I Just Didn't Want to Hear It

If I heard one more crack or joke about being over the hill I was going to scream. I'd walked into my surprise birthday party and knew from that very moment the evening was not going to go as I'd planned.

My wife Sandy and I had just come back from having dinner out. You see, it was my fiftieth birthday and I wasn't happy about hitting that milestone. I'd gotten a ration of shit from the guys I worked with and just wanted the figgin' day over with.

"You don't want a party?" my wife asked earlier in the week.

"Babes, I just want to go to dinner with you alone, come home, have some great sex and go to bed Friday."

"But the kids will be disappointed."

"They'll get over it."

"All right, you pick the restaurant and we'll go. However, when we get home you're all mine," she said giving me a sexy smile. Maybe I'll think of something special we can do; after all, you only hit fifty once." That was how my Friday was supposed to go.

After dinner we danced a few songs in the lounge and with her shamelessly rubbing her body all over me, I figured we were going to have one hell of a night. We made out in the restaurant parking lot like two teenagers and I did get more than a casual feel before she told me that maybe it was time to go someplace a little more private and comfortable. I raced home while she cuddled with me and got me more excited by licking my ear among other areas. Shit, I was so hard; I could have punctured a steel plate. We had just pulled onto the driveway when she bolted from the car laughing but I did manage to catch her at the door. I grabbed her ass with both hands and pushed my dick against her getting more than a little tongue in the process.

"Maybe we should take this inside before the neighbors see us."

"Let them look. I've got the hottest wife in the neighborhood and I'm not ashamed to let everyone know it." I opened the door, flipped on the light and that's when I lost my hard on.

"Surprise," everyone yelled. I looked at my wife who was now smiling so I faked a small one myself but I was pissed.

Everyone thought the gag gifts were hilarious as I held up one tee shirt after another with some stupid phrase on it or a novelty item geared to keep your dick hard. I was doing a slow burn inside.

"Dad, we couldn't let this milestone pass," my son Jeff said as my daughter Karin looked on. "It was Karin's idea for the party and after she started it took on a life of it's own. "Mom said you were going to be pissed but the way your eyes lit up when we yelled surprise made it all worth while." I was going to say mom was right, but I held my tongue.

"I love you dad," my daughter Karin said hugging me. "And I don't think you're old; distinguished yes, old no."

By eleven-thirty the last of the group was finally out the house door. Sandy had started cleaning up as I sucked on what was left of my beer.

"I know you're pissed, but how could I turn the kids down?"

"Easy, by saying that I didn't want a birthday party."

"I tried that but you know your daughter. She'd all ready planned most of it by the time I'd heard about it. Jeff got pulled in like me and we both figured you'd get into it when it started," she said putting all the empty bottles and cans in a garbage bag.

I picked up all the gag gifts and dumped them all into her bag.

"You sure you don't want to save any of those?" I just looked at her.

"Sorry, remember it wasn't my idea."

"But you were the one who got me all hot and bothered at dinner and afterwards. If you had no intention of going through with it you shouldn't have started."

"Who said I have no intention of going through with it? The night is still young, everyone's gone and I've got clean sheets on the bed; you want to mess them up big boy?"

My mood changed at that very moment. Sandy dropped the bag of trash and ran for the stairs. I was only two steps behind her but she still managed to beat me to our bedroom. By our third kiss we were naked and on the bed.

"Lie back because I've got something special in mind for you tonight," Sandy said while moving between my legs. Thank God for birthdays and anniversaries because that was the only time I ever got any oral action. She wasn't half bad and probably would be better if she practiced more often but I guess I was happy getting what I was getting.

Her lips were warm and she used more than enough tongue to get me hard again. I had my eyes closed as she licked and sucked me until I was ready to cum. I guess I waited too long, because before I could warn her, I was shooting my load into her mouth.

"Damn it Steve why didn't you give me some warning," she yelled pulling off my dick as semen now shot everywhere.

"Sorry babes, you were doing such a good job, it just happened too fast for me to warn you," I said trying to get myself out of this one.

"And if it wasn't your birthday, I wouldn't be down there doing it either."

Oh well, it wasn't the end of the world as I pushed her back on the bed and put a pillow under her ass.

