“Hey up, wanker.” I greeted Chris `the unsmiling’ as I wheeled my big Suzuki GSX 750 backwards out of the garden gate. I’d brought the bike to cheer me up after I separated from a long term girlfriend, 6 months ago. She wanted to get engaged, and buy a house and I wanted a new motorbike, and go see places. I fell in love with the big Suzuki as soon as I walked into the local Kawasaki Centre. It was a part exchange for the latest whizz bang rocket ship kwaker. But this Suzuki was something else, first of the 16 valve, double overhead cam engines, with a large rectangular headlight and a huge instrument panel, plus I could afford it.
“Oi, oi tosser.” Chris replied, sat on his bike, not even bothering to switch off the engine or take his helmet off. He was sat on an identical model, although his was red and mine black. He’d brought his after his old single overhead cam, 8 valve Honda blew up a few weeks back. It was up for sale in the local paper, cheaper than mine and less millage, it was a gift he couldn’t refuse.
“What do you recon? Along the A371 and drop down the valley to Bennie’s Burger van? Then we can do either the A3447 `death valley’ or B2754 `stinky river’ runs?” I asked as I pulled on my old black AGV helmet (we had nicknames for everything, but we knew exactly what we meant).
After a morning’s overtime I was keen to get to the burger van, about a 50 mile scratch (meaning a fast run, insinuating we would scratch our footrests on the road when cornering) then we would have the options of about 4 different loops, giving us options of anything from a one to a 3 hour ride, before going to our favourite pub for an evening pint. Both of us rode similarly in speed and ride style, fast & furious, taking no prisoners.
It was a Saturday in early summer, and we were keen to get some miles under our belts. We often rode together, we knew each other well and would ride close together, knowing exactly when and where to give the other room. Other riders either couldn’t keep up or we were outside of their abilities and we would have to warn them off. So despite having several social groups we hung out with, we would often end up riding alone with the other 5 to 8 riders hanging well back or just left behind.
I fired the bike up, choke out, warming it up as I pulled gloves on and zipped up my leather jacket. Looked across with a confirmatory nod and we were off. We dodged through the usual Saturday happy shopper traffic through town and once out of the city limits we were upping the speed as we headed to the hills. As I rode, I would imagine being a fighter pilot as I zipped past various cages (cars), often at double their speed, always exceeding the speed limits, ticking cages off one by one, with the odd glance in my mirror knowing Chris would be there grinning underneath his tash.
We arrived at the burger van in great spirits. The sun was out and there was an excellent collection of bikes parked outside the van. We squeezed into a slot, kicked our side stands out and stepped off our bikes. Nodding at each other, smiling, pleased with our performances. At the van we ordered, paid and waited, not knowing anyone stood around we just nodded politely confirming our inclusion in the brotherhood of bikers. Knowing the freedom that a bike brought, unlike cagers (our term for a car driver).
Burgers in one hand and polystyrene cups of tea in the other, we walked along the row of bikes, appreciating each one with grunts of approval with mouths full of burger.
“Ere, you two boyfriends or something?” Came a shout from two scruffier than normal guys sat further along on a fence.
“Fuck off, wankers,” Chris replied laughing. “Left your scooters at home?”
“I suppose you two girls have consecutive number plates?” Laughed the one with shoulder-length blond hair, “So, which one of you goes on top?”
“Ha bloody ha, nothing wrong with owning decent bikes, unlike your scooters, left them at home?”
“Fuck off, sissy slow suzooks, you need a kwaker to go quick,” said the dark, curly-haired one. As they both stood up and walked towards us to talk.
This was all typical pleasantries, and banter, and nothing unusual. They both had Kawasaki’s, one a nice dark green Z650 and the other a silver Z750. All four of our bikes were a little dated, even by 1984, and looked a little out of place with some of the newer and far more expensive machines in the layby. All of our machines had relatively high mileages and were tatty work horses, certainly not in show room condition like others in the row. Soon the male testosterone was out of the way and we were discussing the best ways to oil a drive chain or what was naff about the latest rocket machines nearby. All being way outside of our price ranges.
