Sex, bike, rock and roll.

Evening

At that time, I was working in one of the countries on the Baltic Sea coast. The residents there are Nordic, not all of them are handsome, but if they are, they look like they're straight off the cover of National Geographic. Summer is short, you can show off in a swimsuit for one, maybe two months a year. But it was there, that short summer, that one of the most memorable adventures happened to me.

I discovered a classic Harley near a bookstore. Polished, with slightly dusty leather saddlebags, it drew me to itself like a magnet. I examined it from all sides, like a wanderer blown in from the land of Oz. Then I decided to take a selfie on this monster. Climbed onto it, smiled... And saw, when taking the photo, that there was another participant in the picture, standing right behind me. I turned around and was very surprised that, for the first time, the type of transport matched the type of driver. He was as good as his motorcycle, or even better. He smiled widely and offered:

— Let me take it, it'll look better from a distance.

In my photo collection, this one, on the Harley in short denim shorts, holds an honorable place.

Then he came over, handed back the phone, brought his face close to mine, leaning on the handlebars:

— You know, I don't allow anyone to sit on my bike without asking. Everything has its price...

— And what is it? — I snorted, swinging my other leg over to the side where he was standing.

This brought him even closer.

— Like this, — he whispered, put his hand on my neck and pulled me to him. I had never kissed a guy I'd exchanged just two sentences with before. Here, I wanted to break my own rules... His lips were warm, soft, his tongue gently, just a couple of millimeters, peeked inside. I put my hands on his leather jacket, slid down. He hugged my waist, continuing to kiss. Then he just pressed his nose to mine:

— I'm Markus.

— Maria…

— Very nice, — and another kiss…

What came over me? Communicating with him was easy and pleasant. He followed his desires "here and now," and wasn't ashamed of it at all. So I decided that whatever happened tomorrow, I'd get maximum pleasure today.

Markus came in, looked around my sparsely furnished apartment while I went to change. I closed the bedroom door, but not to the click of the lock. I pulled off my shorts, got out jeans, instead of a T-shirt — a shirt and a leather jacket so I wouldn't get cold. When I was standing in my underwear, with one leg in a pant leg, I turned around. I saw an observer in the crack of the door, but he was quiet. And right, it wasn't time yet to tear the last pieces of fabric off me... I pulled on the pants, opened the door. Markus smiled innocently, not wanting to pretend he wasn't there or hadn't seen anything. I asked:

— Did you like it?

— Very much. What do you do?

— A little bit of everything. You can come in, — under his watchful gaze, I put on the top part too. I liked how he looked — with the knowledge that it would all be his, but calmly. Nothing like the vulgar looks that make you feel like you're already in a mix of saliva and sperm. When I was dressed, he stood up, touched my cheek:

— Can we take it off now?

— Let me go to a real biker gathering first, — hugging him, I climbed barefoot onto his sneakers to be level, and kissed him. — And then we'll see how it goes…

— Agreed, — he picked me up in his arms. — Let's go!

Near a wooden authentic cafe, Harleys and similar bikes, and a few sport bikes, were lined up. A brand new orange Ducati was especially nice, I stroked its smooth side, to which Markus took my curious fingers and removed them:

— You remember that everything has its price, right? Or do you want some group action, baby?

— Not today, — I smiled. He put his hand on my shoulder proprietorially, and here we are inside.

Oh, I've been here for three months and haven't been to this place... Probably for the best, because it wouldn't be safe for me alone. It was like I'd stepped into the past. In one corner sat bearded men around fifty, acting like they were twenty. A bit further away — a group of young people, apparently the owners of the sport models. Among them, unmistakably, by the orange patches on his vest, stood out the owner of the Ducati I liked so much, but he himself didn't suit it at all. There were fewer girls, but enough, and despite the night chill, they were dressed in outfits with deep necklines. Some were with their boys, some were looking for adventures for their "second 90s." I was grateful to Markus for insisting I change under the pretext of the weather — because in my daytime outfit, I would have fit perfectly into the "groupie" squad, and I didn't need that at all.

Closer to midnight, people started to leave. Mostly in pairs. Some, particularly drunk ones, stayed on the second floor — there was something like a hotel "for our own." Markus had also had a few drinks, not many, but enough for driving, so I offered to sit in front. A bit of training in the parking lot, and here — I'm kind of driving, though his hands are over mine on the handlebars. We decided to go to his place, but with a pause to visit the beach. During the day filled with nudists, at night — empty, given the temperatures not conducive to night swimming. We sat sideways on the wide seat, him behind, me between his legs in front, my toes resting on the sand. Silence, the sound of the sea... Gentle lips caressing my neck and ear. A confident hand, first unbuttoning the jacket, then making its way under the shirt to my breast. The second one went into the jeans, first getting stuck between the panties and the pants, but I unzipped to give it room. A light chuckle:

— You want it too?

— Just thinking about it, — I teased him.

With our hands, we kissed, lightly biting each other's lips. I was shaking either from excitement or from the cool sea breeze, or both at once. Finally, he was the first to pull out his hand, took my chin with it, and let me taste him:

— Shall we go to a warmer place?

— Great idea, — I whispered, as he helped me button up my jacket.

Markus had a simple and free house, like himself. Near the entrance, next to a cashmere coat — an antique guitar. A living room with a leather sofa, overlooking the bay. He took off his outerwear, asked if I wanted a drink, but I was inclined to refuse. I hung my jacket next to his, then took hold of my shirt collar. It was denim, not with buttons but with rivets — you pull, and it all unbuttons at once. He laughed:

— A man's dream! Don't they make bras like that?

