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Subject: {ASSM} 100 Octane (Part 6) By Katzmarek (MF, slow, Rom)
Date: Tue, 30 Sep 2003 07:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "100 Octane06.txt" begin>
100 Octane 06
By Katzmarek
-----------------------------------------------------------------
----
Author's note.
This is a work of fiction. It may not be used for profit without
the
author's express permission in writing.
If you're looking for wall to wall sex then I'd suggest you don't
bother reading this. I *can* promise you an interesting story
with
the occasional spell of passion, however. The story is slow, but
does
heat up in later chapters.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
---
(Part 06)
I scoop myself out a little hollow in the dune and watch the
sparks from the fire drift lazily up into the windless night. A
surfer boy is poking it idly with a stick, can of beer in his
hand. His skinny blond companion in a bikini top and wrap-around
skirt joins him, putting her arm around his waist. Two couples
are sitting cross-legged in the sand playing cards by the fire
light.
Shades tries to engage me in conversation, his speech is
sprinkled with surfer-slang and youth-speak. I'm not being very
co-operative, I just want to relax and watch the fire.
"Y'surf?" he asks.
"A little," I reply.
"Y'shoulda been here yesterday, 15's... 50 break... max out,
man... way cool!"
I nod a reply, not really understanding a word.
"Y'gotta an ole' man?"
I shake my head and he slides a little closer. One of the girls
comes over and proffers a smoking joint at me. The sweet smoke
assails my nostrils.
"Wanna hit?" she says.
I take it absently and take a cautious drag on the marijuana. It
dries my throat and feels like a layer of ash has been deposited
on my tongue and tonsils. Coughing, I hand it back to the girl
who passes it to Shades.
"Skanky weed, eh?" the girl says, "Troy's had it for months...
forgot where he put it," she giggles.
She wanders back to her partner. Impossibly thin, her long legs
poke out from her flappy shorts like tent poles as she swings her
girl's bottom from side to side.
"Bella's cool, eh?" Shades says, as we watch her retreat to the
fire.
A few minutes later I feel a little languid buzz from the dope.
Shades is sitting close to me, he puts his arm around my shoulder
and gently draws my head against his. This closeness feels good,
I roll my head slightly feeling the texture of his hair.
"You're a cool chick," he whispers.
His body's adolescent thin with just a hint of what might become
good muscle development in his upper torso. His face is a little
prickly, with the beginnings of some face hair. 'God,' I think,
'this guy's so young!'
As his hand begins to wander down my arm, I snap back to reality.
"How old are you Shades?" I ask him.
"Why?" he replies defensively.
"13? 14?" I suggest.
"No!" he snaps back adamantly.
"So, how old are you then?"
"Does age matter?"
"Yes! Tell me?"
"He's 14," one of his companions calls out, laughing.
"Am not, Dunger," he yells back.
"You bloody are, Shades," Bella chips in, "you're one class below
Cassie and she's just had her 15th!"
I straighten up, dislodging his arm. Shades grabs a handful of
tussock grass from the sand dune and rips it out, throwing it
away in disgust. He bows his head in a sulk.
"So do all you guys go to the same school?" I ask them.
They nod, while 'my guy' looks at the sand in front of him.
"Riverton High School," Bella tells me, "we've just broken up."
Shades looks crestfallen, like a kid who's just lost his pet
puppy. His surfer-posturing act has now fallen away to reveal the
child underneath. I rub his back maternally, feeling the bumps of
his spine.
"Thanks for inviting me to join you," I tell him, "it's very
flattering. I'll give you a bit of free advice though," I
continue, dropping my voice, "don't be in such a hurry... get to
know someone first and..." I lean next to his ear, "I'm not going
to be 'scored' with, understand?"
He nods, dejected. I take him by the face and give him a big
sloppy kiss.
"Take care," I tell him.
He looks at me with a startled expression as I get up and leave.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
------
When I get back to the tent, I realise I have another 'sulker' on
my hands. Simon's sitting by the dying BBQ watching the embers
fade to black. He looks up anxiously as I approach.
"Helene... there you are... I thought... look, I'm sorry, I
didn't mean... I mean... I didn't know that..." he babbles,
clearly agitated.
