OK then. 'Girl on a Motorcycle' it is then. Blame binge viewing Sons of Anarchy, blame a lifetime fascination with big Harley's. Whatever. garden_nomes came up with the idea, I liked it a whole lot. Result, the first chapter in a collaboration. First for us, but you guys be the judge. If you don't like it...fine, we'll think of something else. Otherwise, let us know what you think. Seeing as its us...there will be naked Naomily naughties at some point...or several. Those of a sensitive disposition look away now...well, not now exactly, first there's this bit?
**Hey everyone, Nomesy here. ;-) I just wanted to pop in and say hello. This first chapter is all Lizzie's doing, and yeah, the original idea is mine. I gave it to her last year when I spotted a sexy as hell leather motorcycle jacket when I was doing that spot of forced volunteering at a charity shop. I could certainly see one of our favourite characters wearing it, and the rest, a bike between her legs, on the open road and not giving a fuck...hahaha... Anyway, I know I've several other stories of my own to go on with/finish, so I can't guarantee that I'll be contributing equally to this story, but I will try my best. Lizzie is impatient to get it started, and that's NOT a fault, I assure you. I love what she has done so far with my initial idea, and while I was perhaps a little hesitant to give it to her to begin with, I had enough to write on my plate (still do...ha!), but I can see now that it was the right decision. She really is a very talented writer, and when I was reading through the draft of this that she sent me, I could visualise it perfectly. As she does, I hope you enjoy it! On with it, then!**
Skins not mine, not Nomesy's either. Shame that. I think we could have given Jess Brittain a run for her money between us?
Mistakes however (including typo's) all ours...well, mine in this chapter!
(Naomi POV)
The blonde girl stamped a layer of thin red dust off her scuffed black boots and tied her long hair back with a rubber band, before scrunching it up as she levered the black modular faced crash helmet over her head (she'd started off with an open faced helmet, back in her home town, but picking flies out of her teeth after a long run wasn't fun, so she's ditched it at the first accessory shop she'd found). She flipped the black tinted front up and smiled thinly to herself. Time to kick the dust of this identikit shitty town off her boots altogether, she thought.
She pulled on her black leather riding gloves and slipped a chunky key into the ignition of the bike beneath her. Her bike...the bike she had scrimped, saved and sometimes even stolen for. 2 years it had taken her. During school, college, part time jobs, waitressing, washing cars, selling the odd (OK, quite a few) bags of weed...whatever it took to push another $20 note into the piggy bank. Now, the results of all that saving, going without, all that missing out on wild student parties and raucous clubs and well...fun, had paid off.
It might be a bit dusty...it might be a bit scuffed in places now, like her leather boots . But the Harley Davidson Road King Classic she was sitting on, was the lover she could never leave, never say goodbye to. It didn't complain if she treated it roughly, never let her down when she needed it and always gave satisfaction. Turning the switch and touching the start button instantly produced the familiar trademark deep rumble below her. The massive V twin engine pulsed like a giant, metronomic heartbeat, ready for action at the twist of a throttle. She smiled again to herself. The open road stretched away before her like an ever changing, seductive mistress. It was the machines natural element, and hers too, for the past few weeks at least.
She took one last dismissive look round the dusty little one horse town she had stopped at last night, before giving the throttle a generous twist to clear the engine's throat. The machine roared enthusiastically beneath her, making the wide seat vibrate and setting off a not entirely unpleasant reciprocal throb between her legs.
Last night had been...well...interesting. Not the sort of interesting that would make her think about breaking her journey for more than one night...but interesting nevertheless.
The voluptuous dark haired, crimson lipped waitress who served her in the combination roadside diner cum hostel last night had been nice enough. In her early thirties maybe? Wearing a tight blue two piece cotton uniform with the top three buttons open...enough to show off that impressive cleavage. When the woman had bent over to pour more strong coffee into the blondes cup after dinner, she'd smiled knowingly when the girl looked steadily at the creamy swell of her full tits. Usually no doubt, it was grizzled road train drivers and hopeful sales reps leering at her breasts, suggesting improbable liaisons with their eyes. But this slim, attractive blonde with the tight blue jeans, biker boots and Brando style leather studded jacket was an uncommon, but welcome admirer it seemed.