— No, — I answered, shaking out of my sneakers first, then out of my jeans, and heading to the living room. — But I can make it easier for you if you can't manage…

— I'll manage, — he pulled off his T-shirt and came closer. I ran my finger over his smoothly shaved cheek, over his strong neck, between his collarbones, circled one nipple, then the other, went down between the abs, and rested on the already once-unbuckled belt. He smiled and held my hand:

— Shall we continue in the shower?

— Of course we'll continue, especially if I'm undressed and carried there over a shoulder, — I kept having fun.

Everything I said evoked an unchanging, open smile from Markus. Pressing against my lips, he reached his hands behind my back to unclasp my bra in an instant, followed by my panties on the sofa. And I, lifted under my knees, was delivered to the bathroom. I turned on the water while Markus unbuttoned his pants. I started humming Joe Cocker's song "You Can Leave Your Hat On," to which he jumped out for a second, then returned, in a real cowboy hat. And, to my applause, slowly started pulling down his jeans. Swiveling his firm butt in tight briefs a little, he took them off too. Climbed in with me, hugged me, pulled the curtain. I took the hat off him and, looking into his eyes, put it on myself. And then got on my knees…

Night

Markus had a gorgeous cock — medium-sized, but very proportional, circumcised. First, I soaped it up, using these moments for lazy strokes with my hand. As soon as the foam washed off, I licked the head with my tongue. Markus sighed, took the hat off me and tossed it onto the washing machine:

— I can't see well. Though you're so sexy… Want to put it on again in bed?

When I stood up, he kissed me. Relaxedly hugged me, directed the shower at me, turning on the hottest stream. So we stood for a couple of minutes, motionless, under the jets, in clouds of steam, then he took the shower gel:

— Come on, princess, let me wash you…

And he did wash me, thoroughly, tenderly, not missing a single spot, from top to bottom, exploring every clean area with his lips. When he reached my knees, he sat on the edge of the bathtub and put one of my legs on his knee. My spread lower lips ended up right opposite his face. Holding my butt with his left hand so I wouldn't fall on the slippery floor, he buried his face there, sucking on my clit, inserting two fingers inside at once. I took a towel from the hook, wrapped myself in it from above, and, closing my eyes, gave in to the sensations. Though, from his tender lips and the movements of his fingers, I increasingly wanted him to enter me with his cock, pressing his whole body against me. I told him so…

Taking half the towel from me, he whispered:

— I just adore girls who, like this, in plain text, say what they want…

And, true to tradition, carried me to bed in his arms.

— Yes, I haven't had a girlfriend for a month. Caught me!

— And I wasn't catching, — I smiled and went to the bathroom. No, not to bathe — for the hat, and in the hallway, I grabbed the guitar too.

Seeing me, still naked, but in a headdress and with a musical instrument, Markus almost fell off the bed laughing. Then he asked:

— What will you sing about?

— About summer and sex, of course!

— You're insatiable, baby! Maybe we should eat instead? Unlike you, I still need to rest…

Morning

— The worst thing about bikers, — Markus said, as I lay on his shoulder, languid and satisfied after great sex and hearty food, — is the stereotypes. That we're such tough guys, punching faces, promiscuous, everyone has a gun, a bunch of tattoos and a beard…

— You don't have a beard, — I stroked his chin. — And no tattoos. A gun?

— Why would I need one? — he snorted. — For show, I have a guitar and a Harley!

Markus himself had a good, intellectual job, and he also loved to read. Though, one thing was stereotypical of bikers — he knew that girls liked him. Him and his motorcycle.

— Should I call a taxi? — I asked, looking at the clock. It showed around three in the morning.

— How about staying? — he asked, covering me with a blanket.

Judging by the sun, I got up late. Markus was still snoozing. I decided to take a shower, make breakfast, and then we'll see — it's Saturday after all, no need to rush anywhere, if yesterday's magic hasn't evaporated in the daylight.

I got into the bathtub, stood under the shower, soaped up the strategic places… Spread my lips, touched my pussy, still dripping juices from the night. Remembered how amazing it was… How he entered, sharply and gently at the same time… Didn't notice how two fingers ended up inside and I started rubbing with them, imagining him. Directed the shower stream at my clitoris, turning on the densest flow. And didn't realize I wasn't alone — the bathroom door didn't have a latch. When I saw, it was too late — the curtain was pulled aside, a naked, sleepy guy with a morning erection was looking at me. I tried to defuse the awkward moment, smiled and slowly raised both hands. Markus burst out laughing, climbed in with one leg, took the shower:

— Hey, I can't leave you alone for a second!

— Do you like it in the butt? — Markus asked, carefully moving it there in rhythm with the movements of his cock.

— No, sorry, the offer is not relevant, — I whispered in his ear.

— Okay, — his tool went in especially deep and stopped. — Remove the hand?

— No, you can leave it, — from the finger in my anus, I caught new sensations, especially now, with my legs wide apart, impaled on his cock to the hilt, all slippery and wet.

He smiled. Continued moving under me, holding me tightly. After a couple of minutes, the thrusts became sharper, and he announced:

— I'm close, baby…

— I thought you already cleaned up five minutes ago! And so thoroughly…

— No, — I bubbled. — That was mouthwash for fresh breath!

A couple of years later, I found myself on the Baltic Sea coast again. About that, and much more, I'll tell a bit later…