After a brief discussion of routes and best roads, Chris had a new road he wanted to try, our new friends joined us and off we set. Chris set a blistering pace, just to see if our new companions could run with the bulls, so to speak. At every glance in my mirror the blond-haired guy was hot on my heels, not bad for a 650.
An hour later and we were in North Wales, running through some great scenery and came across a lake, so Chris pulled in to a layby. We all dismounted and sat on a stone wall admiring the view and discussing who had done what to upset various cagers, or who didn’t slow down at whatever / slow moving lorry, or how fast we went round a bend. All good typical biker banter.
Sam, the blond-haired guy with shoulder length hair, looked quite young and was built like a stick, being as thin as a rake. Wore a scruffy and obligatory scuffed leather jacket (as we all did), with a Black Sabbath cross on the back. He wore a large thick baggy jumper and tight leather jeans with Doc Martin laced boots. His mate Alex, who looked a lot older, with a chin full of stubble, wearing his scuffed leather jacket, with a denim cut (a denim jacket with sleeves cut off, emblazoned with badges and band badges with a large Thin Lizzy motif on the back). They lit up cigarettes and enjoyed a puff.
“Hey why don’t you come down our club one night, we do rally’s and stuff?” came the invite from Sam.
Without Google Maps, the description was simple, “You know Merryhill? As you ride through, turn left at The Globe and the lane narrows and goes down a steep hill with high hedgerows, as it levels out take the right fork and you will end up at The Bear.”
“Every Sunday night we’re there, come on down, don’t worry there’re no subs or chairman, we don’t do prospects, we just do whatever we want, when and how we want.” Came the invite.
That Sunday we went down. It was a great ride, about 25 miles, way out of town. We found the pub ok, the car park full of an assortment of older bikes and as soon as we walked in the bar, we knew we would fit in. The bar was full of long-haired bedraggled bikers, a few tats on shoulders and arms, some with cuts, some in thick jumpers. Alex was there and introduced us to one and all. It was perfect mayhem to us, a darts game in one corner, a pool table in the other and in between various loud, extravert bikers all chatting at once, with loud music playing, all in a haze of thick smoke. Helmets cluttered the entire bar, left in any vacant space, on shelves, tables and bar stools.
“Hey up wankers!” Came the shout, as Sam walked in lifting his helmet off with everyone groaning and shouting abuse back. He came over and slapped us on the back. “Those slow suzooks made it then?” Soon we were involved in plans for the following weekend’s rally and thus started my `bromance’ with Sam, as we got on so well.
Unlike a car rally, a bike rally is something quite different. One bike club hosts a weekend of beer and camping. You ride up on Friday, put your tent up, drink, eat and make merry. Then on Saturday repeat the same, maybe with a ride out to a local attraction and some rally games (just an excuse to drink more beer), drink more beer. Sober up and then to ride home on Sunday.
Summer rallies were ok, but often held in large marquees with bands and anything upwards of 800 bikers. Lots of fun, but attracted local idiots, that normally wouldn’t travel outside of city limits and can’t hold their beer.
Winter rallies are the best, with 200 odd bikers, typically in a pub out in the middle of nowhere. Often with a band or just a singer on the Saturday night, so you can sing along with rugby or biker style songs, often with vulgar lyrics.
So this began a summer and autumn of rallying with the club. Sam and I were inseparable, I had no idea what he did for a job but after work on a Friday we would meet up, tents and sleeping bags strapped to the back of our bikes and off we would go. Both of us drinking ‘Newky’ (Newcastle Brown) from bottles (our favourite thick brown ale that kills more brain cells than Alzheimer’s, gives you a hangover that lasts for days and farts that can kill at 20 paces). Often the two of us sharing a tent and going to the loo together, although Sam would always use the traps and insisted I stay until he was finished, so we would walk back together.
If we weren’t rallying, we would fix and service each other’s bikes or go to various club’s parties. The club was great fun to be with and we gained a great reputation for bringing a wild party with us when we arrived anywhere, which meant we got more rally invites than you could physically attend. So we could pick the best. We soon made friends from lots of other clubs and received a lot of verbal invites to other rallies and private parties.