Sighing, I put up my hands.
"Slow down Simon," I urge him, "just bloody chill, ok?"
I sit next to him, put my arm over his shoulder and give him a
rub.
"Have we got any dinner left? I've got the munchies."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
------
"I don't have any room in my life for a relationship right now,"
I'm telling Simon as we sit together consuming the last of the
dinner. "It wouldn't be fair on the guy, being away for so long.
For ten months of the year I'm based in the UK."
"I understand," he replies, somewhat unconvincingly. "Love, it
doesn't take those things into consideration."
"Love, Simon? Are you saying you love me?"
He nods slowly, looking straight ahead.
"How the hell do you know that after two weeks?" I tell him,
"Have you seen me in my bitchy mood? Will you make me laugh when
I'm shitty with everybody, or run for cover like my brothers?
Will you understand when I want to be alone? Or, like tonight,
mope around feeling sorry for yourself? I think you'd be like a
little pet lamb, following me around and waiting to be patted. I
don't need that in my life, Simon."
I see anger light up his eyes. His lip trembles as he tries to
control himself. Trembling, he picks up a can of beer and puts it
to his lips.
"Do you cut everyone down who tries to get close to you?" he asks
eventually.
"Y'think that's what I do?" I ask him. "What else did Wolfie tell
you?"
His anger is barely concealed. Each sentence seems to sting him.
After a pause, he says,
"Why shouldn't I ask Wolfie about you? When you like someone,
that's what you do, check them out."
"Yeah well, it sometimes feels to me like Wolfie's been briefing
you on what to say and do. Y'know, he really doesn't know shit
about me on the inside."
"No, he doesn't does he?" Simon mumbles, grinning to himself.
I rub his back.
"That's an improvement," I tell him, chuckling, "'Tuesday
Afternoon,'? That was SO corny."
He starts to shake with laughter.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
------
The night is chilling down and it's no longer comfortable in our
T-shirts and shorts. I suggest we retire to the tent and get into
our sleeping bags. We each have our own collapsible stretchers
and matching down bags, all care of Simon, who's a keen hiker.
I feel relaxed and sweet, probably a little of the after-effects
of the dope and beer. Simon's paced himself well tonight, his
eyes a lucid, his speech not slurred. Perhaps the episode at the
bar that day was an aberration. His smile lights up his handsome
face, boyish glee at some little anecdote he's relating. 'Maybe I
could grow to love this man?' I think to myself.
I reach up and brush the side of his face with the back of my
hand. His eyes close at the touch, he stops mid-sentence and
turns to look at me. I lean across and kiss him on the mouth.
"Simon? I ask, "do you know the boy scout's motto?"
"Sure!" he looks puzzled, "be prepared."
"And are you?" I ask softly.
The light of understanding gradually washes over his soft face.
He breaks out in a nervous smile, widening as he reads
confirmation in my expression.
"Sure," he says, his voice trembling a little.
"Don't get your hopes up," I tell him, "just tonight... I want to
be close to you... no promises, understand?"
He nods slowly as he fishes around in his bag.
"Understand, Simon!" I say emphatically.
"Yes, I understand, Helen," he replies evenly.
Out of his bag he retrieves a 24 pack of condoms.
"Jesus Christ, Simon," I laugh, "were you planning on getting any
sleep?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
------
The far off campfires of the surfers shine like sparks on the
wall of the tent as I slip out of my sleeping-bag. Each ember is
accompanied by a pink halo on the dayglo orange nylon.
Simon is gentle and worshipping. We spend a long time kissing and
exploring that which is accessible. He adores me, that much is
obvious. I sense it in his touch, his eyes and his lips. I feel
it in the way his chest shudders as I explore the contours with
my fingertips. He sighs and hums as I tentatively nibble his neck
and earlobe. He's almost crying when I return to his mouth. His
hands caress the small of my back, probing with his little finger
a 1 inch band of bare flesh between my shirt and knickers.
This is how I want it. Not frantic and fumbling bent over a
washroom basin. Not drunk as skunks and falling asleep. But like
the whole world can take a day off and leave us alone for a few
hours, a week even. Having my nipples licked by someone who I
actually know the name of. Someone who doesn't see me as a piece
of meat hanging there at his convenience.
