Milwaukee Vibrator

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2021 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/m; fpov; cuckold; outdoors; mast; rom; cons; X

Continues from

We arrived at Ken's aunt and uncle's late in the afternoon, we said our hellos and got our big hugs like always, but this time Ken was anxious to jump into the motorcycle conversation while there was still some daylight, and he nearly ran toward the bike like a kid on Christmas morning running toward the tree. I followed Ken, but I noticed that my boyfriend had hung back while engaged in conversation with Ken's aunt, I left wondering what the two were discussing.

Had I been suspicious I would have suspected her of sending him on some fool's errand, so Ken and I could have some time together. We had just arrived from driving hours in Ken's truck though, while sitting right next to each other, so this made little sense, except if she wanted us - meaning Ken and I - to have "alone" together time.

"I'll grab the bags," my future husband called over to us, whether this was his idea, or Ken's aunt's, I didn't know at the time, but the result was the same. Where were the bags going anyway? I wondered, surely this an overt signal as to who was sleeping where, and with whom, despite my wishes to the contrary.

Ken uncovered the bike and showed me every detail, as if he were a salesman, but selling the bike to me, and not himself. His uncle joined us and listened in, eventually explaining that he HAD to get fair market value for the bike, and that in truth HE preferred not to sell it to his favorite nephew. His logic was bulletproof, at least to me.

"One doesn't need a bike like this, a pickup truck yes, so you can drive it to school, or even work to make some spending money. A bike is a luxury, a toy, and if I were to give you this toy, and you then hurt yourself on it, I would never hear the end of it, bad for family and all of that. Almost the same thing if I were to sell it to you for a token amount of money. It's a great bike in perfect shape, but if you buy it for the same amount as you could buy such a bike from anybody else, my conscience is clear. I also know you'd take good care of it as well, because of your 'sweat equity' investment."

...Ken's uncle had, I think, given this little speech as much for my benefit, as Ken's. I hadn't really thought about Ken crashing his bike, but I supposed that was always possible, although all three guys didn't race around stupid fast, at least when I was with them. Still, anything can happen, that's why they call them accidents, and people in cars can be quite inattentive too...

The two men bantered back and forth some more, but I felt like Ken's uncle was directing the flow of conversation, but this was his house, and bike, and he was an imposing figure of a man besides. He was loveable and sweet to me, but to another I could see him being quite intimidating, the very definition of a gentle giant.

"You can't appreciate something like this without riding it first" Ken's aunt added, she rejoined us near the bike, my boyfriend off doing her bidding. "Both of you should go," she further pushed. With that one statement my boyfriend had already lost his bet, as far as I was concerned.

"The passenger seat is tiny," I observed dismissively. I truly wanted to go for this ride with Ken, but also wanted to see how far I would be pushed into going. I was therefore toying with her, in a respectful way, but I didn't think she had realized this.

"It's called a P-pad dear." Ken's aunt smiling to soften the blow of having someone around the age of my parents explain by implication what the "P" stood for.

Ken's uncle looked uncomfortable with the entire direction of the conversation, he obviously knew I had a "pussy," but he also likely didn't want to think about what I did with it in great detail. Yes, I was an adult now, my body bore evidence of this obviously, even though I dressed down rather than to advertise my assets and womanly shape. But, he had also known me since I was a child, and with our relative age differences, to him I likely always would be one. I also understood that this is especially odd bearing in mind that he was one of the two adults here pushing Ken and I together. What did he think, logically, that Ken and I might get up to doing, eventually, should he be successful in his efforts?

"I don't even have my jacket and helmet with me" I pushed back further, not because I didn't want to go, but because I didn't like the fact that she was pushing me in the direction she wanted! At the same time I knew how this would end, despite my mock protests; my boyfriend watching Ken and I ride off into the sunset, and he left behind, abandoned, if not exactly alone. "Would this excite him?" I asked myself. "Would he wonder what we were doing while out and about together?"

The answer to both questions was probably, depending of course on how long we were gone. His kinky imagination, combined with Ken and my own history together, would help fill in the gaps for him too. I couldn't see him self entertaining here with Ken's aunt and uncle in attendance though, so this might be just a little maddening for him in the short term. Doubly so, as he couldn't let on what he was going through while they were in attendance and closely observing him, like a lab specimen...

...Wearing Ken's aunt's borrowed jacket and helmet - that was honestly just a little snug across my ample chest - I step onto the rumbling motorcycle, my future husband watching and holding my pocketbook in an anything but masculine way as I turn to look one last time... When Ken had started the bike in the confines of their garage moments earlier I nearly jumped, it was quite loud inside there, both adults laughed at my reaction.

