Harley Sex - If You Read It All

The incurable romantic in me believes there is one true love for each of us – that one person who is so exactly perfect for you and fully completes you. Harley was mine. It hurts more than I can describe that his one true love was someone else entirely.

I was thinking about him again today. I can not say why or what started it. I can just say that I was. I used to have a hard time getting out of bed in the mornings. I kept rolling over and over, putting off getting up until the very last moment, then rushing to get out of the door. I fell into the habit of thinking about Harley on those mornings. Not for the joy it brought, but because I began to hurt so bad that the last thing I wanted to do was lay in bed and think more about him. Yes, I know, do not even bother to tell me – that is pretty whacked. I would like to say that I got myself away from the bad habit, but truth is that I was still doing it until fairly recently. I just kind of stopped and was not all that aware I had. I think credit goes to a variety of sources. Partial credit occasionally goes to the Boyfriend. The dear boy can only get partial credit because I have been with him and while and I have been doing this a long time still. Wide Load gets some credit because, well, because he is Wide Load. :) He makes me smile. I find that I think about Harley less and less these days. Credit goes to blogging too, I think, because this is where I try – not always successfully – to say things that I do not say anywhere else. I do not know that I will ever be able to write about Harley from start to finish (it even hurts to use the word "finish" when talking about him), but I have been able to mention him from time to time here and it is not like I have anywhere else I get to talk about him.

What was it about Harley? I could say it was because he was the most incredible man I have ever met. But truth is, it was how he made me feel. He was my personal pep rally. He pumped me up and made me believe things about myself that I never thought before him. He was pain killers, anti-depressants, mood elevators, and tequila all in one shot. 24/7. And yes, he was viagra too.

I know this is a sex blog, so you guys do not really want to hear me go on and on about Harley – you want to hear the good stuff.

Harley was into 'ambush sex'. He would probably take offense at that, saying that he was being spontaneous. I call it – smiling – 'ambush sex'. He might be walking through the a room that I was standing in, he would give me a kiss, and he might just pick me up to carry me into the bedroom. Before anyone calls this controlling and abusive, let me stop you there. It was not. It was Harley and it was fun. If Harley had a flaw, it was his incredible sense of responsibility and always being productive. I think he approached fun (not just sex), the way he approached everything – fast and hard. When he relaxed enough to think about having fun, he wanted – he needed – it then. It never felt controlling or abusive with Harley. He made me feel needed and desired.

I think one of my favorites was when he was mowing the back yard. I brought him out a glass of cold water. I take responsibility for what happened because I kind of knew what to expect. I went out barefoot wearing just a pair of tight jean shorts and a bikini top. I expected him to drag me back to the bedroom . . . or at least the garage. Instead, he thanked me. He seemed really surprised that I had done that for him and was extremely appreciative. We stood there and just talked about nothing for a bit. He pulled me close for a kiss apologizing for his being sweaty. I said that I didn't mind and that was apparently all the permission he needed. I thought I was just talking about sweat! He began kissing me. I asked what he was up too, laughing, as he spun me around right there in the back yard!!!! Thank God he had a privacy fence. I tried to protest, but I guess my laughter took much of the heat out if it. He had my pants off and me bent over in no time. It is kind of hard to look graceful when you are bent over, half naked, hands on the ground for balance. Thinking about it, Harley made being submissive for him fun. He made me feel more like a woman than I can describe. I remember the look of his legs standing behind me – I could clearly see them the way I was bent over – and how they flexed each time he thrust into me. I loved it. I loved making him need me that way. I loved giving myself to him there. I pretended to protest the entire time that he fucked me in the back yard; all the time loving every thrust. When he finally came and released me, he did not give me back my jeans shorts. He kept them saying he would come look me up after he was done mowing the yard. I walked back to the house, swinging my hips, naked from my bikini top down . . . and I stayed that way until he came inside to finish what he started.

The Best Time For Sex?

I like morning sex. Who am I kidding – I love sex period. Anytime.

It was impossible not to over-hear some guys at the gym talking - yes, I recently joined a gym - and they were playing around. One thing they got to joking about was their favorite time of day for sex . . . or as they put it, "to get laid". Before you accuse me of eavesdropping, let me defend myself a bit. These guys were not the little dudes lining up to take the spinning classes. These were the wide loads. There were only six or so of them but with their combined mass all in one spot it was like the entire gym was pulled towards them due to their combined gravity. One guy's wife (I presume it was his wife anyway) was in the mix and she apparently had no problem joining right in with the group. She announced very clearly "mornings". I thought about it. I kind of agreed, but I kind of didn't agree too. Leave it to me to be unable to decide. Morning, afternoon, evening, each is special to me and different for me. And then, maybe because I was in a gym with a lot of hard bodies, I got to thinking about Harley again. I really loved Harley. Harley would sometimes ‘need’ me late in the evening. And I mean really late in the evening; like sound asleep late. I would wake up to find Harley between my legs and his dick already slipping inside of me. It was only a few times, but it was a major turn on to me every single time. The first time he did it, he said in the tone that only he could manage – “Miss Rachel, you're needed”. (Apparently this was a reference to an old TV show, The Avengers, where the star would always say to his female counterpart, "Mrs. Peel, you're needed". But I did not get the joke until months later). I can not say what it was about it that turned me on so much. It just did. Hell, it still does everytime I even think about it. I miss Harley. And I miss being "needed" in the middle of the night as well.

