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The rumble of motorcycles seems menacing to me, if not downright intimidating. I have learned to just tune them out, leaving bikers to themselves. Still, there is something transcendent that bikers have, something about freedom and the open road that is enviable.
There was a couple that visited a diner that I went to on the weekends. Sometimes, they rode separately, but usually they were on the same bike. I did not really pay attention to the man; he was usually sullen and unapproachable. He didn’t wear a helmet, but she did — her long blonde hair flowing regally from the back of her helmet. She had a calm presence that complimented his lack of friendliness. It was as though she had to prove that she could take his lack of conversation every time they sat down for breakfast.
I wondered if she was also a non-talker but seeing her interact with the wait staff and other customers, told me otherwise. Her blue eyes lit up when she spoke, and she appeared comfortable talking to anybody. I wanted to receive some of what she had to say, but I usually kept my distance, mirroring her silent partner.
There were not many chances to interact with the blonde, biker chick. During some stretches, she and her man would not show up at the diner for a few weekends in a row, making me think they were on the road and doing their thing.
Towards the end of spring — feeling like I had not done enough to enjoy the nice weather, again — I finally had an interaction with the blonde. It was all about the timing; timing that worked itself out without me to distort.
Two things happened as I was leaving the diner at the same time as the biker couple was. I learned her name — Margo — when a waitress said goodbye to her, and I shared a moment of mutual curiosity with her.
As I headed to my car, I realized that Margo and her partner had parked directly across from me. Their motorcycle was at an angle from the front of my car, giving me a view of Margo as she mounted the seat in back of her man. I reached my car just as her leg came across the motorcycle. Without looking up to see if anyone was watching her, Margo pulled her pink blouse away from her breasts and looked down at her cleavage. She stared at her boobs for a second before looking up to see me staring at her. We locked eyes for an electric moment, before I looked away and got into my car. I stared at her again as they roared off, with Margo holding on to the belt loops of his jeans. The blonde biker smiled at me, offering me something unexpected, something real.
The image of Margo giving herself a down-blouse peak was exhilarating. My mind tried to balance her attractiveness with why she was doing that. Was she admiring her charms? I wondered if she was making sure they were in place. From what I had seen of her boobs up to that point led me to believe she was a solid C cup. I had seen her in a tube top once, showing off the buoyancy of the pair.
Making a rare mid-week visit to the diner, I stopped in after work one day. I wanted to see if Margo might be there and wanted to see if the place gave off a different vibe from the one on the weekends. As soon as I walked in, I realized that it indeed felt different. There were not many diners, and the wait staff was only half of what it was for my usual visits.
I thought I recognized a waitress and offered a hello; she answered with a smile and a tired look in her eyes. I ordered dinner and, as usual, sat in silence. When I left the restaurant, I heard a motorcycle in the distance and expected Margo to appear with her hair trailing her. There was none of that, though. The biker was wide and unmistakably on a mission to get someplace quickly. I went home, thinking of nothing in particular.
It was that weekend’s visit which made all the difference in regard to Margo. I was looking at some announcements on a bulletin board in the foyer before going into the dining area, when Margo stepped into the foyer alone. She was wearing cut-off shorts and had on a form-fitting blouse that showed off her firm boobs; there was a hint of a little extra on her belly. She had on a pair of flip-flops, showing off what looked like a recent pedicure.
“Hello,” I said, surprising myself, but knowing that I was only speaking to her because she was alone.
“Hi. See anything interesting?” Margo said, scanning the bulletin board.
“There’s someone giving away some parakeets,” Margo said, placing her hand on the flyer.
“Too much of a responsibility for me.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m going to head in,” I said, thinking I had used up my time with her, believing her other half was going to appear suddenly.
“Join me for breakfast?” Margo said, surprising me.
“And your husband?” I said, cautiously.
“He’s not my husband, and he’s not around today.”
“But he’s definitely something to you.”
“Okay, leave me to eat alone, and I hate eating alone,” she said, opening the door to the restaurant.
“Bye,” I said as the door closed.
