Journey's End - Sex Stories

Journey's End

The Mediterranean coast rolled along in the heart-tugging light of a late summer evening. Pinks, oranges and a red that flushed like blood bounced off the waves and heaved into the sky above. Her curls stretched in the warm wind, eyes weeping harmless tears in the rush. The motorcycle snaked along an ancient road curling into harbors and ripping along beaches. As the engine responded to the challenge of shifting gears, it seemed as if each revolution sent a beckoning call to the part of her pressed and burning against the leather saddle.

Two months ago, she’d kissed her parents at the airport and stepped into the adventure that was now reaching its bittersweet end. A college graduate with a fresh diploma just placed on her childhood bedroom wall, her family’s largesse had afforded her a massive getaway through Europe. She and her best friend Pia had landed in Berlin and raced their way through the Old World with Euro passes and a drive for knocking off items on a long-contemplated bucket list. Conceived in late-night dorm room discussions and Sunday brunches in the dining hall, their itinerary consisted of all the places they’d like to go, the things they thought they should do. Every item had been diligently crossed off, all according to plan.

They rocked in a sweaty frenzy until late morning in a techno dance hall in Berlin. Had leapt off a mountain in Switzerland and paraglided down into a chewy green valley with black and white cows and straw-thatched farmhouses. In London, they packed into a soccer stadium, fueled on beer and dressed in home team colors to sing and cheer along with tens of thousands of anonymous friends. In Brussels, they ate Chateauriand followed by Dame Blanches in the Grand Place. Spain brought them to the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, where their necks hurt from staring into the tangled celebration of the vaulted ceilings well over a century in the making. Wine tasting, shopping and long days in the Louvre matched with long nights at Le Madam overloaded their senses in France. To Santorini they went for sun and sand. Then it was a boat ride to the Italian portion of the trip with its jaw-dropping coastline, sumptuous meals and decided lack of seriousness.

Every stop along the way was chronicled in handwritten letters home. Packed with detail and nuance, the perceptive recipient might have sensed a hint of desperation in the prose, a sense that everything conveyed was tinged with a disappointment for the time and opportunities quickly fading behind the prominence of what came next. The price of their degrees was the course their lives charted upon returning home. Jobs, programs, offices, business suits and relationships that looked attractive but threw a shadow of predictability that was not awful or exciting.

Whipping against her thighs, the white mini skirt was not ideal for the ride or protecting any of her usual modesty. The very fact that she’d accepted to get on the bike was a surprise even to her. ...