“Whoa!…

… is it me… or does he look really fuckable in those leather pants?”

“Oh, girlfriend.  It is most definitely not only you.  That is one fine specimen.  Mm… Mmmm.”

He stood tall in the doorway, a halo of bright sunshine surrounding him like a god.  One hand nonchalantly stuffed partly in his pocket, thumb crooked towards his groin.  The other, gripping his motorcycle helmet casually at his side.  I imagined those hands grabbing his cock and teasing me with it, stroking it until it too stood tall and proud.

My cheeks flamed hot, as vivid as my thoughts.  I tried to will him to look at me as my pheromones stealthily flooded my personal space.  Even my friend was surprised at the passion she felt radiating from me.

“Take it easy there, hon.  Do you want all the dogs in the neighborhood to smell you?”

“I know,” I whispered.  “I can’t help it.  He is so fucking sexy!  Look at him!  I want to crawl all over his body and feel his hands in my hair.  I want to lick his neck and nibble his ear as he grabs my ass and just uses me up.”

I shivered in my chair, never taking my eyes from the red and black vision as he walked to the ice cream counter and leaned into the glass, perusing his options.

His leather ensconced body creaked with every movement reminding me of the big brass bed my parents kept in the spare bedroom.  The springs that groan with each shift of weight and announce to the whole house what is going on behind closed doors.

Like the time my then-boyfriend and I spent the weekend.  I kept warning him to go to sleep, but his wandering hands just kept wandering.  I remember them grazing around the flesh of my breasts, tenderly cupping each one.  His tongue teased me with gossamer trails on my neck.  Down into the hollow just above my collar-bone, where he planted his lips and sucked.  My gasp rivaled the creaking bed springs as I arched under his body.

“Sshhhhh… be quiet,” he murmured, naked flesh gyrating into mine.  Coiled metal squeaked a pulsing beat to my panting lungs.  Open mouths rushed hot breath into hair sticky with lust.

Air pungent with sex, engulfed our bodies, stifling outside realities.  No intrusions tonight.  We are an island on this down filled universe, rousing ancient calls to Aphrodite.

She is the only one in existence with us.  The Goddess of Love.  Temptress of Carnality.  We seek her truths in the most redeeming way. 

Passion gorged ears are deaf to ecstasy’s escalating din as grunts join the melody of creaking springs and gasping breaths.  Touch is our only perception now.  Slick skin.  Fevered flesh.  Pushing cock.  Pulling cunt.  Greedy mouths.  Grasping fingers.  Climbing neurons light the fuse.  That slow burning spark that steadily creeps towards explosion.  hot.  Hotter.  Scorched.

An ice cream parlor chair scrapes the floor behind me, rousing my reverie.  And I realize I’ve been staring at Mr. Leather the whole time.   I finally look away and into the eyes of my friend watching me close.

She takes my hand and pats it.  Then with a sly grin, pushes her chair away from the table and walks out of the ice cream parlor, leaving me to stew in my libertine blast furnace.  My swirling thoughts melt creamy like my milkshake.

“Excuse me… would you mind if I sat here with you?”  The evocative smell of motorcycle leathers hit my nose as I look up into sapphire blue eyes.

“Um… not… not at all..”  I stammer, nectar flooding my panties. I wonder what he thinks of old brass beds?

*

*

Leather

2 ounces Gin

1/2 ounce Triple Sec

1/2 ounce Sweet Vermouth

1 teaspoon Lemon Juice

Fill mixing glass with ice.  Add gin, triple sec, sweet vermouth and lemon juice.  Stir, so as not to bruise the gin.  Strain into a martini glass.  No garnish needed … Leather is more than enough.

Enjoy!