I couldn't ignore the sway of her heavy breasts and full round ass neatly packaged in the taut fabric of her clothing which clung to her without wrinkle, as if it were a second layer of skin. She was one of four women working in the darkness, carrying tree limbs and debris to the fire, as they were cleaning up a recently vacated rural property across the street. I had walked over with my bottle of bourbon to investigate after I saw suspicious flashes of light dancing through my window.
Maybe it was the cool night air, the alcohol I had been drinking, or that I didn't have my current prescription glasses because I accidentally broke them while cleaning my motorcycles earlier in the day, but I perceived them all to be naked dancing around the fire. The seemed in the likeness of a coven performing a ritual, as all I could see was their silhouettes by the glow of the fire.
The sight brought back recollections of the pagan rites of Dionysus that Greek theater evolved from; at least that was what I had been taught in a humanities course in college many years before. It was from that perspective that I watched their movements.
It appeared as if they were amidst a godly or celestial celebration that was going to end with a drunken orgy. I could only hope it were the case, and had begun to grow excited by the thought, and
introduced myself casually as being the guy across the street.
"The motorcycle guy?" one of them asked.
"Yeah... that's me." I admitted, and then gave them my name.
Pixie, Lilly, Skye, and Asia, they sounded off individually, introducing themselves. Once my presence was established they continued to work in rotation. One or two would converse with me while the others fed the fire, and then they would randomly swap out.
Pixie and Skye were probably in their late fifties to early sixties while Lilly was in her mid-forties and Asia was definitely the youngest of the lot being in her late twenties to early thirties, as best as I could tell by the clues in conversation.
None of them were spectacularly attractive by mainstream measure, as they all wore signs of labor, mischief and age. Their tattoos, scars, wrinkles, smiles, and foul language, were all signs which lent to them having the particular breed of recklessness, trashiness and carefree attitudes which I always find endearing in real women.
Watching them, I was entertaining the thought of seeing them all in the manner I find females most beautiful; that being when they are on their knees with their lips wrapped around my cock.
Like motorcycles, I love all women regardless of nationality, size, color or vintage, and they are all built differently with intended purpose; comfort cruising, speed, sport, endurance, or just plain old reliable commuter transportation, and some are only for show. The latter being my least favorite... motorcycle or woman.
My love for motorcycles and women that love motorcycles really turned into an obsession after I bought my first Harley - Davidson while in my early twenties. I was twenty-one; I think. It was a god awful AMF era Harley - Sportster.
It lived up to all the jokes. The best-selling point was the tool kit... If it didn't leak, it didn't run... and it vibrated with enough ferocity to get any middle aged house wife to give up the spin-cycle for a ride.
I spent a month stripping it down to bare essentials and painted it black. I swapped out the carburetor; I installed a solo seat, drag bars, forward controls and loud as hell pipes. I rode it for about two weeks, nearly hating everything about it, and then I met Jen.
Leaving a local pool hall one evening, I was out front sitting on my bike strapping on my shorty helmet and she was a hot little number just arriving and was certainly dressed to have good time, either teasing or picking up.
"Nice bike... can I have a ride?" She asked unabashed, when she approached.
Crudely, I responded with "nice ass, can I have a ride?", neither caring about if nor how she would react. Then in a word, she owned me.
"Yes!" She delightfully yelped.
She was a fine assed piece of fender trim, a petite brunette, with just the right curves and volume to say she was definitely built for sport if not speed, and she fit beautifully on the chopped fender behind me when she got on. I explained to her that she would need to hold on to me and wrap her legs around my waist because the bike was not equipped with rear passenger seating or foot rests. I also bet her a blowjob she would soak her panties before we made it to the first stop light. We pulled away fast and loud.
At the first stop light I turned to look at her. The wide grin and flushed look betrayed her, if her words wouldn't. She happily informed me that she had already come three times.
