The Harley Rider and the Housewife

© copyright 2017

FUNNY WHAT A MOTORCYCLE DOES TO SOME WOMEN—especially a Harley. Maybe it's the residual bad boy persona so engrained in American culture. But the rap and cadenced thump of that heavy V-twin exhaust seeps a kind of allure into most minds. It rouses the dormant spirit of rebellion that resides deep in the soul of a good many people out there who have allowed the doing of things to usurp their inner wants.

After a ride over Angeles Crest Highway I had descended the mountains toward Pasadena, where the air had been still and hot all day. After a full two hours of riding I slowed for the first traffic light one encounters when coming out of the mountains that spells the forest is behind, and the city ahead, as residential neighborhoods begin to take shape. Houses dot the area, with a lot of tall green hedges that hid homes from traffic, and vice-versa. The traffic light had just gone red, so I blipped the throttle and downshifted several gears, sidling up alongside the lone vehicle stopped at the limit line; a subdued gray mini-van with a taped over taillight—remnant of some shopping market mishap perhaps.

Coming to a stop I flipped my faceshield up and waited for the light to cycle. After a moment I glanced to my right and saw the silhouettes of two empty car seats placed in the back seat of the nondescript little van. I watched her as she slowly took the Harley in from front to back, admiring the chrome. When I routinely revved the engine the thump of the exhaust seemed to stir her from her complacency and she raised her eyes to meet mine. She looked to be in her late thirties and had long blonde hair tied without fanfare into a ponytail (the way women routinely do when their motherly duties necessitate efficiency over style). She had an exhausted disposition, probably result of carting her children back and forth to school, or thanklessly hustling them between Karate and little league. She wasn't unattractive. But her eyes had a kind of repressed sadness to them.

Now in the annals of the secret, and too often misinterpreted silent exchange of looks between a man and a woman, there is that one unmistakable glance that speaks volumes. She held my gaze for one of those overlong—and too often fleeting moments—that hints of invitation to eroticism. One must act quickly in such cases, before those lusty thoughts evaporate on the whim of what might have been. Her body slumped sensuously into the patterned cloth seat of her tired mini-van and her mouth did one of those subconscious quivers that can only be found in a sensuous thought.

The

don't walk

signal had just begun its long countdown from 24. The housewife and I were still looking at each other. The physical circumstance couldn't have been more of a contradiction; me, single and childless, on a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy, dressed in denim with my steel toe boots and my full face helmet. Her, a young mother, certainly married, behind the wheel of that aging mini-van, anchored by the reality of responsibility suggested by those two empty car seats. But her eyes were saying plenty as the seconds ticked down, the

don't walk

signal falling fast 17... 16... 15. The light would turn green and she would speed away from the intersection, never to be seen again. With the confidence that comes when you have nothing to lose, I motioned for her to lower her window. She stirred slightly from her delirium, and cranked the window down.

"Should we be talking?" I asked.

She seemed surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Are you single?"

"I'm married."

The signal countdown had reached its end and the light turned green. I motioned with a leather-gloved finger at the shaded curb ahead on the other side of the intersection. "Pull over up there."

She straightened in her seat and gave the gutless little mini-van some gas. I dumped the Harley into first and let the clutch out, tucking in behind her. I watched as the van crept through the intersection, half expecting her to come to her wits and speed off. But after clearing the intersection the brake lights illumed and she pulled to the curb beneath a cooling overhang of tree branches. I pulled the Harley in behind her and shut the engine off. I figured she was watching me in the mirror so I made sure to uphold the perception of cool and swung a leg over the seat, un-strapping my helmet as I sauntered up to the driver's side window. As I approached she turned her body in the seat to face me.

She had a youthful look about her, a prettiness obscured by the duties of motherhood. She more than likely had a husband, busy with work demands, who has forgotten to pay attention to her as a woman, abandoning all the simple passions they had enjoyed in their early months of courtship, now squandered in lieu of adult pursuits, forgoing the base human needs in favor of the accumulation of "things." I see them all over the place; women, beautiful women who have been forgotten in boring marriages, absent lust and sensuality, made to feel unappealing by the rudely ignoring ways of listless husbands, lost in lives of quiet desperation. These women, no longer chased, no longer adored, slowly let go of their womanly desires as they make pitiful excuses for the way it is;

We're older now, you do those things when you're young

. Fuck that. Yes, I see them out and about, those lovely gems of overlooked women, all desperately in need of a proper fucking.

