Real life

I’d like to be a biker bitch

I’d like to own a motorcycle… to ride a motorcycle. I don’t want to sit in the bitch seat, at least… not always. I want to pilot that puppy.

I’ve ridden before, as a passenger. My father had motorcycles. It was a motorcycle ride that nearly cost him his life… shattering his back in three places, splitting open his wrists and spilling ligament and bone and bloody tissue like spaghetti on the pavement. Shudder.

So, all logic is against me placing myself on a bike, right? Still… I recall that connection – between rider and wind and road.  There’s something primitive about it…loud, dirty, sexual.

What is it about girls and horses (even iron ones)?

Mounting… putting something powerful between your legs… it’s just right.

Add that to the bucket list.

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