It was a disappointment to my father. He had been a boot wearing, leather jacket clad, rolled up jeans, motorcycle rider. In the early 1950s he would ride around his Silverlake neighborhood & up into the Hollywood Hills & back down Sunset Blvd. When I was 15, he tried to introduce me to the thrill of riding a motorcycle, I wanted nothing to do with. I am afraid of riding them to this day.
My friends Eiric & Ken ride their bikes all over the West. Eiric once picked me up at the train station in Seattle & drove me back to his house on the back of his Yamaha. Even wrapping my arms around this sexy man (he is a celebrated yoga instructor) was no consolation. If I can’t straddle a hot, hunky, & leather clad man, & enjoy the ride…I’m never going to get used to a bike.
Strange then, that I should dream last night, of riding up the Pacific Coast Highway between Malibu & Santa Barbara on the back of a motorcycle. I straddled the man driving & wrapped my arms around his sturdy body from behind. I thrilled to feel of the power of the machine, the wind whipping my face, & the smell of his leather jacket. In the dream, I was not afraid, even with the Pacific Ocean far below us, but I was very aroused. Knowing I was feeling something special, the driver turned around & smiled & said- “How ya doin', Steve-O”? It was Steve McQueen, circa 1962. Then I woke up to a Jack Russell terrier licking my fingers.
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