A Biker Was Waiting For Me

A Biker Was Waiting For Me.

It started as a favour but turned into the unexpected.

Hi, my name is Sam. I am often asked the age-old question. When did you know? I didn't, it just happened. I suppose it started on holiday with some college mates after we went to a bar.

It was heaving with partygoers, all orientations, if you catch my drift. We were sitting on hard, uncomfortable wooden benches, watching the scene. A reasonable-looking blond, if a bit tarty, about my age, sat down beside me, put her arm around me, and spoke.

"Hi, I am Clara, how about it?"

Nothing else was said; My heart started thumping from a deep, slow anticipation into a rapidly rising, aggressive, hard thumping; a hooker. Why not? I was like everyone else, just looking for uncomplicated sex.

I smiled; before I could speak, she had taken me by my hand and was leading me across the bar towards a steep, narrow flight of stairs. At the top, she picked up a disc from a table with a number on it, then led me to a room with the same number.

It was one of those quick twenty-five-euro pay-by-the-half-hour arrangements.

She closed the door, quickly undid her belt and let her short summer dress flow open, exposing her firm breasts, beautifully tanned skin and a lonely pussy.

I was now starting to lose it, this was my first time.

She didn't hesitate, unbuttoned my shirt, letting it drop, my pent-up lust kicked in. I dropped my shorts and kicked off my trainers. Then eased her dress off her shoulders.

Naked, we body rubbed as we kissed and hand rubbed each other. Before I knew it, she had me flat on my back on the bed, sitting on my legs, putting a condom on me.

She sat on my dick; I was now her slave. I was so, so aroused when she started. I started to build and build without hesitation, she was in control. I couldn't control it, it just built and built, and I was starting to climax. Soon I was going to lose it. She didn't hesitate and continued aggressively banging me until I had to, let go. She must have been on the clock.

My condom contained it. She tied it off and dropped it with a splurgy noise into an empty bucket. She didn't hesitate, rolling me over until I was face down, then had me kneel on all fours on the bed.

It was the first time I ever had strange fingers, plural, up there. As the shock cleared, I felt her start to milk me with her fingers. It was thrilling, no exhilarating! I was now high on high, squirming, turning and twisting. She didn't slow down or stop until I was squirting and dripping.

It was over as quickly as it started. I looked at my watch. 5 minutes to spare. The things you remember. She hastily dressed and left. I used the 5 minutes to come down from planet Zod.

This time someone was sitting at the table, who you wouldn't argue with, his hand out. As I paid, he handed me two card vouchers. One was 10% off a next visit, the other, 10 euros off an 'adult' photographic session.

I went back to where the other guys were gathering, I was still as high as a kite. I wasn't the only one. We were no longer the holidaying virgin soldiers. Even after more beers, I was still high. Wasn't long before we were joined, by the 50-euro, remainder of our group, who, bar one, were even higher than us.

After that, we split into groups to do our own thing. That's how I met a fellow Norwegian called Pete at one of the bars, for some reason, we hit it off, chatting openly over beers, sharing our recent conquest. It was about two in the morning by the time I arrived back at the hostel.

Pete and I had arranged to meet up in the morning at the south end of last night's red-light strip. We didn't have any plans, we were making it up as we walked along the strip. Passing a seedy photographic studio with blacked-out windows, Pete mentioned our 10 euros off an 'adult' photographic session. I had mine with me, which determined what we did next.

It was too early in the morning to be busy. The photographer, who was an emotional, egomaniac Moroccan named Eros, offered a special deal for the two of us. If we pooled our vouchers and, added 20 euros each, he would give a joint 'adult' erotic e-photographic portfolio to be proud of.

He led us into his back-room studio, which was festooned with lights and props in discreet alcoves. With an egomaniac waving his hands, he said, "Please get undressed over there so we can start." Everyone here seemed to be on the clock.

Our reluctant, surprised looks invited him to, expand his pitch.

"It's an 'adult' erotic photographic session which needs two, undressed, to make it seductively interesting. Yes!"

Pete broke the impasse with: "Ok, sounds like fun."

We undressed. After last night's escapade with Clara, I was relaxed being naked in front of Pete and Eros, it showed as we playfully cavorted with each other, much to Eros's delight.

The first few shots were us standing, holding each other, intimately and suggestively. Eros was well-versed in what he wanted. Cajoled us from playful posing to serious softcore porn posing. We both embraced it enthusiastically as he clicked away.

It happened when Pete was behind me, as I posed like last night, just before, I was rimmed, and milked by Clara. Pete was playfully stroking me with his dick, oiled, for photographic lighting and contrast definition, which I found enjoyable and responded to playfully.

Eros upped the ante in his egomaniacal way when he said.

"Ok Pete, now go all the way in."

I froze, as I felt him slowly and effortlessly slide all the way in, Clara must have eased me last night. I knew the theory at least. My eyes were soon blurry and starting to water with ecstasy. Eros goaded Pete to enthusiastically keep going. I knelt there enjoying it, I could feel Pete was enjoying it too until he blasted me at a lunging end.

