Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Sorry, Anais Nin.

   By Katzmarek.

   Author's Note: This is loosely based on my real life experiences.  For
those who need to search for the character of the author in the story,
perhaps I can offer a clue.  I am male.  For those who are still in the
dark, I've ridden motorbikes for about 30 years.  Should any further clues
be necessary I would suggest applying for a job as Bush's senior Middle
East advisor.  Naturally things have been chopped and changed and made-up,
to protect the guilty and to make a good story.  I don't think the bike was
around when the events took place, around 1973.  It probably was a Yamaha
TX650, for those who care about such things.......  The Katz.





   My family came to the same Motor Camp every summer holidays.  Every year
since I can remember.  We had a caravan that we kept there for a small
yearly rental.

   The camp adjoined the beach.  It was set under palm trees that gave the
campers some shelter from the hot summer sun.

   The beach was set in a small bay that was a popular recreational fishing
spot.  There was also wind surfing, boating, water skiing, all available
from the beach concessionaires.  A real family holiday spot.

   I had just turned 17 that summer, my sister an annoying 13.  My dad ran
the family business, a wholesalers, taking over from my grandfather.

   I guess you could say I had a silver spoon in my mouth, but I never
thought of myself as rich.  We lived in a good suburb and my sister and I
both went to private girl's schools.  All my friends went to the same
school so I guess I never really met anyone that wasn't well off.

   I was going to do my final year, next year, then it was on to
University. I wanted to do Math's but dad wanted me to do Accounting or
Law.

   Anyway, we were in the camp store one-day, buying some stuff for dinner,
when this rumbling sound comes down the drive.  I look out the door and I
see this big motorcycle arrive.  It was piled up so high with camping
equipment that the rider had difficulty dragging it onto the center stand.

   The rider was tall and kind of skinny and, as he took off his helmet,
had long straggly blond hair.  His face was decorated with a moustache and
goatee and he was dressed, head to toe, in black leather that was dusty and
flecked with squashed flying insects.

   The girl behind the counter looked apprehensive as he strode through the
door.  A cigarette dangled unlit from the biker's lips.  "I'm sorry, you
can't smoke in here," the girl said nervously.  "It's not lit," the guy
replies, matter of factly.  "Well, um, what can I do for you"?  The girl
asked, going through the practiced routine.

   "Find me my tent site," he suggested, smiling.  It was quite a cute
smile I thought at the time but maybe I'm looking back with rose-tinted
specs.  It wasn't nasty, I mean.

   "We can't... I mean... there's no vacancies," the girl said.  Now I knew
that was crap, They hadn't even started using the backfield yet.  "But I've
booked, prepaid," he said, "look here's the form you sent me," he took out
a piece of paper.  "Dad!" the girl called towards the back.

   Mr.  Winter, the camp owner came out from the back of the store.  "Sorry
mister, no vacancies," he said straight away.  "Dad!" his daughter said,
"he has a reservation, he's pre-booked... and paid"

   Mr.  Winter scrutinized the paper and scratched his head.  "We don't
usually have motorbikes at the camp," he said, "you'll have to leave it
outside." "Where does it say that on the contract?" "It doesn't... but."

   So they argued back and forth and eventually Mr.  Winter agreed he could
stay but that he would have to push the bike to the tent site.  "If you'd
give me a hand," the biker said, "It's soft sand all the way and the bike
probably weighs about 400 Kg's or more."

   Mr.  Winter gave in and the biker was allowed to ride it to the
campsite. He stood outside, just daring him to rev it up or something.

   Later my dad said there would be trouble because this was a family camp
and they shouldn't let in those people.

   I was getting fed-up with my dad's attitude and sarcastically asked him,
"What people do you mean, dad, Jews, Arabs or poor people"?  Dad stormed
off in a huff.

   The next day I accidentally (really) found myself walking past where the
tenters camped.  The biker was sitting under a tree in T-shirt and trunks,
reading.  "What are you reading"?  I found my-self asking.  "Anais Nin," he
replied.  "Who"?

   I must have sat there by the tree with him for hours just listening to
him describing various books and authors.  But I don't remember much of
what he said.  I remember the way his eyes sparkled when he described
something, and the way his whole face lit up when he smiled at something
funny.

