Bike Lady (10.8.08)

Point of order: Two though Amnesties in a row. This a short story (UNCORRECTED/UNEDITED) from my next colection FREAK TYPE SCENE. Will B back on the grind monday. Enjoy or not.

Bike Lady (10.8.08)

The Fall was just two days in, meaning the South Georgia weather was still crisp with the acumen of summer yet tempered with the animosity of the half moon. It was a great time for, to see the kids running outside and even more so was the sensation of smelling steaks and ribs on the grill, even when around the side of the house chopping wood. It was supposed to be raining but the sky had not yet opened up to poor its blessing onto the earth or to nurture the first shedding of pine needles on the ground. In fact it was the opposite. It was bright and warm and mellow and refreshing. Not to mention, tomorrow Tripp would not be going into the shop and that he would be childless.

The next day, after dropping his son off at school and his daughter at the sitter, he returned home. He could take pleasure in know that his little girl would be spending the night at a slumber party with six other little girls. He knew she needed the estrogen being that each day she was surrounded by her brother and himself and that she was more used to being around them than other women, especially other little girls being that he was a single parent.

The weather men as usual were a day off on their predictions. The inclement weather rolled in like a Hurricane hitting the gulf. It was not windy, but it was dark and the mist of the impending showers were swept in with each intermittent gust. He hurried into the house for he would not be able to clear the last two trees he had hoped to clear on his day with out the kids. Instead, he started to cook: Neck bones with potatoes and cabbage. He know his children would be upset seeing that that was one of their favorite meals among many, but as usual he would cook enough for them to enjoy the following evening.

It was approaching 4pm but to the layman it would have appeared to be closer to six or seven PM. The rain had started to fall and with each ephemeral minute, it began to come down harder and harder. As his food cooked, he stripped and returned to his bed. He pretended that he was on some beach in Antigua and likewise, accepted the make-believe premonition that his shot of Tequila was some tropical drink with a tiny umbrella toothpick on the side. Upon which he dosed off.

He woke up abruptly, not even realizing that he had been a slumber. It wasn't the rain, albeit he thought it was, but rather a knock at his door. He gathered his robe and proceeded to answer. He could not believe that any of his folks would desire to see him in such horrendous weather. But it would not have surprised him any if such proffered to be the case.

Opening the door to his astonishment, it was a woman whom he had seen before. When had seen her, he was either driving out of his drive onto the street either heading out or coming home. Whenever he had seen her, she was either running or she would be on her bicycle. He always recalled of her motions, of her terse yet ballerina like appendages taking her too and from her destinations, which he had figured either home or for exercise. She was grace personified, a stallion in the complexity of Meted, an image that he kept in his mind such to the extent it should be bronzed somewhere and displayed in a museum for she was more than beauty and more than woman she was the molecular combination of elegance and refinement, even when she was running or on her bike. Often she he would pass he would slow down his vehicle just to get a double take of her poise in his rearview mirror and savor her disposition as if a fine wine on his way to his destination.

Trip had never met her formally, but he had waved seeing that they had seen each other often. He was just taken aback that she had noticed him to the extent of approaching and knocking on his door. Add to that that his house was 200 yards from the street up a country dirt and gravel road.

"Hello", he said trying not to act surprised. She was soaking wet and maintained a pair of red shorts and a white T-shirt bearing the mage of barrack Obama. The rain had revealed to him a blue sports bra underneath her top however, he was trying not to indicate to her that he had any admiration for her lithe figure.

"Hi, I know you don't know me, but I see you all the time when I am running."

"Would you like to come in, you are soaking wet, rain got you, guess you don't watch the weather channel. My name is Tripp, Tripp Hughes.

She laughed and extended her hand. "Tara, Tara Jenkins. I know your name. Been meaning to introduce myself but each time see you, you are speeding off in that pick up truck of yours."

He laughed and griped her hand firmly, but not hard. "You make me feel bad and just to think I was gonna invite you in."

"Don't have too I am already in and gonna, you are country aren't you? Nice house, never knew what all I ever saw was that dirt road was back here. You not scared to live back here by yourself?

"Well I have to children, just free from their pleasure today and I am a single parent, but nope, I aint."

"Well, I was trying to make it home but it kept raining harder and harder so I came up here seeing not another house for a while, is this all your land?"

As she dripped on his wood floor he continued. "Yes it is, here let me get you something. Turn your head. He took off his robe and gave it too her. She turned her head as he requested but did situate herself to maintain a glimpse of his nakedness and the appendage that he maintained below his waist. He quickly returned to his room and draped himself with a towel.