Once ka├žak iddaa I got inside, I saw that Margo was sitting at the counter, next to an older regular. She turned my way and gave me a stern look for a few long seconds. I sat down at the first booth I could find, angled away from Margo. We were in each other’s peripheral vision, having missed a moment at getting to know one another. There was no way I was going to interact with her at the diner, risking word getting back to her companion.
My food looked unappetizing; all I really did was try to watch Margo and her mannerisms. She gave the older man next to her a nice time, laughing at his observations and gently touching his arm repeatedly. I wondered if I could have sat next to them without arousing suspicion.
Margo did not look in my direction, making me feel isolated. Just as I was about to leave, Margo quietly slipped me a piece of paper, telling me to meet her at a nearby park by a section known as “The Post”. It was named for a still standing field goal post that paid tribute to a championship game won by a local college football team. The football field and stands had disappeared a long time ago, but the wooden post stubbornly remained.
As I was getting to my car, I could see that Margo was driving a sporty car instead of a motorcycle. She zipped out of the parking lot and drove off in the direction of the park. I followed the same route she took but could not see her car ahead of mine. Finding her once I got to the park was easy. The old field goal post stood out among the greenery, picnic tables, and a small pond.
Margo stood by the pond with her arms folded across her chest and her legs in a wide and dominant pose. She had on a pair of sunglasses and waited for me to come to her. I waved to her when she saw me, but she remained with her arms crossed, making me feel uneasy.
“Hello,” I said, moving to her side.
“Hi,” she said.
“I haven’t been to “The Post” in so long. It holds some great memories for me. I used to come here with some high school friends. A couple of times we set out to destroy it, but we always changed our minds and just got drunk.”
“Memories of girls, too?”
“Are you surprised I asked you to meet me?”
“Yes,” I said, looking across the pond.
“Are you afraid of meeting with me?”
“A little concerned, sure.”
“What could happen?”
“I’d rather not think about it,” I said, scanning the area for her motorcycle man.
“I wouldn’t do that. I hate drama,” Margo said, finally uncrossing her arms and projecting friendliness.
The water in the pond was still; there was mostly silence around us, save for a few birds that were singing. The park looked asleep, showing some remnants of the previous night: empty beer bottles and general litter. I could not help recalling how I had received my first blowjob at the park from a girl named Deborah, when we were both in high school. After she did me, she also got my friend Victor off.
“I am curious about the look you gave me when I was on the back of Rolf’s motorcycle,” Margo said, getting to the point.
“Rolf?” I said, smiling.
“Short for Rudolf.”
After a second of letting Rolf’s name settle with my image of him, I said, “I was just wondering what you were doing by looking down your blouse. It was a private moment that I just happened to see.”
“What do you think I was doing?” She said, smiling.
“I don’t know. Checking on them?” I said, smiling.
“Funny! No, I was not checking on them. It felt like some crumbs had gone down my blouse.”
“So, you weren’t wearing a bra?”
“Haha! Yes, I was wearing a bra; it was a balconette bra, though.”
I nodded my head as if I knew what she was talking about, but I could tell she knew I didn’t know what a balconette bra was; although, I had heard the term used before.
“You don’t know what that is, do you?” She said, crossing her arms again.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“It’s like a half bra,” Margo said, uncrossing her arms and turning her body towards me.
“I see,” I said, nodding my head while staring at her boobs.
The silence between us felt like we were transitioning to another level, another something for two customers of a local diner. She suddenly moved her sunglasses to the top of her head. I looked at the edges of her cut-off jeans, imagining her slipping them on, and I wondered if she was wearing a half-bra.
“Was my answer to your question satisfactory?” I said.
“Maybe we should ask Rolf,” she said, laughing.
“I’m sure he’d have something to say.”
“Nah. He only cares about getting on the road. I may not fit in with his future plans.”
“You make it seem like he doesn’t care about you.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said, suddenly unsure about the moment.
“Don’t worry, I’m not targeting you to be next in line. I was just curious why you had looked at me like that. It seemed more than just a moment of, what, voyeurism,” she ka├žak bahis said, drawing closer to me.
“I was surprised by the moment. I think it had to do with Rolf not being aware of it.”
“Sort of like me cheating on him at that moment?”
“Yes. That makes sense.”
“So, you’re only interested in women who are already with someone?” Margo said, candidly.
