Eileen Goes for a Ride


Everyone perhaps has a hot college story; the following events are true.

I had a 1974 Honda 450 while I was attending a northeastern university, having bought it new perhaps six months or so before I graduated from High School. Having previously only ridden friends’ minibikes and small dual sport Hondas, the son of a friend of my father’s taught me how to ride on the street. On my new Honda, I used to follow him everywhere on his BMW 750 and in all kinds of weather. He was quite experienced, having toured much of the eastern seaboard on the BMW. A former Marine, he would yell at me at stop lights and pick me apart for every little thing I did wrong. How he saw what I did while being behind him, I will never know. Later that spring, he reluctantly signed me off as being “incompetent and soon to die.” He was a good teacher, however, and to this day I still have all my fingers and toes.

Aside from joy riding it whenever and wherever I could, the midsized Honda was the perfect platform for my commute of about 100 miles each way to my parent’s house and for having some wheels – and fun – while at college. The institution at the time did not allow lower classmen to have a car on campus, so having a motorcycle was the perfect weapon. I could stuff it in just about anywhere for a perfect spot and it spent its down time covered and chained to an inconspicuous emergency door at my dorm that no one ever inspected. The unlit place even had a roof. I had brought it to college late in the first semester of my freshman year and I still remember those crisp fall and spring rides, sometimes with a girl on the back. Undoubtedly, nothing beats a bike for not only exploring new territory, but also for feeling and smelling it. Somehow, you just get to know a place better from the seat of a motorcycle. Clearly, the same experience could not be had with a car and, for me, a twenty something smartass, having a bike in college was euphoric. It was my freedom, my escape and my identity.

I still ride to this day and for many of the same reasons.

A change of majors late in my freshman year necessitated that I attend summer school so that I could catch up and be prepared for the following semester. I rented an apartment above a stereo store with three other guys who were also making such a change and it was a short commute to the campus. Of course, I had my bike and commuted rain or shine, then having only a green Army jacket and work boots for rain duty. Sometimes, I scammed a ride with the other guys.

Although it is almost cliché, there were four or five nursing students in the only other apartment in the building, which was across the hallway. I had a girlfriend already, so chasing them around was never at the top of my priority list. Plus, I was too busy on nice summer evenings riding my bike and exploring the great roads, or meeting the other guys at pizza places. And maybe studying. Nevertheless, to kill the midweek boredom, we would occasionally host impromptu beer and wine parties, or just get together with our neighbors to watch TV. While I was certainly pleasant to everyone, I would never “hit” on or otherwise get overly forward with any of the girls, nurses or not. In fact, I don’t remember any of us ever doing so to a great extent and our parties never got out of hand. It was simply neighborly, friendly fun to us, and nothing more. A group of people sharing their bostancı escort experiences and college stories, stuck in summer school, away from our real friends and family. Away from our young lives.

One of the nursing students, Eileen, would occasionally ask me about my bike, why I liked riding, where I would go and what I would do with it. I would relate to her some of the great roads I had been on, as well as some of the scenery I had seen and the special places that I had been. I also spoke some of the more intangible things that I have already noted above; the feeling of freedom on a bike, the ability to explore and just how it was helping me enjoy life as a young man. It was like explaining how great things were back on earth to someone you had just met on the moon.

As you might have guessed, Eileen soon asked me to take her for a ride.

Always up for a challenge and a new experience, I readily agreed. While not a raving beauty, she was kind of cute, but none of that had entered into my decision – she seemed genuinely interested in seeing what a ride on a bike was all about on a beautiful summer evening. Eileen was a shorter, perky, smiling, soft spoken woman who really didn’t say much at times. But she was the type that, when she did say something, everyone listened. She had a reserved “presence” about her and was always friendly to everyone in our little group, male or female. Eileen was quite likeable and sometimes very witty, with perhaps a bit of “smartass” thrown in if you really pushed her.

We scrounged up a helmet and, with it being rather warm late in the given day, we didn’t need or wear jackets. I remember the ride specifically. I had on a red “Bell Helmets” T-shirt having a large white, circumferential band around the middle with the “Bell” logo in the center. If you were a 70’s motorcyclist, it was “the cool” thing to wear. It was also probably the only clean thing I had but, even if you were in half decent shape as I was, it made you look good. I remember her wearing a pinkish, what I would call in the day, “hippie” shirt, having ruffles about her midriff exposing a tiny bit of skin. It was an equally cool piece if you were a 70’s babe. Oh, and no bra. With her being somewhat lesser endowed, it really didn’t matter and, at the time, I didn’t even notice. Until later.

We walked out to the bike, with Eileen exhibiting a bit of eagerness in her step. The Honda, of course, started right up and settled into that typical 70’s parallel twin, rumbling idle. My 450 was completely stock and I kept it neat and clean at all times. I had to. It was my life and my freedom. If it needed something, I would quickly drum up enough cash to take care of it. But it was a Honda; it rarely needed anything.

I flipped the choke lever to “off” as Eileen climbed up and on. She put her arms around my waist.

“By the way, I’m not going to try to impress you,” I said turning half way around to her. “I’ll impress you by bringing you back in one piece.” True to her being a woman of few words, Eileen simply smiled and nodded at the reassurance. Looking cute in her helmet, she had never before been on a bike and I certainly was not going to have this wind up being a bad memory for her. No fucking way.

I dropped it in first with a click and off we went.