"I have some clothes if you would like to change. They aint woman clothes but a t-shirt and some boxers if you like and you can keep the robe. I was cooking so if you like I can show you to the restroom.

"That would be kind of you."

He showed her to the bathroom and returned to the kitchen. "Just give me your clothes and I can toss them in the dryer.

She came out and he was in the kitchen, standing over and smelling his neck bones like an artist would a fine watercolor. She watched him. She liked what she saw. It wasn't his dreds, nor was it his smile. She went back into the restroom, passing through his bedroom to return to where she had entered. She stooped in his front room and admired all of his art. She could tell or suspected that he was worldly.

"You have a lot of art, nice."

Shouting from the kitchen as not to be distracted from his neck bones he returned. "Yep, all them years of living in Africa folk and I got more that need to be framed and displayed. I like this house cause it reminds me of how I live when Im in Africa. You ever been there?"

"No "she said. She walked to the kitchen. "Africa, what do you do?"

He turned around with his spoon still stirring and opined. "If I told you jones, I'd have to kill you."

She laughed and walked into the kitchen. The house was roomy and spacious yet quiet and humble. He placed the top back on his vitals and addressed her directly. She had not changed clothes and kept the robe on he had given her, and the hair; well it was still wet from the rain. He admired her pony tail.

He looked down and said, "I am who I am and if you hate so be it, and placed his lips against hers. He pulled her close to him, and the muscle of her firmness sent ripples up his spine. She did not resist. In his mind he desired to take her to his bed but he could not wait. He opened the slip not in the belt around her waist that kept the robe tightly against her body. There was no blue bra now. His hands gripped her waist and rose upward like the sun in the morning, against her curvature and made their way to her waist and eventually towards her breast. He cupped them equally with both hand and placed them together such that he could house both nipples in his mouth at the same time.

She sighed and at each sigh, he seemed to gain momentum and more confidence. She pulled back and looked down and what she had seen swinging when he first gave her his robe. Her hands began to show his kiss appreciation as she grabbed him. She motioned downward, her mouth against his chest and crossed her disposition back and forth from his neck to his chest. She was brave and no where in her action did she evince any hesitance. With him in her hands, she knew she would be forced to extend her jaw into an uncomfortable position. She let him slide beyond her tonsils with such ease and enjoyed it. She let go and went back to the head of his shaft and ever so firmly pushed her lips together around it. Her mouth had never been so moist. She enjoyed herself and slowly went back down his shaft. She wrap her mouth around his head and used quick movements as she held grip around that monstrous base. She stroked increased her alacrity; for she could feel the veins in his manhood pulsating. She wanted to taste his liquid, but he pulled away.

He picked her up, robe open and slide her on top of him. He pressed her back against the refrigerator and stroked up inside of her until he met resistance. But it did not stop him, he was confident that he would break through and in his mind felt as if he could eventually feel himself come out of her mouth. She wiggles in slight pain and amazement and sheer gratitude but did not waiver. She was determined to work as much out of him as she could take. The concern was she was taking more, much more than she desired physically, but mentally it did not matter. She wanted him and he wanted her and she played out in her mind such occurring over and over again.

Still with him impaled in her he removed her to the sofa and trusted several last times. She felt the warmness of his elixir slide down the inside of her back, and her ovaries ached; not in pain but for more of the same sensation. He laid his head on her shoulder and just breathed. They shared the sofa together and went to sleep. Good for him the neck bones were on simmer.

When she awoke. He was up. He had taken her clothes out of the dryer. She watched and smiled and smiled and watched. .

"Would you like some neck bones?" He asked as the Southern Gentleman he was.

"No thank you, I don't eat pork."

"I placed your clothes on my bed, they are dry now, and I hope I will see you again."

She said nothing and went to his room and got dressed.

When she returned she said, "Thanks for welcoming me into your home as you did." She kissed him gently on the cheek and once more on his lips. She parted them for him with a quick but unhurried darting of her tongue which he was prompt to match.

She continued, "You think it will be raining tomorrow?"

"I don't know lil momma, I don't know but I shole do hope so."

"You are country," she said getting onto her back with a simper and a laugh. He laughed too. But such was only appropriate since they had started out with smiles and laughs. He continued to watch, her legs moving elegantly as she peddled away from him down his dirt and gravel road.