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From: jmp@cyber-mall.com (Joe Parsons)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: TEST RIDE (mf, outdoors, Teutonic machinery)
Date: Fri, 21 Jun 1996 09:26:20 -0700
Organization: Yankee Enterprises
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Xref: news.primenet.com alt.sex.stories:164750

TEST RIDE

by

Joe Parsons



"Put something exciting between your legs...ride a motorcycle!"

I smiled to myself as I read the bumper sticker affixed to the
rear of the Toyota 4 x 4 ahead of me. As I pulled to the left to
pass, I glanced at the muddy off-road bike securely strapped into
the truck's bed. The driver, a girl of no more than 20, drove
confidently, a tanned arm propped negligently against the window
sill. Her hair was cut very short, and she wore a half smile as
though remembering how she had covered the bike with mud.

I remembered my own biking days, driving a Triumph 500 through
three sloppy Rhode Island winters. It was the most unreliable
piece of machinery ever created, but it eventually managed to get
me where I wanted to go, with a lot of noise, leaking oil and
making enough racket to collect a couple of tickets each month. I
always ignored them.

It was cheap transportation, and was disreputable enough to
collect girls like a noisy butterfly net. I began to think of the
balmy summer days, days much like today.

Suddenly I realized that I had pulled into the parking lot of a
motorcycle dealership. An ornate sign over the store front
announced that this was the home of

 "QUALITY GERMAN MOTORCYCLES" 

In front of the plate glass window, standing as though at
attention, were twenty new BMWs, gleaming proudly in the July sun.


What the hell, I thought to myself; it won't hurt to take a look.

I parked the car and got out, sauntering nonchalantly towards the
row of bikes. It was immediately evident that things had changed
in the twenty years since I had ridden motorcycles. I caught my
breath as I approached the first in line: a pearlescent gray
K100RS. Four cylinders, horizontally opposed and water cooled.
Each part of the machine was obviously designed for a purpose, to
work in harmony with every other part. The fairing, with its
oversized rectangular headlight, seemed to be shaped by the wind
itself, and the handlebars and fuel tank invited a laid-out riding
position.

I walked around the machine, not daring to touch it. I knew that,
once I had my hands on it, I would have a hard time letting go. As
I inspected the German machine, I began to feel the familiar
tingle in my crotch, the slightly horny feeling I always used to
get around motorcycles. Gently I laid a hand on the aluminum fuel
tank. It was warm to the touch. I brushed my fingers across the
seat, then traced the outline of the alloy wheels with my fingers.
It was all coming back to me now. I was crouching next to the
bike, fondling and caressing the machine as a lover would,
oblivious to the world around me. I could feel the beginning of an
erection.

"You seem to appreciate the German equipment." I jumped, startled
by the interruption. I looked up at the source of the voice,
feeling my face redden slightly. 

From my crouching vantage point she seemed to tower over me, and
her breasts seemed so large as to block out the sun. I stood up,
conscious of the slight bulge in my pants.

She was tall, nearly my height, and wore her long blonde hair
pulled back severely. Her hips and shoulders were rather broad,
implying physical strength. Her left hand rested familiarly on the
left handgrip, her right on her hip. She wore a t-shirt with the
blue and white BMW logo and the name of the dealership just above
the waistband of her tight, faded jeans. The logo on her shirt was
rather badly distorted by her large breasts, and her nipples poked
prominently through the material of the shirt, one at each side of
the circular design.

"Actually, I was just looking to see how far bikes have come since
I rode," I offered, lamely. I tore my eyes reluctantly away from
her breasts to meet her steady gaze. She looked back at me
confidently.

"My name is Inge," she said, proffering her hand. I took it,
surprised at the strength of her grip.

 "Would you like to take a test ride?" I released her hand
reluctantly and she rested it on the saddle of the motorcycle,
inches from mine. She had moved almost imperceptibly closer to me
and I found that my eyes kept wandering to her breasts. 

"I'd like that," I said, "but it has been quite a while since I
did any serious riding." She was absently stroking the bike's
saddle with the backs of her fingernails as she looked steadily at
me. I could smell the soap she bathed with this morning. I had a
quick mental picture of this statuesque woman in the shower, her
perfect breasts slick with lather...again I felt a stirring in my
groin. I swallowed, trying to control my thoughts.

