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There he is again. A flash of light reflects off sunbronzed skin, moving out beyond the break. I pick up my binoculars and glance around, feeling a little sleazy.
I take another sip of my morning go juice and lick my lips. I can’t help myself. This man is poetry in motion and as regular as the sunrise. Everyday, his body is a streamlined work of art, sliding in and out of the crystal blue swell beyond the break, well apart from the younger, more supple surfers that gather there for the best sets of the day. I imagine him as he slides out of his crystal blue sheets in the morning, naked, as he scans the point and plans his session. I see him oil up his body and pull his speedos over his muscular thighs…
I shake my head and adjust my binoculars for better focus. I can see his face as he lingers momentarily to gulp some air before he turns into the water again. His jaw is hard and his lips are soft and full. I wonder what the lucky recipient of his attention looks like and if she appreciates the delights that he has to offer her. I feel a pang of jealousy and pull back from the binoculars quickly, as a hot flush creeps up my neck, and a tingle runs down my torso.
I shift in my loungechair and bang the binoculars onto the table. This is getting a little creepy. I’m turning into a serial visual stalker. What’s wrong with me?
I blink, as I try to erase an erotic vision of adonis slowly peeling his cherry red speedos down his dripping thighs, and frown at the walking stick – the bain of my existence since the accident, and the gatekeeper of my intention. I have nothing better to do than lurk and limp around on my balcony with my stick, and perv at anything that moves, or more recently…the one thing I like that moves.
I twist myself around my stick and hobble inside, pressing myself against the wall for balance. Little spikes of frustration stabb at my innards. No point in looking if you can’t touch. I try to justify him, and myself, by rubbing him up against an equally hot looking number at the local gay bar down the road, but something tells me he’s strictly hetero and hot for it.
I think I’m getting a little toey. I haven’t slowed down this much since the last accident. I guess this is what you get when you prefer a fast motorbike throbbing between your legs. Nothing like giving in to the beast on the open road, and getting a little dirty with a well oiled machine. No man has ever given me that kind of satisfaction.
I relax and turn the television on. Nothing wrong with me that a good ride wouldn’t fix. My body just doesn’t recognise the kind of ride it wants. While a hot bike is a no contest, flexing my motorcycle muscles around that hot, well oiled adonis – and watching him purr – was more than tempting.
I flick through the channels, but there’s nothing on. I sigh and look down at the mottley cast that covers half of my best assets. Nice legs, when you can see them. I scrub up well in a set of tight leathers too- but let’s face it – I won’t be getting any satisfaction from man or machine while I’m wearing a plaster mood inhibitor that starts at my groin and doestn’t end until it reaches my ankle..
I run my hands around the smooth body and lick my lips. I trace my finger around the speedometre, and feel a surge of excitement so profound I’m lightheaded. I grab the throttle in my hand as I swing myself over the object of my desire, and ease myself into the seat. Nice fit. I flex my quads around the tank and pull my right leg over the peg to test the brake. No problem – weeks of physio and frustration has paid off, – I was revved and ready to go. ‘When can I have it?’ I eye the sales guy underneath my lashes, and lean forward for effect.
‘Tomorrow.’ He pushes his pen around in his pocket with one hand, and tries to adjust himself with the other. ‘Easy. Pick her up at 3 o’clock. Everything will be done.’ He’s drooling by the time I bend over to adjust my boots. Mission accomplished.
4 o’clock tomorrow finds me cooling my heels on the customer courtesy lounge at the dealership. I’m impatient to get this show on the road and go for my maiden ride, and things aren’t going according to plan. Months of hanging out on my balcony, entertaining thoughts of what I would do to Adonis if I ever got hold of him, have mangled my brain. I need a fix and I need it fast, or I’m going to blow.
I watch every move the salesguy makes, and when he finally walks towards me with the keys at 4.30pm, he’s as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, ‘Sorry ’bout that, we had to get another order out with yours.’
I feel a surge of anger towards the recipient of the other order. I can’t help it, my whole being is centred around getting on my machine and getting out of here. I start to say something sarcastic, but stop mid-stream as I catch the back-end of Adonis through the side door with a helmet in his hand. He’s sporting a set of leathers that gives me a hot flush. I’d know that butt anywhere, and it looks better today than it did in the speedos last week.
The salesguy follows my gaze and hones in on me, a sly grin enhancing the pockmarks of pimples on his pubescent cheeks. ‘That’s the boss, Matty…he’s the man. Hot rider.’
I flush again. I’m sure he is.
I shake my head and grasp at the keys jingling in the salesguy’s hands. He takes a step back and sizes me up for a moment, probably not really sure which team I’m batting for after all. ‘Ok, paperwork’s done. Here’s the papers and out there is your new ride.’ He points in Adonis’ general direction and tries to not to smirk. I don’t take the bait, but I feel annoyed that he would presume to have me pegged. I leave him floundering in my jetstream as I straighten up and stride towards my quarry. By the time he catches up with me, I’m shoving the key into the ignition and pulling the clutch in.
‘Hey, hang on. You need to see that guy over there before you go.’ The smirk has gone and he dances around me, waving his arms about and trying to mouth above the din I’m making to drown him out. I rev it a bit more, and he points and dances a little more, just in case I’m thinking of making a run for it. I dropped the clutch and plant my foot on the floor, rev it again, and put my other foot on the brake. There’s enough drag to move towards him and give him a tap.
‘Sorry. Got a little carried away.’ I smirk at him while he straightens his trousers and looks around him. The workshop has gone quiet, and anyone within earshot has stopped to listen. I remove my helmet and flick my hair down my back. I’m feeling better already. And I’m in control again.
‘That’s fine. Over there.’ He points towards the big guy in the corner, standing next to Adonis, and flounces off in the other direction, no doubt to reinstate his authority over the sales girls in the showroom.
I head towards them, suck in some air for courage and sway my hips subtly. I’m in control, even as Adonis leans up against the back wall and puts his hands in his pockets. He eases his hips forward and smiles, and I see flashes of grinding hips around me in cherry red speedos. I’m almost lost as my head begins to buzz and my lower stomach takes a nose dive into my groin.