To Meet a Maiden

Once upon every full moon a mechanical jaguar roars over the Fine Arts bridge upon the southern highway, echoing down the Ashvalley.

Two wheels seared the asphalt while he took the curve at life breaking speed; fire descending from a mountain down the river, leaving a trail of neon and ashes behind, such is the image of a long lost wanderer, who finally returned to the place he once called home.

The sound of his motorcycle woke up the vampires from their torpor, who didn't take this night as a night for hunting. Yet stray bats flew from tree to tree, while the maidens shuddered in her sleep upon listening to that roar.

There was one in particular who opened her eyes, and felt the air in her bedroom change. She looked out the window and noticed the neon lights turn pink. Excitement grew from fear.

Lust took over.

She smiled. A tear dropped.

"He's here!" she gasped. "He's finally back!"

TO MEET A MAIDEN

A heavenly fire descending from the mountains, aroused by the lustful wind...

As thunder aroused the serenity of the lake, the lone wanderer grinned when the Riverside Avenue transformed into the Pleasant Avenue upon his descend.

One more bridge, and the Deep Valley welcomed him back home.

New Segovia could be seen looking at the northwest: a city sleeping upon a cliff; its neon kaleidoscope hiding secrets only few know.

The wanderer cruised the avenue; facing red lights that didn't pose much of a threat. Maybe the blue cockroaches were asleep. His phone above the tank wasn't, yet it blinked.

Useless notifications. He ignored them. His worry was nothing but curves that waited for him at the Wheatfields, curves deadlier than the roads that go up to the grave of the very same Spanish conquistador who established Santiago de León. These very curves appeared on a notification he couldn't ignore.

A photo, taken under the comfort of pink darkness.

A selfie...

Dark lips, a choker, and a necklace with an ocelot's tooth resting upon a woman's celestial prominence in the center of her collarbone. She wore a black tank top that lifted her voluptuous breasts, and had nothing at the bottom except a piercing on the navel, serving as the gate to her palace of life.

No caption.

He smiled.

One last curve, and the Wheatfields welcomed the wanderer once he passed the community center close to a catholic school.

Three local stray cats suddenly stopped meowing to stare at the biker passing through the Pleasant Avenue. They noticed him taking a curve north that lead to a road that followed the river's current, straight into the labyrinthian neighborhood.

There are no wheat plantations anymore, yet the name remained. Everything is made up of houses and villas that looked all the same, all standing on streets that are fenced together with electric doors and oil barrels filled with concrete.

A pink neon tube lit his path; light posts only working to burn fireflies that kissed their bulbs.

He dropped his kickstand in front of a house where he didn't need to ring the doorbell. It was two in the morning, and a beautiful redheaded woman in a black tank top and panties stood by the entrance. She charged towards him and wrapped her arms around his torso before he could get off the bike.

"Fuck, I missed you so bad!" she sobbed.

Leather, kevlar, sweat, dust, burned gasoline...

She felt those smells. They triggered a lightning bolt through her spine. A plane wrecked many times over between her mountains. The peaks wanted to cut through the tank top.

She buried her face to his bosom, and moaned.

All he could do is get the helmet off, get rid of the balaclava, and let his long hair flow down his armored shoulders.

A gloved hand pulled on red hair. An index rested under her chin.

They kissed for one second, yet even in the middle of the night, the streets always watched.

She took his hand and dragged him to a colder room. He didn't realize where in the house was until she pushed him to her bed. The redhead crawled on top of him to take a longer kiss while ripping his gear off.

"I take it you're home alone this time," he said.

"Nope!" the redhead said. "My brother worked for the entire day, so he won't wake up until late in the morning."

"What about the other one?"

"Putting down fires, or rescuing drunks from the car crashes they get into. Nothing unusual."

"And your daughter?"

"Back in New Segovia, with my husband."

The biker grunted upon hearing that last word.

"Don't tell me you're jealous of him now!" she grinned, and caressed his chin.

