Like you, my two-wheeled life started when the stabilisers came off. I remember it clearly. It progressed through adolescence when your bike was independence realised; a passport to hang out with your mates and impress the girls with your skill/speed and general burgeoning manliness. Two friends and I went even further and embarked on a proper cycle tour from the Home Counties to Devon and Cornwall; panniers, tents and the works. I still miss that Eddy Merckyx 10-speed, which I allowed to be butchered by a mate who was trying to build a tandem... but that's another story.
My flirtation with motorbikes might have begun just like yours too. Lads who were slightly older took you pillion or, better still, allowed you a quick go. I was caught by my Dad, on a mates girlfriends' FS-1E when I really shouldn't have been on a public road. That went down well with my Mum. How my Dad came to be jogging so far away from home, only to run into his son who had stopped for a ciggie remains a mystery. Shit Happens.
Now I'm older. I've just relocated to Cornwall even though my parents have lived here for 25 years. I'm not trying to be Cornish. I have just been inspired to commit my bicycling/motorcycling experiences to actual words.