Motorcycle

Lovers. The blank page before me, I find that I stare at the words, my fingers hesitant to write, tenuously striking the keys I am so familiar with. Words that I have used and utilized, manipulated and magnified until they expand to fit my definition, words I have always thought I knew. But now, now…now I realize I know nothing of words like lovers. It is a word that is foreign to me, unsought, unexplored, its meaning unbidden.

The definition of lovers was, to me, simple: two people who meet for a short time to share the pleasures that sexual exploration and release can offer. A neat definition, tidy, requiring no real thought beyond the repertoire of the imagination. It was lick and stroke, glide and moan, technique and orgasm. Not artificial or manipulative, never that—the human body is too sensual to allow for such clinicality.

But as I read your last email, the wildness of streaking across the night sky on your bike, of fear and chase, adrenaline and the surreal, I feel myself ripen, like a summer peach still on the stem, still close to the emotional home that holds me tightly. Like that voluptuous globe of fruit, I feel my breasts press against the fabric of my bra, feel my belly glow with a sense of connecting to something more vast than anything I’ve known. It is not the risk that makes my sex thrill, but the state of being suspended in space, between the sacred and the profane.

Rushing forward into the night, my arms clasped tightly around your waist, I am acutely aware of the animal scent that permeates you as I rest my face against your shoulder. Time stops, hangs like a thought unspoken, and all there is at this moment is the machine you guide like a madman, the total sense of you, my fate held in the wildness of speed as you urge forward, the night silent except for the roar of the engine. Scenery, meant to be relished, lived in, flies by as if we were in space.

Round the corner and into the headlights of an oncoming car, my mouth already filled with the taste of adrenaline, with no time to fully react. Sure that we’re going to collide, my heart stops mid-beat and I press my face into you closer, certain that I may not get the chance to ever feel anything again…the events of my life play before me in those seconds, things done and left undone, things I would change, people I have loved….no sadness, merely the urgency of seeing everything that created who I am now parading before me, only those headlights illuminating the second between life and death, only the smell of the leather you wear and my body pressing closer to you. I wait, almost calm, unable to do nothing but mold myself against you…

And then you rush forward even faster, as if your heels were digging into a powerful steed, pounding past the headlights, past death, past an eternity spent in the orange glow of lights. Into cool darkness again, raging forward. As you stop, my body is not my own, and I vault off the bike in fight-or-flight response, tearing the helmet from my head, gasping the cool night air. My only thought is to get away from you, as far from this madman as I can, images of the headlights still burned into my retinas. My heart pounding so hard that I can taste it’s pulse, beating like percussion in my head. I feel simultaneously gloriously grateful that I am still alive as I move away from you with a speed that astounds me. The forest I can see on either side of me, silhouetted against the night-sky, strong and sturdy, living, silent…. The irony of this solidity and stillness brings my senses round to what I’ve just experienced.

My vision in the next split-second releases usually tightly reined temper, a dull red haze like a veil over my vision. The forest seems to whisper that I might never have felt another moment, might never have breathed again, never felt the touch of a warm body next to mine, never heard music or held a paint-brush in my fingers, the smell of watercolors permeating my nostrils… My rage in seconds surges at the fragility of life and the man who nearly tore mine from my grasp.

Whirling round to face you, expecting to see you striding towards me, to comfort me, only to see you still sitting astride the bike, grinning at me like a wild man in the dark. My rage spills out and engulfs me in a way that exhilarates me. Flying at you with epithets, my only thought is to beat you senseless, feel my fists against your solid flesh. Still reacting to the rush of life that pours back into my body, I expect to feel my hands striking you, finishing the blow that will tell you more than words how I hate you wildly, exact revenge for almost killing us, nearly wiping out a lifetime that had lead us to each other only to end in a violent shudder.

With dumb confusion, you gripping my hands tightly, painfully, I struggle instinctively to free them. My rage grows at being held, flinching and trying to wrest away from you, but you hold tight. Suddenly I am aware that the only thing between you and my fury is your own intense strength, the essence of man and woman, my wrists still gripped viselike in your powerful hands. The line is drawn in the sand somewhere in this blackened night. From outside the red haze that circles my awareness, I hear you laugh, throaty, powerful, and exhilarated, wild. I sense your animal within, your sight glazed over with the intense thrill of being mortal, of having cheated death once again. And now you must claim me, I can sense with a woman’s intuition, born of centuries of necessity.

Pulling me hard toward you, meeting my infuriated resistance, your mouth covers mine, gripping my wrists tightly as I struggle angrily to break free, determined to deny you what I know you want. The scent of leather, fear, and heat permeates my senses, your hands at my wrists like taut ropes, your lips hard and demanding. I will not give this to you, not willingly, and even as I begin to thrill at the feel of your mouth, my anger rises like steam to mingle with a primality that engulfs, overcoming my breeding and social graces. Your lips are as hard as your hands, pinning them behind my back to pull me so close to you that I can hear your pounding heart, leaving my mouth to move swiftly down to my neck, breathing hard. Finding the side of my neck, you kiss hard and long, sucking at my skin as if I were ripened fruit.

Leaning as if to kiss your neck in kind, I bite—hard—enjoying your yelp. Startled, you relax your grip, allowing me to break free, green eyes full of rage and the beginnings of answered desire. Something more elemental than the steel you sit on rises inside me like a coiled spring, flashing dangerously, hovering then settling in, the urge to run, the wild desire to mate, no, to fuck, hard and with fury.