Marie...was that was her name? The blonde remembered little but the feel of that pneumatic body pressed against her. Curvy, compliant and very, very wet...between her legs... once the girl had slipped an enquiring hand down that tight uniform skirt and inside flimsy knickers. Wet and very willing, as it turned out. There was no time for more than a frantic mutual finger fuck against the back wall of the diner, while the cook flipped burgers in the kitchen. Brief maybe, but very satisfying mouths locked together to suppress the desperate, greedy moans they shared. Hands moving quickly and efficiently beneath partially removed clothing. By the way the woman had gasped desperately and bitten down on the girls neck as she came, the blonde guessed this was a rare if welcome treat for the older woman. Not many attractive young lesbians visit this town then, she thought wryly as she buttoned up her 501 jeans and left the woman panting against the concrete wall...
Neither wanted more from the other than mutual gratification, so there were no promises to return for more fun, no furtive phone numbers exchanged. Just two horny women, a convenient quiet spot and a lot of hot and heavy making out. The girl sucked her fingers afterwards appreciatively. Sweet, she thought. Sweet.
This breakfast time, they only smiled briefly at each other as the blonde ate her pancakes and bacon. Nothing more. Because today, in the cold light of an outback morning, there was apparently a husband too. Funny how the blonde hadn't noticed the wedding ring on the woman's finger...but then, the hand was quite busy...elsewhere, wasn't it?
The bearded florid guy fussed over the popping eggs and sausages on the griddle, cursing the busy waitresses to be quicker at serving the customers. More people all round in the small diner now. The dusty, foul mouthed freight drivers and frazzled, crumpled sales reps, all stopping for a fix of caffeine and transfat protein before pointing their dust streaked rigs and rental compacts on down the highway.
The girl had more time to linger than them this morning, and she exchanged another sly smile with the flustered brunette as she poured a last cup of coffee for her. Marie's uniform was buttoned up to the neck today, she noticed. The creamy twin treats tidied safely away, maybe until tonight when the neon lights of the restaurant would glow brightly again in the cool evening air, hopefully attracting more hungry travellers to spend another dollar, while enjoying the pleasant view. This morning's customers were more interested in the food than the pretty service, however tempting. Daylight brings reality, after all.
The girl remembered again how the brunette had gasped and clenched on her fingers last night with a delicious shudder. She wriggled slightly in her seat, her body recalling the nimble, knowing fingers moving on her... inside her. Not a beginner, that was for sure. Another bored, hick town housewife, living out half remembered college passion with other girls...girls like her. Last night would probably tide her over for weeks. Weeks of lying under a sweating, hairy man, daydreaming about lithe blondes with clever fingertips.
Soon enough, coffee drunk, the bill paid and her heavy padded jacket slung over a shoulder, the blonde left the diner with just a brief backward glance at the busy waitress. The tiny and cautious wiggle of the woman's fingers in farewell the only sign of what had passed between them. No regrets on either side.
Now, with the engine thumping impatiently underneath her, the girl pulled the strap on the helmet tight under her chin. Falling off the bike in the outback wasn't advisable at any time, falling off with an insecure helmet could be fatal. She reached down and ran the diagonal heavy duty zip of her leather jacket up to her neckline, tucked the long tail of the black skull bandanna that covered her face to keep the bugs out beneath her collar, and looked behind her once more at the diner, before snicking the brushed alloy of the gear lever down with her booted foot. The metallic clunk of the gearbox told her it was time to go. She had two Harley made studded leather panniers, full of her meagre personal stuff mounted behind her and a heavy duty, waterproof satnav glowed blue/green between the bikes instruments. The highway, endlessly calling her. Time to go ,indeed.
The big Harley burbled out onto the featureless grey tarmac, stretching maybe a hundred miles out in front of her. Another day's riding...another town, another adventure, maybe? It was what she had sacrificed all that fun for in the past two years.
She was young, beautiful and free of responsibility to anyone but herself. A credit card with a thousand dollars on it, two hundred more tucked inside her left boot. No family, apart from a mad mother, no friends apart from the bike itself and... the open road, the best friend of all. Ahead lay the unknown. What she had always craved.
Naomi Campbell, 19 years 3 months and 10 days old, crouched a bit lower over the wide handle bars as the powerful machine picked up speed rapidly, scattering feeding birds from the roadside. Soon she was just a small black dot on the horizon, the sun shimmering brightly over the far away hills.
Three weeks earlier.
"Naomi!...the courier is here love...do you want me to sign for this package?"
Naomi groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. It was already afternoon, judging by the temperature and the strength of the sun through her bedroom window. Her stomach roiled as last night's endless lagers competed with her blinding headache to make her throw up. It had been a bad idea when it was suggested, and it felt an even worse one now. "Just a drink with your workmates...we can't let you go walkabout without a send off can we, girl?" It all sounded so reasonable at the time.