In November, at one rally Baz, Sam’s brother Barry, joined us and he noticed mine and Sam’s bromance. Whilst I went to the bar to buy another round of Newky bottles, Baz joined me at the bar that was now 10 deep with sweaty bikers, all elbowing their way to the front to be served.
“I notice you and Sam do a lot together, has no one warned you about my little bro?”
“Fuck off, Sam’s okay.”
“Ha ha, you don’t know, do you?”
“Fuck off.” I knew Sam was ok, he may smoke, but no drugs as such and he knew his bikes and could ride with the best of us.
“No, you know?” Baz made that `wiener’ sign with his little finger.
“No, I don’t know what you mean.” I mimicked the sign back to him.
“Ok, maybe no one has said, and that is so no one upsets him, you know how easily he gets punchy?”
Well yes, when it came to tempers, Sam had a hair trigger, several times throwing a punch before anyone knew what was happening or what had upset him. But growing up with 5 brothers can’t help.
Baz continued, “Well, that’s why no one has said, just in case Sam gets punchy. So keep this under your hat. He’s turning into a she.”
“Aw fuck off, you’re yanking my chain, Sam? Never.”
“Yes, trust me, I am his bro. He’s taking pills to give him boobs and saving up to lose his wiener. He even wears girl’s clothes at home. I caught him a while back, you know, lady boy style.”
“Fuck off, you’re talking shite.” I said as I paid and picked up as many bottles as I could carry, leaving the rest to Baz to carry back with him.
I let it rest at that, but slowly it played on me in my drunken stupor and in my hangover the next day.
It all added up. He always wore baggy jumpers, even in summer. He always came with me to the loo, never pissed in the trough, always in the trap. We’d been sharing tents for months, especially to keep warm in autumn. Fuck, we had even spooned in the tent a few times in sub-zero temperatures, to keep warm. He always wore tight jeans, and I never saw him with stubble, no tash either. But then, no one else was as close to him as I was. He knew lots of girls as friends, but no girlfriends (neither had I, but I forgot to factor that in). Maybe they did all know something I didn’t.
I found I began to feel uncomfortable in Sam’s company, not sure how it worked anymore. He had soft features and looking closely I now noticed remains of makeup, just a faint whisper here and there. Is he not coming clean with me? I didn’t know, and it looked as if I wouldn’t have to wait to find out.
The following week, on my way to work, I was trailing a cage, not too close, it turned left into a driveway, then as I continued on my way, unknown to me the driver did a `U’ turn and ran into me on her way back out. To me it felt as if a wall had hit me on my left side and I was on the floor, I could see my bike flying through the air above me, to land on my legs. Bikes in the 80s weren’t the lightweights they are now, not much plastic, mainly steel. Pain wasn’t the word as we slid down the tarmac. I managed to kick my legs free from under the bike, so they couldn’t be that bad. But as I leant on my arm to get up, I collapsed back down onto the floor, wracked by pain, and passed out.
I came around in an ambulance with banging headache and a paramedic looking at me. They thought I have a broken collarbone, a possibly dislocated shoulder, some broken fingers and lacerations on my legs. I ached all over and on the stretcher I couldn’t move. A policeman came into view and asked the usual name and address, phone number and if I had been speeding. Luckily a dustbin lorry and accompanying crew had witnessed the accident. They confirmed my story, and the policeman was happy and said he would see me in a few days for a full statement.
In hospital, the head nurse gave me a lecture on the evils of riding motorcycles. Then my mum arrived. The policeman knew her and let her know. So I had stereo lectures, in the end I agreed to buy my brother’s car that he was selling. But I already had plans for my bike. I just needed to work out how badly it had been damaged.
Throughout the day various doctors checked me out, and I had numerous x-rays. But without the scanners of today, they had to rely on fingers and probing. Every time a doctor’s fingers got close to my kidneys it was like being hit by a baseball bat and I would pass out with the pain. They wouldn’t let me drink until I had passed a urine sample. So we waited and waited, but I just couldn’t. So the doctors decided I had to stay in for observation, just for the night.
