Description

Turmoil and bright lights were left behind, Mick

travelled at unbelievable speeds on the busy motorway, then through villages

joined only by country lanes. The bike beneath him vibrated through his body.

"It's almost like sex!" Eddie had told him. He was so

right. Getting his leg over the borrowed Ducati, holding it steady between

straining thighs was bloody fantastic. No woman had yet given him such a

thrill.

Taking a right turn he noticed the road was little

more than a stone track. As expected the bike took it well. Cold air buffeted

into the loose yellow helmet. Eddie had a big head; in more ways than one. A

bit of a romancer was Eddie, but dead right about his precious new Ducati.

In the evening half-light, frost glistened along the

grass verge playing tricks with Mick"s eyes. Acceleration spun hoar into

blinding mobile patterns; he felt an urgent intensity of passion, stopping was

unacceptable.

"Yeow!" he screamed; body and bike melded into one;

climax was inevitable.

Abruptly the front wheel jammed. Eddie's wonderful new

Ducati spun at speed across the frozen track. Sparks spat as the bike hit flint

stones jutting from frozen earth. Mick's body rocketed through raw winter air,

over a hedge, colliding violently with a tree. Seconds of numbness followed,

then blackness. The bikes back wheel continued whirring in the frosty silence.

"Sandra turned from the tin of cold baked beans she

had been spooning dejectedly into her mouth, deliberately scooping eight to

each spoonful. Time was of little consequence. Walking carefully, trailing her

full length hooded fur coat behind her, she walked towards the kitchen door,

opening it a little to peer out; curious to know what had disturbed her

delectable evening meal; hearing only a whirring sound in the faint dark

distance; then silence.