Reluctantly, but with growing enthusiasm as the beers and occasional spliff tempered her normal tendency to stay aloof from horseplay and forced camaraderie of the supermarket staff, she partied late into the night. 9 months she'd slaved there, stacking shelves, working the till, the last in a long line of dead end jobs, designed with one sole purpose in mind.
Cash.
The last payment made on her gleaming Harley and a final push for her 'adventure savings' as her mother lamely named the stupid pig money box on her window sill. A$600 was in there and she used most of it to buy a decent set of tight leathers (the trousers were in the capacious side panniers strapped to the bike) Too hot to wear on the first bit of the journey at least. Later, when she got further into the bush and the nights were colder, she would be glad of them.
But now, suffering from a hangover so dense you could make soup out of it, she just groaned again at her mothers cheerful stridency. Gina Campbell could be upbeat in the face of an imminent firing squad. Normally, her mothers sunny personality was merely irritating, but right now, in the grip of mild alcohol poisoning, it brought out the blondes murderous side.
"Fuck OFF!" she yelled hoarsely, then instantly regretted the effort it had taken. Her head throbbed and she sank back onto the pillows while groping for the glass of water she had poured before collapsing on the bed last night, after Scott and Jen had dropped her off. Actually more tipped her onto the verandah really. After the ninth can of something amber and gassy, she wasn't sure what had happened. The night was reduced to a kaleidoscope of happy smiling faces, slaps on the back and always another fizzing glass of beer. She chanced a look round the bedroom, groaning at the movement of her eyeballs in their sockets. Two years of solitary isolation, going out no more than once a fortnight, and then only if the night was cheap and cheerful, had turned her into a lightweight when it came to alcohol. But the reason for the abstinence was standing under the car port, next to her mothers small Ford. Big, beautiful and covered in chrome and deep jet paint. Her new best friend.
Today was the day. She'd promised herself she would set off by 12, but that was fucked by the look of the bedroom. Clothes still scattered around, not yet packed. Oh well, 2pm then...
She took a deep breath and raised the courage to lift her head off the pillow as she heard her mother, still chatting aimlessly with the delivery guy. It was the last of the packages she was expecting. A pair of black Ray-Ban Aviators. The final piece of carefully constructed machismo she wanted to portray. She was done with this small parochial town, with its narrow views and drudgery. Her mother had given up her hippy dream years ago, but Naomi was determined not to be like her in any way. Two years of saving and going without was to give her this...freedom. The Harley, enough cash to cover a 1000 mile journey and the outfit to suit her new persona.
No more nice Naomi. No more getting her heart broken by pretty little straight girls, who just wanted a fling with another girl before settling down to domestic bliss, with a fucking sheep farmer or mechanic. No ma'am...she wasn't falling for that shit any more.
Too many times she'd thought she'd found 'the one'. Too many times, after a month of breathless passion and secret meetings, she ended up watching the object of her affection wave goodbye from the passenger seat of a pick-up, the grinning driver of which would be the reason for her heartache.
Being gay in Australia wasn't always easy in the best of circumstances. Maybe in Melbourne, or Sydney, things might have been different. But here, in Inverleigh, this suburban shithole she was brought up in, she stood out like a swish rainbow cocktail in a row of blue tinnies. 'The queer one'... 'the beaver buffer'...'Little miss sensible shoes', she'd suffered them all, and worse.
At least her mother was cool about her daughter's sexuality. Once Gina had discovered the adolescent Naomi was into other girls instead of school jocks, she had accepted it as if it was all too obvious to be mentioned. Naomi never had trouble bringing girls home. Even banging them occasionally in her bed. In some ways, her mother was too fucking accommodating. Being brought breakfast in bed wasn't something Naomi minded, but it could be a bit awkward when a pillow princess was currently head down between her legs, learning her trade...
So when Naomi had brought up the subject of going on a long road trip, Gina had been all for it.
"Go out and find yourself, honey." she crooned "Discover new things, new places...new people. There's someone out there just for you...someone beautiful."
Naomi suspected her mother's enthusiasm was part built on her own thwarted teenage dreams, but whatever...she'd chipped in with the odd $50 when she could, to build the escape fund. Every little helped.
Swallowing two aspirin with the luke warm water, Naomi braced herself for the inevitable parental post mortem on her farewell night out. She wasn't, no fuck that, she definitely wasn't in the mood for her mother's particular brand of chirpy morning (or afternoon) humour. But in an hour or so, she would be astride the 'beast' and all this would be behind her. No friends to miss, no sweetheart to cry over, no regrets.
Despite her monumental hangover, today was going to be a good day...
OK, what do you think guys? Worth the estimable nomes doing her bit on the next chapter? The jury is out...