When finally I maneuvre under him, raising my knees and inviting
him to join together with me, I know I'm sharing something
special. Something that I'll remember for the rest of my life.
It's my first time, my 'real' first time. Everything up to now
has been an adolescent fumble in a back seat.
Simon allows me to guide him with my hands. He's prepared to
forgo some of his own sensations in pursuit of mine. When finally
I relax, my own tears stain my face in the glow of the distant
fires. I hold him as he lies exhausted on top of me.
We join together the stretchers, zip the two bags into a double
and settle down in each other's arms. I revel in the cozyness of
his body next to mine. He spoons me with an arm thrown over,
lying idly on my sex. He rolls his chin against the back of my
head, scoops up locks of my hair with his nose. Breathes in
deeply the scent of my shampoo.
"Hey, Hardy!" I call.
He hums a query.
"Wipe that smug smirk off your face," I tell him.
"Helene?" he replies after a long pause, "no!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----
We decide not to move on any further. Apart from the odd day
trip, we stay at the camp, walk along the beach and ramble over
the surrounding hills searching for that 'special' view of the
ocean.
...And we make love, every chance we get.
Simon is a good salesman. He knows to be patient sometimes, let
the punter feel the goods, make up their mind. He knows when to
urge forward, hustle a little, when to back off and when to close
the deal.
I've no doubt he loves me, I've no doubt too that I'm very fond
of him. But love? I'm not sure I can reflect the utter devotion
that Simon shines towards me.
Today I suggest we go riding up the coast a ways. Just to find
out whether the beaches look any different further around. I
venture that I give him a ride on the Ducati, tucked down on the
back seat. The idea sounded much better than the reality and
Simon shivers in fear on the back of my bike. There're
pillion-riders and there're riders, usually you're either one or
the other. I'd NEVER get on the back of ANYONE'S bike, you've got
to hand it to Simon for giving it a try.
We even swap bikes for a day. Simon relishes the power and feel
of the Ducati and is soon leaning in and out of the corners
having the time of his life. I don't like cruiser bikes, never
have. If you want to haul around your lounge suite, buy a limo
and stay dry. The way I look at it, bikes should be lean and
mean, not overweight and placid like the Guzzi.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-------
Our little dream fantasy has to come to an end. Simon needs to
get back to work on Friday and I'm beginning to feel guilty about
neglecting my family.
The weather remains clear and warm on the way back. The Ducati
was obviously someone's baby once. It shows unmistaking signs of
having had much love and care devoted to it. The bright gold bike
is a head-turner too, I feed on the envious looks of other
motorcyclists we pass along the way.
Too soon we pull into Karlie's driveway. It's late afternoon and
he's already escaped the shop and burning some old paint off the
farmhouse. He steps down from the ladder as Joan appears at the
door, paintbrush in hand.
"Have you eaten?" she asks.
But in their eyes it's obvious that wasn't the question on their
minds.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------
Simon hovers between displays of outward affection towards me and
tact. The rules between us are ill-formed, tentative. A little
touch when no-one's looking, a fleeting eye contact, all the time
believing Karlie and Joan could be completely fooled.
"So what happened?" Joan opens the inquisition.
"When?" I respond innocently.
"Don't beat around the bush," she says, "you know what I mean."
She has that old-fashioned, all-knowing look on her face.
After some relentless probing, we eventually have to come clean.
'Yes we had a great time,' and 'yes, Simon and I got on... quite
well actually!'
Joan suggests Simon stay the night, but he demures, saying he
needs to get himself ready for work tomorrow. I say goodbye to
him while my hosts look on from the veranda. A little kiss and
squeeze before he dons his helmet and starts the Guzzi. Will it
stay the distance? How can it sustain itself over the next 10
months of absence? Above all, do I really want it to?
-----------------------------------------------------------------
------
I'm due to fly to Japan in 10 days. There, I'll get a look at the
development machine for next season. My partner, whoever that
turns out to be, and I will ride against each other. One on last
season's machine, the other on the new one. Then there'll be
another month of riding, suggestions, some tinkering and some
more riding. Sometimes I'll be competing with the other riders
from Yamaha's factory team. For the first time they are fielding
two Japanese riders. Yamaha's R and D technicians, meanwhile,
will be studying the data and holding meetings with each other.
