VINCE
November 6th, 2014
Our meeting ended, and a mandatory ride supporting Toys For Tots had been discussed at length. With Christmas fast approaching, the weather was less than favorable to ride, but as long as there wasn’t snow on the ground, we continued, regardless of the temperature. With all of the club’s heavies gathered on the side of the shop, I sauntered toward my bike as I pulled my stocking cap over my head.
“Vince,” Otis said with a nod as I walked past.
I raised my right hand slightly and nodded my head. “Fellas.”
“Headed to Toad’s barbeque joint for a few beers and some chow if you’re interested,” Axton said.
“Appreciate it. I think I’ll just…”
“Excuses are like fuckin’ assholes,” Biscuit said. “Everybody’s got one.”
I turned to face the group. Toad, Axton, Otis, Hollywood, and Biscuit were a club within the club, and for the most part, were a closer knit group than the club was as a whole. They really didn’t let the other fellas in their little group, other than to meet for a drink or take a short unscheduled ride out of town for a show of presence.
“I need to…”
“Need to loosen up, Brother,” Biscuit said. “Tell you the truth, you ought to knock you off some pussy. Been walkin’ around this motherfucker for the last year like a motherfuckin’ zombie. Come on, I got a story to tell that’ll make your toes curl.”
I glanced at my watch out of habit. Still stuck at three o’clock, it wasn’t much help. Hell, I didn’t have anything else to do, and I did need to eat something.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Saddle up,” Axton said as he tossed his head toward his bike.
“Last one out lock up,” Axton said over his shoulder as he fired up his sled.
The thought of being part of their group for a short period of time was satisfying, but doing so on a long term basis wasn’t something I could ever do. It was far too easy to get caught up in patterns, routines, and eventually develop expectations of the men as friends, and eventually someone would fuck up and I knew enough about myself to know I would lose faith not only in the men, but in the club as a whole. Not exposing myself to the members as individuals protected me from being disappointed in their actions or broken promises, which, over time, were bound to happen.
The six of us rode the half mile to Toad’s barbeque joint, and carefully parked our bikes in front of the building side-by-side. After confirming my bike was perfectly parked beside Otis’, I turned toward the entrance and shoved my keys into my pocket.
“Hardcore motherfucker, ridin’ that Shovel. You work on that pig all the time or what?” Biscuit asked as we walked toward the door.
“Quite a bit, yeah,” I responded. “But it was my Pop’s bike, and…”
“Yeah, I heard that. Cool as fuck you kept it and all,” he said.
“Shovel’s are powerless,” Otis said as we walked inside.
I shook my head in disagreement. Harley replaced the Panhead motor with the Shovelhead in 1966, and in 1971 a world record was set by a man on a Shovelhead powered Harley. The bike was the first in the world to travel the quarter mile in less than nine seconds in a drag race. Propelling two wheels from zero to one hundred and sixty-eight miles an hour in less than nine seconds, and doing so in 1971, was a tremendous accomplishment.
“The first nine second bike in the quarter mile was a Shovel,” I said.
“Bullshit,” Otis snapped back.
“God damned truth,” Axton interrupted. “Man’s name was Joe Smith. Out in San Diego, I think.”
“Los Angeles. West Covina to be exact,” I said.
Biscuit coughed a laugh as we walked up to a table large enough to seat us. “Fuckin’ bookworm.”
“But the man’s got his facts straight. A god damned Shovel is bulletproof,” Axton said.
I nodded my head in his direction as we sat down, appreciative of his support of my bike in the presence of the other men. Each of them rode an almost brand new Harley, and with the exception of Axton’s bike, they were all pretty much unaltered and had very little personality.
My bike was a hodgepodge of parts, and looked the part of an old school hard-core biker’s bike. With faded black paint and very little chrome, it was loud enough to wake the dead. It had the same straight pipe exhaust my father rode it with, and the ape hanger handlebars were the only modification I made to it since obtaining it from my father. Older bikers gathered around it at every rally and poker run I attended. The younger bikers simply walked past it, most not even knowing what it was or what it was capable of.
Personally, I loved the thing.
