...the following is the first chapter in a series of short chapters,...it should be read as an ongoing story and perhaps reads more like a romance novel than an erotic tale,...however there is a great deal of eroticism that I anticipate to include in this story...
I.
Another Hot Day
It was a day like any other day,...at least that's what I thought...
When there's not much to do, you have to be creative. Creativity is a strange thing and sometimes even a little creativity can reap some large rewards.
It was going to be a very hot day. Hot days and hang-overs are not my favorite combination. The sliding glass door to my first story, one bedroom abode was wide open. I assumed that, in my drunken stupor of the night before I had forgotten to close it. I had pretty much forgotten everything from about one a.m. onward. Blacking out wasn't new to me, although it did concern me, but evidently not enough to motivate me to kick my bad habit. Standing in the living room in my birthday suit one thing struck my mind like a harbinger reminder... "it's gonna be a hot day"...
I had to get away from this heat. I had to make a plan, but for about the next 20 minutes I just roamed around my small apartment, trying like hell to put together the pieces that made up my disjointed thought process in the midst of a righteously massive hang-over.
In my wandering I saw something out of the corner of my eye that called to my attention. It stood on the kitchen counter, a white round cylinder, about two inches tall with one of those child proof caps that make it almost impossible to open, short of having a child open it for you. "My old friend", I seemed to mutter almost as a condolence to my own sad situation. The Motrin bottle seemed to trigger some brief memory, like a gold coin to a lost soul searching for a past life in a hypnotic regression.
I had set the bottle there in anticipation of my disjointed condition. "Damage control" I think I had said last night, staggering about, searching for some equilibrium in the fun house that was once my living space. As the ground continued to tip and sway, I stood my ground like Ahab, fighting the mighty whale. The booze of course was my Starbuck and my thoughts, my ship sailing straight and true into oblivion. I had managed to pilot my inebriated carcass around the various pieces of furniture that stood like defiant monoliths challenging my every stagger. I recalled falling onto my bed, feeling the warm embrace of my fluffy pillow encase my throbbing melon. I was fortunate enough to pass out before my world began to spin, much like my drinking had, spinning out of control, like the water in a drain...flowing downward into a dark space where no one knows what lurks...
A small belch brought me back to the present,...and one thought remained, "it was going to be a hot day"... After a handful of Motrin I drank enough water to fill me up without getting me sick. A cool shower helped me shed the penance I was paying for my euphoric sin of the night before. By the time I had showered and cleaned myself up I could at least think in a somewhat cogent manner.
..0..
Living in the Central Valley of California had its advantages, a temperate climate was not one of them, but fortunately, I was close enough to the coast that I could escape the hellish heat without too much trouble.
After sliding a fresh pair of thong underwear over my slightly anxious cock I climbed into a snug t-shirt and finished with a comfy pair of jeans. Some ankle high socks over my feet and a pair of comfortable tennies. I drug a brush across my shortly cropped dark brown hair and slid a razor over my tan face, removing the stubble from a night's growth. Smooth shaven and well groomed I went over to fetch the three things that kept me in touch with the rest of my world,... keys, wallet and cell phone.
I climbed into the car, and it felt like an oven inside as I immediately rolled down all the windows. The air conditioner would be fighting a losing battle if I relied solely on it to cool down the stifling heat inside my automobile. I could feel the perspiration bead on my forehead. I hadn't been inside my car for more than five minutes and I was already beginning to perspire as if I was in a sauna.
Within about fifteen minutes the temperature inside the moving oven began to dissipate to something less than the surface of the sun. I stopped for some fluids, both for my car and myself. My car got a nice helping of unleaded plus while I got myself a 16 ounce orange juice and one of those sports drinks that are supposed to turn you into Michael Jordan or Barry Sanders. I didn't foresee getting a 3 foot vertical leap or a 4.4 forty yard dash after downing the elixir, but hopefully it would help re-hydrate my liquid famished body.
Up went the windows and the air conditioner was set for full blast. The cool air felt good and seemed to help in reviving my somber state. With it being so god-forsakenly hot in my neck of the woods, the coast would be perfect, even at night and so I traveled lightly.
The car pushed through the growing heat, past the dry fields and growing subdivisions that lay between me and San Francisco. Climbing over the high hills that separated one valley from another windmills stood, stoic and vigilant, ever waiting for the slightest breeze or more likely gust of coastal wind to put them into motion, endlessly turning like the days as they seemed to blend into nights. They all seem to blend and I could hardly remember when day was marked by something more than the misery of a hang-over and night was not marked by the sweet Elysium of drunken euphoria.
Someone had once asked me if I was an alcoholic. I told them no,... in fact I was a drunk. "What's the difference", they asked. "Drunks drink,...Alcoholics go to meetings..." . They didn't seem to like my joke...
The station was on the next exit. One thing that I could say was that San Francisco and the Bay Area included had an excellent transit system. It was a blessing not to have to drive all the way into the City. I parked my trusty steed into one of the ubiquitous spots that sprawled on either side of the BART station and locked her up tight. As I began my short hike to the station entrance a smile crossed my lips as I thought... " today's gonna be a hot day... but I'll be in the cool confines of the City..." Ah, the City, what wonders and surprises awaited me there? I was soon going to find out, and what a surprise it would be...
..0..
