Tonight, I left work, very exhausted and ravenous--which is not a pretty combination, I can assure you, because you're starving and you're wondering whether you have enough energy to eat etc--also a little happy, because yay, it's the weekend and all, and that's one whole day not to think about work. (So who am I kidding? I'm going to think about work). Anyway, so I unlocked my car and did the usual 'fix-mirrors-wear-seatbelt-pull-out-music-system-plug-phone-into-handsfree' thing that I do, when I heard this enormous roar--not animal-like, but rather as if an extremely large generator had suddenly been put on. And checking the rearview mirror, I saw headlights and people gathering around. And then, the roar grew louder and almost deafening and like magic, about nine or ten Enfields all zoomed out of the narrow lane, one after another.
Those Enfields got me thinking. I'm not very excitable about many mechanical things--sparkplugs and cc engines bore me to tears. But I do get excited about zippy methods of transport. Cars, for instance, and motorcycles. I love Enfields. I love their heartbeat sound when you get on them and they go 'put-put-put' in a friendly manner. You can keep your silent machines, I like something that talks to me, when I get on, that vibrates gently when I straddle it. Did that sound sexual? It was meant to. Motorcycles excite most women I think, because of the phallic imagery they represent. And you're riding it. On the streets! A man who rides a motorcycle is therefore someone with equipment--packed full of horsepower and who isn't afraid to use it. Men ride motorcycles like extensions of themselves, women ride them with a sort of thrill--this is me, I'm doing this, I'm moving my body, I'm a goddess! Even if you're not driving it yourself, even if you're just sitting behind someone who's driving it, there's always sexual tension, brought on by the proximity of the person in front of you and the steady vibrating between your legs.
I knew someone once who had sex on a motorcycle. No, no, not while he was driving. But when it was parked and acted as a piece of furniture. Now, making out in a car is normal. It's something probably everyone's done. It's a little uncomfortable, if you're in the front seat, because the gear shift keeps getting in the way and in the backseat, hell, it's like being in your bed or something. But sex on a bike, now that must be different. The bike surely becomes an able and willing accessory , something to heighten your pleasure.
And as I drove home, I thought of the woman I had once seen when I was stuck in a jam, during monsoon season, with light drizzle threatening to turn into downpour. I was drumming my fingers impatiently and at the side of the road, where all the cyclists and scooter-guys are, I saw a woman on an Enfield. She was a small person, the bike dwarfed her, and her jeans were ripped and I saw a red bandanna under her helmet and a leather bracelet on her wrist, which had the tendons sticking out from her effort and I wanted to be her friend. Actually, no, I want to be the Woman On The Motorcycle. Even when I'm driving my car.