Thursday, May 30, 2013

A Little Splash of Something

My ex business partner was having a picnic at a local lake and invited me to stop by. I wasn't thrilled about it, I'm not good in a crowd of strangers, particularly one that's nearly all a race other than my own. But as we seldom met anywhere but in studio I drove by so as to at least pay my respects.

It was an ok experience, I chatted with a few people I'd seen around and played an inning or two of pickup softball. When I decided to leave, the wife of one of the guys asked me for a ride on my bike. It seemed the thing to do so I agreed and set out for a patch of freeway where we might do a big circle, she could get her buzz and I could be a hero and then leave gracefully.

As we pulled away she wrapped herself around me like a python might, or a young teenage girl with a serious crush. I wrote it off to the fact that the bike looked fast and she wanted to make sure she was strapped in, but then I'm a little naive that way. On the route she mentioned that speed gets her off, that power makes her tremble, yadda yadda. Again I thought nothing of it save the girl was being playfully immature and maybe a little too intimate, not that I minded entirely of course, but as her husband the 6'8" football player waved us off I made a mental note to not get on his bad side if I could help it.

She continued to goad me to go fast while clutching me in various locations, none of them private particularly, but somewhat erogenous all the same. Finally, in hopes of keeping her quiet I cranked up, and as my friends and I called my bike "the rocket ship", it was only a few seconds before we were well over 100 mph and screaming down the interstate.

Suddenly she gripped me with her fingertips, nearly puncturing eight nail slits into my biceps as she hollered some random vulgarity; and then it was as if someone had dropped a water balloon between us. Her seat was above mine, forcing her swimsuit area squarely into the small of my back or perhaps I'd never have noticed; but as it was...it was unmistakable.

She was quite pleased with herself, and thanked me for helping her along just as she asked to go around one more time. I was dumbfounded, a mixture of lust and disgust washed over me; in essence I'd just had sex with another guy's wife yet all I was doing was driving fast. I didn't know whether to feel guilty or smug, but I did know I'd have to dry off so I turned a corner aiming to take another run around the airport. Naturally, it happened again, like I shouldn't have known. This time I pulled off onto a side road and took a breather (and lit a cigarette...how perfect is that? lol), asking as gently as I could if she'd move back on her seat just a bit so when I dropped her off at her husband's table I wouldn't still be dripping with honeydew...so to speak.

She thought it was quite funny and tried to convince me I had nothing to worry about. I tried my best to reconcile the concept that while my actions, as innocuous and innocently intentioned as they were, had resulted in a woman having multiple orgasms, I shouldn't worry about how her big daddy might feel should he happen to notice the glistening clothing we sported upon our return, not to mention his bride's stunningly radiant glow.

There wasn't much I could do, we'd left for a spin around the block and now it had been a half hour or more; it's not like I had a choice but to deliver her to the picnic and go my merry way, quickly if need be.

I did my best to go slow on the way back, but as luck would have it some toad nearly ran us off the road by cutting us off to make a quick cloverleaf exit, and in my blind anger I sped around him so as to flip him the appropriate finger signal. Orgasm number three shivered behind me, and another pint of girly whatever that is, rewet my already wet torso. It was no use stalling, I had to take her back straightaway. If I drove her any further my skin would start to wrinkle and then it'd be just too damned obvious we'd been doing the oblique nasty. At least as it was I could claim a weather anomaly, a sudden localized cloudburst with a 9 inch radius; or maybe we'd passed by a house fire and the firemen in their zeal to get equipment up and running had aimed poorly and shot a single burst of hydrant water that just happened to.....

We arrived unnoticed, her husband had run off to buy a pack of cigarettes, so she slipped off the bike and cleverly tied a sweater around her waist, as if it were an apron and she was about to get all messy in the kitchen. I was safe for the time being, not that I'd done anything wrong, but...

I waved to my business partner and said my goodbyes, blushing I'm sure at the idea that I'd just been taken for a ride in a bizarre sexual sense; while she just stood there and stared at me like a kitten looks at a fish tank, and then up came the biggest grin I'd ever seen. "Maybe another time" she said. "Yea, maybe" I answered, "when I've decided my life is over and I don't have the guts to pull the trigger myself" I added silently.

As I sped off my pessimist visualized a huge black man pounding my face, while his tiny white wife insisted that we hadn't done anything untoward ("Now stop that honey, you can't beat up every guy I orgasm on, or you'll never have time to rub my feet!"). But my Walter Mitty was damned happy with himself, having helped a woman to three orgasms in fifteen minutes, while not so much as lifting a finger (or anything else in my amazingly efficient arsenal). I liked that latter vision, so that's the one I stuck with, telekinetically gifted, charismatically oozing, physically omnipotent stud that I am.

I never saw them again, my partner and I soon split up and that particular motorcycle developed problems I couldn't afford to fix. But it sits in my garage now, allowed to exist on the off chance that someday I'll be able to resurrect the iron horse that gave me years of great fun and reams of yet untold stories; and once in a blue moon as I pass it by, I remember the "random dampening", and smile at another sparkly bauble in my dragon's pile of trinkets.

No comments:

Post a Comment