My motorcycle is for me (on one level anyway) a bit of freedom.  Freedom from distractions, freedom from the other ties that bind me to the home, the office, the cage.  It has a sexual element to it, especially when I’m dressed in my armored leathers, wearing only intimate panties and a lacy bra underneath, probably a necklace, almost always a pearl earring.  I don’t wear makeup, it would mess up my helmet liner.  I would if I could.  SO wonders out loud what the first responders in Davidson County will think when they come upon my accident scene, and cut my leathers away and reveal my true perversion.  My mind is elsewhere.  I am cognizant that sportbiking is a dangerous obsession.  But my mind is on the precision with which I time the drop in to apex that 25mph curve just right, feeling my bra supporting me underneath my red mesh and black leather jacket.  My right hand thumb and third and fourth fingers are one with the throttle, index and middle fingers poised reactively above the brake lever.  Left hand similarly postured, thumb, third and fourth fingers on the bar, index and middle finger loosely gripping the clutch lever, which has been rotated slightly back for an easy reach.  The boy I bought this from was about 6′, but oddly, this bike fits me well.  I wouldn’t want to be much taller and ride the ’96 honda vfr.  I feel the slender grip of my skimpy undies on my bottom as I move from side to side on the seat, the leathers heavy and warm on my bare legs.  My leather pants are armored black mesh with heavy black leather on the vulnerable spots.  I’ve been down a couple times, and the skid gear has saved me a lot of skin.  I’m a good and safe rider, but it’s easy to make a mistake if you are not properly focused, and other drivers are fatally unpredictable and careless.

I’m getting all manly hairy again.  God it grows back fast.  It looks gross to me, but SO is pleased, said she thought the hairless me was, ahem, “creepy.”  That hurts, and sometimes I just don’t know how it is I ever thought I should marry this woman.

Worked very hard on the garden today, need ibuprofen, more bong hits, and another beer or two.  Crap, I have work work to do.




2 responses to “Freedom

  1. Since you are into public displays of blowing hot and cold with your affection and humiliation – it is not my history that you are unable to live with, Clifford Miller, it is your own.

  2. I disagree with your characterization of me blowing hot and cold with anything. I’m actually (apparently) maddeningly consistent. I go through phases where I am in a far worse place than other times, but the behavior is really WYSIWYG. I’m straightforward, honest and WFO. I wear my heart on my sleeve. She has known me for 22 years. I’m not in denial of anything.
    I appreciate you joining the discussion. Please no profanity, I’ll trash that kind of comment.

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