On the back of her motorcycle I knew I was alive engine humming, vibrating, between my thighs. Riding on the back of her bike, her pillion, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air had weight and substance as we push through the night gaining speed as it touches us the feeling so intimate arms around her waist pressed into her body. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under us mixed with the visual delight of the city lights flying by in a blur. Looking up I could see everything the moon and stars twinkling in the sky in a sweeping 360 degrees view, up, down and around, wider than Pana-Vision and IMAX unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard.
I even heard music pressed into her back, my pattern loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raising acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar. On the back of her motorcycle I heard music playing a dark orchestra of sounds, women's voices moaning, all hidden in the air being released at speed, faster, faster we went. Smells became uncannily vivid, all the individual lights blurring, sweet smells of flowers, the smells of cut grass, flirt with my nose, magical chemical notes forming a great plant symphony playing with my nostrils. The smells evoked memories so strongly it was as though the past was hanging invisible in the air surrounding me, the most casual vibrations of the rumbling engine, stimulating my clit, as the time machine unlocks my desire vibrating between my thighs.
A wonderful ride on a hot summer night bordering on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of the stimuli was like a hot bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my very soul. Tearing smiles out of me, a couple of hours ago I was numb, but now, on two wheels, arms around a big ragged biker dyke, smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane.
Transportation is only a secondary function of her motorcycle the true purpose is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a magic metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark, shiny and dirty, warm, cold, lapping over each other in an erotic foreplay. A conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding together a mix of the gritty and the holy trinity. We were flying three feet off the ground, the wonderful sensations between my legs, motor humming, vibrating through me bringing sexual desire and lust the wetness growing in my lace panties with the marvelous sensations.
I woke up her arms around my naked body, slowly realizing I was in a strange apartment my hung over mind slowly putting the puzzle pieces together. Daisey had picked me up last night at Roscoe's Tavern, a neighborhood gay & lesbian bar with a dance floor, pool table & outdoor spaces. Daisy had platinum hair in edgy short-length chopped pixie cut with a unique metallic blonde hair color she was bigger then me with tattooed arms. She was dressed in tight black leather pants and leather boots and a matching black biker vest.