   I do remember that he was studying for his Ph.D.  at V.U.W.  That he'd
written a book of poetry a couple of years ago and that he earned a bit of
money doing a column in an Aussie Motorcycling magazine.  And I remember
his beautiful baritone singing of Irish folk songs, `I wish that we were
geese' `So we all could live in peace' `Oh the taties they are small, over
here' And.  `O' bean a ti cen muirt sin ort' And.  `Nil sen la'.  Hmm,
maybe I remember more than I thought.

   Later, we ended up sitting on the beach watching the sun go down.  The
surfcasters were out and a few groups were barbecuing sausages and steaks.
The briny scent of the ocean was mixed with the smells of burning charcoal
and burning meat.  I knew I had to go back to the caravan, I was late for
dinner and my parents would be out looking but I didn't want to go.

   It was such a magical moment in time, the cooling sea breeze fanned my
thin top, but I never felt cold.  I can't remember him draping the jacket
around my shoulders, only the smell of the leather and the faint whiff of
old tobacco smoke.  The cold zipper lay across my chest, right on my nipple
in fact, making it tingle.

   I felt his arm around me, nestling me against his shoulder.  My hair
mingled with his, now freshly combed.  He laid his cheek on my head, his
hand stroked the side of my face.

   I didn't feel nervous at all, funny that, only contentment.  He was so
good to be with, so relaxed, charming and funny.

   Just then I heard my father calling.  I quickly shed the jacket and ran
off towards the voice.  "Where the hell have you been, Sharon, we've been
looking for you everywhere," he said angrily as I made some excuse and
dumbly followed him back to the caravan.

   After a cold dinner we watched the TV for a while.  I was bored and
restless.  I could hear my destiny calling like some Ban Sibh from the
hills.  Drawing me by its unseen thread.

   "I'm going for a walk along the beach," I announced.  "What!  At this
time," said dad.  "I just want to be alone for a while," I told him.  "Are
you alright..." he started to say but mum shushed him.  "She's growing up
dear," she said knowingly.  Bless you mum.

   I made my way straight for the tents.  His Tilly shone through the
tent's fabric so I knew he was still awake.  I called softly and was
answered by a shuffling movement inside.

   Eventually the tent fly was unzipped and he poked his head outside.  He
pulled the flap aside to make room and I crawled inside.

   By the light of the Tilly I saw that he was dressed only in his
underpants.  His sleeping bag was thrown aside and he crawled back into it.
Wordlessly he extended his arm and motioned me to slip in next to him. 
There was not much room on the stretcher for two, but I'm only small and
with a bit of shuffling about we got reasonably comfortable.

   I was dressed in shorts and T-shirt.  I laid my head on his chest and,
to keep from falling off the stretcher, I draped my leg over his.  His hair
tickled the inside of my leg from calf to thigh and felt funny, at first.

   We lay there for a while not doing anything.  I was just listening to
his breathing and feeling his chest rise and fall.  His hand was running
through my hair, his fingertips stroking the side of my face.

   My little breasts were all squashed against his torso, his hip- bone
pushed in against my crotch.  Every little movement his body made caused a
little jolt of excitement.  Slowly, achingly slowly he bent his head and
brushed my lips with his mouth.  I smiled up at him and moved my face for
some more.  Very soon we were kissing for real.

   He reached up and turned down the valve on the Tilly.  I was alarmed as
the light dimmed to a faint glow, but he said, "We don't want to give the
camp a show, do we."

   Then I realized that anyone could see us in shadow through the tent
fabric.  It would have been like watching a screen puppet show.  I was
suddenly very embarrassed but he said it was all right, no one can see in
anymore.  We giggled at the thought of all these people sitting around
watching couples in their tents, making out.

   When we settled down again I was lying more on my back and he was on his
side.  His left arm was under my shoulders and his right was brushing away
my hair in preparation for another kiss.  This time his leg was across
mine, his crotch pushing against my hip.

   As he kissed me his leg moved up and down the front of my thighs.  His
free hand roamed around my Tshirt and came to rest alongside my left
breast. A finger began to caress the side of my breast as our kissing got
more passionate.

   His tongue explored my mouth.  It tasted my lips and teeth and the tip
of my tongue.  He tasted and teased and tempted me, all at once.  His
tongue asked me how far I wanted to go with this man.  Did I want to give
up my virginity?  Did I want to seal a spiritual bond with the physical act
of union?