It was one of those perfect summer evenings. Eileen çeliktepe escort had picked a good one. Warm, not too humid, the sun just starting to get a bit lazy. The bike never missing a beat, we did some of my now more familiar country backroads, riding through an unadvertised wildlife park, along some abandoned railroad tracks and a river road. We went through a small town or two, avoiding the busier places with traffic and lights.

The sound of the bike, the air, the sun filtering through the trees, the various fragrances and the warmth of a summer evening were all in play during our ride. If you have ever experienced this yourself on a motorcycle, you might have even called it “magical”. And such magic could only be had via that mode. In a car, it would just be another trip, a way to get from one place to another, with the inhabitants simply looking forward to the destination, the end.

On a bike, the journey is the destination. Your reason for being.

Without me having to say anything during our ride, if Eileen was the intelligent, introspective person that I thought she was, she would soon be “getting it”; the reason I had a bike and why I liked to ride it whenever I could. The journey. Interestingly, taking her on the ride was never part of an ulterior motive for me. I took her inclination to go for a ride completely at face value; that she simply wanted to have the experience and I, conversely, wanted to share it with her for that reason alone. Looking back, I think that this is why I remember this particular ride so much. It was two people just having innocent fun and enjoying the day and nature.

And you couldn’t beat the weather.

Nevertheless, after being out maybe two hours or so, things began to get a bit interesting as Eileen probably sensed that we were now on the return leg home. She would occasionally hug me around my waist more firmly as we rode, sometimes resting her helmeted head sideways on my back. She also began to run her hands up my back and over my shoulders, once in a while squeezing them. Naively, I just thought that she was telling me how much she was enjoying the ride, the scenery and the evening air, never for a minute thinking that it had anything to do with me. What a dummy.

Although it was still light when we got back, it was well past dinner time and we parted ways to see what was in our respective refrigerators and cabinets. With my group surviving mostly on pizza in those days, the answer was “not much” and this would later be a problem.

As was so often the case with our late summer classes winding down, the two groups again got together that night for the usual unplanned “beer and wine” gathering only this time, we were drinking gin and tonic. And I was doing so on an empty stomach.

My “bedroom” in the apartment was little more than a large closet. While it had a window, the rest of the apartment was so devoid of any real closet space that everyone kept their extra clothes and other things in my room. At night, with all the stuff in front of the window, the room was usually pitched black. Since I was a little late to the party in signing on, I had to take what I got, but it was never that big of a deal for me. We were kids. Just as long as I had someplace to put my books and helmet.

I got a bit liquored up that evening. I remember seeing Eileen there cihangir escort and her cheerfully waving and smiling at me, but I never really spoke with her at any length during the proceedings. Realizing I had drunk too much, I slipped into my room unnoticed and went to bed. It was hot in the room and I was dog tired and drunk, so I took off all my clothes, fell on the bed and slept under a single sheet, completely naked. The party had died down when I was awakened by someone in my room shuffling around. I couldn’t see shit and thought it was one of my roommates looking for something. I simply turned on my side and tried to fall back asleep.

The shuffling noise continued and then stopped, but the door hadn’t reopened. I then was a little startled by the sheet being peeled back and the weight of what I thought was someone getting into bed with me. I partially rolled to see what was going on and it was Eileen, wearing only a smirky little smile. I remember seeing a pair of perky nipples as she settled, lit briefly by a thin ray of light from outside.

Still a bit drunk, I wasn’t yet fully comprehending what was going on until I felt her hand wandering down my back, over my side and down over my cock and balls. She then pulled me the rest of the way over on my back and climbed on top, grinding her pussy on my stiffening cock. She then initiated a deep, sensuous kiss while sliding her warm and seriously wet pussy down on my now very erect member. It was a very slow, enveloping and erotic move. I easily slipped into her.

It was hot in the stuffy room and we were now sweating from the close contact and movement, but it didn’t seem to matter. With my roommates only feet away and the party now completely in wind down mode, we both tried to be quiet, our only sounds being a careful “Ugh” and “Ooh” as we made love in the pitched black, tiny room. And that’s truly what it was that night; it was lovemaking, not fucking; almost a communication, a connection. Neither of us had said a word to each other. With Eileen and I engaged in a tight, passionate embrace, she slowly and gently, but firmly undulated her lower, bringing us both closer and closer.

I remember climaxing first with a grinding upward push, which immediately set her off with an “Aah” and a harder grind below and squeeze with her arms. It was one of the most intimate, fulfilling orgasms I had ever had with a woman, a woman whom I didn’t really know that well. I like to think that it was the same for her.

As we came down from our highs, I caressed her hair and rolled her over on her back, kissing her. It was still almost difficult to see her in the dark room, which actually added to the moment. I laid with her for a while, but soon fell back to sleep, still drunk. She was gone when I woke up late the next morning.

I would see Eileen around during the next few days of course but, with the summer semester closing and with each of us getting ready for the next stage of our lives, we never made love again. Or went for a ride.

Looking back, I wish we had.

I would occasionally see her from a distance on campus during the ensuing regular school year, walking and laughing with her fellow nursing students while hugging a stack of books. I should have chased her down to say “hello”. But I never did. Why, I don’t know.

Even today, it remains as one of my life’s regrets.

As my life progressed and now being more on the older side, I remember and think of Eileen to this day. I can clearly picture in my mind her cheerful smile and her quiet way, as well as our exciting ride and the tender love that we shared that amazing, beautiful night.

I will remember it forever.

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