“I don’t think so. It’s way too early for this type of in-depth conversation,” I said, rethinking my answer.
There was a pause at first, then what seemed like the conclusion of our meeting at the park. It would not have surprised me if she had just walked away from me, but she lingered just a little longer before finally speaking again.
“I was going to offer you the view of what I was looking at that day. Now, I’m not so sure I want to,” Margo said, seriously.
“That would have been something I would have taken you up on,” I said, trying to salvage the moment.
Margo looked either ready to leave, or ready to show me what was under her blouse. I did my best to seem casual and only mildly interested. My eyes probably betrayed the fact I wanted a look for myself, a peek at what had triggered our meeting.
“Here, let’s end it where we started it,” Margo said, pulling her blouse forward to offer me a look.
I hesitated, not wanting to seem greedy or unsophisticated. Really, I didn’t want it to end there.
“I’d rather it did not end,” I said, feeling victorious that I was showing self-control.
“You’re resisting me?” Margo said, almost surprised.
“No. I want to see more of you.”
Margo let go of her blouse, ending the brief opportunity she had given me of glimpsing what treasures lay concealed beneath her blouse and possibly half-bra. She took down her shades and smiled at me for the first time. I knew she was going to walk away, and I had no choice but to see her walk away from me. A moment later, that is exactly what she did.
“Is this the end?” I shouted to her.
Margo waved the back of her hand at me as she was walking away. Her ass looked amazing in her cut-offs, strutting away from me. I waved at her hand, even though she could not see me. I was sad, thinking that there was no room for movement between us. The big bad wolf — Rolf– was always present, revving his engine and seemingly controlling the situation no matter where he was.
The next time I saw Margo, she was with Rolf again. I was starting to take a real dislike to him, but she surprised me again with a secretive note. Margo wrote her phone number on a napkin and tossed it onto my table as she returned from the bathroom. Rolf, as with the bra incident, saw nothing.
Part of me fought calling her, the part that was disgusted by Rolf and could not accept what I saw as obvious incompatibility between them. However much I tried, I could not resist her and called, wanting to hear her voice, her choice of words.
Margo instructed me to wear a suit and to visit her at her office as if I had an appointment. I agreed, not knowing what she did for a living. I soon discovered that she worked in an insurance office as a supervisor.
Margo’s secretary, Sheryl Ann, led me to her office at the end of the floor, assuming I was just another client. Margo walked from behind her desk to shake my hand and to dismiss Sheryl Ann. The biker chick was nowhere to be found. Margo had on black heels, black stockings, a white blouse, and she wore a tight, black skirt that rested above her knees. I was immediately impressed and tried to balance what I thought were two versions of Margo.
“I’ve been replaced,” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk.
“Not by me,” I said, sitting down in a chair across from her.
“Haha! No, Rolf found the real deal. A tough biker chick who enjoys the lifestyle.”
“Tougher than you?”
“For those things, yes,” she said, looking pensively at me.
“You sound sad,” I said, feeling hopeful.
“I am thrilled, but still, being replaced while in the middle of something hurts.”
“Why the secrecy, if it’s over?”
“For now, it still matters to me that he does not know I am talking to someone else. Talking!” Margo said, emphatically.
“Were you surprised by him?”
“No. I wasn’t hardcore enough for him.”
“Even with those heels?” I said, smiling.
“You like these?” Margo said, standing up and posing with her shoes.
“No. These didn’t turn him on.”
I stood up and moved closer to her. With her heels on, we were the same height. Our eyes locked tightly on each other, tying things up not in the present, but seemingly looking to the future. Being indoors did not dull her glow; she was full of energy. Margo’s energy must have suffered under Rolf, I thought.
“I can’t believe this version of you didn’t do anything for him,” I said, thinking that I liked both versions of her.
“Now you know. Any thoughts before I dismiss you from my office?” She said, hinting at a smile.
“I suddenly don’t want to ever go back illegal bahis to that diner. With or without you, I’m done there,” I said, wanting to kiss her on the mouth.
“I feel the same way.”
“Do you,” I whispered, leaning forward to kiss her.
“Yes,” she said, accepting my kiss.
