Newsgroups: alt.sex.homosexual,can.motss,alt.sex.motss,alt.politics.homosexuality,soc.motss Organization: Digital Bears, Inc. Lines: 137 Message-ID: 34fo04$94j@steel.interlog.com NNTP-Posting-Host: bml.interlog.com X-Posted-From: InterNews 1.0.2b7@bml.interlog.com X-Authenticated: bml on POP host gold.interlog.com
"Riding" Bruce M. Lloyd
I slowly look up through the smoke coloured plexiglass visor of my motorcycle helmet. The grey asphalt blurs under the wheels of the motorcycle, the yellow lane markers strobe past us and the flat prairies slowly rotate by like a slow motion movie. There isnÕt another vehicle on the road, with the exception of us. WeÕre traveling west, west from the pathetic jobs of the east - from the life crowded by the demands of our time. Your shoulders eclipse the view ahead - your thoughts blocked by the plastic shell of the motorcycle helmet. Your leather jacket is ballooning out from the force of the wind, your jeans are tight on your legs, and you riding boots taught from their position. IÕm sitting behind you, pressed up against you tightly, but my hands are on the handle behind me. WeÕre on a big bike - big enough for both of us. I see you shift your back - as if trying to get slightly more comfortable. It is tiring to be touring the country by motorcycle - sitting in a certain position all day can be exhausting - but it is better than the TV like view you get in a car. I let go from my grip on the handle, and rest my hands on my thighs. You can feel the sudden shift and turn your head slightly. I poke you in the back, gently, everything is ok. I see you nod your head slowly, in understanding.
For what seems like hours of staring into the bland and geometric scenery, I slowly move my hands down my thighs and onto your love handles. I stay this way for a moment .. you seem almost caught off guard; as if I suddenly distracted you from a distant thought. Slowly, cautiously, I move my hands forward, I can feel the material protecting your pockets, and I slip my thumbs into those pockets. I can feel the warmth from your belly, which for only my thumbs is soothing, but soothing enough to let me turn my head and rest it between your shoulders. The sound of the wind suddenly quiets as I slip into the airless pocket behind your head, allowing me to focus more of my thoughts on you. I manage to carefully put both hands into your pockets and squeeze gently. I can feel you take a deep breathe through your jacket. The sound of the wind, the feeling of the road at 60mph - the feeling of being free of the bondage of a concern - is far more sensual than being tucked into a bed.
With my hands in your jacket, I can feel that it hasnÕt been done up all the way. A few buttons at the bottom and the rest free. I pull my hands out of your jacket, and at the same time the continuous whine of the engine dips - perhaps you liked my hands there? But, to your surprise - I begin to unbutton those few remaining clasps - and your jacket begins to flip and flutter around like an untied sail in the wind. The back is blown up enough that I can get my hands and arms inside and feel the soft underside of your belly. I reach in and wrap my right around your waist - and grabbing my wrist with my left hand. Almost as if I were performing the Heimlich manoeuvre on you, but this time I squeeze gently and hold it. I see your head move slowly up and then to the right. Without hearing a sound - without seeing an expression, I can tell and hear in mind a long, deep growl. As well, with my hands so close the top of your jeans, I can tell something else is getting long. I just squeeze tighter - and the bike accelerates..coincidence?
I shift myself forward and press my belly right up against your back. My jacket is open somewhat and I can feel the cool touch of the leather on my chest and belly. You move your left hand from the throttle and grab my right hand, moving it slightly, so you can adjust your jeans for the now tight situation underneath. I move my hand back, but this time, I place it right on top of the tight, burgeoning fold of material. My left hand, still on your belly, begins to gently rub, massage and pinch your soft tummy. I use my index finger and make small slow circles in your belly button, the layer of fat moving fluidly with my finger. Again, I turn my head, and rest it on your shoulders and close my eyes.
After what seemed like hours, I feel the machine jerk and we start to slow down. As your black boot clad foot intuitively disengages the mechanism, you shift down, I look up and see that dusk has fallen and weÕre stopping at a motel. Directly above us, the sky has turned the colour of slate, and off in the distance, the peaks of mountains can been seen, shadowed by the bleeding of the Sun. Back behind us, the sky is dark, like someone was pulling a blanket over us in a giant bed - punctuated with holes to let little tiny specks of light shine through.
We stop, and get off the motorcycle. In the quiet it sits, poised like a black, sleek jaguar about to strike. I take off my helmet, and place it on the seat of the bike. Your helmet is already off - we casually stare at each other..neither of us speaking.
ÒNice place - nice and quiet.Ó I mutter, turning, looking out at the bleak flat terrain. ÒYep - let register.Ó you say as we walk towards the office, stretching from being on the bike for so long.
Inside the hotel room, all of our clothes are on the other bed, and both of us are in one big queen size bed. IÕm lying on my back, my hands above my head, my head turned. IÕm warm from the hot shower, and IÕm slipping into a very light sleep. I feel the end of your finger touch my neck and jaw. Like a cat, I squint my eyes tight and turn into the feeling ... I can feel the gentle air from your breath on my ear. After a moment I feel your lips - rough from driving, yet warm from the shower, press on my furry cheek. I can feel your tongue and lips move slowly up my cheek to my ear and down my neck. Occasionally youÕre kissing, but mostly your letting your tongue taste my face. I just lie there - moaning deeply, flexing my shoulder and upper arm muscles at the feeling of your touch. Like an echo, I hear you say through a long deep sigh that you love me. I tilt my head back, expecting a kiss on the lips, yet I feel you crawl on top of me, resting on your elbows, your belly heavy on mine, and your mouth on my throat. My arms wrap around you, the world outside falls away. I slowly open my eyes - to see yours, peering deep into mine. YouÕre squinting, mouth open slightly breathing heavy. Your head tilts ever so slightly, and you move closer as you close your eyes. Instinctively I close mine and feel your lips press heavy into mine. I can feel your tongue enter my mouth touching mine. It flicks and wipes mine - begging me to play with it. My arms around you, I squeeze tighter and and move my hands down your back to your ass...pushing your solid cock into the underside of my belly. Although on your elbows, you place your hands on my sides and squeeze .. forcing air into me.
Both of us too tired for any sex, we remain kissing like this for hours. Our mouths tired from the wrestling of our tongues. We fall asleep - you on top of me. YouÕve managed to wrap your arms under me, squeezing me tight. YouÕre head on the top of my chest, and my hands still coupled on the small of your back. Until morning, the sun filters our room - like being inside a giant orange. Reluctantly we wake - and leave. Another motel in 12 hours.
(c) 1993, 1994 Bruce M. Lloyd,
________________________________________________________________ I was only trying to get from A to B, and do a little shopping.. only to find that in fact life is controlled wholly by bloody buggery bits of paper. ________________________________________________________________ email address on request. email me for it. ________________________________________________________________