Ride to Redemption (8 page)

Chapter
12

B
ack
at the hotel, I opened the closet and pulled out a low-cut tee, a red thong and
her new chaps. “Here, baby. Put these on.”

“You’re
kidding,” Candi exclaimed, “Aren’t you forgetting my jeans?”

“Nope,”
I confessed, “I’m wearing the same, including this banana hammock-like thong
you sent me with your clothes.”

“Seriously
D, you’re out of your friggin’ mind. We might get away with this in San
Francisco, but this is frigging conservative Iowa.”

“Chill,
baby. There’s a method to my madness. Your first bike ride with me has to be a
memorable one. I’ve dreamed non-stop about tonight. Hopefully after all our
long distance bonding, we can make this a night to remember for a very long
time.”

Dressing
quietly and mischievously, I gave her a reassuring hug and a knee-high rain
jacket to wear over her newly exposed flesh.

“Really?”
she chided. “Now we’re wearing trench coats? Tell me we’re not headed to an
underground sex club right now.”

“No,
baby, we’re going to wear these ‘til we get out of town.” I could just see
Candi’s head spinning regarding what adventure I had dreamed up that required
extremely brief (no pun intended) attire.

Helmets
in hand, we made our way down the back elevator and to the bike. “Now
remember,” I said, “hold on tight to me initially and lean with me on the
curves, not against me. Once you’re comfortable that we’re not going to turn
over, you can relax. You’ll get the feel of it.”

Off
we rode into the darkness. Candi’s first words were, “D, I love to feel the
wind in my hair.”

“Really,
baby, I kinda dreamed you would.”

Just
past the outskirts of town, heading east, I stopped in an empty and dark
parking lot. “Okay, baby, hand me your coat,” I instructed, while removing
mine. Opening the trunk, I placed them inside and removed the BOA. “Here, baby,
hold this,” I directed, while kissing her firmly on the lips. “I want you now!”

Cupping
each breast through her thin Tee, I kissed and gently nibbled both sides of her
neck. I could sense her warming to my caress. “I’m sure you remember our toy …
designed to assist me in accelerating your orgasm launch times,” I purred, as I
turned it on and maneuvered it, specifically, where it was designed to go.

“I’ve
waited so long to kiss you, to taste you, to touch you on this —
inaugural ride,” I breathed, as the BOA made its way inside her, deftly
bypassing her bright red thong. Massaging her now wet depths with my fingers
while my lips danced across hers, I whispered into her ear.

“Now,
it gets better…”

I
climbed back on the bike and eased onto the highway. Iowa’s long and straight
roads made for the perfect opportunity to create my carefully crafted plan.
Rumbling at 20 MPH, I motioned for Candi to hand me her BOA. Before we reached
cruising speed, I said, “You are most welcome to bite my neck, kiss me, and
caress me. If we can time this just right, you can use both your hands to bring
me off the same time as you.”

“Just how are you going to do that, D, with your hands,
currently occupied?”

“You’ll
feel it, when we get it right!”

Reaching
50 MPH, I used the throttle lock to maintain my current speed, which in turn
freed my dominant right hand, to expertly redirect the BOA, to its eventual
resting place. With 35 miles of empty road before us, the wind bristling
through her hair, I hoped that this first ride would remove any apprehension of
riding a motorcycle, as well as, being with me; while providing nothing, but
the fondest of memories.

At
the twenty-eight mile mark, both my aspirations came true. Candi increased her
tempo of me as the BOA carried her over the top, both literally and
figuratively. Yelling and screaming with no one to hear except maybe the cows,
we both released at the same time, releasing wave after wave of pent up
excitement into a star-filled Iowa night. There is truly something exhilarating
about the wind blowing through your hair, as well as across your private parts,
while cruising down a desolate Iowa highway at night, focusing not only on what
lays ahead, but also on what sits behind.

Chapter
13

“C
andi,” I breathed,
while we covered and clothed our skimpiness, “I never dreamed just how fun a
night ride could be through the cornfields of Iowa.”

“Of
course, D, it had some help from you, your bike, and my new special friend, the
B.O.A.”

We
skirted back to the hotel and into the room a little before 11 p.m. with no one
else the wiser.

Settling
into bed, Candi looked squarely into my eyes and said, “Thank you for my first
— and up to now — my most memorable motorcycle ride. I don’t know
what it is with you and your compulsion to create orgasms in motion for me.
Don’t get me wrong, baby; I will never forget this for the rest of my life. Do
you realize your fantasies of motion driven O’s started on your swing, then in
your beamer, on the boat, in my SUV and now have been realized on your bike?
You are creative, as well as resourceful,” Candi continued, oozing with
endearing confidence.

“Thank
you, baby. Every day I spend with you I want to be unforgettable. Since neither
of us is promised a tomorrow, I’m trying to make every day with you count.”

“You
do, baby. You do,” mumbled Candi fading away, as she rolled over, spooning
gently into me.

Snuggling
close, her scents and sounds, placed me into a wonderfully calm state of mind.
Here and now, I was comfortable beside her. After so much effort and planning,
our day had finally arrived.