"Here, let me make up for that little slip," I said smiling as I started eating her pussy. She never shaved it, saying that it would itch growing back, but did keep it nicely trimmed for me. I was an oral type of guy and she was the one bentifitting from my years of experience. I would watch her lie back and close her eyes as she enjoyed what I was doing to her. Tonight, like always, I was in no hurry. In fact, I liked to prolong it until she either went nuts or begged me to finish her off and tonight was no exception.

From her deep breathing and her body motions I knew she was close. I tweaked her clit as I licked her entire slit before swirling my tongue around the opening of her pussy getting it good and wet. Her spasm started off slow but was building as her body finally gave it up.

"Oh God yes," she cried out as I never stopped or gave her a break.

With a finger working her pussy, I concentrated on her very sensitive clit as she told me to come inside. I climbed on top and for the first five minutes I pounded away with her legs over my shoulder as I pushed in enjoying every inch. Pulling out and lying on my side, I lifted her legs and nailed her from underneath. In this position I could watch my dick slide into her, what a sensual sight. It wasn't long before I felt my own rumbling as I shot a small load into her pussy as she massaged my ball until I was good and empty. I left it in, soaking as I called it, moving it in and out every couple of seconds.

I tapped on her stomach with my fingertips, 'I Love You Very Much' she smiled.

After only about two minutes she announced that she needed to go to the bathroom. I'd come down off the mountain but didn't want to pull just yet; it still felt you too good.

"Just a couple more minutes," I begged but it wasn't to be. Sandy pulled back and out flopped my cock as she bounced out of bed. I could see the fresh puddle of juices on the bed as I rolled over on my stomach and grabbed her pillow; it still smelled like her. She brought back a hand towel and wiped up, or at least tried to get rid of the sticky mess on her side of the bed.

"Next time we finish up on your side of the bed," she said throwing the towel in the hamper.

"Let's do it again," I said reaching for her. Are you up to it?"

"Maybe I should be asking you that question, can you get it up again tonight?" my wife said with her hands on her hips.

"Let's find out together; at least one of us will get off," I said smiling and moving towards her.

"It'll take too long and I'm tired. Give me a rain check," she said adjusting the covers on the bed. "Now go wash your mouth and then come back and give me a good night kiss."

"Foiled again." I said making my way into the bathroom. A warm washcloth removed the juices from my dick; face and a slug of citrus mouthwash took care of my breath. A kiss on the lips and a little tongue action and my night of bliss was over, but not forgotten. "I guess I'm not dead just yet," I thought to myself before falling asleep.

Fifty was the new forty but I didn't feel a day over thirty. At work they called me wildman because few could keep up with me. It seemed that the younger group was more interested in getting a paycheck than actually working. When supervisors' positions opened up you almost had to beg people to apply for it; as I said no one had any ambition any more.

"You go ahead and I'll catch up with you later," the plant manager would say trying to keep up with me as I walked at almost a rout step. I guess that was a carry over from boot camp when the platoon leader would yell out 'rout step' and the entire platoon would almost double time to where ever we were going. However, if you were in the back you ended up running anyway. Those were the days.

Thank God, only a few people in the office knew it had been my birthday last Friday so I only had to put up with a little shit on Monday.

"I suppose you're going to need training wheels for your bike soon," one of the salesmen said as I was leaving for the day.

"The day I can't handle my bike is the day they bury me," I replied as I hit the button to start my pride and joy. My black 08 Harley Ultra came to life with a rumble, which brought more than a smile to my face. My morning ride in and my evening ride home were something I looked forward to every day. The only time I didn't ride is if it was pouring rain when I got up in the morning. More than once last winter my boss was amazed that I'd ridden in.

"What are you nuts? Do you know how cold it was this morning?"

"Some where in the low thirties," I respond. But with a full-face helmet, a silk facemask that extended down below my collar and my leathers it was more than bearable. The only thing I feared when it was pitch dark in the morning was finding a dead dog or any other large animal in the road. Hitting something like that on two wheels, doing about fifty, would really ruin my day.

