Tami meets the great Bikerbloke

. . . and finds her way back to college for her sophomore year (and latest plan to get into clothes). This is from near the end of “‘Tami Smithers Was Here’”.

P.S. I highly recommend Bikerbloke (fka “Biker”and “Bikertoo”) and his inventive “Jenny” drawings, which were an inspiration for this series. He has them up now at Deviantart.

     This is a real find.  A beautiful naked girl sleeping on the beach, lying on her stomach, arms and legs spread as if out on a mattress.  Some banana peels next to her.  A wonderful body, tight and trim.  Maybe not even 20 years old.  Deep American-style tan, all over, not a bikini line in sight.  She must spend a lot of time out here.  .  .  The tan sets off the white sand sticking to her bum and her calves .  .  .The best bod I’ve drawn on this latest trip to the States, possibly ever .  .  .  Ordinarily I’d ask permission, but waking her would ruin the pose .  .  .  Bloody wonderful .  .  .

        “Oh!”  Tami awoke with a jolt.  She blinked and had the feeling she was being watched, and had the concomitant desire to somehow cover her butt.  She got up and turned around and reflexively covered her breasts with her hand.

        It was a man in a biker jacket and dark jeans and boots, around 35 or so, sitting cross-legged, sketching on a pad.  “Sorry, luv.  I’ll stop if you want.  You are just so beautiful.”  He had a working-class Brit kind of accent.  He showed her the pencil sketch.  It was artistic, sparse, and very skillful.  He had captured the back of her head, the turned shoulders, the loose hair, her bent arms, and her back, and the beginning of her butt, as she had been lying asleep on the sand.  Tami was a little upset at being sketched without her permission, but the drawing was very pretty and flattering.  She thought briefly of that portrait unveiled at the Chalfont banquet, the beautiful, intelligent naked girl reading a book.  A girl that she often wished she could be.

        Tami sat up on crossed legs and used her other hand to cover her pussy.  All she could say was, “That’s a very good sketch.”

        “Thanks, luv,” he said.  “I do these a lot.  Want to see?”

        He beckoned for her to come closer and she decided he was not dangerous.  He had no gun or knife on him and if he lunged after her, she could outrun him or dive into the surf.  Still covering her breasts and pussy, she sidled over to him and watched him riffle the pages of the sketchbook.

        The drawings were finished and high quality.  This fellow was a professional artist of long experience.  And his drawings had a constant theme -- women who were losing their clothes, tight skirts or dresses that were getting caught in elevator doors, kite strings, chairs.  It was the same woman -- blond, busty, big amazed eyes, looking like that woman Jenny who Tami had met twice.  The Jenny who tried to give clothes to Tami but had so much trouble taking them off.  Well, in these drawings, Jenny seemed to have the opposite problem! Tami smiled.  There was a sense of humor that showed through the drawings, playful and not at all sadistic.

        “Do you live around here?” The man’s voice broke through her musings.

        “Uh, no.  I’m away on summer break from college.  Actually, I’m not sure even what state this is.  I’ve been wandering around the beaches.”

        “This is Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico.  .  .Where are your clothes?”

        “I don’t have any,” she said, holding her hands tighter against herself.

        He laughed.  “For someone who wanders the beaches with no clothes, you sure are shy.  I don’t often draw totally naked women, but you have about the prettiest body I ever saw.”

        Tami smiled and blushed.  “Thanks.”  In spite of her shyness she couldn’t help feeling flattered when someone said that.

        He extended his hand.  “Biker.  Or you can call me Nut Case.”

        Tami could not help but giggle, realizing at the same time how this man must make a living charming women into posing for him.  “I prefer Biker.  My name is Tami.  Are you English?”

        “Yes, I’m a Brit, biking around the States for the summer.”

        “I didn’t hear any motorcycle.”

        “It’s a ways back, near the road.”

        Tami followed him to his bike.  It was a ratty and old but it obviously worked.  He gunned it and rode in circles, then shut it off.  “That was to impress you.”

        Still holding her hands in front of her, the naked girl laughed.  “I’m impressed.  Though if you ask me it sounds like your timing’s too advanced.”

        “What?”

        “I bet you burn a lot of oil, and after a long run the bike keeps spitting after you try to turn it off.”

        He smiled.  “That’s exactly right.  You are smart as well as beautiful.”