"I would be happy to ride with you," she said, and for the first
time I was conscious of a slight accent, her W's tending toward
V's and a hint of a guttural roll to her R's. I nodded, not quite
trusting my voice.  She swung her leg expertly over the saddle and
started the bike.

BMWs have always appealed to me, and as she started the motor, I
remembered why. The German bike's four cylinders sang a seductive
mechanical song, with a slight whirr of cam chains. My pulse rate
increased slightly at the sound. She pushed the bike off the
center stand, toed the transmission into gear, and twisted the
throttle slightly as she pulled the big machine out of line into
the clear area of the parking lot.

"I'll drive first," she suggested, "and then I'll give you a
chance at it." Hesitating just a moment, I swung my leg over the
low saddle and put my feet on the rear pegs. It was a short
saddle, not meant for two people over a long distance. The slight
forward tilt of the seat caused me to slide forward against her. I
could feel her warmth against my chest. I searched under the
saddle for passenger handgrips and found none.

"Put your arms around me," she said over her shoulder, "and I'll
show you something." I complied, willingly. My hands held her
waist, just under the curve of her breasts. She pulled the bike
smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the main thoroughfare.
Seeing no traffic, she twisted the throttle and released the
clutch. With a turbine-like rush, the 1,000 cc bike accelerated.
Unprepared for the acceleration, I nearly lost my grasp of Inge's
waist. My feet came off the footpegs, and I desperately grabbed
for a handhold. I realized that I had grabbed at her breasts. As I
released them (somewhat reluctantly), I could feel her chuckle. I
wondered whether to apologize and decided against it.

"You notice that the BMW has adequate power for acceleration,
yes?" she said over her shoulder, raising her voice against the
wind. The smile was still there, playing with the corners of her
mouth. She squirmed slightly on the saddle, rubbing against my
hardening crotch. The slight vibration of the bike seemed to be
concentrating there.

"It's impressive, all right," I replied, wondering if she could
perceive just how impressed I really was. She turned off the main
road and headed towards the hills and their winding roads.

"Would you like to try it out yourself?" she asked, braking to a
stop. 

"Sure," I replied. I dismounted carefully, hoping she would not
see the now-prominent bulge in my pants. She smiled at me as she
stood the motorcycle on its side stand and got off. She glanced at
my crotch quickly and her smile widened slightly. 

"Get on," she said. "I'll be right behind you." I swung a leg over
the saddle, settling onto the seat, and she got on behind,
pressing her breasts into my back. Was it my imagination, or did I
feel her nipples harden as they touched me? She encircled my waist
with her arms, holding tighter than seemed necessary.

"I am ready when you are," she said, her voice lower and huskier
than before. I put the transmission into first, twisted the
throttle and eased the clutch out. We were rolling. I shifted into
second, then third, and we entered the first series of tight
switchbacks on the deserted road. The bike seemed made for this
road, and I gained confidence with each sweeping turn. 

I increased my speed and leaned the bike more aggressively into
each turn, extending my inside knee and accelerating hard as I
exited each turn. I began to remember why I rode motorcycles. Inge
seemed to be enjoying the ride, as she clung more and more tightly
to me. Her breasts seemed rock hard, as they dug into my back. Her
hands were now flat against my stomach. Her right hand was just
above my belt, the little finger beginning to insinuate itself
down the front of my pants. I was definitely and visibly aroused
now, both from the ride and from Inge's closeness and increasing
familiarity. 

There was no longer any doubt about her; she was clinging to me
more tightly, and I could feel the heaving of her chest as we
negotiated the curves. She laid her cheek against my back. I
sensed that her eyes were closed.

I slowed the bike. The sound of the wind abated, and I could hear
the slight rasp of her breathing. With the road requiring less of
my attention, I could feel that she was pressing her crotch
tightly against me, squirming slightly on the seat.

I stopped. She tensed slightly against me, then slid her hand
inside my shirt, resting it on the skin of my belly. She made
small noises barely audible above the soft purr of the bike's
idle.

