Racing the Moon

Running fast. Running hard. Her arms are around my shoulders. The wind whips our hair into a mass of knots. It is cool enough our jackets feel good but not so cold as to give us an ice cream headache. We lean into the curve. The bike starts to drift just a bit. I crack the throttle to power us through the curve and to correct the drift.

We race the full, bright moon. The moon is winning, although we are running a close second. The vibration from the engine makes its way through the soles of our boots, seeps into our blood stream and fills us with a sense of exhilaration. The unbaffled straight pipes resonate with a song of freedom. Any problems that once existed are gone, snatched by the gods and thrown to the four winds to disperse.

There is no yesterday. There is no tomorrow. There is no later. We have this moment. We have this place. Nothing else exists. Nothing else has meaning. We are alive, so vividly alive. We are free and we are here now.

She hugs me a little tighter and nips at my hair. I lean back onto her. It feels good. It would feel better were it not for our jackets. I settle for good. When you race the moon, it is all good. I throw my head back and roar my happiness into the night. Those that have gone on before look down upon our joy and give us their blessing.

I decide to allow the moon to win the race by default. The bike begins to slow as my gloved right hand eases up on the throttle. My right foot feathers the rear brake lightly as my left foot downshifts to make a right turn onto a country road. The moon smiles down upon us – a gracious victor.

At 45 mph, the wind caresses our faces. I slip a cigarette out of my jacket pocket and light it with the lighter I added to my dashboard. She scratches my tangled hair with both hands. It feels good. I hold the cigarette between my teeth as I reach back to pat her thigh with my left hand.

The aromas of the earth assail our nostrils. There is the sweetness of new mown hay. The pungent odor of cattle. There is the perfume of last year's leaves slowly melting into the earth to enrich the soil. A host of wild flowers blend their essence to form a fragrance man will never be able to duplicate.

I spot the entrance to a field, slow the bike to a snail's pace, pick our way over the ruts and come to a stop behind the windbreak of trees planted who knows how long ago. She stands on the foot pegs and swings lithely to the ground. I stand, stretch, and dismount the scooter.

She is looking at the moon and the stars as I untie the blanket from the sissy bars. I take off my jacket, fold it and place it on the ground for a pillow. After I flop down on the blanket, she lays down beside me. I offer her my arm for a pillow. She chooses my chest instead. I wrap my arm around her shoulder.

She props herself up on an elbow and kisses me lightly on the lips. It isn't a serious kiss. Neither was the kiss I gave her in return. She made a light sound of contentment, reached under my tee shirt and scratched gently at my stomach. I patted her on her ass.

Her leg goes over my legs. I put my hand behind her head as I pull her to me. This time the kiss is a little more serious. I allow my tongue to taste her lips. As her tongue flicked mine, I felt a hunger growing in me. The kiss lingered. Our lips parted and our tongues met in a timeless dance. Our breath quickened.

I rolled so we were both on our sides. My left hand slipped under her camisole and glided softly to her breast. My thumb kissed her nipple. I kissed a trail from her lips to her cheek to her neck. She turned her head away from me to give me better access. I nipped at her earlobe and kissed, sucked, nipped my way down her neck to the hollow of her throat.

She sat up a little to help me take off her camisole. My lips paid homage to her shoulders and breasts. She tugged at my tee shirt. I slipped it off. Our bare skin felt like heated silk as I scratched her back with my finger pads. I forgot I had half gloves on until she told me they felt funny. When I started to take them off, she said it was a good funny so I left them on.

I laid her on her back and I stroked her stomach. My fingers reached the band of her tight jeans. I fumbled the button open then unzipped them. My gloved hand slid past the open denim. She moaned and arched her back when I found her wetness.

Coming to my knees, I pulled off her high top boots, then her socks. I sat with my legs crossed as I massaged her tiny feet. My thumbs pressed and rubbed all those spots that like to be pressed and rubbed. She gave me six hours to quit that. I didn't think I would be able to last that long.

I ran my hands up her legs, hooked my fingers under her waistband and began to tug. She lifted her hips and wiggled as women do to get off tight-fitting jeans. My breath caught in my throat as I slid them down her legs. The moonlight bathed her in a warm glow and it was good.

As she unbuckled my belt, I used my feet to slip off my boots and socks. As she started to slide them down my hips, I unhooked my pistol from my belt and placed it under the jacket. She lay face down on me. My hands hungered too greatly for her to leave on the gloves. My palms savored the soft hardness of her body as my lips met hers.

I rolled her off me, parted her legs and knelt between them. She tensed and sighed when my tongue teased at her clit. I licked down and reveled at her taste. Her hands found my hair and pulled me to her. I slid one finger, then a second finger, into her tight wetness as my mouth and tongue paid homage to her clit.

She writhed, sobbed and moaned with pleasure. She pulled at me. I came to my knees. She lifted her legs and pulled her knees toward her breasts. I rubbed my cock between her lips, sliding to her clit and then back down until I was almost, but not quite, in her.

She tugged on my shoulders. I lowered myself to my elbows. Her arms wrapped around me. Her lips locked onto my lips. I felt her legs go around me. She wiggled her hips, bucked against me and suddenly I was buried in her hot, tight, wetness.

The sounds of the night were our moans and the slapping of our flesh against each other. With each stroke, we became more and more lost in each other. The moon vanished. The crickets and cicadas ceased their music. There was a man and there was a woman and that was a good thing and nothing else mattered. We had that moment and no other moment. Those that had gone before smiled a smile of joy as this man and this woman shared this moment. And it was good.

We screamed our pleasure into the still night air and then held each other as we laughed and whispered as lovers do in the aftermath. And we had that moment and that moment was so very good.

Life is so incredibly sweet.