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The acrid stench
of dead animal was replaced by the clean, green scent of freshly cut grass as we rode through the Black Hills of South Dakota.
That’s the thing about being on a motorcycle – you get to experience everything without the confines or restrictions of a box of metal surrounding you. The good, the bad and the ugly of the environment assault your senses whether you like it or not. It’s a very cool way of life actually.
I gave up my 9 to 5 and box house in the suburbs, oh … probably about 6 years ago. I was done with the whole facade and ‘what would people think if’ attitude. So… I left. Took my old Harley Low Rider and said ‘Adios’ to it all. No feelings hurt… mutual understanding all the way, thank god.
I chased my rainbow across the country… Minnesota, Colorado, Montana… stopping only long enough to make some money to keep going. I became a vagabond and I thoroughly enjoyed the freedom of not having anyone but myself to answer to.
Then I met Steele. Oh, he was something to behold. Not drop dead movie star handsome, but … his mouth… oh… his mouth. One glance had me dripping into my lace thong.
He captured me… mind, body and Soul. And it wasn’t an easy capture.. Oh no.. I was a free spirit… no one was about to tame me. Hah… little did I know, how utterly and completely he would possess me!
The first time I saw him was on the Rocky Mountain range, just outside of Denver. I had stopped at a roadside burger joint for some lunch and to give my tired ass a long needed break. He was sitting outside on a dilapidated bench, eating a dish of ice cream.
His lips surrounding that spoon of chocolate sent lightning bolts directly to my clit and 
I found myself riveted to the sidewalk, mouth agape and exhaling quite loudly.
I couldn’t help myself, I started mimicking his movements … licking and biting my lower lip. Growing ever more unsteady on my feet, the sensuous actions of his mouth consumed me and my groin was set ablaze instantly, as if ignited by a flash inferno.
He raised his eyes to me, spoon mid-air nearly touching his beautiful, full lips… tongue ready to lick the creamy confection from it. I saw the glint of smug satisfaction shine in those eyes… shine with the knowledge that he was turning me on and I was mesmerized and hypnotized like a pauper finding a bag of gold.
His eyes were as intense as his mouth was erotic and I was ensnared like a fly on a spider’s web.
Watching me, he made love to that spoon … sucking languidly… wrapping his ample tongue deliberately around it. Drawing the ice cream in, he let a tiny drop run seductively down his chin and into his beard. I nearly pitched forward on the sidewalk with the avidity emanating from my body.
Extending his tongue fully, he captured the runaway ice cream… slowly licking and luring it back into his mouth. Then he turned the spoon backwards and flattened his tongue against it, releasing a long, low moan of enjoyment. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he pulled the spoon down until it was no longer connected to his tongue and he closed his lips for a honeyed moment.
I couldn’t breathe… the crushing ache … the overwhelming yearning in my body was screaming for his attention.
I wanted his tongue on me… on my body… between my legs… wrapping around me, sucking, drawing me in, swallowing me down. I wanted his lips on me and my lips on him. I wanted to do to his body, what he was doing to that ice cream. I wanted to wrap my lips around the sweetness of his cock and draw him down my throat. Drinking him in, like melting ice cream.
I knew how he would taste… like chocolate and juicy berries and salt and road and rocks and dirt and metal and leather and … lust. Yes, he would taste like lust…. because he was that intense. I could tell, just by looking at him… he exuded power.
I could feel him…. his hands on my body… wandering over my breasts, around my throat, into my hair. I could feel him inserting a finger inside me, rotating, cupping, moving back and forth, in and out. I could feel him… grabbing my ass and pulling my hips up to his, thrusting himself inside me … deep … inside me. I could feel his hardness, his urgency, his satisfying orgasm. Just by looking at him … I could feel him … everywhere.
I couldn’t stop staring and I didn’t care that my bold gaze might be turning awkward. I desired him … and I wanted him to know that I desired him.
He casually lifted his chin, raising an eyebrow and beckoned me with the slightest movement of his head … I needed no other invitation and I walked slowly towards the bench.
He gestured to the empty space next to him, inviting me to sit down. When I did, he lifted the spoon of ice cream to my mouth, offering to hand feed me what was left in the dish. I took the spoon in … never unlocking my eyes from his and I wrapped my lips around it, much like he had done earlier.
When he withdrew the spoon, he wiped my lips with his fingers, allowing them to linger there. My lips parted slightly of their own accord and the tip of my tongue whispered a touch upon them. The groans uttered in unison between us were our verbal marks of parallel cravings.