At that point we both froze, engaged like Greek marble statues, fully engaged at the moment of optimum ecstasy. As Eros zoomed in, clicking away.

Eros cajoled us, wanting more and more erotic poses. He had us swap positions as he tutored us in gymnastic artistic poses. It was both our first time, this way, as was last night with hookers, which we enjoyed immensely. Eros knew this but wasn't finished.

Without our knowledge, Eros had closed his studio after we agreed to his offer. He had placed a placard on his reception desk next to a streaming laptop. Saying, 'This photoshoot is underway,' inviting clients to join in.

How did we find this out?

After he finished with us, he told us over an Afridisact-laced coffee. He had customers willing to pay to be photographed with us. Pete was the reluctant one this time, but I talked him into it. Nobody would know, as we both lived thousands of kilometres away. That's how we spent that afternoon.

By the time we had been banged and photographed several times as photographic models. We both now knew what a hooker emotionally felt like. We were paid 200 euros cash in hand each for our day of artistic work, at least that is what we convinced ourselves it was. We were also given a gratis voucher for a nightclub on the strip.

I think we both knew what the club would be like, after our photographic session. It turned out not to be seedy, it was opulent, plush, expensive and exclusive. The club manager met us at reception, took us into his office, and explained what he wanted.

He had already used our afternoon photoshoot to promote us as the 'Blond Vikings' complete with horny hats and battleaxes. This tied in with a poster we had seen in the reception area but hadn't paid attention to; we were the models.

We were taken to a lounge waiting area upstairs and given very revealing short blond-coloured kimonos and red fluorescent thongs to wear. Over 10 of us were waiting. I knew one from our college group.

Club members were to come and select us to join them for the evening.

In the last 24 hours, we had transitioned from being 'johns' to seedy 'photographic models' for tonight and for the three subsequent nights. Being companions for wealthy individuals. Which we were handsomely rewarded for, both our companionship and discretion.

After that, Pete and I lost touch, no reason, just did. Although we did have an interesting time and an 'adult' photographic portfolio to remember it by, and more money than the holiday cost us.

All things come to an end, then the inevitable delayed flight home back to normality.

Although not a biker, I could recognise bikes and their pedigree. Being a student, I had a part-time job, in a garage pumping fuel or cleaning up in the workshop. One day the garage boss asked me to look at a customer's bike that was running rough.

These days Harley-Davidson bikes aren't oil-leaking machines. But festooned with computer-controlled engine management and safety systems, and every other electronic gizmo you could think off.

Electronics and software systems were my study subjects, the old hands at the garage didn't want to know or touch anything involving electronics or reprogramming.

To the old hands, it was black magic, the way I reset the engine management system, sat-nav, audio and communication systems all via my phone. Sometimes switching off and back on doesn't work, as the system helpfully tries to remember its previous faulty settings. The biker gave me a brand new 500 note for fixing it, the boss let me keep it 'as a tip.' Two days' pay.

The following Friday, as I left college, someone was sitting on a Harley. I immediately recognised the bike from last weekend, but didn't recognise him until he took his helmet off and said;

"Sam, after you fixed my bike last weekend, you said you had never ridden on a bike like this. Want to try it now?"

"Yes, I would: ok."

He went into a pannier and took out a helmet for me to wear, complete with a now-working intercom system. We chatted as the bike, sedately, purred its way through the Oslo side streets. He told me his name was Sven, from Stockholm and that he works in finance. As we entered the slipway to join the motorvei (motorway), the bike roared as it took off down the ramp. Caught unaware, I flipped back, instinctively, I wrapped my arms round Sven's waist.

I apologised. He said. "No, it's ok, hang on". The bike roared as it joined and crossed the motorvei lanes at an intimidating angle, taking me by surprise. I squeezed his waist tighter as I hung on. I didn't know if he did it on purpose or if I was exploiting it.

I kept my arms around his waist, he didn't seem to object.

Across the intercom, he said. "I know a nice Inn not far away in the forest. How about I buy you a meal as a way of thanks for fixing my bike last weekend?"

Without thinking, "Yes ok." Not knowing what I had let myself in for.

We pulled into an Inn in the forest. I had never been to before. Parked up, we went inside, selecting a table near an open log fire. Sven may have had on an electrically heated biker suit. All I had on was a T-shirt, fleece, lightweight trousers and sockless trainers. I felt frozen from head to toe.

We talked about each other, Sven was an oil and gas market trader, and I was studying computer science and mathematics. Unprompted, he told me he was 'gay' and asked if that was a problem. Instinctively, I said I wasn't, I had gay friends at college and went out openly socialising with them.

I could see from his face that what I said didn't discourage or challenge him. Our conversation drifted to and frow as we ate our meal. It was then he told me that, when he was at University in Stockholm, like most Swedes, didn't have sexual affiliations, either way.

He explained that at a student party, he met Harrold, from Troms up north inside the Norwegian Arctic Circle, who had similar views. One night everything changed when, after leaving a party, they ended up in bed together. After that, he drifted between hetero and gay partners. He explained in Sweden, Finland and Norway too, it's common for students to have sponsors/sugar daddies. His was a Swedish banker whose influence got him where he is today.