I feel the rumble in my chest, although my borrowed helmet protects my ears from the worst of the noise. The bike seems alive to me now, like an angry animal that wanted to run, and I see now why Ken has given this thing a personality when he talks about it. I for my part never thought I would actually be riding on one - as late as last month even - other than of course in my dreams.

Ken is seated in front obviously, and I briefly see he's smiling ear to ear under his own helmet in the rearview mirror's vibrating reflection, the tiny "P" pad I am sitting on living up to it's namesake. I feel the large unbalanced engine's vibrations through the foot pegs, but I really feel them through the seat. Ken's uncle has even offered to take us all out to eat at the Dockside restaurant, a very nice place well out of reach of teens like us... unless somebody else was obviously paying.

Ken and I have been manipulated into a plan, no doubt his aunt's, but I'm not exactly complaining any longer either. We're going to ride together around the lake, he and I, on the several connected perimeter roads, giving Ken some extended seat time to get acquainted with the new bike, with a passenger on the back as Ken's aunt has insisted on. This will force us to spend some alone time together sitting in intimate closeness, before meeting up with the other three at the Dockside, my future husband to travel with Ken's relatives and then meet up with us there at a predetermined time.

As the name implies, the Dockside is on the shore of the actual lake, so it's impossible to get lost going there, if we keep to the perimeter roads as planned. There's plenty of time to make the trip too, no reason to race around and hurry at all, and Ken's aunt has even suggested one of the little - only known to the locals - point lookouts, the sunset stunning from there this time of year. Our absence from my boyfriend is therefore to be an extended one, by design, just not necessarily OUR design.

...Ken and I are only maybe a mile from the house, he's hardly had the engine much above idle, but the big engine hardly has to work to move us, this quite the opposite of the smaller and more balanced engine's of the other bikes I have ridden on the back of. Each gear change makes a clunk, both felt, and heard, this thing feeling more and more like a trapped mechanical monster banging at it's cage, just dying to escape and run wild like a lunatic.

We stop at a stop sign, and Ken tells me he wants to wind it up just a little, just to get a feel for it. He's being overly cautious, but I've learned it's his nature when he's unsure of something, and not just new motorcycles either. In this context our camping trip tryst is the anomaly, and I can only assume that for such to happen a great many barriers for him had to fall all in the same night, the proverbial "perfect storm," but I digress. We're here now, Ken and I, that's the important part.

This is a new bike to him that he's never ridden before, and not even his yet, this still technically a test ride. I'm on the back too, and I trust Ken not to do something stupid, but he's not that kid of guy; I trust him with my life, the thought profound. He has no reason at all to show off for me either, and he knows this. This time he runs the bike a little more aggressively up through the gears, and the Milwaukee vibrator lives up to it's unofficial name, one specific engine speed going right through me before each clunking shift.

I squeeze his flanks tightly when he hits it this first time, my head forward and to the right of his own, I playfully bite the leather epaulet of his jacket hard enough to leave teeth marks a few seconds later, shaking it back and forth violently like a dog playing with a tug toy. "WOW!" I nearly yell into his ear as our helmets clunk together, the wind noise and loud exhaust making communication hard on the back of the Sportster, at least when it's actually accelerating.

Despite the guys talking about it in the truck - and my discounting such as nonsense - that tiny vibrating "P" pad seat put it's unnatural pressure on my womanhood through my tight blue jeans, and the Milwaukee vibrator caught me off guard as a result. I didn't orgasm or anything like that, but I definitely felt "something" special down there, I left feeling just a little squishy as a result. We ride some more, but Ken is being good about hitting that specific engine speed with me on the back.

We eventually do stop and watch the sun set where Ken's aunt had suggested, maybe forty five minutes or so into our ride; the view was stunning, also as she suggested I begrudgingly admit to myself. I'm not missing my boyfriend, nor even really thinking about him, I'm ashamed to say.

With the noisy bike turned off I had to explain exactly what I was "wowing" about earlier, to which Ken laughed, but he wasn't exactly laughing at me either. He was instead being VERY attentive to me, yes the new bike was a wonderful distraction, but he was looking directly into my eyes when we talked. And, I have to admit, I was looking back! This suddenly felt a lot like a date to me, although I wasn't entirely sure if this was because of the conversation that we three had on the way up here, or because of Ken's aunt's pushing us together.

The sunset is quite romantic though, and I catch myself nuzzling in close to him for warmth as we sit on top of one of the picnic tables, placed there by some kind soul, I reminded of what we had done together the last time we had been on top of one of those together. For a few minutes more I'm not even thinking about my boyfriend, I'm ashamed to say, it's just Ken and I, and that magnificent romantic sunset.