Apparently Rotol's are still negotiating with several parties for
the other 'seat,' my teammate. Some names have been thrown up,
only to be snapped up by other teams. Despite my hotline to the
Rotol team's boss, I'm being kept completely in the dark.
With a steady influx of foreign riders to the MotoGP next year,
and the consequent departure of some old faces, there's
considerable interest in the make-up of the competition.
I call Rotol and ask if I can have a week off over Christmas. My
agent Ian told me that it wasn't specifically spelt out in my
contract and I'd need to prevail on their goodwill. There's no
problem, it's a bit of a 'dead' time anyway, barring any late
hitches with the bikes.
"So who's Giancarlo's replacement?" I ask.
"Still under negotiation," he explains.
"Any hints? Where're they from?"
"I'm sorry, there's no news yet," he tells me.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
------
I put all that behind me and concentrate on the rest of the time
I have left with Simon. By mid-week I've practically moved into
his apartment. I don't think Karlie minds all that much anyway,
it gives him time to continue his renovations.
I lie-in while Simon prepares for work in the morning. He takes
care with his appearance. Before he leaves for work, he brings me
a mug of coffee and some cereal, accepts a kiss, and goes,
smiling. During the morning, I visit some friends, or just go out
on the Ducati. At noon sharp, I meet Simon for lunch, while
Wolfie minds the showroom.
It's all very blissfully domestic and unreal to me. How long will
it be before I start chomping on the bit, wanting to get away, do
something else?
Until then, he shares with me his day at work, asks after mine,
all very correct of him and very strange to me.
...And we make love, once, twice, more each day. It gets better
and better as we learn about each other's responses. Sometimes on
the floor, the TV forgotten, the bath or shower but mostly in
Simon's double bed. He wants to do it first thing in the morning,
I want to tear his clothes off when he gets home from work. In
the end, we come to an arrangement, we do both!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-------
I'm due to leave early Monday morning. On Sunday evening I'll
catch a commuter flight down to the city and book into a hotel
for the night ready for a 6am departure. Simon wants to come with
me and see me off, however I don't want an extended goodbye.
We have a big family midday meal on Saturday at Karlie's to which
Simon is also invited. The conversation is stilted, Simon's
depression infects the gathering, putting everyone on edge.
Wolfie's in a mood also. No doubt thinking Simon is another
casualty of the wickedly self-centred Helene. Karlie and Joan
struggle to make everything convivial, Ernie is in a world of his
own grumbling that he never wants to replace another Vespa gear
cable as long as he lives.
Simon and I are booked into the only decent restaurant in town
for a last romantic candlelight dinner. This provides a good
excuse to flee the tension at Karlie's.
Once home, we share a bath. It's what we call a 'bush bath,' set
out the back shrouded by a trellis of ornamental creepers. Once
filled, you place a tray of burning charcoal underneath and wait
for the water to heat up. Simon's backyard is private and
secluded, surrounded by a high hedge.
We soon dispense with clothes, except for our briefs. My nipples
soon react to the slight breeze, illiciting a response from
Simon's underwear. By the time the water has reached an
acceptable temperature, we've teased each other to a smouldering
lust. I insist on easing his straining briefs from over his
burning poker. It stands proud and magnificent in front of my
face.
The bath is narrow, making it difficult, though not impossible,
to satisfy out mutual desire. Kneeling, facing each other, his
kissing becomes frantic, his hands knead and stroke, he clings to
me not wanting to let go. We leap out of the bath and lie down on
the spread towels. There, with my feet locked behind his plunging
body, he pounds me to higher and higher levels of carnal ecstasy.
Lying, still joined, we feel the sun gradually leave our bodies.
It's almost sundown before he releases me.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------
The candles render a soft glow to Simon's beautiful face. His
occasional futile attempts at smiling stands in sharp contrast to
his moist, sad eyes. This is going to be harder then I thought to
say good bye to this man. From the restaurant we walk slowly back
in the night air, hand in hand not speaking. Simon strokes the
back of my hand with his thumb. I try and remember all the little
details and nuances of our last hours together.
