Keepsake and Memories

Stryker twisted his fist and she squalled under him. A throaty purr tickled his balls as he glanced over his shoulder and melded into traffic from the on ramp. He looked for the opportunity and Keepsake heeled over at his command, diving into the next lane before Stryker righted the attention grabbing bike and they tore past wide-eyed passengers in cages. His eyes teared in the slipstream and the smile wouldn’t quit.

A little after nine on a fuckin glorious Southern California morning. The Emerald Green monster growling between Stryker’s legs begged him to release her. Not wanting CHPs in his mirror, he restrained the snarling critter. Today was definitely a no-cops kinda day. Clear, clean-for-a-change, cloudless sky as far as he could see, a bright happy sun missing only a few brush strokes from becoming a Smiley Face, not a single dirty look from any of the sardine people in their protective cages.

More and more folks heading for the water crowded onto the highway and Stryker found himself chugging along with them. He was frustrated some. Keepsake, more. Still, great fuckin day. Roll with it. He started to check out his fellow travelers to pass the time. The convertible Miata a lane over and a few cars ahead caught Stryker’s attention. Traffic was binding up, a wreck maybe, or a breakdown. He led the purring Harley into and out of gaps until he could close on the two cuties in the Mazda.

The driver was a chestnut-haired wonder. Busty with a tan that glowed. She wiggled her fingers at him when she saw Stryker approaching in her mirror. He putted up close and kept pace as the traffic slowed even more.

“Ooooo, I want to ride with you. I can feel it already.”

The blonde dolly kept having to push her hair out of her eyes as they flirted the time away. She squirmed in her seat and grinned. Conversation with the driver was more challenging but worth it. Unfortunately, it probably was a wreck up ahead because he could hear sirens and the cars behind them were shifting in their lanes.

More fish in the sea. Stryker rolled the throttle and slid away, hunting for an exit. There were better places to sit still. The bike agreed with a throaty surge as Stryker tweaked her. Before traffic ground to a halt, the off ramp for ‘Canoga Cliffs Overlook’ came into range. He spurred the bike into the curving exit ramp. Right at the end of it was a Stop sign and the entrance into the pocket park. It was bigger than Stryker expected, and he took his time putting through it. A few families full of squealing kids and dads wearin’ socks and sandals, a MILF or two, other women were readying picnics or watching their kids playing Frisbee.

What the overlook was looking over was a small cove with a bunch of parked sailboats in it. A few of them had people doing boat stuff, some more just laying out on their decks soaking up sunshine. Stryker noticed that there were even more MILFs on boats. Who knew? He guided Keepsake into a small parking area and left her ticking and cooling in the shade of some kinda tree he did not recognize to go stretch his legs. He listened to the slaps of sails, the creaks and rattles of their rigging, happy people sounds everywhere. There was a swing set that wasn’t really near the edge but as he looked closer, he thought maybe if you kicked hard enough you could lose sight of the ground. The illusion of soaring over the water drew Stryker like a magnet.

He wiggled into the fat leather seat and grabbed the chains. He had this area to himself and it suited Stryker fine. He kicked backwards and leaned into it, trying to fly. The higher he went the more into it he got. That smile was back again. He propelled the swing into the sky, almost horizontal as he imagined launching from it to cannonball into the MILF cove with a bright smile and a raucous Yeee Haaa! He saw the boats each time he pendulumed toward the water. There were a couple of folks pointing up at him. A couple of the more adventurous women waved. Stryker waved back, kicked into it even harder. He wondered if he was too fucking ancient to do a three sixty over the bar. A happy cackle came from his lips as he imagined Keepsake weighing in on that – “Hell yes, you’re too damn old. You’ll crack your fucking skull or break your back. I am NOT gonna get turned into a three-wheeler cuz you’re a fuckin’ idiot!”

Stryker almost shit himself when he felt the contact. A frisson of immediate terror swept over him. Goosebumps all over. He even felt a small trickle of piss leak out of his pecker. His first thought was ‘I just ran over a kid!’ He had really been pushing into it and Stryker was a big solid guy. He dug his heels in as soon as the swing was vertical and turned to look. The titsy brunette and her flirty blonde buddy were grinning. Busty had slapped him on the ass.

“God dammit, girl,” Stryker growled. “I thought I just killed one of these kids around here. Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”

They both went a little round-eyed at his tone. Titsy’s face flushed. Blondie looked everywhere but at the pissed-off, rough looking biker.

“Oh, yikes.” It was a squeak. “I was just playing.” She recovered quick. “You looked like you’d be fun to play with. I guess I wasn’t thinking any further than that. I really am sorry.”

With an adorable imitation of innocence, she clasped her hands together and held them low as she made her boobs sway ‘Hello’ with a brief shimmy of her shoulders. Too early for beer yet, but the ‘titties’ part of that old quip got Stryker to pull his shades down to peer over them at the show.

“Wanna swing with me?”

******

He and Keepsake rode herd on the Miata in front of them as the girls took him home. They weaved their way onto surface streets and through neighborhoods until the convertible turned up a driveway. For some weird reason Stryker recognized the house as a Tudor style. Mom was a real estate lady, and he probably got it from her. He never got the joke though; all of’em Stryker had ever seen had just the one door in front.

Across the street, Methuselah was watering the peonies at the head of his walkway. The old man was watching Stryker from the time the bright green motorcycle gleamed into view. The stream of water missed the plants, puddling the sidewalk. Stryker could tell a saddle tramp from a mile away. Grandad here tweaked his antennae. He gave the old fella a friendly two-fingered wave and putted up the drive. He put the stand down, leaving his ride to cool in the shade of the garage.

The girls were gathering their stuff from the car when Stryker walked up to them. Just like before, it was Blondie – and she really did resemble Deborah Harry – that was the flirtiest of the pair. This time, Boobs-a-plenty was less pleased with that.

She growled something Stryker didn’t hear, and his playmate answered, “Yes, Lydia,” before heading toward the front door.

As Lydia was coming around the front of her car Stryker put his large mitt right between her big titties and pushed her onto the hood.