Biker's Virgin

“Like you have to remind me.”

With that, he took off.

Even though I could tell he was riding slowly, a rush of fear coursed through my veins. Being on a motorcycle was so different from being in a car. Night and day different. But as we got up to speed and the wind started to rip past us, a boost of excitement replaced the fear firing through my veins. It made being in a car seem like a bland, everyday chore. I'd always thought of it as a cliché before, but I suddenly understood what bikers meant when they talked about freedom.

With my arms wrapped around Emerson's body, I felt an intense sense of attraction as he controlled the raging beast on which we were perched, whipping in and out of traffic. The magnetism was almost primal.

A traffic light turned red ahead of us and Emerson hit the brakes, causing me to slide forward on the seat. My body came to rest pressed firmly against his.

I wondered if he could feel my breasts pressing into his back and if it stirred anything in him. I certainly couldn't deny feeling more than a little aroused by it.

He turned his head to the side and flipped up his visor to speak to me. “You alright back there?” he asked.

I mirrored his action with my own visor to reply. “Great!”

“You're not scared? No rollercoaster flashbacks?”

“Nope! I'm actually enjoying this!”

“Awesome.”

A flicker of a smile played on his lips before he tapped his visor back into place. Two seconds later, the light turned green and we took off again. I could sense the machine had so much more to offer than Emerson was allowing. I almost yelled over the engine for him to open the throttle and gas it, but there were still a few butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, no matter how much I was enjoying the ride.

After fifteen minutes of the wind racing by, we arrived at what I assumed was our destination—a hole in the wall that had a warm and inviting feel. It might have been small, but it looked classy from the outside. Emerson maneuvered the bike into a parking spot and killed the engine, and I released my arms from around his waist, a little disappointed that I had to let go. He booted out the kickstand and dismounted the bike and then helped me off. It was a gentlemanly thing to do, and I couldn't help being a little impressed. I removed my helmet and beamed a broad smile at him. I could tell he appreciated it.

“That was so cool!” I exclaimed. “Wow! I totally get bikers now! Well, okay, maybe not totally… but I can really see the appeal.”

He chuckled. It was a really sweet laugh. “Yeah, it's great, right? I've been ri

ding motorcycles since I was a little kid. My dad was into dirt bikes and motocross. He got me my first dirt bike when I was six. I've been hooked on bikes since.”

“Have you ever had any bad accidents?”

“I've had plenty of spills in the dirt, yeah, but that's to be expected when you’re riding off-road. I had a pretty bad spill in a race when I was twelve. Broke my collarbone and my left wrist.”

“That didn't make you want to give up riding?”

“Hell no! I know guys who have broken both legs and been stuck in wheelchairs for six months. Guess what they did as soon as they were out of the wheelchair?”

“Get back on the bike so they could break their legs again?” I replied with a smirk.

“You got it.”

“So, guys are all nuts, huh?”

“When the biking bug bites, it's generally a lifetime infection.”

“But it's so dangerous, Emerson. Seriously.”

“What's life without a little danger, a little excitement? I mean, I could play it safe, never take any risks, and still get hit by a drunk driver while walking on the sidewalk one night.”

My eyes widened. “That’s a little extreme,” I said.

“That actually happened to a guy I know. Now he's a quadriplegic. He was one of those by the book types, crazy obsessed with his health. Never smoked, never drank, never partied, worked out six days a week. I mean, this guy was even vegan, didn't want any animal products in his body because he said they cause cancer. Then one night, he took a walk down the street to buy a newspaper, and as he was walking out of the Kwik Stop, a drunk driver lost control of his car, skidded across the intersection, and plowed him over. He was in a coma for three months and now he's in a wheelchair. And, this was a guy who took zero risks. Now he doesn’t have the option to take a risk.”

I nodded. I couldn't really argue that point. But I wasn’t so sure I completely agreed, either. “I understand what you’re saying, but still there are risks and then there are risks,” I said. “Sure, bad luck sometimes strikes no matter what you do, but riding a motorcycle increases the risk factor exponentially.”

Emerson shrugged. “If something happens, it happens. It's better to live life fully without regrets and have something bad happen than to creep through life in a state of constant worry and fear and still have something bad happen to you because it was fated to happen.”