Thong, Bruce, Leather, Motorcycle
DAVID 290
It's funny how bizarre dreams can be, and how sometimes the most outlandish things seem to make sense amid all the chaos. I don't know if I put a lot of faith in the practice of interpreting one's dreams, but sometimes things that are painfully heartfelt, appear with a clarity and reoccurence that's both mysterious and comforting.
I dreamt that I was at a bus stop in the middle of the desert. The only other evidence of civilization was the two lane highway in front of it. The highway stretched from the eastern horizon to western horizon. Directly across the highway was a lifeless plain of packed sand, broken only by rocky crags and a few logs baked dry by the desert sun. The tiny spot seemed dangerously isolated, hundreds of miles from the next human being. I sensed a great, nerve-trying silence, as though the number of vehicles that passed this bus stop each day could be counted on one hand. In addition to the isolation and the quiet, there was the heat. It was hot! Oven hot. Furnace hot. Not a breath of air moved. The only saving grace was that it was a bone dry desert heat and that the bus stop bench was covered by a canopy of fiberglass that gave shade and shelter from the sun.
In the shade of the little roof, were about a half dozen little old ladies, dressed in their Sunday best. Maybe I should describe them as little old, OLD ladies, because all of them had to be at least eighty years old. They were listening to me intently as I stood before them. All of them seemed to have quizzical looks on their faces. I was explaining something to them, or trying to at least...something technical, something that would cross a computer engineer's eyes, and they regarded me with raised eyebrows and then serious looks and gentle nods, as though pretending to understand what I was saying.
I was concentrating so hard on explaining things to them that I didn't turn when I first heard that throaty growl of a motorcycle approaching. As it neared though, the power behind that engine made its presence very well known. It drowned out my voice. The little old ladies' wide eyes turned away from me and were riveted to the motorcycle as it slowed behind me. I turned to look and I saw him make a slow quarter turn in our direction. He stopped right over the double yellow line, as though he owned the road.
I was numb, because every time you see him, you have to struggle to take him all in again. He wore a black leather motorcycle hat, sunglasses, big leather boots, and just one more article of clothing. It amounted to a black leather thong with a huge cup in front. The front sported two lengths of chain that were either decoration or helped to hoist the soft, black leather pouch that strained to hold his massive cock and balls. The waistband was a black leather belt that fastened in front with a heavy silver buckle. Every other part of him was unashamedly naked. He held his huge, hairy chest high, and as he doffed his sunglasses and hat, he had a gigantic, evil grin on his face.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Blondie!" And then he cocked his head to one side to summon me over to him. I was mortified. I was a good young man...a nice young man...a proper young man. I even saw myself in my dream as wearing a pure white shirt, brand new, spotless sneakers, and jeans so new they were crisp and stiff. And now here I was with little church ladies sitting on the bench before me, and a tower of muscle nearby with a throttling monster between his legs. I'm referring to the motorcycle. I felt that at any moment one of the church ladies would say, accusingly, "Bruce? Do you know this man?" I felt cornered. I felt I should pretend to be shocked at this juggernaut of sex that had rolled up before us. Even idling, the motorcycle's engine ripped the air. Even looking away, you could still sense it, just as you could sense him if you closed your eyes.
I turned and walked up to him, trying to display the kind of shock and concern a Sunday school teacher would have if he'd rolled into a schoolyard. But as soon as I got close to him and as soon as I saw that leather pouch and that thin leather strap deep between his buttocks, as soon as I saw those eyes, and those arms, and those legs, and that chest, and the sheer size of him, I felt as though I was in a whirlpool, caught, with no way to gain back my distance or control.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, happy, but incredulous.
He just smiled that evil, funny, grin, and in a tone and a waggle of his head that would have made Mae West proud, he said: "Well...hello little blond boy. You wanna go for a ride on my........" He looked down towards his seat, "......................bike?" He revved the engine twice.
Vroooom Vrooom
And then he winked at me.
I gasped. How shocking! How funny! I clapped my hand over my mouth, and when he saw me stifling my laugh, he just intensified the funny, nasty, silly, lecherous smile on his face.
"Hop on," he said. "Just make sure you hang on tight to something..........................firm." He winked again.
I gasped, and this time I laughed out loud. He just smiled at me as though I was Red Riding Hood and he was the wolf. He practically smacked his lips, and I could see that he was straining not to laugh at himself.
"But I can't abandon these little old ladies in the middle of the desert to go away with some big, handsome, muscle man who won't be able to keep his paws off me!"
His smile was gone in a flash. His brow knitted in confusion. "Why not?"
My mouth fell open.
"Besides," he said. "Look." With his chin, he pointed behind me, and as I turned I heard the low roar of the bus, which had come out of nowhere, and then there was the chufffffffffff of air brakes and then the rumble of its idling engine. The church ladies were boarding, and I thought they were eyeing me with a kind of shock and disappointment, and maybe they were. But their eyes seemed strange and zombie-like.
Then it hit me...they were looking at him! With shock and fascination.
David raised two fingers to his forehead and gave them a little salute. "Howdy!"
All the little old ladies gasped and looked away. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed movement from the bus driver. To my amazement, the driver of the bus was also a little old lady. But she was grinning widely and waving wildly at David.
David gave her a thumbs up. "Hey Martha!"
I didn't think it was possible to smile more, but she did.
"Lookin' good!" he said.
She responded by pumping her fist up and down by the side of her head, the gesture people make when they want a trucker, or anybody, to honk their horn.
"Huh?" said David. "Oh!
Vrooooom Vroooom
Now she was ecstatic, laughing and nodding. I turned back to David. He cocked his head sideways, towards the motorcycle seat behind him. I decided to be the little blond boy. With my eyes open as wide as they would go, and my hands clasped in front of me, I said: "Gee, I don't know mister. My mom said to never--"
"Awwwwwww, get on!"
"But...but are you going to take me to some dirty biker's pad, take all my clothes off and have your way with my body?"
He grinned that evil grin. "Yeaaaaaah."
I got on as fast as I could.
He put his hat and sunglasses back on and said. "Hold on to......something."
I scooted forward as far as I could, until the front of my jeans were pressed up against his rump, and then I leaned up against his back, but my cheek against him, wrapped my arms around him until my hands were full of chest. I sighed. This is what I wanted. To be close to him. Very close. To trust him. To see others happy to see me with him.
He turned to face the bus, raised one arm and waved to get Martha's attention. "Race?" he yelled.
I saw Martha nod, her grin still on her face.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Hang on."
I pulled myself against him as hard as I could.
"I am not gonna lose to her again."
Vroooom Vrooooom
2006