Ride

Her long hair streamed out behind her, the wind coursing through each dark, tight ringlet, spiraling into the slipstream behind her. She clung tight to the chest in front of her, her forearms encircling his torso, strong, thick and muscled; her own chest pressed against his back. She could almost feel his heartbeat syncing with her own heart, sound from between her breasts. She closed her heavy-lidded eyes and let the powerful rush of air suffocate her for a moment, allowed it to force itself into each nostril, into her lungs; allowed it to force itself because she herself could not breathe it for the strength. Despite the wind stroking her bare calves and thighs into gooseflesh, she could feel warmth and life and vivacity as she gripped the powerful Harley between her legs. The vibrations of the engine sent shivers through her, the low grumble of the other Harleys around them invigorated her with their dark and seductive tones.      

            As she tensed her thighs tighter around the Harley, and her hands around the torso of the man in front of her, she thought back to before, to two days ago�"or was it two weeks? She had lost track of time in the dry air of Arizona and Nebraska. Her mother was shouting at her for some infraction she had committed. She said something about a final straw, a last chance, proving herself, something unimportant. Had it been something to do with school? Yes, she thought it had.

            Now that she began to think about it, the memories came back suddenly, and with such a force that she felt them pull harshly at the strings of her heart. She had gotten in trouble at school, again. It could have been for smoking in the girls’ room, for being caught skipping, for being caught with a boy… It didn’t matter anymore, for it had been the last straw for the principal, who expelled her at once. She had laughed casually and walked herself home, strutting in her high-waisted shorts and button-up blouse, tied just above her navel, her metallic blue hoops bouncing in time with the definite click of each heel. She opened her front door confidently, only subconsciously aware of her mother’s car parked in the driveway. She shut the door behind her and let her bag fall to the carpet uncaringly. Still self-satisfied, she stomped into the kitchen (an action which made her seem quite ridiculous, given that the sound of her high-heels had been muted by the deep carpet) to find her mother sitting at the table, her face a mosaic of emotion. Her mother’s eyes were red, and in her mother’s face she could not divine the expression as anger or despair. Her mother stood and told her to sit, which she did begrudgingly, slowly, knowing that ultimately, she had to listen.      

            What had started as a soft plea from her mother, ended in shouts after solicitation from her adamancy and refusal to show her mother emotion. She was seventeen- practically a woman�" and would act as she pleased; however, she sat and listened to her mother’s shouts and interrogations and accusations, even her self-implorations. After her mother ceased her battle, she had gotten up quietly, retrieved her bag from the foyer, and walked out the front door, not knowing where she was going, but knowing where she was not staying.

            The scent of the bar where she had ended up came back to her: the sting of liquor in her nostrils, the mingled scents of cheap malts, beer and cigarettes dizzying her. They had been outside of the bar when she first met them. As she stalked out of the bar, the dimming sunlight touching her long legs in just the right ways, they sent cat-calls and high whistles her direction, and she smiled at her own beauty as she turned to walk towards them.

            “Where are you headed, baby?” One of the bikers had asked. His hair was dark, with sideburns coming low, almost acquainting themselves with his strong jawline. Beneath his leather jacket, stitched and studded, she saw, his chest very nearly straining the threads of his black cotton tee.

            She looked at him defiantly, rebelliously.           

            “Anywhere… but home.”

            And they had all chuckled a bit at that, and she walked closer.

            “Got some problems home then?” He smiled at that. “Maybe you should ride them out.” He gestured to his Harley with one big, gloved hand.

            She gave no answer, but gave a smile that was answer enough, and she allowed him to touch her waist possessively before sliding behind him onto the cool leather of his Harley.

 

      **

            For a moment, the memory of her mother touched her, drawing a tear from one eye, before the wind washed it dryly away. The feeling of regret that had gripped her stomach left as quickly as the wind wiped the tear away, and she basked in the harsh torrent rushing around her. She gripped her savior’s solid chest, clutching for safety and much more, now. She closed her eyes, the long, dark lashes sweeping her freckled cheeks, and leaned backwards into the tunnel of powerful air pushing against her, caressing her, supporting her, and knew that she belonged here, with these people. She was like them: a nomad, with no structural home, but still finding home in nature, in the wind, and in the roar of a big, black Harley. As the slipstream gripped her with hands invisible and strong, coursing through her hair, running themselves across each thigh simultaneously, breathing cold under the knot in her blouse, she allowed herself to be free from guilt, free from past, free from future, and rode.

Reviews

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Holy f**k. This is beautiful. It gave me a nasty feeling in my stomachs though but I couldn't stop reading and that's what counts! Your imagery is unreal (or should I say hyper-real?) - I could literally see all of this unfolding. Well done!! :) and I LOVE all the sexual undertones. This peice is so cool, I felt like a badass just reading it!! :P Brava!!