So there I was, wheeled up to the dreaded broken bones ward 15. The ward I had previously visited so many friends, but never as a patient. I was in a 6 bed bay all on my own. Finally, I could pass a sample and they gave my kidneys the all clear. But I couldn’t do anything, shoulder and collar strapped up, and both hands had fingers strapped up. Legs were under a table so the blanket wouldn’t touch the wounds on my legs, as the lacerations hadn’t really healed. Thankfully, I was finally allowed cups of tea and a light meal.
Visiting time finished and lights were dimming, I was just drifting off in a bored, painful sleep to hear a familiar voice in the distance, way down at the entrance to the ward. There was no mistaking his country bumpkin accent. I hoped they will never let him in as visiting time is over. Then a whisper echoed from the hallway outside…
“Waaannnnnkeeer… Waaaannnnkkkeeeer.”
I looked at the open entrance and Sam’s grinning face popped around the frame, with that big grin that just made you smile, and I was actually pleased to see him.
“How’s the bike?”
“No idea, I’m shredded though. How did you know?”
“I rang your house and your mum told me. You were acting funny on Sunday and I wanted to know why. But this is serious, eh?”
“Yeah. It fucking hurts, they’ve given me some painkillers but I don’t think they work. Visiting time is over. How did you get in?”
“Gift of the gab, I know the one nurse, she used to go out with my brother Paul. So you are strapped up, collarbone?”
“Yeah, and fingers, they think my shoulder popped out when I landed and popped back in, sliding down the road. My legs are cut to ribbons, gravel rash.”
Sam lifted the blanket to look under the table.
“Dick ok?”
“Yes, I kept both hands on it, got to keep the family jewels protected I laughed.”
“Shit, your legs are a mess, but they still look better that your dick, it’s smaller than you claim, where’s the grolly’s?”
“They cut them off. My back and kidneys are badly bruised internally. With the cuts on my legs, it was easier for them to cut them and my jeans off. They were my Sunday best too, no skid marks as yet.”
“There are a few skid marks on your legs, jeez.” Sam said, taking another look under the blanket. His attention reminded me of his brother’s comments the previous weekend.
“Do you mind, there’s a draft, the old meat and two veg are small enough already.” I said, but regretted it immediately as a hand crept over my thigh and played with my limp dick.
“What the fuck Sam, what are you doing?”
“A little light relief, we can’t leave poor little John Thomas feeling unwanted.” Sam said. It mortified me. This was my mate.
“Sam, for fuck’s sake, I’m not gay!” I said through clenched teeth, trying not to shout in a hospital ward.
“Nope, never said you were.” Sam said, as I could feel John Thomas growing. I tried to will him down, to think of my mum, my gran, anything to stop his growth. But Sam’s hand was working magic. It was a long time since I last had a girlfriend and to have someone else’s hands encouraging growth, whilst I was strapped up, was way too exciting. None of my ex’s could masturbate me like this, I was soon rock hard and there was no way I was coming down soon.
My mind was racing, not knowing what to do. This was my best buddy, my mate, I’m not supposed to be enjoying this, but neither could I stop it. Every time I moved, I would jar a broken bone or my bruised back. So I was caught in a quandary. Do I lean back and soak up the free wank, or make a scene and hurt myself. Then Sam upped his game. He moved the table down and his head ducked under the blanket and I felt his lips wrap around my dick and he sucked like a vacuum cleaner.
“Fuck Sam, what are you doing?” I asked through gritted teeth. All it took was a nurse to walk by to be discovered.
“Ummph, grumph, sluuuurp, slooosh, slurp.”
I gave up and leant back on the pillows and enjoyed the best blow job ever. Jeez, he knew how to give a blow job. His mouth and his hand, alternating between playing with my balls and wanking me, whilst his lips and tongue worked up and down my shaft. Then I felt that familiar build up and another quandary. Do I warn him or not?
Like fuck, if he is going to do that, then he suffers the consequences. But he felt the surge and enveloped his mouth deeply over me, as I erupted into his mouth, spurt after spurt, swallow after swallow until I was sated.
“Mmmm, I never thought you had it in you.” Sam said grinning as he licked his lips, replacing the table and blanket.
I was dumbfounded. My mate has just given me the best blow job ever, and I didn’t know how to respond.
“Don’t you fucking dare try to kiss me.” Was all I could think of.
