“Holy Fuck” shouted Chuck, as the information flashed up on his computer screen. He could not believe it at first, but it was true, he had found her, after two weeks of searching. There it was in black and white. Heather Harlow, ex glamour model, now living in Monterey CA. There was even a phone number, and her e-mail too. The question was, what was he to do now, he needed to contact her, but through what medium? A phone call was out of the question, too personal, too soon.
“Maybe write her a letter” he thought, then dismissed that idea also, finally deciding to send her an e-mail, in an attempt to start a dialogue. He decided to put Electraglide in Blue as the subject matter.
Dear Miss Harlow, Please forgive this intrusion upon your time, but I felt that I just had to contact you. I am now in possession of the Harley Davidson motorcycle that was used in the 1973 movie “Electraglide In Blue.” The very same motorcycle that you did a photo shoot around, for Hustler magazine, a few years ago. I am in Mobile AL., and my name is Chuck Deveraux, I am a motorcycle mechanic, and purchased this bike recently. I have spent the last six months restoring it to showroom condition. And my plan now is to tour around the States on it. I will be in California in the next two weeks, and I just wondered, would you like to see the bike again, as she was when you last saw her? Yours sincerely Chuck Deveraux.
Chuck double-checked his spelling and grammar, and then clicked the button to send it, wondering, hoping that she might reply. He closed his eyes, deep in thought now, realising how lucky that he had been, winning all that money on the lottery, $500,000 a year for the next ten years. It was only this that had enabled him to buy the bike of his dreams, give up his job, and fantasise about Heather Harlow, more commonly known as HH. She did not do the glamour work now, after her marriage failed, and her husband was convicted of running a string of hookers, she divorced him, and went into seclusion almost it seemed. But he, Chuck Deveraux, had now found her.
His dream, of reproducing the photo shoot, with the bike that he now owned, and the model he adored seemed a gigantic step closer. Chuck opened the drawer in his computer desk, and picked up the well-thumbed magazine. A copy of Hustler, from 1993, two years before Heather’s disastrous marriage. He flipped through the pages, quickly finding what he was looking for. There it was, his bike, shining like a new pin, and there she was HH. Sitting astride it, wearing a cobalt blue swimsuit, her nipples proud against the material. She was five feet four inches tall, with beautiful long brown hair and brown eyes, and her breasts, 36C, perfection. As soon as he saw her it started, the familiar stirring in his loins, as his cock reacted to what he could see.
The swimsuit was slowly being removed, picture-by-picture. Chuck looked at her left breast, with the deliciously dark brown swelling circling her nipple, pushing it out. His zipper now open, as he fondled his swelling shaft, stroking it. Her hands, pressing her tits together, a “come fuck these baby” look in her eyes. His cock now rigid, as he slipped out of his jeans and boxers, taking a firmer grip, and stroking it even harder. He quickly turned to the centrespread where she was naked, sat on the seat, one leg on the floor, the other on the handlebars. Her sweet pink pussy, under a small triangle of soft downy hair, entrancing him, as it always did.
He grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk, and fell to his knees. Eyes closed, pumping furiously on his hard swollen cock. In his minds eye he could see Heather, beckoning him, holding her pussy lips open, offering it to him. He licked his lips, imagining he was tasting her, licking his way all over her sex, and tongue fucking her as she moaned in pleasure. His back tightened, his body as taut as stretched elastic, and then he exploded, holding the tissue against the head of his cock, as cum shot free, stream after stream travelling down his shaft, giving him that ecstatic feeling that all men crave. He was panting, tears of pleasure in his eyes, his cock slowly slackening, as he squeezed it, drawing out the last few drops.
Chuck took one more look at the photograph, kissed her pussy, and turning off the computer, decided to go to bed.
Heather returned from her lunch date with Karin, her ex personal assistant, and now her best friend, just before 2PM. She decided to check her computer for messages, before having a long cool drink by the pool. She sat at her PC, surveying her e-mails, one caught her eye, she did not know the senders name, but it was titled “Electraglide In Blue.” Heather knew that she had heard the phrase before, but could not remember where, intrigued now, she opened the mail. She read it through twice, and then sat there, thinking, and remembering. It had been a beautiful morning at Daytona Beach, early before the public started arriving. She and Karin, along with a hunk of a photographer, and what was more, he was not gay, as so many are. Heather had been so turned on by the bike, sitting on it naked, as its powerful engine throbbed between her thighs. She chuckled, remembering the afternoon, and their motel room, both of them being fucked by the hunk, until it went dark.
“Oh yes, Mr Chuck Deveraux, I remember your bike very well.” She said, as she moved on to read her other mail. After reading all the mail, and discarding some, she changed into a bikini, and took her book, to sit and read by the pool. She tried, but it was no good, the book held no interest for her. It was that e-mail, the motorcycle one; her mind kept drifting back to Daytona. The guy had been a stud, no doubt about it, not only well hung, but he knew how to use it too. She could almost see herself, mouth clamped on Karin’s pussy, as he fucked her from behind, then later, sitting on his face, kissing Karin, as she rode his cock. The memories came flooding back, as her nipples hardened, and the damp patch got a little larger with every minute.
“But what the fuck was his name?” she said out loud, She heard one time that he had gone to Europe, producing porn movies, and she knew they would be good ones too. But his name still eluded her. She decided to phone Karin, she might now.
“Hi Karin hun, its H here”
“Mmmm, hi sweetie, thank you for the lunch, it was wonderful,”
“No problem Karin, it was my pleasure. A question for you, do you remember Daytona, and a photo shoot I did there on a motorcycle?”
“Remember it! Hell yeah, how can I ever forget the sight of you, naked, sitting on the saddle, twisting your nipples, with that engine throbbing away under you. I thought you were going to cum all over the damned thing hun.” Karin replied, and laughed softly.
Heather smiled to herself, “Can you remember his name though, the photographer, I have been trying for an hour now?”
“Stefan, he was from Poland, or his family were, didn’t he go back to make porno’s? Anyway, what brought this on, it is so long ago now?”
Heather told Karin about the e-mail, and how the guy was bringing the bike to California soon, but she was unsure about it. Was it really safe, with all the stalkers and weirdoes about these days? Karin suggested if she would like to see it, mail him, ask for a photo, at least she would know he had a bike. Better still, a photo with today’s New York Times or something on the seat, so he could not fake it.
“Karin, you are so smart darling, what would I do without you?”
“Smart? Don’t know about that, but I do remember how Stefan fucked us both twice, that guy was HOT wasn’t he hun?”
“Tell me about it, I am fucking dripping here, just remembering, oh my God am I?”
“Want me to come over hun?”
“I thought you would never ask you horny bitch, get that sweet ass over here now”
Karin chuckled down the phone, and then disconnected the call, as she made her way to the door.
Heather went indoors again, and reconnected the PC. Doing as Karin suggested, she would ask him for a photo of the bike, with today’s newspaper, showing the date on the seat.