She continued to caress the skin of my stomach and chest inside my
shirt. I felt moisture at the tip of my cock. As I was deciding
what I might do next, Inge abruptly swung off the bike, pulling me
with her. Suddenly her arms were around my neck and she was
kissing me hungrily, her tongue darting and searching my mouth. My
arms encircled her waist as I pulled her strong body to me. Her
breasts felt as though they would bruise my chest, and her hard
pubis was grinding against my swollen cock. 

She pulled away from me, her nostrils flaring, and grasped my two
hands firmly, placing them on her breasts. As I caressed her
through the thin material of the shirt I could feel her nipples
respond. Bolder now, I pulled her shirt out of her jeans and put
my hands inside. Reaching around to her back, I unhooked the clasp
of her bra, then pulled her shirt over her head. I cupped her
large breasts, marveling at their firmness and the hardness of the
nipples. She was breathing faster now. She opened her eyes very
wide and looked full into my face. Never taking her eyes off my
face, she reached down to the snap of her jeans. She pulled it
open and lowered her zipper. She was not wearing panties, and I
could see her blonde pubic hair. She dropped her jeans and stepped
out of them. The lips of her pussy were swollen and engorged. 

She pulled me over to the motorcycle, which was still idling.
Still grasping my hands, she sat sideways on the saddle of the BMW
and spread her legs wide. Her clitoris was beginning to protrude
from the golden curls of her pussy hair. She pulled my head to
her.

I ran my tongue over her fine bush, savoring the taste; it was
sweet and musky at the same time, and as her aroma filled my
nostrils my senses became clouded. Impatient with my browsing in
her bush, Inge put her strong hands at the back of my head and
forced my mouth to her. 

I licked her clit, first around the base, then, at her urging,
took it into my mouth. She gasped in response. I inserted my
tongue into her widening pussy and felt the profusion of her sweet
juices flowing. She was stretched nearly horizontal across the
bike now, her legs encircling my head. The vibration of the idling
motor seemed to excite her further as I sucked, licked and
caressed her sopping vagina. 

My own excitement was building now, and I cupped her buttocks as I
lifted her pussy into my face, drinking deeply. She was
alternately sobbing and laughing now, clinging to the handlebars
of the BMW as I licked and sucked at her pussy. I drew back
slightly, and caressed her lovely, wet cunt with my hand. Gently I
stroked her clitoris and took it between my thumb and forefinger.
She moaned in response, writhing on the seat. I slid the four
fingers of my hand deep into her sopping pussy, pressing her clit
with my thumb. Her breath came in short, sobbing pants now, and
her hips made short thrusting movements. I buried my face again,
tongue thrusting deeply into her pussy. Her juice was beginning to
cover the seat of the bike, and her buttocks slid around on the
slippery surface. 

All at once she tensed, holding her breath and tightening her
strong legs around my head. I pressed the point of my tongue hard
against the base of her erect clit, encircling it.

"Suck it, please suck it, please, please," she implored between
gasping sobs. I took the firm bud between my lips and sucked
gently, flicking the tip with my tongue. Her body trembled in
response and her legs tightened even more around my head. 

My ears were ringing now, and I was conscious of nothing but the
slipperiness of her juices on my face and in my mouth, and the
taste of her engorged pussy. Her gasps and sobs were rising in
intensity and pitch as she approached her orgasm. I was dimly
aware that my cock was throbbing impatiently, and that my own
juice was beginning to stream plentifully from it. I continued to
lick, to caress, to thrust with my tongue.

At last Inge arched her back off the seat of the bike, grinding
her crotch ever harder into my face; her taut body was now
supported by her hands on the handlebar and seat, and by her legs
around my head. I marveled at her strength as she supported her
body in this way. The BMW muttered on, unperturbed.

 The juices poured from her pussy as her cries intensified; with a
long wail which increased both in pitch and intensity, she reached
her climax. 

Her body stiffened, supported between the handlebars of the bike
and my neck. After a long moment, she sagged, her buttocks once
again supported by the seat of the motorcycle. Her breasts,
flushed with her passion, glistened with sweat. Her breathing
began to return to normal.

She sat up on the seat of the bike and disentangled her legs from
my shoulders. She gazed at me seriously and pulled my face to
hers. She kissed me deeply, licking her own juices from my face
and lips. She held my face between her two hands and peered into
my eyes for a moment. I waited, motionless, wondering what this
strange woman would do next.