A soft voice came from the corridor, “Sam, Sam, you need to go now, if you get caught, there will be hell to pay for us, sorry love.”
Sam, with his big grin on his face looking at me, flicked his long hair and sauntered out to leave me in the dim lights, wondering on what happened and where do we go from here?
The next day I was let out, and they signed me off work for a month. Once home I saw my bike parked in the back garden, a little bent and buckled but fixable. It turns out Chris and Sam had turned up that morning, having had pushed it all the way home. I rang work and had a chat to let them know I was ok. The weather was cold now as we were nearing late November, lots of rainy days and early morning frosts. I caught the bus into work one day to hand in my doctor’s certificate, so they would pay my sick pay.
I worked for a small design consultancy, almost a family affair. The two owner directors and the designer had brought out some designs from a company they had worked at previously to set up the consultancy. We worked out of an old large converted country house. The two owner directors had rooms of their own, to answer phones privately. I shared a room with Gof, a wonderful old man way beyond pensionable age, who like me could tell a great story. Gof was short for Godfrey, but he wasn’t going to be presumptuous to have it shortened to God, so Gof it was.
I got on with all of them, their wife’s and daughters all were involved. We had two guys working in the shop, as we also moulded some electronics for a local company.
So it was great to call in, share a coffee, tell my story and laugh at some jokes.
Sharon, the boss’s wife called in and made a fuss, pulling me to one side to plead with me to buy a car. They were all pleased to hear that I had brought my brother’s, but I couldn’t drive it until I had full movement in my collarbone, as it was still strapped up in a sling.
“Dan you know, like all companies we are arranging a company meal for Christmas, we pay for everything, but we don’t know if you, you know, have a plus one?” Sharon asked.
“Oh, sorry Sharon, er?” Not sure what she meant.
“You know, a girlfriend, to come with you, everyone else is bringing their wives and the boys in the shop are bringing their girlfriends, but we don’t know if you have one?”
“Oh, yeah, of course, a plus one. Sorry, yes, if that is okay?”
“Oh, that will be lovely. We have booked tables up at ‘The Hunter’s Hall’ on Saturday December 20th, from 8pm.”
So that was it, an office Christmas dinner, but no plus one. `Bugger’ I thought.
Gof overheard and teased me, as I had not spoken of anyone, except a mate called Sam all year.
I caught the bus home and struggled, knowing I have just a month to find a bird. I struggle to talk to them, I always put my foot in it, my tongue would swell up and just impede coherent speech. None of the birds down at the club interested me. They were nice and all that but, not to take to show the boss’s wives.
The days passed into weeks, Sam had popped in a few times, but I said nothing over the hospital incident. I felt better and had returned to work. It was a cold December, being higher up and in the north. We had some harsh frosts and a little snow, so I was thankful to be driving a car. I mentioned to mum about the works Christmas do, but nothing about a plus one. Then one night she brought it up, I shrugged it off, saying I will take a friend’s sister or something, but no girlfriends.
I even drove my skip down the club. Being my own car I treated it as a skip, with bike parts and rubbish gathering on the rear seat. As soon as everyone knew I had a skip of my own, I was a taxi services to pick people up on the way out and back on the return trip. So whilst I saw Sam, we were never alone. On one of those club nights I mentioned my office Christmas dinner and that I needed a plus one.
“Oi, you mean you aren’t going to ask me?” Sam asked, looking a little hurt.
“Er I don’t know, I may not go. The Hunters Hall is way out in the boonies, 60 miles from here. I would have to stay sober, so not really much fun.” I hoped I had dodged that embarrassing bullet, still not being sure where our friendship was after his hospital visit. To be honest, I think we were both on edge, the old banter was gone but he wasn’t always around, which made things easier.
Finally, Saturday December 20th arrived in a freezing blast of wind. I had a problem, still no `plus one’ and my car’s brakes were playing up. So I spent a wintry day out on the driveway under my car. Removing wheels and brakes, brake drums, pads, bleeding brake lines, hoping my aging British built skip would survive the winter. Sod my brother for selling me a lame duck.