"Not really... I just hate that he met you before I did," he spanked her butt.

"Why is that? I'm still yours, you know!"

"Of course you are. I just have a hard time that he thinks he's planting a flag on you when my name is all over your heart."

The air conditioner hummed. Marbles within bounced against the steel. The rats ought to be playing a tournament again...

"Do they know about us though?" he asked.

"Who's they?"

"Your family... I mean, your two brothers were my friends before I came knocking on your door."

She kissed him.

"Don't worry about it. I'll worry about my brothers when the time comes. Right now, I want to be yours."

Under heaven, the wind.

A maiden is powerful, yet the wanderer is tethered to the road.

He found the warmth of a hearth fire onto her bosom as she allowed herself to be kissed all around her incorruptible spring upon her neck... to have his breath blown onto her celestial prominence while she opened up the leather jacked and pushed her hands onto his pecs.

A gloved hand gripped her butt.

Again.

She gasped.

He smacked her.

Again.

She moaned his name.

Millions and millions of rats turned louder with the marbles inside the air conditioner. The wanderer's body quivered upon feeling the cold draft.

He looked into her eyes and breathed in, feeding from the lust that emanated from her touch.

The redhead remained quiet. She admired his torso and ran a tongue down from his celestial prominence to the central granary at his stomach. She kissed his abs and began to undo his armored pants.

The biker took his gloves off and threw them at the jewelry box. He managed to sit down after the redhead left his pants open.

She, however, stood up, and became one with the neon.

She turned into a silhouette upon the pink darkness.

And she danced...

She danced without music.

She danced for him.

She danced the same way a candlelight dances silently when darkness is all there is to exist...

He kept looking at her, even while he took his boots off.

Four years... Those were the years that kept him apart.

She was four years younger than him, yet almost as tall...

God, the universe, her parents, fate, a high under a bridge by the Ashriver... whatever forces may be, they molded her body using a Spanish guitar for a visual reference. Her long dark red hair turned to a spiral that flowed with her spins; its tips caressing her buttocks.

She walked towards him and pushed him down with an index at his forehead. A neon giggle muffled the rats inside the air conditioner.

The biker took her hand and pulled her towards him.

"You're taking quite a lot of initiative tonight," he smiled.

Lips met the palace of toil at the palm. She melted with a gasp.

His lips moved to greet the master of the heart in hiding around the great hill upon her wrist. His hot breath blew the inner gate open, three fingers down that hill.

"You're one to talk, mister..." she moaned, and bit her lip. "It took you years to make a move on me!"

The wanderer smiled and tugged on her. She yelped and spun, landing right onto his lap. A silent moan escaped his mouth, and went straight to her ear. The wind screen behind her jaw, below her ear, got blown. Her neck relaxed...

She moaned...

A middle finger touched her girdle vessel and ran to the middle, but it went upward to reach her breast.

Another hand tucked into her thigh.

He kept blowing the wind screen, over and over...

"How do you do it... teacher?" she bit her lip.

Goosebumps ran at the back of his neck. No lover has called him that way in a long time...

She turned to look into his eyes. He saw a flash of pink neon across hers. She was at his mercy; handcuffed to his will.

"How do you know where to touch me, teacher?" her voice fried on the final word. "How do you make me feel so... possessed?"

The biker moved his middle finger and pressed the middle of her chest. She squealed at the assault to the center of her sincerity.

His voice... a whisper...

"The body is a heavenly poem very few people read it the way I do," he said.

"Will you teach me to touch you how you touch me?"

The redhead turned. Pink neon flashed onto her glossy eyes again.

He kissed her. "You don't need to claim me. When I'm here, I'm always yours..."

"That's not what I asked-"

A thumb to the mouth silenced her. She bit it.

The other hand pulled the tank top upwards by the hem. She let go and helped him take it off.

Her bare tits met his chest after turning around. She kissed him again, and got his bottoms off after pushing him back to bed.

