Night Ride: Trigger's Bike

After figuring that single life is not as bad as everyone says (I am young after all, so life is not quite so disparaging alone) and decided to take the call of an old love of mine: Trigger.

Its the middle of the night, but I'm thinking there's an adventure here that's up for having.

Trying on Trigger's stylish glasses, while sitting on him no less( and yes, its blurry...on purpose).

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A little more than two years ago I took his virginity and even wrote a memoir on it, entitled "Garçon Virgin". We had a bit of drop out when I broke it off with him rather early and then nearly immediately picked up with Gadget, his heart was bruised as he thought I had been unfaithful. We began speaking a little over a year ago and have remained steadfast friends.

I always imagine (erroneously) that men don't feel as much as women do emotionally and therefore I act sort of callous sometimes, thinking that they're not affected, that they'll get it and move it. It isn't always so and our history is rife with this mistake of mine. There was a misunderstanding that has since been healed and I now consider him to be among my best friends.

We're much the same with some crucial differences and he surprises me at times. I'm the wild one, while he's more reserved but with an insane sense of humor. He doesn't always seem like the one to make spur of the moment decisions. So when I heard he had purchased a motorcycle I knew I had to be the first on its saddle behind him, rushing through the night, neon crashing past. When he dials me up I get on the line and say,

"I know its late but drive up on your bike and I'll take a ride with you, you have to inaugurate it. How hot would it be to have a chick sit on the back with a skirt on?"

After he agrees I can just imagine him jumping on the bike and zipping up to my house, his helmet black and shiny against the metro backdrop of cement and the occasional palm tree.

He stands in my drive way, his helmet on his head, and in his hands he holds another out for me. I'm afraid of the unfamiliar; I'm used to Harleys but a Japanese crotch rocket? I'm intimidated.

I pop on after his assurances:

"Yes, you still look like a girl with the helmet on.",

and

"Yes, it's safe. Well, safe enough.",

and

"No, your boobs won't get cold, my body will block it cuz you're holding on to me."

A girl does have her concerns that need to be calmed before jumping onto a yellow death cruiser weighing half a ton in the middle of the night. I'm adventurous as hell, but theres always a few moments of trepidation to deal with before something new.

Trigger on his yellow crotch rocket: Night Ride.
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The bike grumbles its way furiously on and my hands tense, gripping the front of his jacket to keep from flying off into the abyss. The night is deserted and private, the city streets seemingly abandoned. We fly on for an hour before stopping to rest and have a bit of time to chat. So we pick the beach and sit on some rocks at the shoreline.

The night is magic, theres a storm out over the ocean giving us a gorgeous display of light in a big cloud hovering over the water miles away. A meteorite crosses the sky in a sparkling arch even and before I realize the time is creeping toward the morning hours, he kisses me and we make an agreement to see where things may go.

The ride back is romance, his arms pressed down hard on my arms as I hold onto him, and he even takes my hand in his as he slips the bike down the road, his huge black gloved hand completely dominating mine, gripping it tight.

He's changed and those changes turn me on; I haven't changed and he loves that.

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The next morning I awake terrified at what has transpired, Why on Earth would I get back into a relationship when I just got out of one? I mean its only been like three days since I broke it off with Gadget, am I out of my mind? I'm not a happy monogamous person, I need the freedom and spontaneity of being my own object.

I go through my day worried that I've made an awful mistake, my body thinking of the shivers he gave me when he kissed me right before he left me, the sun coming up in my window.

I have a sick feeling in my stomach when I realize that I want to call him, want to talk to him, want to see him, and most of all I want him to kiss me again with those big, soft lips of his. Maybe it could be a real little crush? Maybe it just wasn't the romance of a motorcycle ride to the beach and the glory of that clear night.

Thats what scares me the most.

When I see him again I just feel comfort and I want him to take the initiative in kissing me, taking my hand but he doesn't, he's out of touch with the fact that I need his dominance. If not whips and chains and a collar then just him taking the reigns for the evening out.

The dinner is great, the movie sucks but the making out later on my bed is great. His mouth is soft though he's kissing with a little too much strength, but its lovely. I don't disapprove when he slips his hand under my skirt, and I still don't when his hand strays to my panties, his fingertips lingering over the warmest spot.

He amuses himself by skimming his fingertips just over my slit while kissing me slowly on the jaw, his lips soft and warm. He must have decided it had been a long while since he had slipped his mouth around my kitten so he lowered himself over me and after kissing me on the lips quickly, he slid all the way down my body, gently lifting my thighs and letting them slip around his shoulders, my feet pressed to his back. My feelings of anticipation were killing me, my pulse beat a loudly as the rain outside and my throat was tight with longing.

The first sloppy, wet slither of his tongue brought back all the memories of his cunnilingus skills straight into my cortex, my hands grasping the covers tightly. I'm awaiting quick bliss.

The one thing I have to say about Trigger is that he has hands down the best oral skills of anyone I've ever been with in bed. He can make me come in seconds if he so desires, his big lips sealed around my kitten while his quaking tongue makes a habit of sliding up and down all fat and sassy on the most inner folds of me. Even from the first moments of his labors, my body is rap with sensation all down my legs to my toes, my breath hard to control.

So Trigger really can do some good work inside my panties, thats for sure.

I take a deep breath to calm myself and zone into his attentions, feeling him working me to a very fast, energetic orgasm with seemingly no effort but with total rapt passion. It hits me soft and smooth and powerful, his mouth gentle against me and my body bucking like spastic prayer. I shout out his name in earnest whether out of adoration or as a surrender to his devices.

My eyes fail to open by my own will and I have to instead wait until they'll open of their own volition. His kisses to my inner thighs sweeten my after-glow, the soft wet sound of them reaching my ears like a gift.

I sigh and he hears it and knows my appreciation: he's good like that.

I'm all giddy with the joy of it and the joy of revisiting this great moment with him and wondering what the hell I'm getting myself into when he pulls on my hand, looks up at me and says,

"Ready for a second one?"

His lips take no time in finding me again and I giggle quietly to myself and resign myself to just living for the moment and seeing where this journey takes me.

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