After losing all the skin off my knuckles in the cold, I finally could lower the car off the stands and take it off the ramps, threw all my tools in the shed and got in the house to warm up. I stood under the hottest shower I could stand whilst my bones warmed back up. Finally warmed up and dressed, I went downstairs.
“Mum, I’m famished, when’s dinner?”
“You’re going to your works Christmas dinner, remember? So no dinner for you, my lad, it will spoil your appetite.”
“Aw mam, I’m not going, no plus one, and I’m too tired.”
“What about that Samantha, she said she’ll be here about 6?”
“Who? I don’t know a Samantha?”
“Yes you do, Samantha, she rang this afternoon, but you were under your car swearing. So she asked, and I confirmed you still didn’t have a plus one. So she is coming to be your plus one. She sounds nice on the phone. When did you meet her?”
My mind was racing. What the fuck? I definitely can’t remember any Samantha, but I know a Sam!
“You mean Sam? My mate Sam? You know with long blond hair, black Sabbath cut, upsets you because he always swears?”
“No, she definitely said Samantha, and she never swore on the phone.”
Shit, shit, shit. What on earth do I do, what is he playing at? I can’t deal with this, I’m not gay.
On cue I could hear coming down the road a familiar bike’s exhaust note. I heard it squeeze down the drive; I heard our side gate open, and it came alongside the house and stopped.
“Mum, that’s Sam, not any Samantha.” Fuck, fuck.
I dashed out through the kitchen into the freezing night air in slippers and T-shirt, to find Sam unhooking a bag off the back of his bike.
“Hey up Watchyer?” He said.
“What the fuck, Sam?”
“I’m your plus one, I spoke with your mam this afternoon and she said you were a sexless, useless fucker, so I am stepping up to the plate for a mate.” He grinned as he walked past me.
“No, no, no, they are expecting a girlfriend as a plus one, not a mate.”
“I’ll be your girlfriend for tonight, play your cards right and you might get lucky?” He swaggered into the kitchen.
I followed him, flabbergasted, completely flummoxed. As mum was cooking dad a big dinner, the kitchen was hotter than hell after being outside in a T-shirt. Sam had his back to me, looking at Mum who stood at the door to the lounge.
“Samantha, so pleased to meet you, ignore him, he’s like his dad, useless.”
Sam removed his helmet, and my mum took it. He then quickly removed his leather jacket and his thick jumper, still with his back to me. He had a tatty Motorhead tour T-shirt on.
“I’ve a dress in the bag and some overnight stuff, I can change in Dan’s room, if that is okay Mrs D?”
“Dress! Fucking dress?” I exclaimed. He was going too far. Mum gave me a look that would freeze hell over and Sam turned around.
“What the fuck Sam?” Sam, whilst still having helmet hair, had full makeup on, eyeliner, lipstick, eye shadow, the lot, looking more female than any of my ex’s. Even scarier he had small breasts, small `B’s or big `A’s, I couldn’t tell.
“What have you done?” I screamed.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, those pills you are taking, why?”
“What fucking pills?”
“To grow tits, Baz told me, have you cut your dick off too?” I barely got the last word out as a fist hit me on my chin, sending me flying back into the outer kitchen door, crumpling me to the floor. Boy, he hits fast and hard.
“You listened to that wind up merchant? Baz? … You fucking listened to Baz?” Sam was now standing over me, looking furious.
“Sorry Mrs D, can I use your phone?” He asked my mum, and walked through the lounge to the hallway, knowing full well where the phone was. Now in the 80s we still had finger wheel dial phones, so each number was on a disc and you had to spin each digit in turn. So whilst he was slowly dialling, Brrr ding, ding, Brrr, ding, ding, I had time to get up, be berated by mum, and join him in the hallway as he held the mouthpiece waiting for the connection. I could hear the phone ringing on the other end.
“Mam, Sam here, is that fucking useless sperm bank Baz still home?” I could hear a mumbled voice, a pause, then a deep voice.
“Baz you fucking shit, have you been telling people I’m taking pills to grow tits and I have a dick to cut off?”
I think the reply was an affirmative as you could clearly hear Baz laughing a deep, hearty, long laugh at the other end of the phone. Then that same deep voice asked a question.