My resistance is weak, and my moral compass is even pointing the wrong direction, and to further muddy the waters I'm presenting a conflicting message to Ken as well. It's getting dark, we've just intently watched a romantic sunset together, and I'm pressed up against him just about as tight as possible, as if he's my bodyguard and this an unfriendly crowd. Nobody is here with us though, and I'm not the least bit afraid of anything with big strong Ken here, and for whatever reason I spontaneously turn to his face and kiss him...

Ken kisses me back, he's still an excellent kisser too, and we get into a half serious make out session. Part of me wants to jump Ken's bones right there, but the more rational part of me, and him as well, decides that we should get going. It's now mostly dark with the moon coming up behind us. I try to justify this as no big deal, Ken and I had made love together, several times, once even with my boyfriend watching. But, just making out with Ken, all alone in the dark, feels like serious cheating to me. I have a lot to think about on the ride to the restaurant, but perhaps Ken does too, it's just that being with Ken feels so...natural...

Ken accidentally hit that speed a few more times on the way to the restaurant, but he didn't go out of his way to torment me with it either, as he easily could have. My mind was elsewhere, although I doubted it would take me all the way "there" if he had, but that thumping vibration did leave me feeling randy, and my face gave this away once in the parking lot of the Dockside, about ten minutes late for our reservations. I looked at myself in the small mirror on the bike, not even having a comb, nor even a brush with me to fix my temporary "helmet head" inspired new hair. My face was glowing though, and not just because of the cool fall wind in my face either. I just had a make out session with Ken, and it felt like the whole world would realize this when we walked in together, but more importantly, I thought the three we were meeting up for dinner with would know too.

We ask at the front door for the Smith party, and are directed to the oversized booth in the back, Ken's aunt and uncle to the left and right of my boyfriend, trapping him on the long bench seat with them, and leaving the entire other bench open for Ken and I, and our helmets and jackets. There's no room for my boyfriend to sit with me, but if this fact bothers him, he's not showing it overtly.

"How did you like it?" Ken's uncle asks his nephew.

"It's a nice bike, great brakes, lots of power compared to my little one, I never want to sit on that one again by the way.

"No problems?" he then asks.

"No sir, the bike is perfect," Ken admits with a smile.

I reluctantly interrupt their banter, asking Ken's aunt if she has a brush in their car that I could borrow, to which she replies yes. I think to get up and get it myself, expected to be handed the keys, but the keys are instead handed to my boyfriend, she telling him the three likely places where he might find the brush, and therefore adroitly dispatching him to yet another mindless chore designed to get rid of him for a few minutes more. I see Ken's uncle give a disapproving look, but he doesn't intervene either, and I doubt that my boyfriend caught the gesture, timed as it was.

...I haven't even spoken a single word to him yet, nor he to I, and I feel the separation. He's not angry though, there just hasn't been time for us to do so, without rudely interrupting the other conversations going on about the table...

This woman is ordinarily so sweet, but she has it in her mind that Ken and I are the couple, and she's apparently doing her level best to make it a reality. My boyfriend has therefore been adroitly reduced to nothing more than a lackey in her presence, a "gofer," as in go-fer this, and go-fer that... while the important people have a few words in private. He doesn't complain though, not in the least, but I didn't intervene on his behalf either, although I would be hard pressed to explain exactly why. I'm not especially proud of that particular part of my life in regards to him, but I would be lying if I said it was any different. I could instead perhaps claim that I was trying out my own jerk persona in regards to my boyfriend, but if I had actually done so, it came quite naturally to me.

...There are reasons for Ken's aunt's behavior, or should I say ramped up behavior, the woman nothing but sweet deep down, but more on that much later...

By the time my future husband gets back the hors d'oeuvres have been served, apparently ordered before we got there, and my guy hands me the brush and I excuse myself to the ladies room to tame my mop. I thanked him for his efforts on my behalf, and I received a smile in return, so all is still apparently okay between us, even though we can't exactly discuss anything. I didn't realize this at the time, but the tone of my "thank you" is apparently dismissive. I'm actually good with that though, because I don't want to talk with him at the moment, but I'm not entirely sure why, it's just a feeling. I have a lot of conflicting emotions in my head though, and my heart too.

I can't help but to see the expression looking back at me in the mirror, my wild hair now tamed, but the wild look staring back at me is another thing entirely. Ken IS fun, riding on his big bike alone with him and going out on what Ken's relatives likely consider a proper date, is also fun. It's almost a double date, except for my boyfriend's presence, and I'm reminded of our conversation in the truck on the way up. My boyfriend is the proverbial fifth wheel in this scenario, the superfluous extra that Ken at one time was, for us on our own dates. Ken at one time was the "extra" that my own boyfriend now is, the realization an epiphany for me.