Experimentally, I bent my head to one magnificent breast, taking
the nipple in my mouth. As I encircled it with my tongue, I felt
her respond, pressing my face into her breast. This time, however,
her reaction was different. Her hands, which before had guided me
to bring her pleasure, were now busy at the top of my pants,
fumbling with the button. She undid it as I sucked on her breast
and pulled the zipper down. My cock, free of its restraints, leapt
triumphantly into the daylight.

Inge stared at it, cooing in admiration. She slid off the seat of
the bike and pushed my pants to my ankles. She guided me onto the
seat of where she had just been and pulled off my shoes, then my
pants. She pushed my legs apart and stood between them, staring at
my erect and pulsing member. She stroked the length of the shaft
with her fingers, then lightly squeezed my testicles. I began to
feel as though I would burst. She squeezed the base of my cock,
smiling impishly.

"No, I don't think it is time for you to come yet," she said. I
felt as though I should disagree. I sat on the slippery seat,
watching her stare at my cock, and felt my impending orgasm
subside. Still grasping my member firmly at the base, Inge flicked
the tip of my penis with her tongue once, twice, then three times,
savoring the small drops of fluid emerging from the tip. 

I gripped the handlebar tightly, causing the engine to rev
slightly.

Gently she kissed the tip of my cock. Licking her lips once, she
surrounded it with her full lips, slowly taking more of me into
her mouth. With agonizing slowness she descended upon my swollen
member until her lips were at the very base of my cock. The warmth
of her mouth and tongue encircled me and made me dizzy with
desire.

Her tongue began to encircle my cock as it was still deep in her
warm mouth. Deliberately she raised her head, holding a slight
suction as my cock withdrew from her throat. Finally she held just
the head in her mouth and she stopped. Her tongue was still busy
around the head of my cock as she held it tightly with her lips.
Just as I wondered how long I could survive this teasing without
coming, she took more of me into her warm mouth, again to the base
of my member. I wondered how she could breathe.

With increasing speed she moved her mouth up and down the length
of my member, first holding just the very tip in her mouth, then
taking me deep into her throat. Her tongue seemed to flutter and
vibrate against my cock as she moved. Up and down her mouth went,
making me helpless with pleasure. I had to have her then.

I reached again for her pussy. "I have to fuck you," I moaned.
"Please let me fuck you...please..." She began to make a sound
deep in her throat, an animal sound which made my entire crotch
vibrate. I knew that I would come at any moment.

She brushed my hand away, continuing to suck and lick my cock. I
threw my head back, unable to hold myself back any longer. My body
arched convulsively as my orgasm took control. I felt Inge lift my
buttocks off the seat of the motorcycle, her mouth still holding
my cock. She cupped my ass cheeks in her two hands, stroking them,
as she sucked me. Her head was moving up and down on my cock,
faster and faster, licking, sucking, growling deep in her throat,
scraping her teeth up and down the length of my shaft and up to
the head of my cock and back down to the base and up and down and
up and down and licking and biting and sucking and i dont know how
much more i can takeandpleasedont
stopdontstoppleasepleaseplease,aaaaaaahhhhh....Finally, I came,
shooting my semen deep into Inge's throat. She swallowed it and
kept sucking, demanding more. My loins continued to pulse,
seemingly for hours, with the intensity of that orgasm. 

After a time I withdrew from her warm mouth, feeling the sudden
coolness of the open air on my moist cock. She looked at me with
satisfaction. 

As I sat upright on the seat, Inge drew herself up to her full
height. She was slightly taller than me as I sat on the still
idling bike, and her breasts jutted imposingly.

"You will notice," she said, "that the smoothness of the engine is
unusual, even after a long period of idle." She laid her hand on
the rear of the bike. "The rear suspension is the BMW Monolever
adjustable swinging arm, with vertical travel of 110 mm, supported
with spring strut and gas-filled damper with progressive total
spring rate and three load settings." 

I slid off the saddle and took her into my arms, covering her
mouth with mine, cupping her buttocks with my hands, pulling her
body to mine. I could taste the salt of my semen on her lips. I
should have been spent, but I felt a strong desire for her then, a
stirring in my loins, as my cock began to rise again. She felt it,
and pulled away from me slightly, her eyes wide with wonderment.