“Dan, that’s who, Dan believed you, you wanker, you had better run for the hills because when I get home I am going to give you panda eyes, you fucker.” Even as the phone was being slammed down, I could hear Baz laughing heartily at the other end.
Samantha turned to look at me, anger still in her eyes.
“Is that why you have been funny with me ever since that rally? Especially after that blowjob? Is that why you kept mentioning you weren’t gay?”
I tried to look as sheepish as possible, not wanting a second punch, instead I felt mum slap the top of my head from behind.
“Daniel, apologise to Samantha.”
“Sorry, Sorry Sam, honest, I just thought we were mates, you know? How was I to know?”
“Well, that’s odd … because everyone else knows. You tit.”
“But you always came to the gents with me?”
“Because I felt safe with you waiting outside, you twat. Why do you think I wanted to share tents with you?”
“Oh, bugger, I am sorry Sam, It’s just I never thought of you that way, you know, what with those jumpers hiding you.”
“See how much fat is on me? I get cold in a furnace.” She was right, there was no fat on her, being built like a rake, stick thin.
“But, your voice? There’s nothing ladylike about your voice.” I winced as soon as I said it, expecting another left hook.
“You’ve seen how much I smoke? Your voice would be a bag of gravel too if you smoked like I do, and you swear as much as I do, Twat.”
“Er, ok … so are you still my plus one?” I was really sheepish now, mum behind and Sam in front.
“Well, only because I’m getting a free meal out of your ugly mug.”
So Samantha went up to my room with her overnight bag, whilst I waited, being berated and lectured at by my mum, with my dada tutting in agreement with her, until Samantha returned and my heart melted.
She was stunning, in an 80s hippie style, long, dark dress, with multi coloured strands running through it, her long blond hair, now brushed, hung over her shoulders and a little clutch bag over her shoulder. I ran upstairs and couldn’t change fast enough. Changing into clean jeans, a collared shirt, with a tie and a jacket.
So finally, my ‘plus one’ and I, got in the car, turned the heater full on and drove up to The Hunter’s Hall through the frozen wastes of the Northern England. It soon was like old times, both of us laughing and giving each other grief.
She was my best mate and dream girl all rolled into one. She swore like a trooper, fought like a boxer, smoked like a steam engine, drank like a rugby team, but also stunning, the best company ever, with a great hearty laugh and she could both ride and mend a bike. We arrived in high spirits, parked the car, and waltzed into the hotel.
I introduced her to all my works colleagues and their partners. She made a point of telling everyone the story about us and how I thought she was a bloke. Gof could not forget it and laughed the entire night about it. He kept confirming to Samantha that all I had spoken about all year was my best mate, Sam. The wives loved her and Samantha kept her swearing down. She ate and drank her fill, whilst I stayed sober. After the meal they played some music, so we danced together.
Finally, I could appreciate her hair, her hips and her gorgeous bum, so tight and small, even in that hippy pleated dress. A few times she pinched my bum and pecked a kiss on my cheeks. It was still strange, converting my perception of her, from best mate, to stunning plus one, girlfriend.
It came time to leave and with my arms around her waist we walked through the reception out into the snow outside. With the snow falling around her; I took her in my arms, pulled her in tight, and we had our first genuine kiss. She tasted of Jack Daniels as her tongue sought mine, both twisting together, I sucked on her lower lip and we made our way to the car. Jeez, she was stunning in the snow, as it fell all around us, getting into the car; I fired up the measly 1300cc engine, put the heater on full and we spent our time waiting for it to warm up in each other’s arms, kissing, laughing and hugging.
As we came down off the hills, she got me to pull over in a layby and unzipped my jeans, undid my belt and started working on my John Thomas. I pulled my seat all the way back and pulled my jeans down. Her one hand pulled her panties down to her knees.
“I don’t have a condom, Sam.”
“I’m on the pill twat. Slurp, sloop, slurp, schoosch.” Jeez, her lips worked back down my now stiff shaft, reminding me of that night in the hospital.
“I won’t last long, if you keep that up.”