I get back to the table and the waitress is just taking orders, and I go last, after Ken's uncle reminds me that he's buying. He also reminds me that since I'm eighteen now that I can order from the bar, and that he's buying that as well. It's a super odd feeling to be ordering a drink, legally, as a teen while out with people who are old enough to be my parents, but that's just what I did. My boyfriend had ordered a rum and coke at Ken's uncle's suggestion, and he had been proofed by the nice waitress, but I can't blame her for that. We all looked like teenagers back then, because we were all teenagers, and it still just felt like we were doing something we shouldn't be doing.

Ken wasn't drinking himself as he was riding, or I guess, driving the bike, but I had no such restrictions myself; Ken's aunt suggested a Margarita. I would obviously need to show I.D. too, but I didn't have any with me, my pocketbook left behind at their home, or so I thought. I can live without that drink, but apparently Ken's aunt can't live without me having it.

Ken's aunt holds the keys up again, handing them not to me, but once again to my boyfriend, he cheerfully gets out from between them and up once again, but this time to get my pocketbook, which had been stashed under the car's seat in case needed. I should be feeling terrible, they're treating him like a pawn, like a little child doing the bidding of the adults in the room. He doesn't seem to mind though, and I'm reminded of our camping trip, and his apparent affinity for abuse at our hands. These thoughts might soothe my conscience, but only because they're morally convenient.

...And then I think back to our conversation in the truck on our ride up here, and how it seems as if he is yearning for any excuse to demote himself in our presence and therefore temporarily remove himself from the picture, the one with Ken and I together and making passionate love again. In my version of that picture though we're aggressively doing all sorts of kinky stuff together, stuff I've dreamed and fantasized about for years, but stuff my sweet and loving future husband doesn't have the natural aggression for. There's an almost sexual hunger to this "yearning" of his, but I don't quite get it, although that doesn't necessarily mean it's not real either.

...I rationalize this in my mind by arguing that if he allows, or dare I say, "encourages" me to be me in regards to Ken and I being friends with kinky benefits once again, how can I not allow him to be who HE wants to be, even if I don't quite "get it?"

My boyfriend eventually comes back to the table, but we four have been deep in conversation and the waitress has left, to return to take my drink order once I have my I.D. in hand. He looks much less than masculine carrying my pocketbook across the entire restaurant, but I've seen him looking this way several times before recently. It was eye opening that first time back then, on that second day of our camping trip when we had strung him up naked in the woods, but now it's just who he is to me. I see a few guy's heads in the busy restaurant turn and take notice, but he's oblivious to it, and I have no intention of pointing it out either.

Dinner went on from there to be almost normal, the food was good, and the conversation friendly, apparently Ken's aunt having her fill of running my future husband around for the moment, perhaps because the message she had intended was already sent: "My nephew might be a better choice for you dear, a young man with far greater prospects that the one you're currently stuck with."

The drink I had must have been strong, despite it tasting sweet, but my primary experiences are with beer and wine, specifically cheap versions of both that teenagers can afford. I'm feeling pretty good and loose, and to playfully taunt my future husband I hand my pocketbook back to him, telling him it's his color, rather than back to Ken's aunt to carry it out once again. I don't even realize that Ken has had his arm over the seatback I'm sitting against possessively ever since he finished eating, not until he moved it to get up anyway. This just felt so natural to me that I didn't even pay attention to the gesture, but I had come there with Ken and not my watching boyfriend.

Ken and I leave first, as Ken wants to ride the bike around the other half of the lake now. I'm game as I don't want this awesome night to end just yet, and we tell the other three what we've decided to do, but really only my boyfriend, because this is one of the options that we four had discussed while my boyfriend was distracted getting my pocketbook. They have to wait for the check anyway, and with him still sitting and trapped between them this prevents my boyfriend and I from having a private word together, although I don't know if this was his desire. The way things had been manipulated it wasn't a serious option now either, other than his making an ugly scene somehow, and again, I didn't want to talk with him at the moment.

I'm back on the bike with Ken again before they're even out, and off we go, up through the gears, Ken's uncle advising him if he feels comfortable with it, to let it wind up a little. Ken's aunt smiled when he had said that, and I know why now, and also why she insisted that I had to ride on the back of that bike with Ken. The engine keeps hitting that particular speed again, and the frequency of the thumping vibrations, via the tiny seat, goes right through me. Only for a few moments though, but it's a terrible tease to me down there, maddening really. The zipper and creased seam of my blue jeans are rubbing directly on me down there, through my damp and thin panties, hitting one special spot like a lover's explorative fingers.

