Ultimate shoulder rides

Tahitian Nights


by Ladycarrier

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Franklin first dreamed 'the dream' on his 16th birthday, it was the same day that he walked out of the school gates for the last time, unnoticed, never looking back. He had felt a profound sense of achievement that day, not for all the usual reasons, successful exam results, a sense of well- being among his comrades, hope for a bright and productive future. No, his achievement was that he had managed to remain anonymous, had spent his entire school career remaining outside even the fringe, a loner who left alone and was left alone.Franklin's success was that he had slipped through the net, melted away into obscurity neither liked nor disliked, neither owed or owing. To all intents and purposes, he didn't exist.
Franklin lived with his mother, sure she knew him, but through an alcoholic haze where the lines of reality were always blurred.Her life was one of extreme highs and lows, late night -clubs, gentlemen friends; days spent recovering in bed. She left him alone as long as he didn’t interfere with her existence, their relationship was not a close one and he liked it that way. With school over forever Franklin contemplated a life of solitude, an existence fuelled by the desire to remain anonymous in a world he neither cared for nor understood. Because he knew with a certainty born of long and bitter experience of rejection and ridicule that he just didn’t belong. He was an anachronism, a young black boy living a lie, he somehow knew that his real life was elsewhere and that all he was here was a shell, that his pure physical presence was the only indication of his existence.

So Franklin lived, spent his days walking by the river, reading in the library, and going to the movies. He spoke to no one, didn’t expect anyone to speak to him, and no one did. That was his life and he got on with it, uncomplaining.
It was during the nights that franklin became real, absurdly when he was asleep, when he dreamed ‘the dream’.

It always began the same way and followed the same sequence, but each time it became longer and more of the scenario was revealed. It seemed so real to franklin that he had come to believe that this was his life even though he always knew that he was dreaming. And yet, the sequence of events in the dream were more important to him than anything that ever happened in his other life, the life where he was supposed to be a real person living in a real world. He looked forward with eager anticipation to the nightime, to the time when he could go to bed and sleep, and dream.

He was on a thin strip of coastline, a beach, running. It was so real he could feel the warm sun on his back, hear the soft sound of the ocean lapping against the shore. To his left was a continuous backdrop of foliage, as if it was the fringe of some great and mysterious rainforest. Animal sounds pierced the air and birds took to flight as Franklin passed by. Then he became aware of others. He was running in a group, was able to look around and view his companions. They were just like him, young athletic brown bodies running freely and easily, almost graceful in their seemingly effortless gait. Franklin felt a strong sense of bonding and comradeship with these other figures, he did not know why, it was just instinct. They were a team.

At this stage in the dream everything was as perfect as life could ever be and Franklin experienced a true happiness such as he had never known in his short and unremarkable life. But gradually he became aware of another, a member of the group for sure but somehow lagging behind, labouring. Although Franklin could not see him he sensed that this runner was not moving as easily as the others, he seemed as if he was struggling to keep up and was always just out of view, slightly behind. And yet, without any shred of doubt, this was the most important member. Franklin knew this with clear instinctive certainty, that whoever this runner was, whatever the reason for his plight, he had to be cocooned within the group and guarded as though life itself depended upon it. He began to slow his pace, to let the labouring runner draw level, and when he did, gazed in wonder at the sight he beheld.

A woman, a very beautiful mature woman, was riding astride the shoulders of the boy in question. She was naked apart from a loincloth, which seemed to be made of some kind of animal skin and although she rode with what appeared to be complete security it seemed to Franklin that she was impossibly heavy for her bearer. The woman had long luxurious dark hair, which framed a coffee-coloured face of exquisite beauty. She sat astride the boy's neck, her legs hanging freely in front of him although he seemed to be gently supporting her feet with his hands. She appeared to be completely relaxed and unconcerned, in total contrast to the boy on whom she was sitting. It was immediately evident that he was near the point of collapse, every muscle in his body clearly defined as a result of his exertion. He was sweating profusely, gulping in great gasps of air as he struggled to keep up the pace. The woman, a queen or princess surely thought Franklin, although calm and serene, seemed conversely to be somehow masking another feeling altogether. Franklin got the impression that she was secretly agitated, perhaps even aroused. Her eyes shone with a fierce radiance, her nipples were erect and she seemed as though she was bearing down on the boy's neck with far more force than was necessary. Although she maintained an appearance of complete indifference she was, thought Franklin, enjoying her mount's discomfort.

Franklin knew that he was dreaming nonetheless he found himself becoming increasingly concerned about the scene unfolding. The boy being ridden was close to tears, clearly unable to continue and yet somehow he ran on and the situation suddenly became very clear to Franklin. The entire group existed for the sole purpose of transporting this heavenly if slightly cruel woman to wherever she chose to travel. Another revelation followed. Franklin now understood his role, he was the same as the rest of them and sooner or later the time would come when he would be called upon to carry out his duty.