   I didn't know where he was coming from, what he was feeling.  Was I to
be conquered and notched up as `un victoire'?  To be a footnote in the next
article in `Oz Bike' about how he had this great ride on the Yamaha XV1100,
oh and then there was this `chick'.  I wasn't going to be bragged about at
the next club meeting.

   As he bends to kiss me again I gently push his chin away.  His eyes ask
me `what's the matter'.  "Where is this going"?  I managed to respond to
his unspoken query.  "Does the explorer know what his destination is"?  I
thought that was corny.

   "I can't do this," I told him, "I have to go." I thought he would plead
for me to stay but he didn't.  Instead he just shrugged his shoulders and
looked sadly at me.  "I'm sorry," he said, "will you be alright?  You're so
beautiful..."

   I nearly melted then, but I felt that I was right.  It was too rushed,
too soon.  "I'm sorry too," I said and scampered.

   Back at the caravan I made an excuse and went to bed.  I slept under the
awning with my sister while my parents took the double bed inside.  They
liked their `privacy'.  As I lay in my sleeping bag, listening to my
sister's shallow sleep breathing, I remembered all the feelings and
sensations inside that tent.

   I remembered his body draped around me, his soft murmuring, and his
sweet kissing.  I remembered the sensations he left behind, every time his
body moved.  I also remembered the warm pipe of his penis, pressed against
my hip and the moistening between my legs.

   My nipples wanted to be touched and sucked by him, but I wouldn't let
him.  I wondered if he had been quicker, more urgent, would I have given
myself over to the moment and let him take me?

   I ran the scenario over in my head again, but this time he was more
demanding.  `He pulls up my T-shirt and fastens his mouth to my bra-less
nipples.  His mouth works them so they are stiff and aching.  He pulls out
his cock and pushes my hand onto it, forcing me to move it up and down.'

   `His hand massages the front of my shorts before undoing them and moving
inside, under my panties.  I help him pull them off and then his fingers
are working in and out of my vagina.  My hips are bucking against his
fingers, willing them to go deeper, willing him to rub my clitoris.'

   `'But he wants to fuck me properly and then he's between my legs and his
penis is laying on top of my slit, sliding towards my opening'

   But it didn't get there because I came too soon, bucking and moaning and
hoping my sister didn't wake up.  The dream snapped off before I went `all
the way'.  My fingers had worked too efficiently for me to conclude the
scenario.

   It took many agonizing and internal debates before I made the decision
to go back.  I slipped on my shorts and carefully snuck out of the awning.
The light was off when I reached his tent and I called softly.  After a
while I heard a sleepy voice from inside ask, "Who's there"?  "Me," I
answered.

   He pulled back the flap and I squeezed in.  With the Tilly off, the
moonlight made a strange blue glow inside the tent.  Everything was in
monochrome, like those old televisions.

   He had this quizzical smile on his face.  He knew what I was there for.
He lay back in his sleeping bag with his back resting on his bike pack. 
His chest was bare.  He had his hands behind his head.  Smug bastard!

   As if to seal the deal I pulled up my T-shirt, wrestling it over my head
in the confined space of the tent.  He reached out and touched my arms then
traced my body up over my shoulders and down my chest.

   I shivered at the touch, and continued to shiver as his fingertips found
my hardening nipples.  They ached.  I sucked in my breath at the sensation
and at the same time released a flood of desire from deep within my womb.

   My shorts were hardly off before I fell into his waiting arms.  This
time the kissing was full of ardor and urgency that left both of us gasping
for breath.  When he pulled aside the sleeping bag I saw that he was
completely naked, his penis already hard and erect.  "Wait." `What for,' I
thought, `what's wrong'.

   But all he does is reach into his wallet for a condom, "Got to be
careful," He said.  "Oh... yeah," I said, stupidly.  Protection had never
occurred to me, now that was scary!

   His fingers slipped into my panties, over my bottom.  They explored over
my cheeks and along the cleft of my ass.  We squirmed together as if for
our very survival and all the time there was that hard prong.  It jabbed me
in the belly, thighs and between my legs, now moist with lubrication.

   `It's going to happen,' I thought as he gently eased me over onto my
back and nestled himself between my legs.  `It's finally going to happen'.



   The End