The feeling is like reaching for and almost grasping something, something cherished but just beyond your reach, over and over... and over again. This, in combination with that drink, loosening me up some, especially since I know what that bike can do to me now.

Ken's magnificent strong and warm body right in front of me on this increasingly chilly night felt wonderful too, he and his bike winding me up like nothing else I ever experienced. This wasn't sex, but more like teasing torturous foreplay, leaning more towards the tortureous side of things. I'm also ashamed to say that my boyfriend's humiliating treatment at Ken's aunt's hand had an effect on me as well, a multiplying effect, and the fact that he was left behind while holding my pocketbook felt like a sadist's desert after a decadent meal of indulgence. The only way it could have been better, or worse, depending on one's point of view, would be if my future husband had been there to SEE me ride off into the night a second time with Ken on that Harley. I also saw for myself that it wasn't just Ken and I that could torment him for fun now, but others apparently had this power over him as well, it was a further lessening of this young man for me... for a while anyway.

The back side of the lake has some hills you have to climb, the lake set up against a mountain that some long ago geological pressures, or perhaps even glaciers, formed a very long time ago. Anyway, it takes engine power to climb mountains with two on a bike, and Ken rolls it on playfully with the full knowledge of what he was doing to me, "fun" Ken one hundred percent back in the proverbial saddle once again. "Perhaps ganging up on his best friend has done something for him as well?" I wonder, but much later on. In all fairness, I could have gotten up on the pegs a little to lessen the vibrations down there, but my urge was for quite the opposite with all the teasing the Sportster had done to me up until that point.

Ken holds it right there, for an extended pull while climbing, one of the few vehicles on the road, and speed not a concern. I thrust down hard on the little seat and lean forward, my feet almost off the pegs and I'm crowding Ken forward with my boobs pressing hard on his back through my borrowed jacket. I feel the rubbing vibration on my sensitive and erect buds too, Ken giggling like a school girl with a secret too good to keep. This giggly part was a new side to his personality, but I liked it, perhaps his aunt on to something as to his needs as far as female companionship...

I'm going, it's only a matter of when, and not if. I bite on his right epaulet once again, hard, reminded of a horse and its bit. I'm the horse though, and it's one hell of a proverbial ride so far. I'm not cold any longer either, I'm cooking, but it's a sexual heat like no other. It's a good thing it was dark, because I was grinding on his little seat hard enough to make the back of the bike bounce on it's suspension. In my semi drunk and randy mind I also think turnabout is fair play, and in the spirit of this I reach forward to find and rub on Ken's manhood, wondering if these vibrations affect him like they do me.

He's as hard as a rock, his cock going almost half way to his knee along the inside of his right jean pants leg. I reach around and rub on the full length of him experimentally, and then more furiously. I don't know for exactly how long though, time seems to be standing still for me, but I feel his body lock up stiffly, my still stroking hands then feeling the squirt, squirt, squirt of his pulsating and trapped cock, like water being forced through a restricted pipe under great pressure.

Realizing what I just did to Ken causes me to go over the top myself, "FFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKK!" I wheezed, in a single long rude exhaled word, I biting down hard again on his jacket once finished, riding out this long, overdue... "orgasm," for lack of a better word. It was incredible, especially considering that a machine had provided it while climbing a long hill at forty miles per hour.

I felt a sweet release like no other, and then shortly after I felt sticky and wet down there, something extraordinary obviously just happened. I ask Ken if he could find a spot somewhere to pull over once I catch my breath and the tremors subside, I feeling like I may have lost control of my bladder, something I never expected to do as an adult one single time. I'm embarrassed like madd, this one hell of a way to end some spontaneous mutual gratification.

Ken finds a pull off overlook at the top of the hill we had been climbing and we ride in, I really feeling the wet chill of whatever happened now. Whatever it was, it had been body temperature warm, seeing how it obviously came from inside my body someplace. But, now that it was cooling in the fall night air it felt awful. By the light of the headlight Ken finally sees what I have going on, and I see what I've done to him too now. He has his own growing wet spot stain where I've intentionally made him cream his jeans. There is a complimentary one on his ass too where I had been grinding, when whatever happened to me happened, but this one is slight in comparison to the others.

Going home to my waiting boyfriend like this, not to mention Ken's aunt and uncle, will also be awful. She was pushing us together anyway, maybe even towards a sexual encounter of some kind to "seal the deal" as far as I being Ken's girlfriend now, but this is just plain embarrassing. If Ken and I had actually stopped and "did it" someplace dark and private on the way home, like maybe even that same overlook pull off, we still wouldn't have this kind of obvious external mess going on.