"You have more left?" she asked, firmly grasping my member as it
hardened.

"For you, yes," I replied, anxious to enter her.

"Come," she said, pulling me toward the bike. She straddled the
seat, facing to the rear, and beckoned to me with both hands. I
mounted the bike to face her, my cock already fully risen. Inge
lifted her body onto my lap, her legs twining around my waist. She
lowered herself upon my erect member, sighing with satisfaction.

"Drive," she said.

"Huh?"

"Drive the motorcycle. Just like you did before." Her eyes were
closed and she spoke in a dreamy tone of voice. I raised the BMW
to vertical and raised the kick stand. I pushed the transmission
into first gear with my bare toe. Twisting the throttle and
gradually releasing the clutch, we began to roll. 

"Faster," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Faster." I increased
the speed and negotiated the turns, Inge impaled on my cock as we
rode. Her long legs encircled my waist tightly, her arms were
locked around my neck. At the first turn she moaned slightly and
began to grind her body into mine. The second turn was faster, a
sweeping left hander, and as we exited it she was sobbing and
bouncing on my cock. 

I tried to concentrate on driving.

I could feel the slickness of her wet pussy impaled on my
throbbing cock. As we swept through the turns she bounced and
ground on me with more and more ardor, until we neared the end of
the road. 

Slowly I turned the bike around before we reached the main road
with its heavy traffic. Inge, oblivious, still bounced and
squirmed on my lap. As I accelerated through the turns her passion
seemed to increase, until, when we reached the wide spot in the
road where we had first stopped to discard our clothes, she had
lost all control. Her juices poured copiously from her pussy,
liberally coating both of our bodies and the seat of the bike. 

By the time I had slowed the BMW, Inge was uttering loud,
inarticulate animal cries as she bounced and squirmed, impaled on
my now battered member. Her strong legs, twined around my waist,
were forcing the breath out of me. Her fingers scraped
convulsively at my back, and I was sure that she had drawn blood.
Her hungry mouth locked onto mine and her tongue busily explored
the inside of my mouth.

As I brought the bike to a stop she threw her head back, her teeth
bared and flashing in the sunlight. She clasped me tightly, as
though seeking to extract the very last drop of pleasure from me.
We both held our breath as we sat there on the slippery
motorcycle. I could feel the strong muscles of her pussy
contracting rhythmically on my cock as she seemed to draw me up
into her body.

I was grasping at her now, cupping her buttocks in my hands,
collecting handfuls of our mingled juices and spreading them on
our chests and faces. She was stroking my cock with her pussy,
lifting slowly off my lap, until I was barely inside her. She
lowered herself on me, burying me deep inside her, then raised
back up again with agonizing slowness. 

With each stroke she increased her speed, until at last she was
thrusting up and down on my cock like a fine German machine. Her
gasping sobs mingled with mine now, as we approached orgasm. 

We climaxed noisily, me pumping burning spurts of come into her
swollen pussy, Inge demanding more and more. She reached down
between us, pulling my cock from her, and I watched the last few
drops of my semen issue forth, landing in the golden curls of her
mound. She rubbed them into her pussy hair, satisfied at last.  We
sat there for a long moment, entwined in each other's arms on the
motorcycle, as our breathing returned to normal. The flush of
arousal which had spread across her cheeks and down across her
breasts was fading. The sun had sunk behind the hill to our right
and I knew that there would be a chill in the air soon.

We dismounted carefully, disentangling our arms and legs from each
other, and picked up our clothes. As we dressed there by the side
of the road, Inge seemed to regain a measure of composure.

"Do you like the handling...of the bike?" Her accent had become
more evident now. She looked at me seriously as she tucked her
shirt snugly into her jeans.

I grinned at her. 

"Can we take another test drive later, after I heal from this
one?" She looked away.

"I have to go back now." She extracted a small cloth from the tool
compartment under the seat. Carefully she wiped the seat, then
discarded the rag. "Can we go back now?" I swung my leg over the
seat and she took her place behind me.

I drove back to the dealership slowly, not wanting the ride to
end. As we pulled into the parking lot I could see that the lights
were out and the CLOSED sign hung in the window. "Do you have a
key?" I asked.

"No, I thought I'd just go straight home," she said, dismounting.

