Date: Sun, 1 Aug 2004 16:19:43 +0100
From: Storm <storm@talesfromastorm.co.uk>
Subject: A Ride Too Far

A Ride Too Far

By Stormwriter

www.talesfromastorm.co.uk

It seemed to happen so fast. I momentarily lost concentration and hit a
rock in the road. I tried to stop but I had just come into a corner.
Instead of banking to follow the curve I was upright in an effort to stop
my bike from pitching me off. I left the road and struggled on the rough
cobbles on the roadside. It was a futile effort and I was thrown, my body
scraped the rough surface as I followed my bike, headfirst. It slid on its
side to a lumbering stop.
     I tried to get up. My arms and flank were badly grazed, blood seeped
through my flimsy t-shirt and I saw blood on my shorts. My legs were also
badly grazed but I felt no pain, yet; the adrenaline pumping through my
blood killed any pain I should be feeling. As soon as I stood up and put
any weight on my right leg it collapsed, my knee unable to take the
pressure. Standing again, I was careful not to put ant weight on my bad leg
and hopped to my bike, its engine running and rear wheel still spinning. I
turned off the engine.
     A passing motorist had seen the incident and stopped, she spoke to me
but I could not understand.
     "No hablo Espanol." I said but she could barely speak a word of
English.
     She helped pick up my bike and I set it on its side stand. I retrieved
my mobile phone and travel documents from the top box on my bike and I gave
my bike a quick look over; it did not seem too bad.  The front indicator
was gone, the screen was cracked and there were deep scratches down the
faring.  My right pannier seemed to take most of the impact and protected
the exhaust but oil dripped from the engine to stain the beige rocks.
     The lady fussed round me and I heard what sounded like 'ambulance' and
she was on her phone.
     A policeman soon arrived, closely followed by the ambulance. As the
two ambulance-men sat me down and cleaned my wounds the policeman tried to
speak to me.
     I patted out the only phrase I knew in his language. "No hablo
Espanol." And he turned to speak to the woman who came to my aid.
     The two medics wanted to take me to hospital. The policeman came over
and spoke in disjointed English. He wrote something down. It was an
address. He would arrange for my bike to me taken there until I came to
pick it up.
     I felt very foolish. I should not have come off my bike. I should also
have been wearing proper clothes but it was a scorching day and I had
planned to spend it in Barcelona. If I had my leathers on then I would not
have been hurt at all, as it was, I was grazed and my knee buckled no
matter how little weight I put on it. But the roads were unfamiliar and I
was not yet used to riding on the wrong side of the road. I had spent
several days riding from Calais, but it was mostly on the autoroutes or
other major roads. Only when I reached Spain and set up camp at a pleasant
campsite in Sitges did I start to ride the minor roads.
     Sitges is only about an hour from Barcelona and I decided to take the
scenic route. There was an autoroute that took you straight there but I was
on holiday and did not want to spend it on motorways. I thought the coast
road would be more interesting. I now wished I had taken the autoroute, if
I had I would not be in the back of an ambulance.