My boyfriend might still even be okay with all this, but we hadn't talked about it first either, other than abstractly in the truck. Ken's aunt and uncle would be left with plenty to talk about, and for all I know our camping trip adventure might even be forced to the surface then. I then tell Ken honestly that I don't even know what happened, but I'm adamant that I didn't pee myself, I not only went in the restaurant before we even left, but this smells far more like arousal than pee to me.

"What do we do?" I ask Ken rhetorically, not really expecting an answer.

"We hope they're all sleeping by the time we get back, and if so, we just throw in a load of wash together, and then grab some showers." It's at least a plan, and I'm grateful for his leadership, and his "taking charge" when I obviously needed it most. It was such a simple thing on the outside, but his "manning up" had a profound effect on me in regards to my feelings for him going forward.

"And if not?" I ask, playing the devil's advocate; this little mishap sobering me up rather quickly, I left both loving, and hating the Sportster.

"We lie."

I can't come up with a better plan myself, although I prefer not saying anything as opposed to outright lying to my boyfriend about what happened, but it's also obvious that sharing this with him at this late hour can't make anything better. I don't want to air this out in front of the adults at eleven o'clock at night either, that alone would make it ten thousand times worse. I can also imagine how impossibly long the truck ride back home might be if we do... if he takes it badly. Just because he asked for Ken to be a jerk - at some yet to be determined time in the future - doesn't necessarily mean that he wanted Ken's aunt to be one too, it's just too much like ganging up on him. But I didn't stop it either, "consent by silence" one could easily say, so I own a part of this now too.

Between us three alone we could maybe, maybe even have had a laugh over this. Ken's new bike and that damn "P" pad brought me off; in the big scheme of things, and compared to everything else Ken and I had done together, big deal! Although it had brought me off in a way that I never have one single time in my entire life, that part was a very big deal. My boyfriend wasn't there for that "first" either though, Ken was, but I argued logically in my mind that he would be missing out on a lot of firsts going forward, if Ken and I started knocking things off of both of our kink lists in private, all with my boyfriend's implied consent. So, in that context, this was nothing but a head start, although one with an audience that I would rather not have to deal with for a host of reasons, should Ken's relatives be waiting up for us.

I also can't help but to think how stupid it was for me to rub Ken off while actually riding on his bike, but I blame the alchohol for that. Had I not, this entire affair would have been easier to deal with; I had an embarrassing accident, big deal! But popping Ken off in his jeans was no accident, it took action to make that happen, my action, my participation. I could have caused a crash too, and that was doubly stupid of my teenaged self. The adults would also know what Ken's telltale cum stain on his jeans really was, and he would be embarrassed before his relatives for such.

...It was a sticky, wet, and cold ride back "home" in the dark to Ken's aunt and uncle's place, Ken shutting off the noisy engine a good block from the house and coasting all the way to the driveway in neutral with the lights off. He then pushed the now quiet heavy bike up the long driveway, and then into the open garage, our return "home" as quiet as such a thing could possibly be under the circumstances. In the absolute dead silence of night even the chain going around the sprockets seemed like it made too much noise, but this I think was more of a guilty feeling, rather than actual reality though.

The first thing we did once back into the garage was to clean the bike's seat so as to remove the evidence of what we had done, or more accurately, what I had done. It was embarrassing, but to his credit Ken didn't tease me at all about it. I think he saw that I was genuinely upset at how our somewhat innocent "fun" had turned out. It was a hell of a first alone date though, we even both got off, but while still wearing our clothes, and while riding on a motorcycle too. That was an obvious first, and a last as far as doing it on the bike was concerned for me, it was just something so dangerous and foolish so as not to be repeated...

We slowly closed the garage door and snuck into the house on the bottom floor, the garage attached to the house by an entry door. There was a washing machine and dryer down there behind a door, and a bathroom with a small shower behind it's own door too, for cleaning up after working in the barn or garage I would assume. It kind of has the look of something that's rarely used, it's not exactly dirty, but nothing like the other bathrooms on the main floor of the house are. Ken and I both know it's there though, and it's perfect for our needs at the moment, being as far away from the other bedrooms as it is.

...So far the second part of this little disaster was going about as well as it could...