The wonderful thing about the train was that you could spend time that would otherwise have been spent driving in mind numbing, nerve shattering, life shortening traffic to do other things... Some people did work while on the train, busily typing away on their laptop computers and the slight lurch of the vehicle from time to time resulting in a hail of backspacing. Some others liked to read, whether it was a novel, a school text or just the daily paper. Whereas others, such as myself liked to use the time more usefully, to do those things I rarely have time to do....like taking a nap. Ah, the seats on the light rail were actually quite comfortable, with cushions that were well maintained and carpeted which helped to deaden the otherwise noisy steel wheels.
I had just settled down into a nice cozy position, arms crossed, head softly lolling from side to side and that hazy, lazy feeling just before sleep. She was so beautiful...like a dream...
SCREEEECH.... "Castro Valley Station!!!" blared over the intercom... "This is a San Francisco train,.... the doors are now closing...." Now why is it that every time I start to have a wonderful dream I get woken up, can't I at least enjoy my fantasies?...Wow, what an angel she was...
I had seen her on an Internet site during the night before. Just prior to my journey into oblivion, I found myself surfing the net as I usually did to pass the endless hours of solitude. My window into Alice's wonderland was a celluloid picture frame 16 inches across in full Technicolor. With a few simple keystrokes I was on a journey into never-never land. Like opium, this drug was addictive, it's relief instantaneous from the pains that haunted me. Where would my journey take me was but a mystery to me until I saw her...
The moment I saw her I think my heart stopped, then skipped a few beats before it was able to resume its regular rhythm. She was nameless, yet she needed no name. She could have been named Helen...(of Troy) or even Rhiannon. Her long blond hair flowed like liquid honey down each side of her angelic face. Her eyelashes were like butterfly wings on a soft afternoon spring breeze. She had light green eyes that looked like small precious gems and sparkled with an internal fire and beauty all their own. Her skin was as smooth as freshly fallen snow with a light tan complexion. She was Perfect! Her gaze seemed to penetrate past me and through me. Her lips were bee stung, and pink, like a light pink rose-petal. I could only imagine that she smelt of jasmine and honeysuckle and to be close to her was to know the meaning of being in heaven. Her breasts were exquisite, so natural and so beautiful, she had to be at least a 38D. They draped slightly from her shoulders which slung slightly, showing a gentle collar bone and a supple neck, with all the grace of a great Swan. Her areolas were large, pink and as big as a silver dollar, they were slightly puffy and had the shape of small cones, both tipped with soft peach colored nipples. Their softness showed through even on the flat screen of my computer monitor and I briefly imagined how wonderful it would be to lie my head on her bosom... with her long peach-colored finger nails running through my hair....softly caressing behind my ear and across the nape of my neck, gently stroking my cheek up to my side burn, around my ear and down my neck, gently massaging my shoulder and running the backs of her nails across my triceps...her smell and touch and closeness lulling me into a deep and quiet....
..0..
SCREEEEEEEECH.... "West Oakland, West Oakland station, this is the last stop before we reach San Francisco,...this is a San Francisco train... the doors are now closing"...
Damn it!, did it again! Well, whoever she was, she had witchcraft in her stare... I must have stared at her image for at least a half an hour,...just looking and taking in every detail about her like a fine wine or a delicate chocolate, that's to be savored rather than consumed her ever inch of womanhood was awe inspiring....including the half-flacid cock that fell between her buttermilk-like creamy thighs...
It was a penis, but not just "a penis",... it was a woman's penis, if a woman could ever have a penis. It was beautiful, it was smallish and uncut, a light peach-flesh color on the outside without the prominence of blue veins or any hair at all, that you would expect to see on a male penis. Her scrotum was smallish as well, almost feminine, it was petite and delicate and as smooth as a baby's bottom.
She was completely shaved, and I do mean Completely! She was so smooth, like a sculpure. Even though I shaved as well, I could never get myself that smooth with just a razor. Her smooth cock and small scrotum looked ....well...cute between her legs and somehow made her even more desirable. Her transgenderedness made her even more beautiful, more unique and even more mysterious. What was it like to be close to such a unique and beautiful woman? She looked so soft, so gentle, like a piece of precious China I could almost not imagine making love to such a beautiful woman, but yet I couldn't imagine how I could stop myself from wanting her so much, wanting to touch her and hold her and caress her, console her....
"Embarcadero Station,...Embarcadero Station..."
Well, here's my stop. I arose from my seat slowly, but not too slowly, the muscles in my legs reminding me of my past night's indiscretions with the dreaded drink... and making it out the sliding doors just moments before the train began again down the tracks to points westward.
I made my way out of the station and up the stairs where the light of day met me with a combination of gentle warmth from the sun and a cool breeze from the adjacent ocean. I needed a good walk both for the exercise and to help shake off the remnants from last night. The Embarcadero would be an excellent walk. Perhaps some pizza or fish-n-chips once I got as far a Gherardelli Square. No matter, I had quite a walk ahead of me and lots of time,... time to think,... think of my mystery gurl. Who was she?, where was she?, maybe she was just an apparition of my inebriated imagination.
Yes indeed, somewhere it was going to be a hot day, but for me,...today, I would enjoying the cool sea breezes and sunshine of summertime in the San Francisco Bay. What I didn't know was that not only would I enjoy the great summer weather, but I would enjoy something quite different and much more wonderful that would come from the most unlikely of places...
...( I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter in an ongoing set of short tales I intend to post...if you have any questions, praise, criticisms, or whatnot,...feel free to e-mail me at strider@bikerider.com all input is warmly welcome....peace!)