Flirtatious little bitch.Flirtatious little bitch. You finish the last of my beer and yell something, tug at my beltloop, and we're on the dance floor. Holding you, I feel every curve, the bra strap tight across your back, nice round hips, and even rounder ass. My fingertips just touch the tip of your skirt. It's all I can do not to grab your thighs right there on the dance floor. But this is our first date and I want to be "good". We can't stand it any longer. You back away, exerting gentle pressure on my biceps, taut and muscular from years of biking, weight lifting, and dancing too close to hot women. Time to get out of here! We climb into my truck. Usually the only time I drive four wheels is when it rains, but when you're on a date with a femme in a mini-skirt, she can't be a passenger on a motorcycle. AT least not the first date. I crank up a Springsteen tape and try to keep my eyes off your thighs and on the road. Nothing better than cruising around on a sultry summer night... but I have better plans. We haul ass back to my place and unfortunately all my roommates are home, making what I want to do a little uncool. I drive into the garage and park the truck. Three silent motorcycles stare blankly at us from the other side of the garage. You admire the bikes, bit of chrome highlighted in the darkness. The smell of hot oil permeates the humid hot air. I don't let you leave the garage. "Get in the back of the truck. |