“What’s your name, Beautiful?”
“Jewel.”
“Well … Jewel … they call me Steele. I own a bar down the road and I have to get ready for Happy Hour. Would you care to ride along beside me and perhaps spend some time there, so we can get to know each other better?”
“Yes, Steele… I think I would like that very much.”
We each climbed on our motorcycles and rode down the street to his bar… that was five and a half years ago… and we are still celebrating that HAPPY HOUR together to this day.
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The Taste of Seduction
1 ounce Irish Cream
1 ounce Raspberry Liqueur
1 ounce Blackberry Liqueur
1 ounce Creme de Cacao
1/2 scoop Vanilla Ice Cream
1/2 cup of ice
Fill blender with all the ingredients and blend until smooth and creamy. Serve in a parfait glass. Garnish with a fresh raspberry and an optional mint leaf.
Enjoy!
The motorcycle rumbled
between Roxie’s legs as she drove through Virginia. This was one of the reasons she loved Harleys so much… the power… the pulse… always quivering through her.
She was in a constant state of arousal from it and at that moment, she could care less if she ever arrived at her destination.
The lazy rhythm of the winding road through the Blue Ridge Mountain range was calming, almost hypnotic as she leaned this way and that, maneuvering the turns. And with no one for company except the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, it was easy to explore the ramblings inside of her head.
Her thoughts drifted to the phone call. The one she received right before she left on this trip. The one from Simon.
Simon… Teacher. Guide. Lover
Simon worshiped her. Worshiped her to the point she felt like a Goddess. His need for her pulled on her very Soul. It drew her in, enticed her to the point of no return.
The passion, the possessiveness, the intensity… all these things made her feel wanted and special. Adored.
And he did adore her, he loved her and held her closely locked in his heart …
but then… he left.
Roxie was crushed. Devastated to her very core. She had become utterly dependent on him. Wanted him. Needed him. Idolized him.
He could make her come with a flick of his tongue and Roxie shuddered as she remembered the ecstasy he could incite in her.
He would touch her brow with a whisper of a stroke, drawing his finger down her cheek bone and across her jawline. Cradling her chin with both hands and bringing her lips to his.
Warm tongues caressing. Tasting. Savoring. Craving.
Simon’s groin would press into hers bringing their bodies together, melding them into one. His arms would glide down her back, cupping and caressing her buttocks, pulling and kneading her skin in strokes that matched the grind of his hips.
The memory caused Roxie to gasp involuntarily as the thunder between her legs vibrated along with her fiery thoughts.
No longer able to focus on the road ahead of her, Roxie pulled onto the berm hoping to regain her calm. It irritated her, the way Simon would always somehow manage to creep into her thoughts.
Overwhelmed with sexual tension provoked by images of him and enhanced by the soft tail she straddled, Roxie put her kickstand down into the gravel and swung her leg across the Low Rider’s seat.
As she stood beside her bike removing her helmet, she noticed a path in the tangle of trees that grew just off the road. Grabbing her key, she headed towards it. Shafts of light through overgrown branches welcomed her as she removed her gloves.
The scent of warm, damp earth filled her nostrils and she instantly disengaged from the tension in her muscles. Serenity encompassed her mind and for an instant, she relished the gifts from Mother Nature.
Loosening her chaps and kneeling onto the soft green moss, Roxie tugged at the snap on her jeans. It popped open readily and she pushed the denim down her thighs. She removed her leather jacket, flattening it on the ground and stretched her body on top of it.
Roxie brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers. She lowered them until they reached the throbbing pulse vying for recognition at the junction of her thighs.
Pushing aside her lacy thong and exhaling with satisfaction, she found her sensitive spot. Pressing and circling her clit with moist fingers, she envisioned Simon’s head bobbing in rhythm.
With her free hand, she reached up under her shirt, into her bra and pinched her hardened nipple. Roxie rolled the tiny pebble between her thumb and fingers, squeezing and pulling, feeling the associated twitch in her groin.
Her labored breathing was heard only by the birds, who chirped their serenade to the intimate display unfolding below them.
Smoothly sliding a finger into the wetness of her core, Roxie stroked herself until she found her G-spot. The bumpy ridges stood defiantly distinct from their smooth surroundings and she worked the spot in a come hither motion, stimulating every nerve on her body. Pulses of passion coursed through her, magnifying her need.
