’t told our story until now, it took the sound of the revving of motorcycles on a quiet morning to ponder the brief wrinkle in time we shared. I almost thought I imagined it, I almost thought you weren’t real.
*** I didn’t mean for any of this to be eroticism and perhaps it was a bit graphic or overshared, but the rawness was necessary. I write for me. I am not ashamed, nor will I ever be again, to say exactly what I want. It is my story, and I am only human.***