When we reached the hospital I was put into a small booth, the curtain
closed and left alone. A doctor came in after a few minutes. He spoke very
little English but managed to make himself clear, medical expressions are
very similar the world over. Telling him that I felt no pain he declared
that I would require an x-ray. I was relieved when he mentioned something
about a translator, I would finally be understood. The doctor left.
     The curtains opened and a young lady came in to see me. She was the
translator. I tried to ask her what was happening but she insisted on
seeing my insurance documents. Grateful I had the foresight to retrieve
them from my bike, I handed over my E111, she glanced at it and left.
     Returning shortly afterwards, she said. "This is no good."
     I let out a long sigh. As a British Subject I thought that the E111
would entitle me for free emergency medical treatment in any EU country but
apparently this did not include road traffic accidents. I went through the
small bundle of papers I got from my back box and found my travel insurance
documents. I handed them over.
     "This is better." She said and left me once again.
     Finally I would get some medical attention, or so I thought. It was
just my luck for me to have an accident on start of the traditional Spanish
holiday week. Today the majority of Spain went on their holidays and so the
roads were more busy than usual and there had been several bad accidents.
My poorly knee was not a medical emergency and I was left on the trolley in
my cubicle while I heard all the bustling outside my blue curtains.
     My accident happened around nine o'clock that morning; it was nearly
three in the afternoon when they finally took me for an x-ray. In that time
my knee began to get more painful. The doctor had come briefly to take some
water from the knee and inject an analgesic but that was all.
     It is not a pleasant experience being poked, prodded, and wheeled
around a foreign hospital where everyone is taking about you to someone
else because it is pointless speaking to you at all. I felt ignorant; I
should have at least learned some of the language before coming here. I
could speak a smattering of French and German but Spanish was not a
language I had any experience off. The hospital staff tried the best they
could but other than saying hello we never understood each other. The
biggest disappointment was that the translator spoke very little English
and could tell me very little of what was happening, all she seemed to be
interested in was making sure my treatment would be paid for. It was not
until I saw a doctor back home that I learned all I had was a fractured
kneecap and some ligament damage.
     After getting a cast put on my leg, I was wheeled into a corridor
where I waited for an ambulance to take me back to my campsite. I
protested. The doctor had instructed me not to put any weight on my leg but
had left me with no crutches.
     "You buy those yourself."
     This was now getting ridiculous, I had to buy my own crutches but all
the shops were shut, it was Saturday afternoon and they would not re-open
until Monday. I was also told that I would have to pay the ambulance
drivers to take me back to the campsite. Despite all my previous criticisms
about the NHS I now truly felt grateful we had it. We may all be Europeans
but this was certainly a culture shock. I felt like demanding to speak to
the British Consulate but thought it a tad over the top.
     There was no way I could walk very far and if I lay down in my small
two-man tent, I would never be able to get up again. So, when the ambulance
dropped me off and I handed over the several thousand Pesetas, I sat in the
reception area of the campsite.
     Ringing the travel insurance company I explained my situation. The
police had impounded my bike and I could not walk at all. I could not carry
on, I had come to that realisation in the hospital and I thought it best if
I get home. I felt great relief when they said they would arrange for a
flight home but that would not be until tomorrow morning. I now had the
problem of where to sleep. There was no way I could sleep in a tent tonight
and insisted they sort something out. They tried but everywhere was full,
it was the holiday season after all. I would have to be patient and wait
for them to call me back.
     They were cutting it a bit fine and I was beginning to get very
concerned. It was getting dark and it was nearly ten o'clock. The campsite
office would be shutting soon and so I would be kicked out to wait on a
plastic chair. Thankfully, they called back. They had managed to get me a
hotel room.
     I ordered a taxi and one of the campsite staff was nice enough to pack
up my tent. Climbing into the car, I was grateful to be going to a soft bed
and then home.