As I regarded her I immediately conjured the notion of early—much too early—marriage, with children, and now, days of driving kids around with the inevitable empty hours alone allowing plenty of time to think of what might have been.

"Thanks for stopping," I said as I drew the leather gloves off of sweaty hands.

"Why did you want me to stop?" she asked.

"You had a look on your face," I responded.

"What kind of a look was that?"

"Like a woman who hasn't been paid attention to properly for a while."

I said it because I had nothing to lose. And with these cases, if a man is forthright and commanding of his words and actions, a woman usually responds. We're talking base primal instincts. Not a lot of finesse or small talk is needed when two people are thinking the same thing. The heat was helping. There was a sultriness in the air. Heat is a great friend to the body and impulse, always stirring an urgency of action.

"This is the part of the conversation where you invite me to sit in the passenger seat."

"Oh, really," she responded, a coquettish smile coming over her face.

I looked her dead in the eye, and said, with an affirmative tone, "Yes, it is."

And on that she reached over and began removing the discarded newspaper from the passenger seat as tacit invitation, tossing the crumpled, read pages over the seat back, landing them on the car seats all smeared with dried peanut butter and stained with spilled grape juice.

She unlocked the passenger door as I rounded the grille and came up the side of the van. I pulled open the door and got into the passenger seat. The engine was running and the air was blowing cold. All a man has to do is show a woman like this a little attention and you'd be surprised at what it can get you. After all, a woman likes to be appreciated.

"It feels good to get out of the heat," I said, as I wiped sweat from my face. "I'm Jake."

"I'm Denise," she said, offering her hand.

Denise, I thought to myself. You couldn't get much plainer than that. I could see she was very small, having to pull the driver's seat to the furthest position forward in order to reach the pedals. A "spinner," I thought to myself. I could see through her simple blouse that she had nicely shaped, small breasts. And, even if she didn't know it—result of not hearing any praise from her significant other—she was pretty. The duties of motherhood had her forgoing any attempt at getting made-up, another sign of being ignored. Such is the curse of so many parental situations; men and women forgetting the simple aspects of getting dolled up and decked out, their amorous wanderings having been sublimated by parental duties.

There was some polite banter between us; pointless words to fill the tension between strangers, each of us yearning for beautiful poetry but too polluted by convention to partake. But the words did their service of putting her at ease a bit. When she turned in her seat and casually crossed one of her legs beneath the other I knew she was relaxing into this scenario—knew she was fully aware of what might come next. Women like to play coquettish at these things, pretending they have no nasty intentions, desire no amorous entangling. They leave the man to make the play, to get nervous, to blunder their way through it all while they secretly laugh at the boyish actions. She was fidgeting a bit, perhaps out of nervousness, perhaps out of an impulse. I gambled on the latter and simply reached over the center console as I chit-chatted and took her hand, splaying out her fingers in mine. She didn't resist, which then opened the door to a deeper gambit; I placed my palm on her thigh, gently rubbing through her jeans. From the time I entered her little world of motherhood, the carefully laid plans of getting kids to school and soccer, to the first kiss was perhaps just sixteen minutes. I bent into her, leaning over the empty Starbucks cup in the console cup holder. She had a nice mouth. Small, as was every aspect of her; nose, head, body. And she tasted good. My hands were on her breasts in short order, leading to slightly elevated breathing.

She pulled back from this and stared at me.

"Now don't tell me you didn't know that was coming," I said.

To which she responded, "I'm married."

"I figured," is all I said as I pulled her back into another kiss. She relaxed into it, having stated her case and effectively exonerating herself from guilt by confessing marriage. What did I care?

The kissing intensified, lips pressed open with tongues wandering the lovely newness of a mouth. From there I traced the nape of her neck with a moist tongue, which sent tingling sensations down her spine. There's a very distinct response when a woman is kissed on her neck after a very long absence from such activity, the indulgence being rewarded with eager reciprocation.