Roxie was deep inside her mind when her inflamed clit pulsed achingly and she abandoned her nipple play to concede to it’s demands. Massaging herself inside and out with visions of Simon dancing through her psyche, she released her struggle and exploded in delirium, crying out in rapture.
She lay quietly for a few moments, recovering from her unabashed self satisfaction. The memoried phone call peeked around the corner of her consciousness pulling her from her contented haze and into the reality of her journey.
Simon would be waiting for her.
Her heart skipped a beat and fluttered against her rib cage, like moths against a light bulb. She hurriedly re-dressed and nearly ran out of the trees to her waiting motorcycle. Gearing up and cranking her beast to life, Roxie looked at her watch. If she rode straight through.. she’d make it to Simon’s house just in time for HAPPY HOUR.
Release Valve
1 ounce Pineapple Vodka
1 ounce Pineapple Rum
Pineapple Juice
1/2 ounce Grenadine
Fill a tall glass with ice. Add Vodka and Rum. Fill with Pineapple Juice. Stir. Top with Grenadine.
Enjoy!
Charlene pulled yet another pair of her husband’s underwear out of the dryer.
She should probably do laundry more often, she thought. It wasn’t a chore she ever looked forward to. She reached back in and grabbed a t-shirt, snapping the wrinkles out with such force her bracelet pinched the skin on her wrist. “Damn! That’s going to leave a mark.” Charlene looked at the t-shirt as if it were the culprit. Displayed prominently on the front in bold red script was…. I have the right to remain silent… but, I don’t have the ability. She loved that quote from the great Ron White! It always made her laugh! She remembered why she gave that shirt to Bob. The quote certainly fit him well. Bob always wore his feelings on his sleeve… an attribute that was at once, both admirable and offensive. As Charlene paired what seemed like hundreds of socks, the mundane task gave wings to her swirling memories…
…It was a gorgeous summer day and several friends were at the neighbor’s house enjoying their swimming pool. It wasn’t a large pool, mind you – an above ground – not like those lavish pools in the photos shown in magazines at the beauty parlor. But, still, it was a pool and all the neighbors appreciated that they could share it. The ladies were all lounging in the shade, keeping one eye on their swimming kids and one eye on their men playing horseshoes in the backyard.
The men were a raucous bunch when they got together. And now, after hours in the sun, drinking beer, it seemed they decided it was time to have a pissing match.
“My Harley can out run your rice-burner any day of the week!”
“Oh ya? Let’s put that to the test… I’ll take you out of the hole, in the short run and at high end every time!”
“Bullshit! That Japanese crap is lame!”
“Your Harley junk isn’t worth the oil it leaks!”
The guys were inching towards each other, not even realizing it. Soon they were gathered around in somewhat of a circle. This was very interesting for the women to watch. The men were never violent, never took swings at each other – they were buddies, after all – but this ongoing argument about the virtues and pitfalls of American vs. Japanese motorcycles was always an emotional topic.
“Beer Break!”, someone yelled. That was a welcome relief. The guys all started laughing and headed to the cooler under the maple tree.
“You know what, Bob? You should just keep your mouth shut when Joe goads you into that same shit. You know his bike isn’t even running right now.”
“Ya, I know, but if he’d get off his lazy ass and go to work every now and again, maybe he could afford to hire a mechanic to fix it for him.” Bob bent down and grabbed a beer from the cooler. The icy sting on his hands, rough from playing horseshoes all day, came as a welcome relief. When he stood up, he saw Joe standing right behind him. It was obvious from the pained look on his face, that Joe heard every word of his cruel comment.
“Aw, Joe, you know I didn’t mean it when I said that you were lazy. I’m just all riled up from you yankin’ my chain. You know how I get when you start rappin’ on my Jap bike. Tell you what… why don’t I come over Saturday and help you work on that lump of a Harley, of yours? You know, get it runnin’ and all.”
The washing machine buzzer jolted Charlene out of her reverie. She realized that she was standing there smiling to herself. Bob is such a kind soul, he would do anything for anybody. Sometimes he just can’t rein in his thoughts before the words come out.
Charlene folded the rest of the laundry and headed to the kitchen. At that moment, the mudroom door opened and Bob came walking in, hands still greasy from working on Joe’s bike. Charlene, filled with warmth at his kindness towards Joe, greeted him with a hug and a kiss.
“C’mon, baby, it’s time for HAPPY HOUR. I’ll fix your favorite…”
He Said...She Said...