Our lips made the only noise in her quiet office. Her lips were strong and full, meeting my mouth in stalemate. My index finger found its way between the buttons on her blouse, searching out some skin. I found that half bra and felt the exposed skin, caressing her gently. I placed my other hand on her hip and felt the material of the skirt, sliding my hand to her ass for a soft encounter with her firm behind. There was so much of Margo to take in, a dizzying package of beauty and boundless possibilities.
“I still have work to do, and you’re exploring too much of me too quickly. Actually, you made me wet,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.
“What do you think you did to me?” I said, watching her move away from me and towards the door.
“This wasn’t a tease. I do have to get back to work.”
“Yes, it was a tease.”
“Maybe a little,” she said, opening the door for me.
“I like how you blush,” I said, stopping myself from kissing her again.
“If you could only feel how wet I am.”
“I’ll take a rain on check on that.”
“Funny!” Margo said, closing the door on me.
Leaving her office, I noticed Sheryl Ann staring at me as if she knew my visit was not as a client. I nodded to her, smiled, and went on my way. My energy felt good as I made it out to the street and removed my suit coat, thinking that Rolf was a hall of fame moron for replacing Margo.
I was resolute that I was not going back to the diner, but Margo insisted that I return to see Rolf with his new girl, Paula. There was no refusing Margo, and I agreed to do it. She wanted me to see her replacement and to give her my impression of Rolf’s new riding partner.
Amazingly, Rolf acted as if Paula had been his longtime partner and Margo was never part of his life. He sat, as usual, in silence. Paula, with dirty blonde hair and a couple of crude tattoos, was a skinny replacement with a sullen demeanor. She lacked the curves of the former, but was pretty, nonetheless. Margo was right about Paula seeming tougher than her. There was a definite harshness to the new one’s persona.
In the middle of my breakfast — as I shifted food on the plate and drank my coffee — Margo showed up, slid into my booth, and sat across from me. She was smiling, wanting Rolf and Paula to notice her. Margo wore a summer dress and had on gladiator sandals. I could smell her perfume, and it appeared she had come from the salon.
“What do you think of her?” Margo said, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Nice way to set me up,” I said, suddenly feeling on display for the breakfast crowd, especially for Rolf and Paula.
“You’ll get over it.”
“I feel used.”
“That’s not how I intend to use you,” she said, laughing and staring at me wide-eyed.
My food was getting cold, and it suddenly did not matter if anyone was staring at us. I focused on Margo, feeling confident we would be together soon. I reached for her hand and held it, immediately sensing that my touch was not necessary and that I had served my purpose.
“When can I see you again?” I said, letting go of her hand.
“Soon. I need some time with friends. I really don’t want to be near men right now,” she said, preparing to leave.
“As you wish,” I said, trying my best to dismiss her, even though I wanted to be with her.
“You sound upset.”
“It just seems convenient,” I said, bothered by her casual behavior.
“It’s not over, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, getting up, then leaning down to kiss me, biting my ear lobe and tugging on it with her teeth.
Margo straightened herself and left hurriedly; she did not look back at Rolf’s booth. I turned to see if Rolf or Paula were staring at me, but they were only looking at each other. I got up, paid for my meal and left.
After a few unanswered calls and ignored texts, I decided to forget Margo. I actually thought the whole thing had been a charade, and she was still with Rolf. There was no sense in even going back to the diner to search for her. I accepted it all as a loss.
Near the end of summer, just as I was thinking another season of potential had eluded me, Margo called me while I was in the middle of dinner at home. She sounded full of energy and full of conversation. I tried to tell her that I had not stopped thinking about her, but she wanted to tell me about how her summer had gone. Margo spoke of spending time with friends, of successfully cleansing herself of Rolf, and of a renewed vigor for life.
“I was going to ask you if you preferred me in cut-offs or in a skirt and heels, forget that; it’s my call what I wear,” Margo said, confidently pulling me back in.
“I’ll keep my preference to myself, then,” I said.
“Guess where I’m at,” she said, cryptically.
“Standing over Rolf with your heel on his chest?”
“Funny. I’m thinking you’d like me to do that to you. I’m actually at “The Post” right now.
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