"Would you like to have dinner or something?" 

"Maybe later," she said. "I'm very tired." I shut off the bike and
got off, handing her the keys.

"I hope your boss won't be mad," I said. "We were gone a long
time." She gave me a mysterious smile.

"Believe me," she said, "he doesn't care a bit." She kissed me
softly on the lips, looking deeply into my face, her blue-gray
eyes wide. She placed her cool palm against my flushed cheek.

"Take care," she said. She restarted the bike and accelerated
expertly out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I stared
after her for a long moment, and she was gone.

Shaking my head, I walked back to my car and got in, resolving to
see her again the next morning. I was tired and sore from the
unaccustomed acrobatics of the afternoon, but I felt more alive
than I had in years. I began to sing:

     "I don' want a pickle,  Just wanna ride on my motorsikkle;
And I don' wanna die--Just wanna ride on my motorcy...Cull."

I felt a little silly and thought about what I would say to Inge
when I visited her the next morning.

I was waiting at the front door of the shop the next morning when
it opened. An old man with wispy hair, wearing a greasy jersey
unlocked the door and turned the sign around to OPEN.

I opened the door and walked in, my eyes searching for Inge. The
old man raised his eyebrows at me from behind the counter.

"Something I can do for you?" 

"I was wondering where Inge was," I said.

"Who?"

"You know, Inge...she works here." I was beginning to feel lost
and foolish.

"Ain't nobody here but me 'n' the missus," he said, jerking a
thumb back to an overweight woman in a faded print dress who was
sweeping up in the back of the store.

 "But she has to be here," I said desperately. "I test drove a BMW
with her yesterday. I wanted to buy it. I wanted to talk to her. I
had some questions to ask her...where is she? Please."

I felt disoriented and dizzy. I steadied myself on the counter.

"BMW?" he said, as though he had never heard the term. "That's one
o' them furrin sikkles, ain't it?" He slid a gnawed toothpick into
his mouth and looked at me. For the first time I looked around the
shop. There were rusting, battered pieces of a thousand
motorcycles here, strewn in disarray about the floor and shoved
onto shelves up to the ceiling. The only light came from three
bare light bulbs suspended from the ceiling by their cords.

Panicking, I raced outside, searching for the immaculate row of
new BMWs. All I saw was the rusting carcasses of a dozen discarded
motorcycles.

I looked at the sign over the greasy plate glass window.

 "UNCLE MAURY'S USED SIKKLE PARTS EMPORIUM"

The sign was hand made and fading, and had been hung crookedly
over the store.

My heart pounding, I reentered the store. The shopkeeper leaned
against his counter, still chewing his toothpick.

"You don't know Inge?" I asked him desperately, my voice hoarse.

"Inge...Inge...Seems like I used to..." His eyes seemed to turn
dreamy as he removed the soggy toothpick from his mouth. he looked
at me sharply.

"German broad...uh...lady?"

"Yes, yes," I said. "Do you know her?" 

The old man scratched at his grizzled cheek.

"Seems like...naw, that wouldn't be!" he shook his head,
muttering.

"Tell me, tell me!" I shouted, wanting to shake the truth out of
him. 

He squinted at me. "Well, back before I even got into the sikkle
business, it was, oh, nineteen and thirty five, maybe thirty
six..yeah, that was it, thirty six." His eyes went cloudy as he
remembered.

"What happened, what happened?" I was frantic now, desperate to
find my love. "Seems like there was this German broad,
sorry...lady who was from some kind of high mucky-muck family in
Munich, back right before the war, you know, dubya-dubya two. I
was in that one." He seemed about to go off the track again, but I
waited for him to continue.

"The way I heard it, she was supposed to marry some guy, but he
went off on his sikkle and got hisself killed. It was a big deal,
I heard. Some said his sikkle had been rigged to fall apart on him
soon's he got movin' pretty good. Way I heard it, there wasn't
hardly enough for them to bury." He trailed off, gnawing pensively
on his toothpick. "What happened to her?" I asked, my voice barely
a whisper.

"From what I heard, she died," he said. "Went off on a ride all by
herself and just didn't come back. Folks over there figured she
was so tore up about that guy she was supposed to marry, she just
rode her own sikkle over a cliff or something. Damn shame, too,
from what I hear. She was supposed to be quite a looker."

