I ride a Suzuki GSX-R600. Sportbikes and sportbike riders turn me on. I love nothing more than a hot guy clad in sportbike leathers, especially on a hot day when you know sweat is running down his body, pits and crotch—ripe and ready for licking.
A few years ago I had planned on a summer weekend overnight at buddy’s house in a city about 110 miles from the small town where I lived. This buddy used to be sort of a master for me, but by now our relationship had evolved to more of friends with bondage benefits.
My motorcycle allows no space for gear, just a tiny spot under the seat large enough for a wallet and maybe a toothbrush. So, the plan was for me to wear my leathers with nothing but a jockstrap on underneath, my racing gloves, boots, and full face helmet. I would carry nothing but a wallet in the space under the seat. If needed I could wear some of my buddy’s clothes when I got to his house, but usually I spend all the indoor time either naked or in my jockstrap, and we was planning on going out to the Eagle in our racing leathers. The two hour ride to the city wound through some pretty scenic countryside, so I was looking forward to the day. I planned the route out all on backroads, ’cause interstates pretty much suck, especially on a bike.