I have had an eleven year love affair with my motorcycle Bob. He is everything a girl could want in a lover; strong, powerful, thrilling, patient, loyal, sensual, erotic, dependable, and mine. There was a sense of destiny from the first moment I tentatively sat astride his beautiful Concord Purple Pearl and chrome body. The smell of oil and fresh leather were pheromones in my nostrils, triggering a primal need unlike anything I had felt before. Bob made me believe in reincarnation, for nothing has ever felt as honest and natural to me. The anticipation begins the moment I grab my helmet and jacket, smelling the leather sends a shiver of pleasure through me. Slide the key into the ignition, pump the throttle twice, hit the switch and he roars to life with throaty bass of a mating tiger. I straddle the 700 pounds of steel, feel 1200 cubic centimeters of engine throbbing between my thighs, vibrations course through every cell of my body, he warms me through and through. Gently I maneuver him into place, he responds to my touch, feels solid and lively beneath me. I pull out onto the asphalt, hit the throttle and crank up through the gears with smooth gusto, he is responsive and as eager as I. I feel a rapacious grin flicker across my lips, and a predatory glint light my eyes. With the pulsing beast between my thighs the predator within rises easily to the surface. I am the tiger amongst the herd animals, hungry, lean, vicious. They scatter before me, moving quickly out of my path, they know I am the carnivore. The cool wind slides across my skin, teasing the fine hairs until they are sending a million tiny signals to my brain, a million points of stimulation. When I ride I become hyper aware of all that is around me; movement, smells, changes in temperatures, dips in humidity. I feel it all, as if I have sprouted antennae, ganglia, a thousand orifices with which to experience the world that I am powering through. I act and react, I see the road ahead with almost superhuman clarity, at times it is as if I truly can see around corners. I anticipate all the workings of the world around me, and react before the incident occurs, I can see a split second into my future and avoid the pitfalls.
I have written love poems and love letters to my beloved Bob, and he is worthy of every word of adoration and praise. I have been told that he is all engine, wrapped in a bit of frame, and then wrapped in a redhead. The fit is perfect and divine. He makes me come alive, makes me value every moment. The thrill, passion and fire have never dimmed. In eleven years he has never failed to arouse within me a desire to live to the fullest and experience every minute we have together as a gift freely given. He is, and always will be my Beloved Bob.