Also downstairs was a rec room, with a couch and an old TV, it the kind of room where it was okay for us, as little children, to eat on the actual furniture and hang out together; the old couch likely resided upstairs in the nice living room at one time before it aged out of service and got moved down. But, unfortunately laying on that old couch was an apparently dozing boyfriend, waiting up for us, most likely out of concern of one kind or another. The TV was on, but it was playing some late night show that he couldn't possibly be interested in, it's noise thankfully masking our entry though.

I can't even look his way for fear that if I were to make hard eye contact with his dozing form he would then wake up. Or, at least this is what I tell myself, guilt perhaps also playing a small part here, especially with the way he was treated by us back at the Dockside. Ken lets me have the shower first with his lightly whispered words directly in my ear, the offer sweet, and his closeness while whispering to me feeling intimate. I'm the bigger and more embarrassing mess, so this makes logical sense too, but I can't discount the fact that Ken has put me first, ahead of his own needs. I had even carried my borrowed jacket in front of me so as to mask my mess in case we had company; of the awake and observant kind though. Ken does the same with his jacket, but upon reflection we both looked like we're hiding something that night...

...Later on we might even laugh about this, I realize, but at that particular moment in time there is no humor to be found...

I strip while Ken waits just outside the bathroom door, rolling my wet things down and using the toilet, he in effect keeping guard over the door like a gallant knight. I'm soon naked not five feet from him on the other side of the door, the thought suddenly profound to me, but my sleeping future husband is only several more feet away himself. "What a mess I've created" I think to myself, both figuratively, and literally. I have stripped out of my clothes completely, I think to psychologically get them away from my skin, but without thinking things through. To complete this "I don't even want to be touching these things" feeling, I hand out my things to Ken and ask him to put them in the washing machine, even knowing that we can't run a load without his messy things in there too. That noise might also wake my sleeping boyfriend, and this is a further consideration, as is the washing machine's stealing away hot water for the shower, but first things first.

I smell the mess I've made, and so does Ken, as I've handed my clothes out to him up high and from behind the door, mostly hiding my naked body behind it. It smells like arousal, but I've simply never creamed my jeans like this, and Ken smells this too, but he doesn't say a word, we do lock eyes though. I go to get into the shower, and it's then that I realize that there's no towels, nor shampoo and soap. I'm still flustered with what has happened, but I need these things, and it would have been easier to just have him sneak upstairs and get my bag, but I didn't ask him to either.

I open the door again and ask in a whisper for what I need, possibly even flashing some flesh again while doing so, but not intentionally. I then stand there waiting, barefooted and naked; my wet and dirty clothes might as well be on the moon should I need to put them back on again, my dependence on Ken hitting me hard. He's a good guy though, and he doesn't take advantage, but he can perceptively tell I'm still off my game yet. After what felt like an eternity a nearly silent tap on the door announces he's returned, and he hands in two large towels, and fresh soap and shampoo from upstairs, and I take this from him while mostly hiding behind the door again, thanking him and diving into the shower.

...He's seen me naked before, we've even made love together, more than once, it was even kinky that second time in the tent, ROPE was involved! "Why on earth am I hiding from him?" I ask myself from inside the bathroom. I had just rubbed him off through his jeans while he was riding his new bike, if that isn't sexual familiarity, what is? I can't answer these questions though, my mind is in turmoil...

The hot shower has me feeling better, I feel the tension releasing from me, as if the evidence of this little quasi-cheating episode is getting washed down the drain with the soap and dirty water. My mind wanders to Ken as I luxuriate under the hot stream, and how he has assumed the mantle of leadership here, and how he is taking care of me. He has needs, his own mess too, that I have even caused, and such will also be embarrassing if discovered, especially by the adults. Despite this he has moved me to the head of the proverbial line, not that I necessarily expected any different, but I have again noticed this.

I exit and dry off, borrowing a blow dryer at this late hour not in the cards though, unless I want to wake the whole house. This little detail will likely be noticed by Ken's aunt in the morning, but I can't help that now. Taking a late night shower doesn't exactly equate to Ken and I being intimate together while out on our "date" together, but it is another clue that something might have happened. Would she be surprised to learn that not only had we already "done it" together, but that he is a well endowed beast of a lover, and kinky too?

Anyway, I have perfectly boring pajamas upstairs in my overnight bag, but I have neglected to ask Ken to bring that down, and now I feel like I'm jacking him around, just like Ken's aunt had done to my future husband back at the Dockside. I wrap myself instead in the large towel, it just over about half of my ample chest and my assets holding it up, the top tail of it tucked into my cleavage. The other hem edge falls to my mid thigh like a miniskirt, the look perhaps even sexy, but not necessarily obscene, unless one considers that I have nothing on under it.

