Vincent smoothly rolled the throttle of the big Harley Davidson motorcycle as he came out of the curve and started up the next hill. As an engineer in he knew he should gear down so the engine wouldn’t strain, but he loved to feel the big V-Twin but it’s back into the work. The massive torque of the long throwing pistons vibrated through the bike as it slugged it out with weight and gravity. He felt it in his hands, his arms, his butt and even his legs. He always remembered where his female passengers felt it too. When he rode alone he reveled in hammering the engine and accelerating quickly; it was one of his guilty pleasures. On the other hand, when he had a passenger he was all about precision and control. It hardly required conscious thought on his part. This bike underneath him, 640 plus pounds of chrome, steel, and leather, had become an extension of his own body over the years of riding. The bike seemed to know him as well as he knew it, and he controlled it like he controlled his own arms and legs. In direct contrast to this feeling of oneness with his bike was the distance he felt right now with his passenger.
The tall and willowy woman lying against the backrest was moody and quiet today. Normally she would be tight up against him, with her arms around him and her hands on him, but today she kept her hands to herself. Usually her head would be on his shoulder and she would be talking to him as they rode, but today she was erect and quiet. She was unsettled about something, he could tell, but couldn't sense what it was. She had a right to be moody; she earned it well enough. Part of what drew him to her was the unusual life she had led. She was a veteran of the Gulf War, a paratrooper with jump wings tattooed on her hip. The war he watched on television she had lived through. She wasn’t a combat soldier, but she had been shot at. She still lived with the memory of waking in the middle of the night to air raid sirens and running to bunkers to escape rocket and mortar fire. She also had other nightmares of darker and more personal assaults, not by enemies in the uniform of a hostile power, but wearing the same uniform she did. She had demons and she had more baggage than the airport, but she was interesting, she was beautiful, and she was one of the most sensual women he’d ever known. She could make better love fully clothed than most women could nude.
The day was perfect for riding a motorcycle, no doubt what she was thinking when she called and asked him to play hooky from work with her. Blazing summer had passed into early fall, and the wind didn’t feel like it was coming out of a heating duct anymore. The air was just the right temperature to let you know you had skin, but still warm enough to get away with wearing minimal clothing. The sky above them was a hue of blue that seemed completely untarnished by haze and pollution. White cotton clouds drifted lazily across the panorama of the Blue Ridge Mountains. He caught sight of a trail leading off the road and decided to take a rest stop. He let off the throttle and squeezed the brakes, slowing the bike quickly. This was usually a good excuse for a woman to press her breasts into his back, or squeeze her legs around him tighter, but she did neither. A little miffed at missing out on this pleasure, he turned off the pavement and carefully maneuvered the big bike across the gravel apron and down what was more a path than a dirt road. They rolled into a small clearing that was often used for camping, as was evidenced by a blackened ring of stones.
He came to a stop near the stones and killed the engine, leaning the big bike over onto the kickstand. He swung off his seat and stretched his back and legs; his eyes closed enjoying the feeling. The Lady Raven got off after him, still quiet. Hey opened his eyes and caught a furtive glance from her, and she quickly looked away, not meeting his eyes. He wondered if he might have said or done something to upset her, and for a brief moment he considered the possibility that she had met someone else. Was she waiting for the right time to tell him, carrying the thought around like an overweight knapsack? It was possible, but if that’s what was going to happen, there was nothing he could do about it. He thought about a cigarette.
Raven was already opening a saddlebag to get their cigarettes. He paused to admire her. She was a full 6 feet tall with a slender build widening out slightly at the hips. She was self-conscious about her height, but he loved the way her long limbs accentuated her graceful movements. Her waist length, nearly jet-black hair, was pulled up into a ponytail for the ride. The ponytail fell across in front of her and across her neck as she leaned over, leaving her shoulders and back bare down to the top of her halter. He followed the line of her back to the widening of her hips above the low cut jeans and stopped at the tantalizing and barely visible cleavage of her ass. Rummaging around in the saddlebag looking for a lighter, she cocked her hips to one side, accentuating the curve of her ass. His gaze followed the lines of her form down and between her legs, and he remembered that she never wore panties. That thought stirred the blood in his loins, and he felt an erection straining against his own jeans.
He felt the heat of the sun on his exposed arms and face, which heightened his awareness of his own body as his heart rate quickened and the blood flowed to his groin. The hedonist in him rose to the surface and he removed his vest to expose the rest of his upper body to the sun. He was only wearing his jeans, boots, riding gloves, and sunglasses now. He felt more naked than he really was. He put a hand on his hard cock and squeezed the large bulge in his jeans. He wanted to feel the sun on the rest of his body.
Raven stood up and started getting a cigarette out of one of the packs. Normally she would have gotten one of his out as well, and lit it for him; a gesture he found particularly attractive. A cigarette was not what he wanted right now anyway. She put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it, looking up to see him standing in front of her, a few paces away, with the sun glistening off his body. Staring passively at him, she took a long drag and leaned back against the seat of the bike, and said nothing. Folding one arm underneath the other, she looked away dismissively.
Now he was unsettled. No, he was pissed. There was no warmth in her. Instead of a “come-hither” look he got ice. No joke, no smile, nothing at all. Did she invite him out for a day of sulking or fun? For a moment, just a moment, it cooled his desires. A car whined up the mountain, making the bend just on the other side of the trees. A lark called out for company down the slope. Being so nearly naked out like this excited him, and he didn’t need this attitude from her right now. She needed to get that bug out of her ass. He made the few strides it took to cover the ground between himself and Raven. She looked around at him and smirked before looking past him.
"I hope you don't think you're going to get lucky." was the first thing she had said to him in half an hour. She raised her sunglasses so he could see her eyes to confirm the rejection. Handing him another scornful glance, she turned away again and brought the cigarette to her lips. Wordlessly, Vincent plucked the cigarette from her and tossed it away.