Still the group ran on, and still the woman gave no indication that the tortured boy she was riding could stop and rest. All the runners were now casting anxious glances at the pair who had now slowed considerably, and it became clear to Franklin that they shared his concern, that the unthinkable was about to happen and that the boy was about to collapse spilling his divine rider to the sand. Suddenly the woman became animated; a frown of disapproval crossed her gorgeous face as she looked down upon the head of her exhausted bearer. Without warning she produced in her right hand a short, thin length of tree branch, thusfar unnoticed by Franklin who was running on her left, and began to lash savagely at the back of her mount in an effort to keep him moving. The effect was to extract one last superhuman effort from the boy as he suddenly raced forwards causing the woman to gasp with delight as she closed her eyes and seemed to savour the moment. After only a few more strides it became clear, even to the rider, that the boy was all in and the pair slowed to a halt. Still the woman sat astride her mount creating a visage of comfortable complacency. She slowly surveyed the scene clearly relishing her position as the trembling, sweating boy beneath her began to gradually buckle, every muscle and sinew in his body straining to support her weight. At last, to a huge general sigh of relief, the woman flicked her fingers and indicated to another of the group who, without any verbal instruction, immediately adopted a slightly hunched posture in front of her. In an instant, the woman eased herself across from the neck of her mount and settled herself upon the neck and shoulders of her new bearer. With one sharp crack from her crop across the new boy's back he immediately set off at a gallop causing the rest of the group to briefly sprint to keep pace. Franklin was momentarily left behind as he contemplated trying to help the original boy who was now nothing more than a crumpled heap on the sand. Realising that he must not delay he turned and raced to catch up, wondering when his turn to be ridden would come and whether he would be able to support the weight of this beautiful enigmatic woman.

As the dream continued the scenario repeated itself several times and it seemed to Franklin that the group had covered many miles. Their number had reduced with each successive change, although Franklin noticed some of the earlier mounts back in the distance trying to catch up having presumably recovered from their ordeal. Then, without warning, they had stopped again. Franklin looked at the woman, as did the entire group, and was astounded to discover that she was actually looking straight back at him. She was more beautiful and yet terrifying than any other human being he had ever encountered and with a withering sense of dread he realised that the time had come. The woman's gaze was severe and yet somehow amused, as if she understood entirely that Franklin was terrified. He realised that he was shaking uncontrollably but he didn't know whether it was through fear or excitement. 'I'm only dreaming' thought Franklin, 'this is just a dream, a dream, it's ok, it's just a dream'

Franklin adopted the position, somehow knowing that this was the point at which he would awake, bathed in sweat, hugely disappointed and frustrated and loathing his life in the real world. He stood and waited, waited to catch a glimpse of the first strands of grey London dawn filtering through his bedroom curtains, waited for the enchanting scenario to dissipate and be replaced by four blank walls and sounds of gathering London traffic, waited for the return to the hell his life had become.

And then, in what was without doubt the most erotic sensation he had ever experienced in his virginal young life, two smooth silky thighs suddenly appeared on either side of his face. He felt a sudden crushing weight across his shoulders and a warm pressure on the back of his neck, he could even smell something that although unfamiliar, caused his pulse to race and his senses to reel.

Franklin was in awe. The woman was actually sitting on HIS shoulders, riding HIM. He instinctively offered his hands as stirrups and equally instinctively the woman placed her feet in them. He couldn't believe that she was actually just sitting there, her full weight on him expecting him to be her riding creature. She was heavy but Franklin was in heaven. A sharp pain on his back galvanised him into movement and with a joy beyond imagining Franklin began to run, not caring that the effort required was beyond anything he had ever endured.

As he ran and exhaustion began to set in, Franklin noticed up ahead in the distance what appeared to be a village, and he knew somehow that this was the destination. It was a long way off but he knew that his was the final leg that he was not to be relieved and had to make it to the target. Each stride became a bone-jarring, muscle-sapping effort. He could feel the woman's crotch rubbing against his neck as the forward momentum caused friction and vibration. The sight of her legs dangling relaxed in front of him made him realise in a blinding flash of insight that she was just sitting there with no effort on her part being made, while he was suffering an agony that was beyond description. And yet he would give his own life before he would spoil this divine creature's ride, no matter how much pain or suffering he had to endure he would never give up.

With one last superhuman effort Franklin sprinted to the village, never letting his pace slacken. A sudden dig with her heels into his abdomen made him realise that they were to halt, and although exhausted Franklin was distraught that his torture had to end. But it didn't. His heavenly rider just sat there. Even though he had just carried her for at least a quarter of a mile it was clear that she did not intend to dismount, instead she seemed to be carrying on a conversation with a growing throng of villagers who now surrounded them. Franklin, beast of burden, stood and endured. The villagers gazed upon their princess with unashamed and utter devotion, and Franklin, her pony, knew without any shadow of doubt that their feelings towards her extended to him also. A tear welled up in his eye and he rejoiced.

On the second page of a London newspaper, tucked away in a corner, a photograph appeared. It was the face of a young black boy, an unremarkable face and yet…. The caption read simply 'MISSING'

On a beach on an island in French Polynesia that same face gazed adoringly into the eyes of a painfully beautiful coffee coloured woman with long raven black hair. The woman leant forward and kissed that face, tenderly and lovingly, because it was the face of her most treasured possession. After a while, a while in which the woman made the boy realise that he was loved, she looked upon him with a glint in her eye and a mischievous expression on her face. 'Feeling energetic Franklin?' she said.

And Franklin knew that he was truly home.

Dedicated to Jockey jill, a true princess, and her partner, the luckiest man alive.