I finally talk him out of coming down to the city. I tell him it
will be too hard for me and he accepts it, eventually. He agrees
for MY sake, in loving deference to MY feelings. I'll think I'll
always remember that little sacrifice.
Sunday we spend mostly in bed, making love again, stumbling to
the kitchen to feed our bodies, then back to bed again. We try to
cram 9 months of desire into one day. In the afternoon Simon
walks down to the supermarket to restock the condoms and brings
me back French bread and camenbert. We eat our lunch in bed
before starting on the fresh packet of rubbers.
At 4 Simon drives me to the aerodrome and I scramble onto the
waiting Saab Commuter jet. Simon is still standing there as we
circle to the south and on to the city.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------
From Tokyo, I'm whisked straight to Kobe and into my hotel where
I hang out the 'do not disturb' and sleep. The next morning
Yamaha's minder arrives to take me to Kobeyashi, the R and D
facility. It's immediately back into the whirlwind of meetings,
hand-shaking and guided tours.
The next day, I'm able to check my Emails. Goodluck messages from
friends, a JPG of my brothers and my little bike collection and
several messages from Simon that I decide to read later when I'm
alone.
The team manager of Rotols sees me that afternoon. He thought I'd
be interested in the various signings going on around the MotoGP
scene. Kevin Coburn is confirmed for the Honda factory. Kieran
Ridgeway is going to Australia for Dunlop's Aussie counterpart. I
think he deserves it. A young local, John Calcini has been chosen
to inhabit Coburn's old seat at GoldWing Australia-Honda. He
impressed at the GP by giving the Aussie Suzuki team a fright
while riding a Ducati Superbike.
I read down the list of names, page after page of them. The Rotol
man looks like the cat who's got the cream.
"We have a replacement for Giancarlo," he tells me,
conspiratorially, "you know him I think, an Aussie."
I know straight away, something in his tone of voice. I think my
life just got a whole lot more complicated.
"Steve Kelly," he continues, "once his leg mends in a couple of
months, quite a coup, eh?"
My response is hardly one of unbridled joy and the Rotols man
realises.
"Into the office here," he commands, "it looks like we need to
discuss this."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------
"A little fling, eh?" he's telling me later, " how little... is
there any stress between you two?"
I have to come clean with all that went on between me and Steve.
It's understood that he needs to know anything that could affect
team morale.
"Riders falling in love with each other is not something I
usually encounter all that much," he tells me, "but there was a
time... Ahem... well we'd better not let that little thing get
out," he smiles.
It's still pretty much a macho world, I understand what he means.
"Perhaps you can throw a leg over him now and then, to keep him
happy," he jokes.
"Oh sure," I tell him sarcastically, "now THAT will go down well
at home!"
"Well I can't buy him out of his contract at this stage, "who the
hell do I replace him with?"
It's alright, Frank," I tell him, "I'll deal with it... somehow!"
"Just keep it off the track!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------
Back in my hotel, I check the messages from Simon. One takes ages
to download. It's a string of pictures of him, taken with
Wolfie's digicam, out the backyard where we'd made love so often,
the bath. It's almost too much. There's a rendition of the Moody
Blues' song, 'Tuesday Afternoon.' He swears it really IS his
favourite song, but I still don't believe him.
A picture of him crosslegged by the bath, his brown eyes staring
straight at the camera is my favourite and I do a hardcopy. I'll
frame it for the wall of my house in Essex, England.
6 Weeks to go before Christmas and my promised week off. Sighing,
I stare at his smouldering eyes on the paper. It's going to be a
long 6 months.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
---------
Robert visits me that night. I wake up in a cold sweat, the air
zinging around me. I feel him in the room, his voice in my head.
He calls my name softly, he's beside the bed. Blinking, I think I
see his face, flickering on the bamboo screen.
His face dissolves to a blob of some reflection from the lights
of the city. In it's place appears the sneering, scorning,
resentful face of Kevin Coburn.
Is he my nemesis? Or my destiny?
I lie shivering in the humid tropical night until dawn sends
welcoming relief through the curtains of the window.
Katzmarek (C)
<1st attachment end>
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