I decide that I'm going to take my chances and sneak up to my borrowed room like that, Ken's relatives surely sleeping in bed by that time. To walk past them looking like this would not only open me up to a hundred questions, but also advertise that I now have a woman's body, one that I still try to keep hidden from others. I do this not only because I still live at home, but because I still get self conscious over my assets, I feel like it's the only thing that men notice about me, even older men.

Sneaking up to bed will leave Ken to run the laundry though, and I really should ask him if he's okay with this first. I become aware of what I think is dialogue on whatever show is still playing in the background on the TV, right before I silently open the door, only to see Ken with his back to it and softly talking to my boyfriend, my heart freezing in my chest. I feel so caught by my actions and state of dress that I'm stunned to silence, but this turns out to be the best thing possible...

"...Oh yeah, the bike is perfect," I hear Ken telling his best friend soothingly, as if talking to a small child one doesn't want to excite. Ken turns toward me and puts his finger to his smiling lips in the universally understood sign for me to be silent, all while suppressing his own silent laugh, I see the amused expression on his entire face, not just his lips. I nod my head, letting him know that I got the message. His eyes linger an extra second or so on my brief towel outfit, they tell me that he likes the way I look in it.

"Um hum," my boyfriend replies, but with his eyes still closed, and I suspect that he's talking in his sleep. I approach silently, even though it would have been far wiser to just slip up to bed. But this would then be abandoning Ken to deal with this on his own, and I HAVE to have his back, just like he's had mine. I then see the nearly empty tumbler glass, the scant residue of some brown liquid of some kind on the bottom, and I suspect that they have given him something else to drink, in addition to the drink Ken's uncle bought him at dinner. He's technically an adult just like us, and this is a very safe environment to drink in too, no place one has to drive to afterwards, like back home after a party.

He might be passed out drunk, or just sleep aided through mild intoxication, but what to do with him? Cover him up and leave him here for the night, or somehow walk him up to the bunk bed room?

"Come-on, time for beddy-boops," Ken tells him in that soothing child-like dreamy voice of his, big strong Ken talking like this to anybody enough to make me hysterical, but more so because my boyfriend responds...

"Ooookay," my boyfriend aquesses dreamily, getting up, with Ken's help, and wandering in the guided direction of the stairs, all as I follow in a near state of shock. I get the feeling that this isn't the first time these two have been in this position, but the boys have had a great many sleepovers while growing up, and the only time I have "slept" with my boyfriend to date had been in Ken's tent on the last night of our infamous camping trip, Ken obviously having one up on me in that department.

We put him to bed in his clothes, he'd slept half the night on the couch in them anyway, and why risk waking him up by stripping him? I couldn't see Ken doing this anyway, with his aversion to just touching the naked skin of another guy, even his best friend. Once he's safely under the covers and the door is closed we can talk quietly, although while I was still wearing just a towel.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask softly, the house dead quiet. I found myself looking for instructions from this man, I realized, but only after the words had left my lips though. It was impossible to think of Ken as anything but a MAN now, he had taken charge when needed, and quite naturally too. He wasn't a jerk about it either, but tender and sweet with his best friend at a time when he likely could have said almost anything and gotten away with it.

...I caught myself evaluating both guys at that moment, comparing the one to the other in the most natural of ways. One had taken charge in the most manly of ways, when needed, and the other was at least half drunk and sleeping in his clothes, the latter coming up short, still again, and not sexually this time either. It had been like this on our camping trip too, I saw something new that day in my boyfriend as he was stripped naked and cuffed to that long rope, something softer and weaker, at least as compared to Ken's overwhelming manliness...

"Come in and do my back?" Ken asks, but I can tell he's not serious.

"That's not going to happen" I tell him honestly. "We've pushed our luck far enough for one day I think" I then tell him. But even with these words I include both of us in this conspiracy, although this potential disaster is almost exclusively of my making. With the same words I've unintentionally also told him that another day for doing his back would be fine with me, as in he and I the shower together.

"The laundry?" I ask, to redirect things once again, this sex talk with Ken distracting, most especially with my boyfriend sleeping and half drunk just a few feet away.

"I'll do it after my shower" he tells me.

I'm standing intimately close to him, and not really thinking I give him a kiss. He kisses me back, not exactly a passionate make out session, but more than just a friendly kiss too.

"Thank you, you're the best," I tell him. There is perhaps a subconscious hidden meaning in those particular words, or perhaps just a commonly used phrase, I'm truly not sure myself, nor am I entirely sure how Ken has taken this potentially new revelation. Did I just tell Ken that he was a good guy, or did I just tell him he was the "best" guy, as in the winner of the competition for the best guy of the two presently in my life?


To be continued...

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