On Saturday nights, when I don’t have plans, I like to ride in the hills. I bought my bike late in life. My whole life, I’d been afraid of motorcycles. Two of my cousins died on them before they turned 20. It never seemed like an option to even think about getting one. Some women feel a desperate need to have a kid when they hit their late 30s, but I needed danger. It hit me one day. I saw a butch woman riding without a helmet and fuck if I didn’t have a deep and immediate lust for a bike. Within a few weeks, I had my license and a bike. Mine. Cheap, but mine. Mine for more than a year now.
I went riding. The night was black all around, the fog blanketed the trees and blocked out the moon and stars. Some nights I seek danger beyond measure and turn off my headlamp on the curves I know well. I ride in the pitch black, my heart pounding. I flicked the lamp off, rounded a corner, and saw blinking red tail lights. I stopped. Turned the motor off.
I heard the car choking up ahead. I saw a lone figure in the driver’s seat. I thought about backing away, turning around. I’m no good Samaritan. But then again… who else might come by. What might they do. I kick-started my bike with the lights on this time and rolled forward. She was in the car digging in the glove box with the windows rolled up and the interior lights on, music still blasting. Violent Femmes. I smiled. I liked this woman. She didn’t notice me. I looked at her for a minute. Her hair was pulled back, thick curls. She wore a tight dress and her curves caught my eye. That and her cowboy boots. She must be on her way somewhere. A party maybe. She looked fucking gorgeous. “Fuck…” I heard myself whisper out loud, “God damn.”
I rapped my knuckles on the windshield and she shrieked. I held my hands in the air, a peace offering. I couldn’t help but laugh for a second. She looked pissed off at that. “Hey,” I yelled out, “Can I help?” She rolled down her window. “My car died,” she said. “Yeah,” I said, “I can see that. Do you have a phone?” I don’t carry a phone when I ride. I don’t carry anything but my keys. She shook her head. No phone. “Pop the hood,” I told her. Not that I knew much about cars, but she was fucking hot and I felt my macho butch take over. My macho butch is generally a fucking idiot. God help me.
She popped the hood and I realized that of course I couldn’t see a goddamn thing. I rolled my bike up and shone the light under the hood, but I still couldn’t see shit. I rested my hands on the car and stared at the mechanics. Knowing and seeing nothing worth a damn and asking myself what the fuck I was doing. I looked down at my jeans. I was thinking about fucking her. After a couple minutes, she stuck her head out the window and asked me what I thought was wrong. I slammed the hood shut and rolled my bike back to the shoulder before walking to her door. “Move over, will you?” I asked.
She moved into the passenger seat. I watched her dress slide up her thighs as she climbed over. I felt my clit twitch. I knew what I wanted and had to figure out how to get it. I had one trick for her car. One. Something my dad had taught me. I jammed the gas pedal to the floor and turned the key. Nothing. I waited a second. I jammed it down again and turned it again. I lifted my foot slowly, very slowly off the floor and the car started. It had been flooded. I looked like a fucking wizard. Lucky me. I felt the sweat on my brow. I tried to act cool.
I looked over at her, “There you go,” I left the car idling and reached for the door. “Wait,” she said, “How can I thank you?” I stared at her, saying nothing, not moving. I looked at the grease on my fingers from my absurd fumbling under the hood. I looked back at her. “Sorry,” I said, “I got grease on your steering wheel.” “Hold on,” she said and stepped out of the car yelling back, “can you push that button on the left to open the trunk?”
She came to my door with a bottle of bourbon. “Hello,” I said. I was smiling. “Let’s have a drink,” she said and handed me the bottle. She stayed outside the car, leaning over a little with her hands on the door. I could see down her dress almost to her navel. Her breasts hung in front of me, tempting me. I opened the bottle and took a long swig before I handed it back to her. She took a sip. “Get in the back,” I said. I was going to fuck her. We both knew it. She opened the back door.
I was out of the car, behind her in a second. My hands on her ass. She giggled and swatted at me. “No,” I said and reached around, grabbing her, pulling her ass into me. “Hand me the bottle,” I said. I took another drink. I unzipped the back of her dress. She was half in and half out of the back seat, held tight to me. I dripped the bourbon down her back and leaned over with my tongue hanging out. I licked it up off her spine. I bit at her bra strap, pulling on it. “Jesus,” she said. “Jesus,” I said, deadpan, almost mocking, and shoved her into the back seat.
I pushed her down, her chest and face on the seat, and held her ass in the air for me. I set the bottle down in the wheel well. I ran one arm long and slow between her legs. I rubbed her pussy through her panties until I felt them wet and clinging. I reached my arm long, my fingers on her belly. I slipped her dress off her shoulders and bent over her back, kissing her ribs, her shoulder blades. My hands slid around to her hip bones. “Turn over onto your back,” I said. My voice was low, almost growling.
She let her knees fall wide and I knelt beside her, crammed between the backseat and the back of the driver’s seat. But it didn’t matter. I leaned over her and pulled her bra down, exposing her breasts. I sucked on the soft flesh. I squeezed her nipples between my teeth. She lifted her hips, calling to me. I let my hand fall softly between her legs. I pushed her panties aside. I ran my fingers through her hair. I teased open her lips and felt her wetness. I hadn’t kissed her on the mouth yet, but my tongue was on her clit. I could feel the bourbon in my head. The warmth. My own clit was pounding, my cunt feeling sore and slick. But I didn’t want to be fucked. I wanted to get her off and go.
I held her panties in my fingers and buried my face in her pussy. I wanted my fingers inside her but remembered how greased up I was from the car. It made me even more hungry for her. My tongue dipped low between her lips and pushed inside her. I licked her and ran the edges of my teeth against her. She moaned and kicked on the door. I ran my greasy hands up the backs of her thighs and gripped her hard. I lifted her ass, pushing her against my mouth and chin.
She bucked against me as she came and I held her tight, keeping my tongue on her. I was humming. My lips buzzing against her. I didn’t want to stop. She pulled on my hair, trying to pull me off of her, but I was long gone, lost. Stubborn. I pushed her down against the seat, my hands pressing down on her hips. She calmed down. We started over. A slower build this time. I felt the wetness of her pussy mix with my spit and drip off my chin. When she came again, she grabbed my head hard and pulled me off of her, jerking my neck.
I grabbed the bottle and took another drink. I twisted the cap back on and handed it to her. “Let me wait here until you start you car,” I said and backed out of the car as if I’d just started it up, but wiping my chin on my t-shirt. She stared at me. She didn’t say a word. I went to my bike and straddled it, pushing it backwards down the road until I was outside her passenger window. I watched as she pulled her clothes back in order and slid into the driver’s seat. The car started up and she looked at me. She looked confused. I smiled at her and nodded. She smiled back. I pulled away first. Her headlights never found me. I was gone.