Fuck, that’s loud! I almost didn’t hear the two motorbikes roar into the rest area until they rolled under the steel shelter. Two lightly clad girls climbed off one bike, and one girl hopped off the other. All three girls wore shorts and light sweatshirts with school logos. All three were soaked and shivering. None wore helmets. (Remember, this is 1968, back before there were laws for wimpy safety items like mandatory helmets. At least the drivers wore minimal gloves, and goggles to keep their eyes from filling with bugs.) The passenger of the two-girl bike took control. She was tall and lithe, with shoulder-length brown hair. ‘We’ve gotta get out of these wet clothes or we’ll get hypothermia,’ she said. ‘C’mon, put on dry stuff.’ She unstrapped two duffels from that bike’s sissy bar and pointed at the duffel on the other bike. ‘C’mon Cindy, get your sweats.’ The shorter ponytailed blonde unstrapped her duffel and opened it on a picnic table. She dug inside and pulled out a heavier. “How about, I cook us up some dinner before we get into some serious sack time?” I asked as I stood up. “Oh, so you think you can buy me off with dinner and fuck me? What kind of girl do you think I am?” she said faking indignation, followed by a sly smile. “Playing hard to get are we?” I replied, adding, “can I up the ante with a bottle of wine?” As she gathered her clothes and got re-dressed, she said, “It depends on how good the wine is, and on whatever else I can drink.” She was staring directly at my hardening manhood, with that ‘come and fuck me’ look in her eyes. With the steak, grilled veggies, and a bottle of Cab Franc consumed we decided to retire to our sleeping bags. She suggested that we sleep out under the stars, so I dragged them from the tent and set them up close to the fire. We lay there, side by side, naked, her head on my chest, my hand cupping her breast and hers cupping my balls. She said, “I think I need something more to drink.” “I have another bottle of wine.
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