The hotel was in the town and faced onto the beach. We passed all the bars
and night-clubs I should have gone to and I felt a tinge of sadness.
     I had to give the driver a big tip to get him to carry my bags to the
hotel foyer. I stumbled out of the car to lean against the nearest
building. Hopping along, using the walls for support, I reached the foyer
of the hotel.
     As we appeared in the doors, the young man behind the desk approached
us and took my bags from the driver. The driver grunted something in
Spanish and left. I hobbled to the reception desk where my bags now rested.
     "Hello," I said, "you should have a room for me. The name's Jones."
     "Yes, the Travel Company left us their credit card details." His
English was very good. Where was he when I needed him, I thought. He was
also very handsome. Jet black hair, a dark tan and a dark uniform that
accentuated his features. His face was smooth and had dark eyebrows that
almost connected above his nose; his long black eyelashes framed his clear
green eyes that seemed to gleam with each broad smile he flashed at me.
     He pushed over some paper that he needed me to sign and then handed me
the key to my room.
     "I'm sorry but I cannot leave the desk. Can you manage your bags?"
     "I'll try."
     He came round the desk and carried my bags to the lift. At least
someone had the forethought to get a hotel with a lift; there was no way I
could have got up the stairs.
     When I reached my room I flicked on the lights, closed the door behind
me and dropped onto the bed, exhausted from dragging the dead weight of the
plaster. My leg felt sore as the plaster rubbed against my thigh. Outside
my window I could hear the night just getting started: the loud voices, the
laughter, the pounding beat of the music and the lapping of the sea as it
hit the shore.
     I wanted to get changed but had no clothes with me at all; they were
still in the panniers on my bike.  My shorts and t-shirt still showed the
rusty stains of my dried blood. No clean clothes, no clean underwear and
unable to shower, I felt awful.
     I kicked off my trainers, gently took off my t-shirt and shorts and
saw what damage I had done.
     Fortunately most of it was superficial. My right flank was red raw, I
gently traced a finger along the collection of scabs forming. It seemed my
right side took most of the impact. My right leg taking the brunt. Now, as
I rested, my entire body now felt sore.
     I wanted to get up and turn the light off but was just too
exhausted. I wanted to go to sleep but could not with the light on, it was
too bright. So I lay, motionless and listened to the sounds coming through
my window.
     There was a knock at my door.
     "Hell." I muttered. I could not remember if I had locked the door. I
looked down at my body, it would take too long to get dressed so I took a
chance and just stayed on the bed in my grey briefs.  "Come in."
     The door opened and I cricked my neck to see the young man from the
front desk walk in. He looked different; his hair was dishevelled and his
tie was missing, the first few buttons of his shirt undone.
     "I just finished my shift and wondered if you need any help."
     I thought this a little strange. "Um. I could do with a taxi to get me
to the airport for eight o'clock."
     "No problem." He smiled. "I forget to mention it has already been
arranged."
     He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. With his right hand he
traced the trail of broken skin on my side. "It must have been a nasty
accident."
     "It was." I said.
     His touch was gentle and tender, and for a moment I forgot the aches
and pain. His hand went lower, tracing the curve of my hip and I felt my
dick stir. It pushed out against the fabric of my briefs.
     "Are you in much pain?"
     "A little."
     He traced his hand along my side again, my briefs being stretched
further. This time when he reached my hip he lightly brushed my bulge with
his fingers, the tickle on my balls made me shiver and my dick thickened
even more. I was now half-hard and felt horny. Looking into the young man's
eyes he sensed my desperation, my plea, and he gripped the front of my
briefs and tugged them down. My fattened dick lay curled on my balls and in
my course black pubic hair. Wrapping his hand around my sweaty dick he gave
it a few gentle pumps. It hardened in his touch and when he released it, it
stood proud, pointing to the ceiling.
     With both hands, he gripped the sides of my briefs and gently pulled
them to my feet, careful not to disturb my leg too much. I now lay naked
and helpless waiting for his next move. My hand moved to my dick and I
slowly wanked myself while I watched him slowly unbutton his shirt. I
noticed his brown nipples were hard as he revealed his smooth tanned chest,
a little hair around his navel led to the white elastic that poked above
the waistband of his black trousers.
     I looked at his face, which smile down at me. "What's your name?" If I
was going to enjoy my stay here I should at least find out.
     "Just call me, Carl." He whispered and I supposed it was short for
Carlos.
     I watched his hands unclasp his trousers and lower his fly. As he
pried them apart I caught the brilliance of his white underwear, it shone
out to me, hiding its enticing bulge. His feet shuffled, I imagined him
kicking off his shoes, and he let his trousers drop. My eyes were drawn to
the large bulge in his briefs, the fabric tented. He was hard. I saw a
small wet spot slowly spread where the tip of his dick oozed pre-cum. He
then took off his briefs.
     When his straightened up, I stared at his hard cock. It was cut and
looked me directly in the eye, its head glistening with the pre-cum smeared
over it. His pubes were jet black and looked like they had been
trimmed. Carl obviously took great care over his appearance. His body
looked blemish free and he was either naturally smooth or he shaved
regularly any body hair that was not above his cock or under his arms,
those he trimmed neatly. I wondered about his sac and hoped it would also
be smooth. I wanted to take his silky balls into my mouth and play with
them with my tongue.
     Carl came closer. Climbed on the bed and straddled my chest, his
leaking cock inches from my moist lips.
     I licked my lips and flicked my tongue at the air between us,
beckoning him closer. Carl obliged and his wet cock touched my pursed
lips. I opened them and he pushed his cock into my mouth.
     This was the first cut-cock between my lips, all my boyfriends and one
night stands were uncut. It felt different; I had no skin to toy with and
poke with my tongue. My tongue went to wrap itself around the head,
flicking his slit and teasing his ridge on its way. I sucked down his
pre-cum, he tasted sweet.
     Carl pushed his hips forward, getting more of his cock inside me and
stopped as it pushed against the back of me throat. He pulled out and began
to hump my mouth. My hands grabbed his buttocks and squeezed, they were
firm. I eased my fingers down his crack and poked his hole with my index
finger.  As he brought his cock out from my throat my finger pushed against
his hole and popped through. It entered without any resistance; this boy
was no stranger to being fucked.
     I heard him moan as my finger hit his prostate and my lips felt his
cock thicken. He pulled it from my mouth and panted, holding back his
orgasm.
     He slipped down my body, my finger slid from his hole and my stiff
dick rested against his buttocks. He leant forward and kissed me.
     Spitting on his hand, he brought it round his back and rubbed it over
my dick. He lifted himself and aimed his hole above my dick. He slowly
lowered himself, my dick slipping into him and he groaned as each inch went
further inside him.
     Carl rested when every inch of me was buried inside his arse, his dick
still hard and leaking onto my stomach.
     He started a slow grind before lifting himself from my dick and coming
back down again. I was in no position to start humping his smooth arse, I
was forced to lie still while he sat on my dick and fucked himself. I
looked up at him bouncing on my dick, his own swaying up and down. He leant
forward and twisted my nipples. It sent a shudder down to my dick.
     It felt exciting lying prostrate and passive while I had a sexy young
lad pleasuring me, I had to consciously stop myself from trying to flip
this lad over onto his back and ram my stiff dick up his arse.
     He had a permanent smile on his face and I knew I could not hold out
much longer. His silky insides sucked my dick with each plunge. His hands
released my nipples and his humping became more vigorous, his dick slapped
against my stomach as he came down with more force, ensuring as much of my
dick was inside him. I felt his muscles squeeze my dick and I groaned,
throwing my head against my pillow. My dick throbbed and I knew it was
almost time. I tried to speak but could not as my mouth let out a guttural
groan as by dick exploded and pumped my cum into Carl. He carried on
humping as my dick spewed out more cum. I felt it trickle down my dick and
only my balls.
     Then he stopped; my dick still inside him releasing its last few drops
of cum. I lay panting, exhausted from my orgasm. I felt his arse squeeze my
dick, milking it for more juice.
     His face grinned down at me and I saw his cock was still hard. I
reached out to grab it but he pushed my hand away. He climbed off my dick
and let it flop into my nest of pubes. With one hand on my shoulder, the
other on my hip, he rolled me over. Before I could protest I felt his
tongue licking my crack and pushing in to connect with my hole. I had very
rarely been fucked and was not expecting this. It was usually my dick up an
arse; I had only been the bottom a few times and did not particularly enjoy
it. Now I felt his tongue against my pucker trying to enter me. I was tight
and naturally resisted. I heard him mutter something in Spanish and then
felt him plunge a finger inside me.
     I gasped and bit my pillow. It stung like hell. The sensation eased as
he pulled out but it quickly returned when he rammed it up again sending a
stabbing pain deep inside me. He kept it inside and twisted. It began to
feel more pleasant but as he slowly withdrew his finger again I felt empty
and wanted it back.
     Carl pushed inside me again, this time it was thicker and the pain was
back. He used two fingers to ease me open but I sensed his impatience. He
quickly twisted his fingers and pulled them out. I waited with my pillow
still between my teeth. I felt something touch my hole and knew he was
about to plunge his dick into me.
      Without any tenderness he rammed his dick deep inside me. If the
pillow had not prevented my scream I would have woken up the entire
floor. Just like he used my dick, he now used my arse, ramming me like he
had not fucked anybody in a long time. I wished he had given me time to get
used to his dick then I could have enjoyed it more. I slowly adjusted and
with each thrust the pain subsided and I gradually began to feel the
pleasure only being fucked up the arse could give you.
     I lay still while he ravaged my hole, his thrusts deep and
forceful. Still in my mouth, the pillow suppressed my yelps and groans as I
felt a mixture of pain and pleasure.
     Humping ever faster and harder, I knew he was nearly finished. His
breathing became shallower and he let out little whimpers.
      Whimpers turned to grunts and I could feel his panting breath on my
back.
     He thrust, he groaned, he stopped.
     His dick deep inside me throbbed and grew longer and thicker as he let
out a low resonant sound and his dick pumped cum to grease my insides. As
he came, I expected him to collapse onto me but his arms kept him propped
up. I spat out the pillow as he let his dick rest a while inside me.
     I sighed as he slid his softening dick from my hole and I think he
kissed my buttocks. I did not move.
     While he dressed I lay silent, my head on its side staring at the
wallpaper. As he left my room he flicked off the light and I closed my
eyes. I was tired and quickly drifted to sleep, still lying facedown on top
of the bedclothes.

