The Osaka Riders of Glorious Youth, Part 1

The Osaka Riders of Glorious Youth

by Vincent

Part 1

Every spring I take the ferry from Osaka to Tokushima to let loose my Ducati Hyperstrada on the winding mountain roads of Shikoku. I look forward to this trip all year. It’s pure “me time.” The roads of Shikoku are kept in excellent condition as a way to support rural communities, even though very few cars use them. The scenery they travel through is stunningly beautiful, steep pine covered mountains and snow fed lakes. Spring adds the extra element of wild cherry trees in full blossom thickly clustered on mountainsides. Every turn brings another beautiful view. It’s difficult not stopping every kilometer to takes pictures.

There are more trucks hauling logs than cars, and a few other bikers, but it’s not uncommon to ride for half an hour without seeing another vehicle. I was on just such a stretch, enjoying my private surroundings at a leisurely pace, probably spacing out a little too much for safety, when I was startled back to my senses by a string of street racers whizzing past me, one by one, as if I were standing still. Challenge accepted. After the last bike passed I rolled back on the throttle, got low on my bike, and tried keeping up with them. I did the best my sensibilities would allow, but after five or six minutes self preservation got the better part of pride and I let them go. They were up the valley and out of sight within a minute as I listened to the sound of their high revving engines fade away.

About 30 minutes later I recognized three of the bikes parked at a road house where I’d stopped on previous journeys. It’s a great place to kick back for a while. The dining area is all tatami mats, low tables and lots of cushions. It’s never crowded and the Mama-san doesn’t mind if you take a little nap. I couldn’t forgo the opportunity to meet the riders who put me to shame, so I parked my touring machine next to these three beautiful street racers. They looked fast just standing still; there was a Suzuki Hayabusa, a Yamaha YZF, and a bike that took my breath away, a stunning red Cagiva GP with a white 7 painted on the tail. I was already impressed.

Inside looked like a yard sale. There were boots, gloves, leather jackets and three attractive Japanese women spread out all over the floor. Two of them were sound asleep; the other was propped up on a pile of cushions studying her phone. She had short, shaggy cut black hair and narrow cheeks that angled in to a small chin. She was the only one who had taken off her leather pants as well, leaving her dressed in a spaghetti strap t-shirt and tiny shorts made of thin fabric with bananas printed on them. She was fit, too. She could have been one of those models in a fitness magazine with six pack abs and zero body fat. I could tell this girl was formidable. The empty dishes from their lunch were still on the table. When the girl saw me she picked a cushion and quickly laid it across her legs, but not before I noticed the rainbow colored sparrow tattoo flying out the bottom of her shorts. We exchanged greetings quietly. I sat down in the closest empty space I could find.

“Which one of you owns that gorgeous Cagiva?” I asked.

“Uh, that would be sleeping beauty here.” she said, pointing to the girl with red leather pants.

“And you?”

“Mine is the Suzuki,” she said, “Are you the guy that was trying to keep up with us back there?”

“Guilty. How did I do?”

“I’ve seen better, but the problem isn’t your skill. It’s your bike. If you try keeping up on that cruiser you are going to scrape your pannies on the ground.”

“Excuse me? My panties?”

We both chuckled, but for different reasons.

“Pannies. Your saddlebags.”

The laughter woke the other girls and they sat up.

“Who’s this?” one of them asked.

“This is the guy who was on our tail a while back.”

“I’m Vincent.” I said.

“Hello,” the Cagiva rider said, “I’m Aiko. This is Chieko, and you’ve meet our fearless Sakura.”

“Yes, I have,” I said, “and I am very jealous of your bike, Aiko.” She was the smallest and the cutest of the three, and I instantly decided, the one I most wanted to get naked with.

“Well, if you are nice to me maybe I will let you ride it,” she said sweetly.

“Where can I send the flowers?”

The mama-san came and took my order. I added my gear to the pile on the floor and made myself comfortable.

“Where are you from?” asked Chieko. She was dressed in form fitting black leather pants and a tight white t-shirt that forced the nipples her well formed breasts to poke through the fabric. She was more full figured than her friends.

“Osaka. And you guys?”

“Didn’t you see our jackets?” Chieko said. She grabbed the closest one and held it up. The back was emblazoned with their club’s logo, a nude girl riding a cock fashioned into a motorcycle. Did I just hit the jackpot? In a ring around the image was the club’s name, Osaka Riders of Glorious Youth. I don’t know why the acronym didn’t register at the time.

“Cool. You’re from Osaka, too,” I said. I felt stupid for stating the obvious. The mama-san brought my food and I started to eat.

“What does it take to join your club?”

The girls looked at each other as if to telepathically discuss whether I was O.R.G.Y. material. I suppose they decided I was worth a try.

“Well, if you prove yourself worthy you then have to pass the initiation,” Sakura said, “Why don’t you ride with us for a while. We’ll take it easy on you.”

“I hope you don’t have anyplace you need to be,” Chieko added.

“I can’t think of any. I’m tingling with anticipation,” I said. “There were about ten bikes that passed me. Where is everybody else?”

“They went ahead, but we’re going to meet them later.