"That drives me crazy," was all she could muster as she pushed and tried quite meekly to escape the titillating sensation of my mouth against the severely neglected skin of her neck. Her slight presence betrayed nothing of her powerfulness as she pushed me back in the seat and kissed my neck. The feel of her mouth on me was transmitted courtesy a million nerves, like overheated coil wires, directly to my groin, which responded with that rewarding sensation of blood flow that begins the rise to erection.

She caught herself in the middle of a shudder of excitement and said, "I have to pick my kids up from school in half an hour."

"Then let's not waste any time," I came back, and started undoing the buttons of her pants. She helped, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal her chest. I flipped her bra up over her perfect little tits, fondling them before pinching her nipples. She swooned at the touch. She reached down and grabbed me through my jeans, rubbing me to semi-hardness. I licked her nipples to hardness as two cars passed on the street. The front of the van was cramped and uncomfortable, so I crawled through the gap between the front seats and plopped down between the two car seats.

I was given the delightful entertainment of watching her squeeze her lithe body between the seats, where I could better make out her tiny body, which was in good shape despite having had two kids. I assumed it was two, as that was the number of car seats I was sharing on the back bench. Somewhat impetuously she struggle to get the car seats loosened from their place, pulling the seat belts through the guides of the plastic contraptions, then lifting them over the seat back and dropping them into the rear section of the van to give us a bit more room. There was a shared laugh as we picked up discarded toys the odds and ends that make up children's lives and tossed them over the back seat as well.

With more room to operate she grabbed at my belt and zipper, then slid my jeans along with my boxers down to mid-thigh. As the elastic lip of my underwear cleared my penis it sprang for freedom and slapped her in the cheek. She didn't waste time with pleasantries and took me in her mouth, lowering her wet lips over the shaft and taking my cock as far as it would go into that lovely little orifice. The gal made a valiant effort to deep throat me, the tip of my cock hitting the back of her throat in a fit of gurgling. She sucked cock like she hadn't done it for a while. Not that she wasn't good, but rather, that she hadn't had the pleasure or inclination for a while. I love being the recipient of such pent up sexuality.

As she sucked me I ran a hand over her jeaned ass, then ran my thumb through a belt loop and pulled her up onto all fours across the back seat so I could admire her body. She used her moistened lips to stroke the ridge that runs the underside of my cock. She'd learned how to do this quite well somewhere along the long, probably her share of front seat blowjobs in college. I then slid her pants down over her tight little butt. Nothing quite like that first touch of a bare ass. The visual simply added another layer of arousal to the feel of her tiny mouth struggling in earnest to pleasure me, her saliva making a wonderful wet mess of things, her small face making my cock look overly huge. She was wearing flowered cotton panties, which were pushed down to reveal her pussy. My hand had play with her vaginal lips as she went after my cock with renewed intent. Two more cars passed just beyond the windows of the van, but they were going too fast to make sense of anything going on behind the tinted passenger windows. It just added to the excitement of the moment; the notion of getting discovered by someone.

For a late 30-something soccer mom she took good care of her little garden of pubic hair, all trimmed down to a landing strip of soft pubes. Her pussy was neat too, no excess of labia, nice and tucked in. And she was capable of a wonderful wetness, as I discerned when I pushed my fingers inside of her, her vagina sloshing with lovely, juicy sounds. She moaned a little more as I pushed a second, then a third finger inside of her. Her smell was compelling; the unmistakable scent of sex.

I then used my hands to coax her body around and laid her back on the vinyl and cloth bench seat. Crouched in the cramped space I set my ass against the side door and pulled her shoes off, then slid her jeans off with a primal urgency. I then pushed her tiny legs apart with my hands upon each inner thigh, spreading her pussy open. I stared at her glistening womanhood for a moment, taking in the sight of her laid back naked on the seat. She was staring at me, wondering what the next move was. I bent into her and sunk my face without hesitation directly into the sweet honey of her cunt. She let go a moan that she silenced with a bite of her own hand. My tongue lapped at her like a cat at a salt lick. Her vagina gushed with lovely wetness. After some circular maneuvers of my tongue on her clit I pushed it up inside her like an appendage. As I did this I cupped her tiny ass, a cheek in both hands, and worked and kneaded her spinner body to full effect against my mouth and tongue.