The morning sun shone across the Mediterranean and through my window. Its
intensity woke me up and I realised I was still in the same position when I
went to sleep. My arse felt sore and my body still ached from the accident.
     I shuffled off the bed to where my clothes lay in a heap on the floor
and gingerly put them over my aching limbs.
     Picking up my bag, I hopped out of my room and to the lift. I must
have looked a sight with my right leg in plaster and blood stained clothes.
     In the breakfast room, a young waitress took pity on me and went to
get me a selection of breads, cooked meats and cheeses. When offered coffee
I asked for tea, knowing my holiday was over I felt the need to remember
England before I left.
     After breakfast I just sat in the hotel foyer until my taxi arrived.
There was a different young man on the front desk and I wanted to ask him
about Carl but thought I should leave last night alone, my last real memory
of Spain. He kept glancing over at me but I ignored him and just looked
through the open doors at the sea, feeling the fresh morning breeze on my
face.
     I sat in silence as the taxi driver took me to Barcelona airport,
again I needed to give him a big tip to help me with my bag and he got me a
trolley. Once I was holding on to the trolley I could hop my way to the
check in desk.
     I was well looked after in the airport. I had been given a first class
ticket and they had arranged for a wheelchair. I was wheeled to the first
class lounge were I waited, making full use of the free bar and snacks.
Everyone else in the lounge ignored me; they were suits reading The
Financial Times or The Times they had picked up from the complementary
newspaper stand.
     For that one day I was treated very special. Even a man holding a sign
with my name on it met me at Heathrow. My holiday may have been ruined but
the trip home made up for all the disappointment.


Thank you for reading. Comments are welcomed and gratefully received.
Please email me at stormwriter@talesfromastorm.co.uk
My other stories can be found on my website www.talesfromastorm.co.uk
The author retains copyright.