        Tami served him up some bananas and pieces of coconut pulp, and then he asked her to pose.  After some initial hesitation she dropped her hands and she found herself spending the next few hours climbing a palm tree, standing in the surf, lying on the beach like a model.  These were tasteful poses, not blatant exposures like with Professor Brignon.

        Tami was glad that someone nice had walked into her travels.  She did not ask him for clothes, having decided that the putting on of clothes would be saved for the ceremony she had planned, not that he seemed to have anything extra for her to put on.  And he was so comfortable to be around that she almost forgot that she was naked.  If nothing else, he cheered her up.  She loved this place but missed her loved ones, and was depressed at the almost certain prospect that she would not get back to college in time for the fall semester.

        As they sat, eating wild asparagus, Biker showed her the drawings he had made of her poses.  “You make women look really beautiful,” she said.

        He was charmingly modest.  “I’m just a bloke who goes drawing.”

        The drawings were spare but flattering.  One odd thing was that in all the poses Biker had her wearing black pumps.  In fact, all the women in his drawings had black pumps.  “I see you like shoes.”

        Biker chuckled.  “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I can’t draw feet.”

        “Well, here’s your chance to practice.”  She planted her bare foot onto the sand in front of him.  He gamely concentrated.  One, two, three quick sketches.  The first one was pretty bad but by stages they got better.

        “Do you have any tools?” Tami said.  “I’ll fix your timing for you.”

        As the naked girl kneeled in front of the bike, fiddling with the little distributor, Biker sat behind and drew the pose.  When she was finished she flung a leg over the seat and pushed the throttle down with a hard bare foot.  The engine roared, sounding much better.  She smiled at him, crossing her arms with pride.  He drew that pose too.

        At his request she got up and did another pose, of her stretching her clasped hands over her head, back arched, as if just waking up.  Somehow the fact that her pussy was almost in his face did not embarrass her.  It was almost sunset and the long shadows of palm trees played across her concave tummy.

        Finally he put his sketch pad away and walked over to his bike.  “Here’s my card, luv,” he said, “that is, if you have a place to keep it.  I’m sorry but I’ve got to get going.  I’m heading to the big bike gathering.”

        “Where is that?”

        “The big Labor Day to-do in Laconia.”

        The naked girl’s face changed with a degree of astonishment that the artist had never seen approached.

        “LACONIA??”

        “Yes, it’s an annual -- ”

        “LACONIA, NEW HAMPSHIRE??”  Her eyes were exploding like sunballs, over a wide open-mouthed smile.

        “Why, yes.”

        “TWENTY-FIVE MILES FROM CAMPBELL - FRANK COLLEGE??”  Her eyes were as wild as her hair.

        “Um, I’m not sure.  Want to come with me?”

              “YES!!” The naked girl pumped her fist, making her breasts dance and jiggle.  “YES!! YES!! YES!! WOOOO!! WOOOO!!” She kicked up her legs and arms, pushing sand up with her toes, then did a somersault and stood up again, arms spread, shaking her shoulders so as to jiggle her breasts.  “WOOOO!!”

        The artist wondered about this crazy naked girl and briefly regretted having offered her a ride.  He was about to say something when she did cartwheels away from him and ran off in between two stands of palm trees.  “WHEEEE!! OONGA BOONGA OONGA BOONGA OONGA BOONGA!!”  She disappeared and her voice died away, fading into the surf.

        A moment later her voice returned, followed by her own naked self, kick-dancing like a Cossack with her arms folded under like a chicken as she passed by him on her second go-round.  “YA YA YA YA YA YA YA YA YA YA --”  Once again she disappeared into the trees and her voice faded away.

        As she appeared again, she strode and waved like someone completing a showy home-run trot.  Then she changed to skipping like jumping rope, arms extended to the side, the tanned, tight breasts wildly bouncing up and down.  A double-flip, gymnastics style, landed her on her feet right in front of him, a little winded, shoulders back and arms down behind her.  Before her breasts had stopped bobbing she said, “YES!! .  .  .  When do we start??”

        He smiled and got up onto the bike.  “Hop on.”

        She held up a finger.  “One more thing! Wait.”  He followed her to the beach.  She frantically pressed the rocks into the sand.  They said, “Tami Smithers Was Here”.

        She put her bare feet onto the stirrups, just behind his boots, and put her bare arms around his waist.  It was almost dark now.  He gunned the bike and off they went.