"Oh my God," she uttered in breathless whisper. "My husband hasn't done that to me in years."

I took my mouth off of her just long enough to ask, "How long?"

"Oh Jesus," she moaned, "Seriously?"

I took my mouth from her, "Tell me."

She took my head in her hands and pulled my mouth back onto her. "Don't stop. It's been... it's been... oh, Jesus... it's been eight years."

I took my mouth from her again, pressing my fingers into her so I could say, "That's not right, a wonderful pussy like this. A man should be honored to eat you out every single day of the year." This drove her further over the edge and she once again pushed my head down onto her. Nothing quite like being the lucky recipient of the pent up lust of an ignored housewife; they appreciate every touch, their bodies a live wire, the dormant flower of their pussies brought back to full bloom with a vengeance.

The physical and verbal stimulation were enough to get her to the brink, and she arched her back, lifting her pelvis up to where it snuffed out my yabbering mouth. Her body was so wonderfully light I could actually grab hold of both her ass cheeks in one hand and lift her off the seat. With the other hand I slid a middle finger up her ass, which elicited an excited response, her body jerking wildly. She let go with a handful of words normally reserved for church as her body convulsed, her anus sliding up and down on my finger.

Then, I felt her body's movements change, that moment when the frenetic rhythms of pleasure are supplanted by a more concentrated stimulation, slowing in tempo, but building in strength. The inevitable, no turning back point of an orgasm. She seemed surprised at her own lack of control, her eyes going wide in excitement as her small body let go with a mammoth orgasm. She writhed and squirmed and tossed against the vinyl seat, her pussy expunging a beautifully intoxicating elixir of female fluids that whetted my mouth and chin. Copious juices that made a slippery welcome of penile entry to her vagina.

At the peak of her climax I pulled myself up over her and pushed my cock up into the intoxicating wetness of her pussy. Her eyes opened again in brilliant surprise. It was as if I were having a woman unfamiliar with sexuality, every movement, every nuance rousing her with the intensity found in new sensations. She wrapped her legs and arms around me in a death grip, each thrust of my cock expelling her lubricating fluid and dripping it onto the seat where her kid's car seats usually resided. There was something especially nasty to it all; not only a married woman getting her jollies, but the fact that we were fucking in the back seat of the banal little min-van where her kids played and argued, where other mothers sat during little league practice and ranted about mean husbands. In the midst of our humping one of the kid's toys got jostled under the seat and was pounded by the seat springs. It was a squeeze toy and let go with a honking sound that had us both cracking up. I reached under the seat, keeping a steady tempo to my thrusts, as I searched around and found the offending toy, pulling it out and tossing it into the back.

Although the windows were down, the heat inside the van was building. She'd turned off the engine when this all started and as a result the cooling air was no more and the temperature inside the van was rising. Another car went past, sending a soft breeze over the two of us from the lowered driver's side window. Her chest was beaded with sweat. My own perspiration was falling off my face and splattering onto her flat stomach. I pulled out and took a hold of her tiny waist in both hands and guided her onto her hands and knees. Her little ass was perfectly formed and arched provocatively with an attractive divot in the small of her back.

She looked back over her shoulder with that look of a woman knowing what's coming, hesitant but wanting. From my vantage point, slapping my cock against her pussy, her small butt made me look rather large. It almost appeared too big to even fit. It always impresses me how even the tiniest woman's pussy is capable of taking the largest of cocks. And in that vein; regardless of how petite or demure a woman may appear, know that their pussies are capable of tremendous pounding. Call it machismo or ego, but a man feels powerful when his cock has surprising presence next to a small-figured woman. I pressed the head against her lips and slowly pushed it inside of her, causing her to drop onto her elbows and emit a slightly breathless moan. I took a good long ten seconds to slowly push the length of me up inside her, she biting her lip, feeling the wonderful tease. I pushed until my stomach was flush with her groin, my cock all the way inside. I then used my hands to guide her small body back and forth on me. After a few moments I stood still and let her do the work, her pussy devouring my cock like a lusciously wet mouth.