Riding In Motorcycles with Boys

There is a certain uninhibited feeling when riding in a motorcycle with the boy. The speed, the feel of the wind in your face, your hair a cascade of black waterfall dripping on your shoulder… it is simply poetry in motion.

I moved my body to his closer and his leg brushed with mine. Our denim was but a mere strip of cloth that did nothing to mask the heat radiating from our bodies.

I wanted Naruto.

I lusted for him.

I’ve been curious about him since our first of year of medical school when he was still courting me.

But he was still a child.

Albeit, a beautiful one.

And I could not find myself attracted by the conversations regarding Anime, his penchant for breaking his promises and his lack of good follow-through.

So I regale myself to contentment with our motorcycle rides, where with every brake of the clutch, I let my bountiful breasts brush against his back, as if somewhat accidentally.

As if I never knew that he deliberately presses the brake too soon and too hard.

And for a brief moment, I made him feel like a man.