"You mean she was never seen again?" I asked. "Just disappeared?"

"Well, some folks say she still hangs around people who like
sikkles. Seems that was what really turned her on, sikkles, and
people who knew about 'em. I think it's all a bunch of
superstitious crap, if you ask me." He spat on the greasy floor.

I stumbled from the filthy shop in a daze and opened the door of
my car. Turning the ignition key, I started the engine and pulled
slowly out of the parking lot and onto the main thoroughfare. Cars
passed me on both sides as I crept down the middle lane of the
roadway.

Was she just a legend, or a product of my overactive imagination?
Or had that ride through the country been real? I felt a deep
sense of loss, not only because I knew I would never find her, but
also because I was not even sure she had ever existed at all.

As I drove toward home, I regretted that we had never had a chance
just to talk. We had shared total physical intimacy, each of us
giving the other pleasure that was nearly unbearable, and
receiving pleasure in like measure.

But we had never talked.

I wasn't even sure she knew my name. 

As I turned the corner of my street, I reached for the transmitter
of my garage door opener. As I pressed the button, I saw a
metallic gleam deep in the shadows of my garage. 

Stopping just at the entrance at the garage, I could see it
clearly: the gray BMW I had ridden just the day before. I got out
of the car and walked to the bike, wondering. As I circled it
warily, I was aware that I was not alone. I turned around and she
was there.

It was Inge, my beautiful Inge, leaning against the wall of my
garage. She was smiling at me as she had when I first saw her, her
arms folded across her chest. I could not speak.
"Do you feel up to a ride?" she asked.

I grinned back at her.

"Only if I won't scare you away this time." She came up to me,
looking levelly into my eyes.

"Let's go for a ride and we'll see." She handed me the keys to the
bike. As I accepted them, she encircled my waist with her arm.

"Let's just go for a ride, she said, her voice low, "and we'll
see." We mounted the BMW, first me, then Inge behind. I inserted
the key and turned the ignition on; the panel lights glowed in the
subdued light of the garage. I pushed the transmission into gear,
hearing the solid thunk! as it engaged. Releasing the clutch and
rolling into the street, I felt Inge's grip tighten around my
waist. As we accelerated I felt her cheek flat against my
shoulder, and her nipples harden against my back. 

Her hands were already stroking my chest as we turned off the main
avenue and onto the back road to the hills. The BMW chuckled as we
dug into the turns. 

It was a great day for a ride.



(c)1996, Joe Parsons 

   **WARNING **WARNING **WARNING **WARNING**

Below this line is some text that some readers will surely find
offensive.

If there is the slightest possibility that you might be one of
those readers, you should delete this file immediately.

    ________________ THE LINE ________________


For the best, hottest live conversation available, call the women
who were *too explicit* for the 1-900 lines. Find out what
thousands of repeat Internet callers already know. Call

          1-800-666-6674
       $3.99 per minute--and worth it.

There is a catch, but it is a small one: you'll pay $3.99 per
minute, and you'll be on the phone for 5 to 12 minutes, typically
(your mileage may vary). Of course, if you've been hanging around
Usenet much, you already know about Joe Parsons and had already
come to the conclusion that there was some sort of hidden agenda.
Congratulations!  You've just found it (sort of like "Where's
Waldo," except Waldo never gets his rocks off, as far as I know).

If the idea of $3.99 a minute makes you choke, there are other
less expensive choices for live conversation, such as 

        0 1 1 - 5 9 2 - 5 9 9 - 0 2 5  

This is a live chat program called "Sex Shoppe" where many people
of all persuasions and preferences will chat sexually with you. 

"Man-Scan," a similar program for gay callers, is at 

        0 1 1 - 5 9 2 - 5 9 5 - 2 1 6

It's an international call, but the cost can be well under a buck
a minute, depending on the time of day and your long distance
carrier.  As always, you should know the charges *before* picking
up the telephone.

If you'd like to learn more about telephone sex, find
"Phonesex--the Straight Scoop" and "Phonesex--the FAQ" at a
newsgroup near you. The author will try to fulfill requests by
email, but he would appreciate requests for reposts instead.

               Joe Parsons
           jmp@cyber-mall.com