This is somewhat fictionalized version of how I met one of my pod, Dallas, in Japan. Well after the events in this story, Dallas told me about Literotica, and suggested that I write up our first conjunction here. Dallas is also a contributor to Literotica under a different name. All names are pseudonyms to protect our privacy. I published this story after Dallas reviewed and okayed it.
I'm Tesh, a 25-year-old Caucasian guy from California, and I took a job in Japan right out of college. I've been living in a rural area of Japan for three years. Overall, it's been a great experience. Before covid hit, there were lots of things to do after work: the Facebook groups for foreigners in Japan made it pretty easy to sign up for marathons, Greek races, and mountain hikes. Dating Japanese men and women was not difficult either; a lot of the dating apps from the States work in Japan too. But after the first covid wave, all of that came to a crashing end. Although I still ran by myself to maintain my lithe figure and I had contact with other people through work, it was not too much to say that my social life fizzled to nothing, just like everyone else.
I needed to start doing something fun to fight off the isolation or I would just either go crazy or get depressed. So I decided to get into motorcycling--I could do it by myself, I always wanted to try it, and it was the ultimate social distancing activity. I got myself a Japanese motorcycle license in quick order and then a bike from a British manufacturer that has a great reputation as a beginner bike, but after a year of riding it around, I started to look for something bigger, faster, and more exciting. One particular bike from an American manufacturer, often referred to as Hogs by the people who ride them, caught my eye and I started to gravitate to it. But after a quick look at the manufacturer's Japanese website, I realized that I just couldn't afford a new one. Everything was more expensive because of covid, and these kinds of bikes weren't cheap to begin with.
I floundered around on the internet, looking for used versions of the bike, and on a whim, I clicked on a website for private sellers in Japan. And in a moment of complete Fortuna, I found one that I wanted. The link was more than a year old and it listed an older model, but the photos of the bike looked great. I sent off an email to the owner of the bike, inquiring as to if the bike was still for sale.
I got up to make myself a sandwich, and while I was in the kitchen, my computer pinged that a new email had arrived. I walked back to my desk, and with my sandwich half stuffed into my mouth to free my hands, I pressed the commands into the keyboard to open the new email. The owner was someone named Dallas, and I could tell from the orthography that he was also an American. He wrote that the bike was indeed still for sale and that he was willing to negotiate the price down since the bike was older now. Excited at my prospects and munching my sandwich one handed, I composed a reply to Dallas, asking for more recent photos of the bike. After ten minutes or so, another email arrived in my inbox, and it was full of photo attachments.
In more than one of the photos of the bike, a hot middle-aged Caucasian man is standing next to the bike inside of a wooden garage with a single halogen lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. His short trimmed brown hair was streaked with light blonde natural accents and slivers of grey. Salt and pepper short scruff on his handsome avuncular face highlighted his good looks. His muscled arms and pecs easily filled out his tight t-shirt that might rip if he flexed. His legs fit into tight dark blue jeans that outlined his powerful legs. A whirling tattoo peaked out of his t-shirt collar around his neck and another tattoo of some kind of arrow peeped out of the sleeve on his right arm. Dallas. Not the kind of American that I meet in Japan most of the time.
I thought he was great looking. He had maybe fifteen years on me, but I'd be lucky to be in that shape when I get to his age. Definitely my type--masculine biker daddy. Maybe he was into guys. Maybe he wasn't. But I was going to flirt until I found out! Already imagining Dallas doing wonderful horrible things to me, I decided to take a picture of myself in jeans and a t-shirt bending over on my British bike and send it to him...even though he hadn't asked. Hoping that I hadn't committed a serious social faux-pas, I waited for his response. Within the span of fantasizing that Dallas was enveloping me in his arms as we kissed while cherry blossoms flittered to the ground around us in a soft breeze, Dallas's response arrived.
"Nice!" he wrote.
I hoped that he was talking about me and not my bike, but who knows. I replied again and wrote that I hoped that we could meet up sometime "so that I could ride his hog for a long time." I smiled to myself and my barely concealed sexual innuendo, waiting for his next reply. His response arrived with an alacrity that could be interpreted as excitement, but the way Dallas phrased his response showed to me that I wasn't the only one who could throw out barely concealed sexual innuendo with ease.
"Yeah, we totally should meet up. Riding a new rod is always fun. How about this? Let's go touring in Myoko. It's a great area for motorcycling, and there's lots of roads to natural spring baths up some of the mountains. Maybe we start off by swapping bikes in the morning so that you can ride my hog, and then after we ride around awhile, we could go to one of the hot springs to relax. And then you can ride my hog again. For a long time."
After flirtatious emailing that quickly phased into texting and then into video-calls, we both made it very clear that we were into each other. We talked for a few hours about bikes, riding in Japan, our experiences in Japan, and dating in Japan. I learned that we were both bisexual, but that there was a difference in degree: I tended to like guys more, but Dallas tended to like girls more. We agreed to meet up next weekend and go touring together in Myoko, nominally so that I can "try out his hog to see if I like it". Because of covid and the day and season we chose for our outing, the roads would be empty and the natural hot springs in the mountains deserted, even if the weather promised to be a little bit chilly in the late spring of the northern Japanese alps. We both confirmed that we were vaccinated too, so I was willing to chance this encounter with Dallas on the much greater than zero chance that I really was going to ride his hog quite a bit.
On the morning of our meeting, I first showered and shaved myself smooth, then gassed up my bike to full and dashed up the highway to Myoko, making quite a ruckus in the fifth and sixth gears in the early hours. The mountains astride the roads were breath-takingly beautiful. The morning haze partially obscured some of the mountains, but even the visible mountains were somewhat hidden in the mists that clawed down the verdant mountainsides like bird talons, leaving wisps of white vapor through the long valleys.
I was waiting at a nearly empty parking area off the highway, at the place we had agreed to meet, when a blacked-out American bike and its rider thundered into the lot, its exhaust announcing its presence with all the subtly of a hammer to the face. I excitedly stood on the tips of my toes, one hand holding my already removed helmet and one hand excitedly waving a greeting. My leather jacket was open already as the rider pulled up along me and my bike.
Dallas kicked the shifter down into neutral, released the clutch and the break levers, and then killed the engine with the flick of a switch. His bike shuddered as it shut down. Then Dallas kicked the side stand out, leaned his bike over, and stood up. His large frame raised high, higher than me, and then his arms in his tight dark leather jacket reached up and uncoupled his helmet latch, and then removed his helmet. His dirty blonde hair streaked with grey spilled out of his helmet, which he quickly wiped back with one gloved hand. I strode over and stuck out my hand for a shake.
"Nice to finally meet you in person Dallas!" I said excitedly.
"It's great to finally see you in the flesh too Tesh," Dallas said, taking my extended hand and pulling me a little closer to him. Wobbling toward him because he pulled me in suddenly, I raised one hand to balance myself on his chest. I left my hand there. It seemed like the thing to do. Dallas didn't mention it as we shook hands for the first time. "Quite a grip on this one," I thought to myself.
"Wow. You're big," I stated, a stupid grin on my face, my left hand planted on his right pec, which I could feel through the contours of his jacket.