She sat up and moved over to straddle me, her hand guided my hand under her dress to her pussy. This was weird, I was still subconsciously expecting a cock, but she was eager, wet and ready, I eased my finger into her waiting lips, teased her hardened nub and slipped my finger into her.
“Mmmmmm you fucker, that is nice, you missed your chance in the hospital, you fanny.”
We kissed as I teased her with my warm wet fingers, her hips now reacting to the fingers sliding between her clit and inside her. Then she moved my hand away, held my dick and guided it in, lowering herself down. As soon as the tip felt her wetness, her hand came round to my shoulders. Looking at me eye to eye, she gave that grin of hers, kissed me, then dropped her full weight onto my cock. She instantly enveloped me in a warm, lubricated velvet purse and she ground her hips forwards and backwards. This soon became up and down, riding my shaft, throwing her wonderful blond hair forwards and backwards with each stroke. I reached up and held her small pert breasts, thumbing her nipples.
“Fuck me Dan, fuck me, yeah, yes, ye, yeeeeessss, Daaaannnn.” She screamed as she spasmed in her orgasm. Hearing her scream my name was weird, but it was enough to bring on my own orgasm and I exploded into her, thrusting and grinding our hips together until we were empty. She slumped over me and we kissed passionately. She pulled back and grinned her wonderful grin at me.
“See what you missed?” She said through her grin.
`Knock, knock’ came a tap on my driver’s side window, we looked over and parked alongside us was a police car, window down, using his truncheon to tap the window.
They weren’t getting out of the warmth of their car with the snow storm around us. He motioned with his thumb and mouthed, “Fuck off.” He wound up his window, and they drove on.
We screamed with laughter. They knew what was going on, but how long were they there? Had they waited for us to finish?
Sam returned to the passenger seat, and I pulled my seat forward and I pulled out to drive on.
Once back in suburbia the snow wasn’t too bad and we got back to my parent’s house safe. We snogged our way around the house, going via the kitchen to make cups of tea. Up in my bedroom, we were giggling with my parents in the next room.
It was a new house with thin walls, so I pulled the mattress off the bed onto the floor to keep the noise down, as Samantha had promised to shag me all night long. I turned to see her stood grinning, once she saw me looking she dropped her dress. She was wearing the thinnest black lace basque with black lace panties; she was stunning.
True to her word, Samantha and I shagged like rabbits all night and most of the next day. Thankfully, the sun came out long enough that afternoon for her to ride her bike back. Over Christmas we were just inseparable, although the next time I saw Baz he was sheepishly wearing a big black eye, with Samantha promising to give him a matching one once that one was healed.
—-
Now, fast forward back into the present, 2020.
We are all older, Samantha and I drifted apart after a trip to the following year’s Island of Man TT races, but we are still good friends. Sam now lives with her childhood sweetheart. I am married with a twenty-year-old son, with my wife and Sam being close friends. We all still ride bikes. Just after lockdown we all met up and rode out to the Dales, sat by the same lake side and were joined by Baz and his new girlfriend.
We sat at picnic tables at a new lakeside cafe, scoffing bacon baps (rolls) and enjoying cups of tea. As always, the conversation drifted back to the old days, what we did with the club, various people and the good times we had. Both my wife and son know all my biker stories, I am an open book, nothing to hide. But there is one story my son didn’t know.
“Haha, you’ll never guess? Years ago, when I first met Sam, she always wore big baggy jumpers, and because we all had long hair back then, Baz was able to convince me she was his brother turning into his sister!”
We roared with laughter at the notion, but I soon realised it was only my son and I laughing. Baz’s face was white with terror, as a flash of fist came across the table, hitting him square on the one side of his nose.
“Ha, you thought I had forgotten, I warned you I would get you one day. Panda!” Sam said.
“Jeez, I’m sorry mate, maybe some things time doesn’t heal.” I tried to make an apology as Baz’s eye smarted and blackened.
I looked at Sam’s boyfriend apologetically, as he will have to pick up the fallout. He looked at me and mouthed, “That was you?” Pointing at me, I nodded, and he stifled the biggest laugh, waving two thumbs appreciatively up in the air, obviously having heard Sam’s version of the story a long time ago.
Sam stormed off muttering about men, wankers or something.