She kneeled on top of him and massaged the shaft. His cock felt at home between the warmth of her thighs. The biker massaged those while she jerked him off.

Their eyes met.

Their sweat turned them colder.

They smelled it...

It reeked...

It carried the same sulfuric reek demons would have. Demons that can only be summoned through a ritual of pink candlelights and electronic music where the first beat of every four measures carried a moan...

She gripped his cock harder. Her free hand put her panties to the side. Warm folds of flesh kissed the glans, and the cock twitched.

She rested on top of him. Her vertical lips kissed and tasted the penis, just as her horizontal lips kissed his.

"Guess I'll be the one on top tonight," she winked.

"I'm not protesting," the wanderer said, enjoying how her breasts squeezed against his pecs.

The redhead bit his lower lip and stared...

She stalled a bit too much.

She ate him with her eyes, while her pussy drooled all over his cock. The biker scoffed, and smacked her ass.

"What are you waiting for? Use me like I'm your toy!"

She moaned.

She smiled.

She giggled.

She kissed him again...

... and her pussy swallowed his cock...

Slow...

It slid in her slow...

To take him, inch by inch...

To enjoy him, inch by inch... it felt longer than an eternity.

When her pussy met the hilt, she let out a groan so low it might pass as someone driving their car with the purpose of destroying their own eardrums. The redhead rolled her hips to an imaginary song while her lips remained glued to the wanderer's; pink darkness swallowed them whole. She held onto his abs and made her moves.

Front, back, side...

Each move displaced the silence. Both earned the coveted golden star prize of making an attempt to keep it at a low volume.

"So much for secrecy," the redhead gasped before a squeal echoed upon the walls. Her hips drew a cross whenever the biker's big cock was fully inside her.

Her breasts bounced to the same rhythmical dance she fucked him with; probably to a song that's best danced on top of a cinderblock. His eyes walked up to her neck and met her open lips. She moaned with him with every thrust.

Next, the redhead arched herself backwards and fucked him harder. Her voice shortened; almost challenging the air conditioner to a duel of noises. Yet she couldn't win it. Her climax went away just as she was about to reach it.

She saw him smile.

She slapped him.

"Dick!"

He smacked her ass.

"You're the one rushing, babe!"

One finger landed upon his celestial prominence. It ran down the middle, stopping at the central granary. A film of sweat covered him... She went over him to kiss and lick each point in that line she drew; cock slipping out of her pussy. A hand tugged her hair. A hundred meetings called when their eyes met again. Sweat met sweat.

They kissed again.

The biker moved a bit.

Then came a push...

... and a yelp!

The redhead was now at the bottom, the biker above. He became the blanket with the dildo that'd fuck her.

"Hey!" she giggled.

A moan followed it. It came from a violent thrust.

"Oh, fuck!"

The redhead lost herself. Her nails dug onto the biker's back, scratching her name upon...

... the door of his soul...

... his palace of the providence...

... the second gate of his soul...

... the dwelling of his thought...

... and the seat of his will...

A spell he taught her...

Thus he allowed her name to be inscribed within the map of his soul, just as his remains engraved upon her flesh.

She owned him. As long as he's in town, he didn't belong to the roads anymore.

No, he belonged to a woman whose air conditioner had rats that celebrated marbles tournaments whenever it was on!

The biker slowed down... each thrust remained as violent as the way she gave herself to him. Warm breath kept blowing upon her wind screen. His tongue poked at it playfully, still moaning, still blowing around her ear... still knocking on a gate to her spirit...

Teeth met skin.

She flinched.

Her eyes opened wide.

"If you're taking me, then I'll take you," he growled.

"No, wait- AH!"

She never learned to not play with the strays...

Her scream went through the walls. The redhead wondered if her brother heard her across the tiny hall. If he did, what would the next morning be like when they see each other the next morning?

One bite is all he needed.