Hugs,
Rachel

Harley

I know that I promised myself a sex blog today. However, I did not feel like up to throwing the boyfriend down last night to fuck me just so that I would have something to write about today. Additionally, today has been chaotic leaving me little time to think about anything else but putting out fires. I have taken some time for lunch now and thought I would enjoy some peacefful time alone in my office. I do not have much current that I care to write about. But maybe there is something from the past that would be fun to recall.

When I think about the past, one man always comes immediately to mind – Harley. I was twenty. Harley was quite a few years older than me. He was forty-two. But he was more alive than any man I have ever dated, before or since. Harley was the kind of man who could walk into any room and everyone in the room would notice him. When I knew him, he had already done his twenty years in the Marines and was then a deputy with the Sheriff's Department. He stood 6'2" and every ounce of his 240 lbs was solid muscle. It should be pretty obvious from the way I write about him that I had a major crush on Harley. Hell, I loved him.

We rode his Harley over to Bike Week in Daytona (thus the reason I am calling him "Harley"). I had tried to dress the part for him. I wore a camo-print bikini top, matching cap, and a pair of painted on blue jeans. I think Harley enjoyed showing me off every bit as much as I enjoyed being seen with him. I also think Harley figured out quickly that I would do just about anything to please him. He was so protective of me though that he really asked for very little. I do think, that day in Daytona, that he would have loved me getting on stage for the wet t-shirt contest. I would have done it for him; albeit embarrassed as all get out. But that would have required an ID saying I was twenty-one, which I wasn't. As it was, I was already getting into far more places than I should have been at just twenty. Instead, Harley and I had fun watching it together on the front row. I do not know if the ladies were having fun flashing me or him. I never got jealous because Harley always made me feel special.

But a man – especially a man like Harley – can have so much power between his legs (the bike) and look at boobs only so long before he finally needs to get laid himself. We had stopped at a mall on the way back to look at something quickly. And then Harley needed to go pee. Harley pee'd a lot. I used to tease him that he needed to mark his territory everywhere he went. Since the t-shirt contest, I had been teasing him mercilessly. I was doing it intentionally because I wanted him worked into a frenzy when we finally got back to his house. We were headed towards the bathroom and I stroked his dick through his pants asking if he was going to be okay. He threatened me saying that if I kept on that he might just drag my ass into the men's room. I teased back that if he did, then I would have no choice but to go along quietly with him. I did not think any more of it when he walked into the men's room, but two seconds later he returned and grabbed my wrist.

"What?"

"You're needed" is what I clearly remember him saying; it was all that he said in fact.

I gathered he had gone into the men's room and checked to see that no one was in there. He then turned around to get me to come take care of the problem I had been buidling up inside of him.

He pulled me straight into the hand-capped stall (more room, I suppose). He began unbuttoning my jeans to slide them down. I tried to tell him that they were going to be way to tight for me to slide down half way for him to bend me over. I tried instead to suggest I would be very pleased to take care of him with my mouth.

"You do not want me dong to your mouth what I need to do to your cunt".

Oh my!

He plopped my ass down on the toilet then and began pulling my boots off. Them out of the way, he took my jeans completely off me. In keeping with the theme, I had worn a camo thong as well. He took that off too.

Standing there, looking up into his face, he held me, naked but for my bikini top. He kissed me. I remember it still. How do you describe a kiss that was both tender and demanding at the same time. When he released me from the kiss, he smiled into my face and said "no noise" as he then put my moist (hey, teasing him teases me too) panties into my mouth.

He then turned me around and shoved his dick right inside of me.

When ever anyone would come into the mens' room, he would sit down on the toilet taking me with him. Still impaled on his dick, with my legs on either side of his, it was impossible for my feet to touch the ground. I think he loved those moments a lot. He would reach around and begin to manipulate my clit. He tortured me there.

When we were alone, he would stand me up and hammer away into me. How he was able to fuck me so hard without making any noise is a mystery. He gripped my ass and stopped himself just short of slamming into my ass.

And when Harley cums, I swear it is like having a fire hose explode inside of you. It drenches everything. The entire two years I dated Harley, I swear that I felt like there was cum running out of me every single day; even if we had not fucked for a few days (the longest tHaley went without was 72 hours). When Harley came inside of me in that stall, it may not have been the most romantic place in the world to be fucked, but I never felt more needed by my man than in that moment.

He needed me and I was his.

Hugs,
Rachel