It was dark when we went to leave, outside, the trees, roads and his bike were covered in deep snow. A late autumn dump. Although he would probably have been ok with his electrically heated suit, all I had on was a T-shirt and fleece.

What he proposed initially blindsided me.

"I think the Inn has rooms left, I will see what they have."

We both went back in together, the Landlord said he had only one twin room vacant. Sven said we would take it. We received an old iron key with a large iron bobble ring with the number six hand-painted on it.

We found room 6. My insides started pounding as he opened the door. It was the first time I felt like this since my holiday a few months back. I wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear, as he opened the door. It was small, with a dominating double bed, augmented with open hanging space and box shelving. The shared bathroom was across the passage. Sven broke the ice when he said;

"It's entirely up to you what happens tonight?

The thrill of reliving my time with Pete fired me up, so much so, I had to pay a visit across the passage. By the time I came back, Sven had taken off his leathers and was wearing only fluorescent red and yellow mini-boxers.

He excused himself, he had to pay a visit too. My mind raced to and fro. By the time he came back, I was sitting on a warm, old-fashioned cast iron radiator. Looking at him, wearing only my high-leg-cut bikini underwear. He smiled when he saw I had made a decision and said.

"Warming it up for me."

He closed the room door, switched off the light and came over, guiding me onto the bed. As he slid my skimpy underwear off, I developed a throbbing erection. I slid his boxers off too, fully exposing his anticipation.

Lying on my back, knees up, legs wide open, he pushed pillows under me. Where the oil came from, I don't know. As he applied it, my anticipation and ecstasy responded, I was now twisting and turning. Then I arched my back invitingly.

He started by stroking me, all I knew was I wanted more and more. I clasped my hands on his buttocks, repeatedly pulling us together with my fingers up, as Cara did to me, encouraging him to be more and more enthusiastic. It wasn't my first time receiving a climax from a stranger, but it was my first time receiving an explosive climax.

I am told throbbing motorbikes between your legs can do that to you

The exhilaration and the thrill of it, I pulled him in and held him like a cork in a bottle. As it eased, we both relaxed in harmony, gasping for breath as his ecstasy held our desires until Sven slowly rolled onto his back, taking me with him. I was now on top, straddling him.

We both stalled for time, this was my first time on top with him, and I wasn't sure how he liked to be oiled. I replicated him doing it to me, I must have done it correctly, as he responded to my overtures enthusiastically.

He hitched both his legs over my shoulders. My hands on the pillow, we were now looking straight into each other's eyes, as I prodded and pushed and pushed until I hit his firewall. He moved, catching me unaware, I slammed hard into him until I couldn't go any further.

I started to undulate genteelly then aggressively. I must have been doing something right, because it was his turn to squirm, twist, turn and arch his back. I kept up the momentum as my climax built, it was torturing me with the failure to blast as it built and built.

It started to reach a crescendo. I became more and more challenged, I aggressively raced ahead until I had to let go with an almighty rush. I froze like a statue as I felt myself drain. Sven teased me by starting to encourage me for another round.

I couldn't, my turn to roll off, I would have ended up in the gap between the bed and wall if Sven hadn't stopped me. We both rested arm in arm as each other's pillow. He asked me.

"That wasn't your first time, was it?"

"No, not really. In my first year at college, I went to student parties with my friend Gav, who was openly gay. I had drunk too much, woke up the next morning in a strange bed, nothing on, clothes on the floor. When I got out of bed and stood up, I knew what had happened, how, the extreme discomfort.

The room was empty, I dressed and left, and nobody ever said anything. I am still friends with Gav and went to other parties together. I am certain it wasn't him."

I also explained about my summer holiday and escapades with Pete a few months back.

Night wasn't over for us, we had several other excursions that night and a final excursion together in the bath across the passage before going down for breakfast. In all, there were six same-sex couples, caught out by the snow having breakfast together, all male bar one couple. Nobody was embarrassed. We weren't either.

When we went out, we found the snow had disappeared from last night, even from the treetops, as quickly as it had dumped, still cold though. Sven took me to the garage where I worked, in time for my weekend afternoon and evening shift.

Don't know why we didn't exchange contact details. I haven't seen or heard from Sven since. However, after he left, I went into my shoulder bag for my phone and found an envelope with 'Thanks' written on it and 2,000 in notes.

I always wondered, whether I would ever do it for money again, now I knew.

Six months later, this was to come back and haunt me, when I received a phone call from someone called Nils, who introduced himself and asked.

"We have a mutual friend called Sven from Stockholm, he said you could help, although not to reprogramme my Harley. Long term, what I am looking for is an employee companion to accompany me on business trips who can reprogramme outdated financial systems.

As I understand it, you are nearing completion of your second year of an Electronics and Software Systems Diploma. I can offer to pay off your student loans and next year's college fees. I will also provide you with accommodation in my apartment, which is near your college, and provide a monthly student allowance.

Would you be interested?"

©oxforddon