Twisting away from you, I run, kicking my shoes off for speed, towards the forest, the cool stolidness of bark and leaf, of wild things that howl. Behind me I can hear you crashing through the grasses, fleet-footed, breathing hard, and I sprint for the trees. Just as I reach them, I feel your hands hard upon my waist as you shoot just before me, slamming into your body before I can yank myself hard to the side. Almost falling, you catch me, holding fast and pulling me back to you as you do. Looking at you as if assessing an opponent, my eyes glittering as yours are, skin hot, hands viselike bodies pressed as if molded to each other, hearing something move in the night, something unnamed and unseen, rustling above us.

You clamp your mouth down on mine again and I again bite you, bringing a trace of coppery blood to both of our mouths, feeling you chuckle and bite my lip just as hard, enraging me further. Fully in control, you pad slowly, stealthily, taking me with you, until my back is at the trunk of a tall fir. Those strong hands of yours move to either side of my face, holding me still, body pressed hard against me, so close I can feel your pounding heart, smell the leather you wear. Again your mouth finds mine, tongue slipping just far enough into my mouth that I can still taste blood. My tongue searches your lower lip, finding the small nick I made when I bit you; sucking it into my mouth, hearing you groan, feel your chest against my breasts, my nipples hardening, your cock throbbing and straining, hard and ready for me.

My hands push against your chest, still struggling to break free, determined to get into the forest, past the headlight of your bike still glaring into the blackness, yet knowing that you are stronger than I am, freshening my anger. My efforts to break free only excite you more, rubbing against you, twisting, thrashing in anger and something wilder than the need to get away rising inside me. In dull awareness, I can feel myself grow hot, wet, and aching, even as I want nothing more than to run. My mouth finds yours this time, my hands sliding down to your waist, sliding around to grasp your hips, grinding against you, leaning into your urgent groan.

Without hesitation, your hands slide down to grasp my t-shirt, pulling it up in one movement, leaving my arms pinioned above my head, and moving down to suck one nipple while you twist the other one, rolling it in your fingers as your tongue does the other one. My knee moves between your legs, which part easily, and I can hear from somewhere outside myself my own long and ragged groan as my knee finds your balls, rubbing back and forth slowly. Reaching up again to kiss me, our tongues clashing, dancing in a bruising rhythm that matches our hips, panting, straining to claim hold of each other’s bodies, silence the questions once and for all.

My hands reaching, snaking down to push against your cock, moving my hand between our hips, rubbing it back and forth against your belly, then sliding up to smoothly take off the jacket you wear, back down to shimmer up the inside of your shirt, feeling skin and muscle, sinew and heartbeat beneath my fingers, the palms of my hands flat and smooth, reaching round your waist again to pull your hips into me, my mouth leaving yours to gasp and how hard you are, how wild I feel, how the look in your eyes makes me both melt and afraid at the same time.

I peel off your shirt, then you yank down my shorts to fall restlessly as I undo your jeans with numb fingers, pushing them down where the lay, my own feet stepping out of my shorts to free my legs. Mouths again claim each other, demanding and unyielding, hot and untamed. With a suddenness and roughness that leaves me gasping you pull one of my legs up around your waist, feeling my lips with your other hand, finding me drenched, achingly tight, fingers thrusting deep into me with abandon, your mouth again at my throat as I groan instinctively, almost a howl as you thrust faster and faster, my knees getting weak.

I can feel the hard and porous bark at my back, feel small things crawling near my skin, hear an owl somewhere, the scurrying of tiny feet in pursuit of food, and larger things rustling, feather and fur, and feel only your mouth, only the moon, know only that we’re part of the night, your fingers inside me, breathing in gasps and groans. My hand grasps your hardened cock again and begins to stroke, your groan echoing against my throat, reaching all the way through me and I moan back in a guttural answer to your call, hardness and wetness, straining to be one.

Tightening my leg’s grip around your waist, I feel you guide yourself out of my hands and into my pussy, hard, now, one smooth movement, driving your cock inside me, burying yourself to the hilt. I can feel you slide inside, my ridged walls and g-spot, smooth and taut muscles gripping you like a wild thing. As one, we both throw back our heads and groan loudly straining forward, spines arching back to allow the immense pleasure to slide upward, fused, hips thrusting forward. Thrusting back and forth, driving yourself further into me, my leg tightening, holding it closer to your waist with on hand, my other around your neck, now, for support. And on and on we thrust into the night, slamming with increasing urgency, straining forward, then sliding back, pounding into each other faster and faster, breathing harsh and ragged.

I know you. I know your body, the wildness that surrounds you. I intimately know that you’re close to cumming, to release. And I know that you know me as well as I know you. You too, can feel the rising tide that matches the red of fury, the red haze of ecstasy and approaching rush of my orgasm. Thrusting even harder, even faster, knowing we’re both close, juices running down our legs, driving into each other so hard I can barely breathe, the waves beginning, now, beginning to crash down on us, through us, in us, just you and I in the eternal dance of man and woman. As we lose ourselves in the immensity of merging orgasm, so entwined that I can feel yours and you become part of mine, I suddenly have a split second of clarity. This, I know is the true moment between life and death. And this, you understand, is the feeling you seek when you risk it all, knowing that you hang suspended between orgasm and the return to earth.

Clinging to each other, like castaways in a huge ocean, we gasp, and struggle to breathe normally, hearts pounding, bodies bruised. Fierce kisses become tender, hands stroking softly now, pushing my hair away from my eyes and gliding over satiated flesh. Eyes softly, mouths becoming soft, flesh pliant, sheen of perspiration chilling us. Many small kisses and caresses as we help each other into clothes, walking slowly arms entwined around waists, stopping for more kisses as we almost limp back to your bike, which waits like a silent animal, ready to leap us back to the human’s world. Before putting on our helmets, you turn your head back for a solid kiss, and I lean forward against your back to meet your mouth. Let’s go soak these hard-worked bodies, you whisper, and then we roar again into the night, leaving an imprint in time where we’ve been.