My
mind wandered and tossed me into a “what if” dream, if I could open up to her
about my past and the purpose of this trip, we might be able to create real
memories that didn’t have to be skewed by just lust. I guess I have waited a
long time to get this far... I can wait a little longer.

We
slept in, and I never made it outside to walk. I settled for the hotel’s
treadmill on an 8% incline for 20 minutes. That at least broke a sweat. Armed
with two black and green teas, I woke Candi from her slumber with a kiss to her
lips. “Morning, baby. It’s Sunday, and our adventure continues.”

Kissing
me back, her arms wrapped round my neck Candi whispered in my ear, “Our
adventure has started out absolutely wonderful, so far. Just what’s in store
for us today?” she chuckled, placing her hand deftly on my package.

“I’ve
got an idea,” prompted by her rather suave hand location, “let’s start with a
mutually beneficial shower, between friends,” I cooed.

“With
benefits, don’t forget the benefits,” Candi chimed in.

“How
could I forget that?” I asked — my manhood totally awake, pointing
expertly toward the shower door.

After
a wash, a romp and roll, Candi spoke, in halted breath. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s
do brunch at Sweet Fanny’s, baby. I noticed they offer it on weekends.”

“That
works for me, I’m starving.”

Repacking
only my basics and her much maligned necessities, I secured the rest of our
gear in the truck. Traveling fast and light has never been a problem for me. I
hoped Candi could equally adjust — especially since 50% of my trunk space
is filled with her makeup and blow dryer.

Dressed
in Les’ fine Italian leather and her own skinny jeans and tee, Candi met me at
the bike with her backpack and a let’s get this show on the road mentality.
Like a pro, I was amazed to see she had already settled in, ready to
rock-n-roll.

And
with that, we rode off into Old Town looking like we had been on this bike at
least 10,000 miles before.

Upon
arrival, I chose a large table near the front window again, where I could
spread out my gear. I use both a GPS and an atlas to confirm which back roads
would take us through Nebraska and South Dakota on our way to Sturgis. By my
calculations, I felt we could make it there by Tuesday afternoon with enough
time to locate the campground and pick up the tickets for the concert.

Just
as we were about to order, two new Harley Road King’s pulled up in front of the
restaurant. Their riders were disproportionate in size — one being at
least 6’2” while the other was at least a foot shorter. Just as the tall one
removed his helmet, Candi gasped and choked as if the glass of water in her
hand had gone down the wrong way without ever touching her lips. Sporting long
wavy jet-black hair, huge biceps, a gold earring and a multitude of tatts, this
guy looked as if he stepped straight out of the stud section of GQ. I wondered
if that was what brought on this choking episode. He seemed to take her breath
away — something I wasn’t real fond of at the moment. “Are you okay,
baby?”

“I
am. Just let me catch my breath,” she spoke in halted breaths, as her
complexion changed from rosy pink to a much paler shade.

“Hey,
look,” I exclaimed, as the shorter rider removed her helmet. “It’s a girl.”

A
striking, petite girl stepped from her ride. She was at least twenty years
younger than her oversexed male companion. She sported matching tatts. Her
‘store-bought chest,’ paired up nicely with an ass to die for.

“Wow,
baby,” I exclaimed, looking the babe over closely. “Maybe someday you could
ride your own bike, too.”

“Doubt
it,” replied Candi, curtly and still short of breath, which I attributed to the
lingering effects of her choking episode. “I’m only riding to be with you.”

This
rugged, tattoo-covered couple ambled into the restaurant, and after perusing
the other available tables, chose a table next to ours. The second thing I
noticed were all the international flags on their helmets. The third thing was
this guy’s aroma.

“They
have to be European,” I whispered to Candi, who was somewhat startled by my
current observation. “Look at all the flags on his helmet — plus, he is
wearing Italian colors as a bandana. And lastly, he smells. Don’t know what it
is with these European studs and their hate for deodorant,” I continued. “They
evidently can’t smell themselves. They’re kind of like chronic smokers who
smoke in tight spaces, not knowing how rancid they smell to the rest of us.

Candi
seemed amused by my observations, but continued to appear pale and shaken from
her choking episode.

“Hi.
I’m D, and this is Candi,” I announced to the newly arrived exotic couple
beside us.

“
Ciao,
”
they replied in unison.

Speaking
to Candi, I confided honestly, “
Ciao
means hi and goodbye in Italian.
Unfortunately, that is the extent of my Italian, except for pizza and lasagna.”

To
my surprise, Candi spoke back to them. “
Ciao
,” she said, followed by a
litany of excited Italian that I couldn’t begin to understand. Startled by her
bilingual ability and the familiarity with which she spoke, I mused, “Evidently
you speak Italian very well. What other languages do you speak, if I might
ask?”

“French,
Spanish, German and some Russian,” replied Candi, as if apologizing.

“You
constantly surprise and amaze me, Candice,” I told her, shaking my head,
completely and utterly dumbfounded.