The wanderer kept fucking her, ever more desperate as he left his love bite on her neck. The redhead's nails dug deeper onto his skin, drawing a thin creek of blood with her scratch.

His pain.

Hers.

His ecstasy.

Hers.

She wanted to be possessed, yet she ended up possessing him when their voices matched.

He pulled his mouth out. His teeth left deep grooves. A blue speck grew larger from the center. She looked at him completely flustered, her breathing running like his motorcycle idling.

"You want them to find out the wrong way, don't you?" she gasped.

He kissed her.

"We're all adults here, darling," he said. "Not my problem if my friends don't like that I'm fucking their sister. And I don't give a shit about your husband either!"

She looked away and bit her lip.

She knew what he meant...

Whenever the wanderer was around her, she could finally drop everything and just be... No one ever saw her for who she is, far beyond the many personas she's ever taken.

For her brothers, she's a sister.

For her daughter, she's a mom.

For her parents, she's a daughter.

For her classmates, she's a classmate.

For her co-workers, another co-worker.

For her neighbors, a neighbor.

For her husband, a wife.

Only a wanderer is privileged enough to see her just as she is. A redhead, on the nude, her unconquered heart aching to have one that meets its beat. He was the only one who managed to reach it!

Why so many people are so focused on counting bodies? Everyone is obsessed with it. Yet how many people count the hearts they've conquered?

The biker fucked her harder.

He noticed her voice breaking again.

She tried to conceal it, but she needed to scream.

Louder.

He pinned her down; their bodies struggled to resist the pull.

Sweat.

Shivers.

Cold.

Heat.

Silence.

Moans.

Pink neon.

Pink darkness.

A machine rattling...

Their heads cleared everything...

... then, there was a void that swallowed them whole... A void that made them feel like they became one, as their bodies shattered to a pleasure that felt new, yet it wasn't too long the last time they had it...

How wrong was Moses when he compiled the world was created with the words "let there be light." The only way God could've created the world is after He fucked His wife so hard, she came to an squirting mess that became the light.

"Fuck!" the redhead sobbed. "I'm- I'M-"

And the biker had the redhead create a whole new universe tonight.

Her pussy bursted to a creative mess of her own, as her body shivered. The ruined orgasm from before was compensated with a climax so pleasing she lost herself to it.

He didn't resist it either.

He couldn't pull out.

He lost himself so deep into her pleasure that he ejaculated inside.

The biker fell on top of her; his breath the one of an amateur doing their very first ultra run.

The moment they kissed she wrapped her arms around him, and let the silence return as they recovered themselves.

She bit his lips, caressed his spent penis... it felt like it could go for another round in the next minute or two.

He touched her pussy and felt their juices all mixed.

They looked into each other's eyes... They didn't need to speak. The rats spoke louder.

"Why can't you be my husband instead?" she asked him. Her voice gave up to the slumber...

The biker kissed her forehead, and looked at her like he didn't deserve her. "Because the magic that we have will die the moment I become a burden instead of your oasis," he whispered.

Like a fire descending from the mountains, the biker is clear about his nature. To claim her for a wife also means wielding a torch. He knows it'll blow up in his hands; it will destroy his freedom.

There might be happiness at the beginning, but every relationship he's had ends up the same way: the minute his fire loses its fuel, he dies in a manufactured lie upon a role imposed onto both.

A cruel fate he felt neither of them deserves.

By the next morning, the redhead woke up to find an empty spot. It was almost noon, and her phone had several notifications on it that she marked as read. The folded piece of paper drew her attention. It was sealed with an origami pink heart. On the corner, a pink camellia, also an origami piece...

She broke the seal, and nodded after reading the two sentences written inside. A wanderer that busies himself with thoughts of setting home draws misfortune upon himself. He had to cut his visit short, for the road called him back before the dawn broke.

The redhead looked by the window, still naked, and stared at the spot where the bike once stood. She closed her eyes and heard the roar of it in the distance, hoping it was coming back to her soon.