I got my first bike when I was sixteen and had five others before turning to sports cars when I got out of the Marines. A modified Jag XKE was a black hole when it came to money to keep it on the road, a 280ZX, a Porsche and finally a couple of corvettes rounded out my stable. They were all fun to drive but they didn't give me the rush that throwing a leg over a bike would, but my wife said they weren't safe. Please don't call me whipped even if I was. The torque, the speed and just the freedom of being out there in the elements did something to me. From a Honda 305 Scrambler, to a Shovelhead chopper, to a BMW touring bike and finally a Suzuki GS750, I had and tried them all by the time I'd hit twenty-eight.

The Shovelhead chopper had a hard tail that about did me in on my first long ride. It had a sixty-degree rake and a springier front end, which transferred the engine vibration through the handlebars up to my hands. I made one trip to Sturgis on it and about cried when we finally got there. My back was killing me from every bump in the road and my hands hurt like a son of a bitch. I sold it as soon as I got back home. It looked badass but that's how it rode. The BMW wasn't anything like I thought it would be and I felt like an old man riding it; I kept for a total of eight months. The Suzuki was the fastest production bike when it first came out which appealed to my need for speed; back then they didn't have the crotch rockets. However, after someone asked me how I could put up with that high pitch whine I wanted to kill him. You see I hadn't noticed any high pitch whine but after he mentioned it, that's all I heard. I kept it for another year before moving on. By then I had moved onto sports cars and was trading them as often as I'd changed bikes. I was looking for that one vehicle that would give me the fix I craved.

So, about six cars later and about twenty more years under my belt I was driving a Ford Expedition, a Chevy HHR and had a 2002 Z06 Corvette in the garage under a dust cover. It was my China Doll that I drove only on sunny days when all conditions were perfect.

The kids were on their own, and my wife and I were settled; too settled. We had gone to Bike Week in Daytona almost every year in the seventies but after we got rained on in 1981, there was always something going on that needed my attention and my wife didn't care to go anyway. I guess I got lost in the shuffle.

When our town started putting it's own Bike Fest every year, I was there with bells on. The custom bike show was the high point of my weekend as I looked and drooled over this machine or that. As it got bigger it went from one day to two and finally it was three days of rumble and leather.

"Babes, I'm looking at a bike you'd look hot on the back of," I said talking to her on my cell phone, looking at all the show bikes.

"Don't even think about it Steve. Your not safe on four wheels much less two," she would always tell me and she was right. Anyway, I still looked. I talked to all the builders, dealers displaying their bikes and some where along the way I got hooked again or maybe still would be a better word.

It was three years ago that push came to shove. I was downtown looking at all the bikes and it hit me; I could afford one if I dumped my corvette. The wheels were turning in my head as I did what I needed to do, behind my wife's back no less.

"Steve, people are calling about someone selling a red corvette; just tell me it's not our little red corvette?" she said sounding more than a little annoyed.

"You don't have to worry about it any longer, it's sold. A guy is flying in from Texas to pick it up on Wednesday. He's bringing a cashier's check and I'm picking him up at the airport."

"I thought you loved that car?"

"I do, but I'm replacing it with something else." Thank God she didn't ask what just then; I'd hate like hell to lie to my wife. With the car gone Wednesday and the money in the bank I was ready for a change.

"There's not a chance in hell I'm going to let you do that!" my wife yelled at me. "If I'd known what you were planning I never would have let you sell the vette."

"Babes, I never drove it. It looked good, drove like a dream but I was afraid to drive it or should I say scratch it. I wish now that I'd bought the one with twenty thousand miles on it that had a few scrapes and nicks instead of the show model. It was something to look at and drive on a sunny day but wasn't an everyday vehicle. I want something I can ride to work and won't go nuts if it gets a little dirty."

"But a motorcycle? I'm too young to be a widow."

"I'm a careful rider," I said trying to persuade her.

"I'm not worried about you, it's all the other idiots on the road I don't trust. Steve, old people down here don't see or hear well."

"That's why I'm not buying a Honda; you can't even hear them coming up on you. What I am looking at is a Harley. They're by no means quiet and didn't you tell me when we met, you were born to ride?"

"Steve, I said that seventeen years ago when we were tooling around Key West on little mini motorbikes. I'm not going to let you do it, that's my final word."