After
what seemed like a 10-minute conversation between the Italian biker and Candi,
I learned his name was Gio and his riding companion was Mile. Gio spoke decent
English, which I concluded was a stretch, while Mile spoke little to none. They
had landed in Sioux City on Friday from Milan and rented two bikes for two
weeks. After lunch, they, too, were leaving for Sturgis.

“I
hate to interrupt this pseudo-Italian family reunion,” I announced, “but if we
don’t eat soon, we’ll never get out of here.”

With
a few more courteous words exchanged with our newfound friends, Candi and I
ordered eggs Benedict with two sides of sourdough, as a late breakfast. The
Italians ordered lunch. Picking up where they left off, their conversation with
Candi continued nonstop in Italian. They seemed completely oblivious to my lack
of understanding.

After
several minutes, I’d finally had enough and asked Gio and Mile to join us. I
didn’t relish the man smell that accompanied Gio, but I tolerated it as best I
could. Nothing my Right Guard won’t fix.

Gio
explained that he wanted to go through Wounded Knee, SD, on their way to
Sturgis. He’d been informed that the last battle in the American Indian Wars
occurred there in 1890. I assured him that there would be a museum of sorts
there, and that it would be a nice stop-off for a rest. I also asked where else
that they planned to ride, on the way to Sturgis.

He
mentioned Badlands National Park in his crude English. I had been through that
park once before, myself, and I clued him in to the lay of the land. “It’s
desolate and barren, with little, if any, water. But, in a strange way, very
beautiful, where only the strongest survive both plants and animals.

Gio’s
inquisitive stare turned to a suggestive smile of enlightenment. “You go beside
us!” he exclaimed. “How you say … ride with us?”

Mile
nodded in approval, while Candi was inadvertently shaking her head no but not
saying anything. I found myself wondering why she was so disheartened with the
idea. Plus, her whole change of color and strange look a while ago was also
tugging at my imagination. What’s up with that? And what’s up with two Italians
trying to find their way to Sturgis, via the back roads? If I was far from home
and had found a seasoned rider along my travels … I’d ask them to join the
ride, too!

I
immediately looked to Candi, pondering her odd motives.

“It’s
your call. I’m okay with them tagging along, if you are. Besides, since you
speak Italian so well, you could translate when the need arises.”

If
looks could kill, somebody in this group of three would be dead. Candi was
purposely-staring Gio and Mile down, right before my eyes. I was perplexed. Bad
karma?

“Let
me talk to Gio outside,” slammed Candi, abruptly getting up and motioning him
with her forefinger to follow her out the door.

Now
I’m pissed. She must know this unlikely pair. No way does this sort of thing
just happen. Nothing about any of it added up — not to my satisfaction,
anyway.

Through
the plate glass window, I could see Candi poking her finger repeatedly into his
chest. I could tell by her animated gestures, that she was laying down some
sort of law. Looking at Mile, I wondered if she had any idea what was going on.
She just shook her head sideways as if to say, don’t ask me.

And
I didn’t.

Within
two minutes, certain calm resonated between them, and Candi marched through the
door defiant. Gio, on the other hand, seemed whipped — his large stature
sauntering along behind her with his tail between his legs.

“What
was all that about?” I practically blurted.

“I’ll
tell you, but not here,” she snapped. “Walk me to the bathroom.”

I
did, just as I was directed, standing just outside the two bathrooms, with my
arms crossed and my brow lowered — a considerably different posture than
little-big man, biker dude.

“He’s
an arrogant, Italian SOB!” she began. “He gets his way in Italy because of his
family name and assumes he will do the same here. I set him straight. If he and
his young filly ride along with us, they will follow your lead … period.”

“Okay
… I’m with you so far. Just how did you deduce all that in the last fifteen
minutes of your very first conversation with him?” I expected a thoroughly off-the-wall
answer.

“It’s
a long story, D,” she said. “I will tell you, I promise. But trust me —
we don’t have time to go into right now.”

“Bull-crap,”
I chided. “I don’t need a butt-load of problems on this journey, Candi.
Something about this is totally twisted and not in a good way.”

“Just
call it Candi’s intuition, D. Gio is paying for everything, by the way,
starting now. As long as he and Mile ride with us, he pays, period. Let's call
it payment for your services as a tour guide, as well as mine, as a
translator.”

“This
is bull crap, and I’m not buying it. You know these people. You never said his
last name, either. That would add some relevancy to this entire convoluted
conversation. Spill!”

“It’s
complicated,” Candi confessed, shaking her head and pouting. She pressed her
boobs up against my chest and said it again. “It’s complicated, D.”

“Mr.
Gio Complicated and your tatas both have some explaining to do. This isn’t
over, Candi, and you damn well know it. Right now, we ride. Later, both of
those boobs, along with your lips will talk.”

“Calm
yourself, Mr. Happy,” she mimicked, wrinkling her nose and upper lip. “You have
a few secrets of your own. And you know what? I bet you’re none too eager to
throw them all out on the table just yet! So, are we gonna ride or stand here
and play Truth-or-Dare?”

Damn
it, I hate it when she’s right. “We ride.”

“Great.
I’ll go get the Italian tourists.”