"Babes, you have two choices. One, you can come with me and help me pick one out or you can sit at home and see what I bring home; your choice but it's going to happen." Sandy chose option number one but wasn't happy.

I got literature from the local dealer and spent days on the computer looking at all the models and especially the costs. Damn, they were expensive. I went to the show rooms, sat on the ones I'd narrowed it down to and finally talked to people who actually owned Harleys.

I remembered my chopper and was concerned about their reliability. The old Harleys weren't dependable. They would literally vibrate the bolts loose and you always needed to make sure you kept your tool kit handy. A friend of mine, who was a cop, said that his Road King was as good as any Jap bike on the road and it was American made. It had been a hell of a long time since I'd ridden a motorcycle and needless to say I was a little uneasy about it, but I'd never tell Sandy that especially because of her crack about becoming a widow.

"How long has it been?" a salesman asked.

"About twenty years."

"You never lose it, it's just like riding a bike."

"Yeah, but in this case, a big bike."

"How many years did you ride?" he asked sizing me up.

"About nine total."

"Look, we've got certification training every Sunday morning. Jump on one of the small bikes and get your legs back under you. If you feel confident after twenty minutes or so, you can take the road test. You'll be surprised how quickly it'll come back to you."

I asked Sandy to come with me but she said this was my thing not hers.

"Go do your thing, come back and we'll talk," is all she would say about it.

I was there Sunday morning early and was put on a small Ducati that looked like it had gone through both World Wars. It kept choking out until it was warmed up. I did laps around the parking lot, started, stopped and weaved in and out around the cones; I was in seventh heaven. I didn't get a point off on the road test. But I soon realized I had to take a written test also; which was a hell of a lot harder than the driving test. I guess I should have read the book. The instructor did say if I didn't understand a question to ask him to explain it to me, I took him up on it more than once.

I came through the door with a temporary license saying that I'd kicked ass and taken names; I was now legal.

"Great," was my wife's only reply.

My buddy cautioned me not to go small especially if Sandy was going to ride with me. I finally settled on a burgundy Road King and even had them put on a backrest for my wife. Sandy followed me in our car as I rode it home from the dealer. I'd already gotten insurance that morning and was just getting use to the feel of the bike as I went up and down the gears, weaved around in my lane and generally had a fantastic time for all of twenty one miles. I'd died and gone to heaven. When we got home I told her I was going out for a little ride but she was pissed when I came back an hour later.

"I thought you were dead in some ditch. You said you were going out on a little ride. Do you know you were gone for an hour?" As you can see, Sandy was not comfortable with me owning a bike.

Our first two-up ride was about a month later. I'd wanted to put a few miles under my belt to make me feel more than secure but it ended up being a total of twelve miles. There was a lot of, "you're going too fast" and "you don't have to take the corners that sharp do you?" But over all, it was a success.

I thought she'd love it as much as I did after she got over her initial fear but I'm sorry to say I was wrong. She wasn't comfortable and the backrest was hitting her too low. It was costly but the following year I decided to upgrade to the top of the line so she wouldn't have any more excuses not to ride with me.

The Ultra had every option excluding hot and cold running water. A full fairing, radio and a backrest attached to a trunk that was as plush as our living room couch. She could change the radio station, play a CD or plug in her I-Pod if she wanted. The trunk and side bags had inserts that acted like soft-sided luggage, which gave her more than enough storage, even for her.

Our first long trip was a birthday bash at the beach. We left midmorning, when it was light and warm, and the hour and forty-five minutes trip to the beach went off without a hitch. I told her if she got tired and wanted to stop to just let me know. Her only complaint was that she didn't have a holder for her water bottle. One more trip to visit her friend who had just bought a condo on the beach and I figured we'd be on the road all the time after that; I was so very wrong.

Sandy was a chicken and didn't like being cold. She didn't like being 'out there' as she put it, especially without anything around her and unless it was eighty degrees she was cold. I bought her a warm leather jacket and her helmet had earflaps that zipped in and out. When she tried to surprise me with a bike trip to the coast in March I just starred at her. It was my birthday and even in March, Florida is cold.