“Cool old bike, if you ask me,” Biscuit said as we sat down.
Excluding Axton, of all of the men, Biscuit was the most genuine. He was the club story teller, and a practical joker. He reminded me a little of me, as he was against technology in many respects. He didn’t have a television, rarely carried his phone, and never cared to read the newspaper or hear anything about the world’s current events. Toad was a war hero of sorts, and had never really mentally came back to civilization after the war. He had a quick temper, was a martial arts specialist in addition to being a Marine, and was a walking time bomb. Otis was the Sergeant-at-Arms and acted as the protector of the club, but no one short of Axton ever really knew what he was thinking. He was six foot six and muscle from head to toe, so the SAA slot was a great place for him to be. Hollywood was another loner of sorts, and lived in the middle of nowhere, keeping to himself if he wasn’t with the smaller group of men. Of the group, I trusted him the least. My father always said the eyes don’t lie, and Hollywood’s eyes always were constantly filled with concern or worry. He was a club brother, and as much a Sinner as me, but it didn’t mean I had to trust him wholly.
And I didn’t.
“Everyone hungry?” Toad asked as he turned toward the kitchen.
The five of us glanced around the table and nodded our heads in confirmation.
“I’ll get ribs, links, and brisket coming. Sound good?” he asked.
“Sounds good, I appreciate it,” I said over the others grunting and nodding their heads.
After being gone a few minutes, Toad returned with a round steel tray filled with bottles of beer. As he reached for one of the beers, Biscuit began to tell his story.
“So, this gal was a waitress at Hooters, and built like a brick shithouse. She had tits the size of that pumpkin that was sittin’ on my porch ‘till Halloween and a waist about twenty-six inches at most. So, one of the El Forastero’s and me was havin’ a beer and this gal walks up to the table. ‘Are you a real biker?’ she asks. I said, ‘If having a Harley and a ten-inch cock makes me a real biker, I guess so.’ She stands there for a minute, tilts her head to the side, and says, ‘show it to me.’ ‘Shit,’ I said, ‘the motherfucker’s right outside the window, see for yourself.’ She grins like a shit eatin’ possum and shakes her head. ‘Not the bike,’ she says. ‘Show me your cock.’” he paused and scanned the group for a reaction.
“Bullshit,” Hollywood chimed in as he took a drink of beer.
Biscuit turned toward Hollywood, cocked an eyebrow, and rubbed his beard with his right hand. “Might be a lot of things, ‘Wood, but a liar ain’t one of ‘em. You don’t wanna hear this tale, grab you a rib to go and hop on that sled and point her west.”
“Go ahead,” Hollywood said with a heavy sigh.
“So I looked at Ol’ Red Wing and winked. Then I turned toward the gal with the titties and pulled out my meat right there at the table. Now, this all happened in about ten seconds, so I didn’t even have a chance to work me up a chubby, but I yanked the Hankster out and he was about half limp, but just half. So I get it out, and I shake it at her a little bit. And she covers her mouth like this,” he paused and raised his hand to his mouth.
“Gal’s eyes get wide as a couple dinner plates, and she says, ‘It ain’t even hard, is it?’ Hell, I drop my cock in my lap and shake my head. ‘Do you think I walk around with a stiff cock all day, Lady?’ I ask her. ‘It makes me dizzy if I do’,” he said as he slapped his hand against the table.
“So what’d she do?” Otis asked.
“Well, if you’d stop fuckin’ interruptin’ I’d sure as fuck tell ya. Anyone else want to ask any stupid questions before I continue?” Biscuit asked as he surveyed the group of men.
Axton shook his head from side to side and twisted his index finger in a circle. On his signal, Biscuit continued.
“So she glances over each shoulder, stares down in my lap, and shakes her head. Now she don’t know it cause she’s checking to make sure there ain’t gonna be a crowd gatherin’ around the table and not payin’ attention, but I been stroking this fucker for about thirty seconds at this point. So anyway, she looks down in my lap and she does this…”
He paused, covered his mouth with his hand, and inhaled a sharp shrill breath.
“She stares at it for a minute, and without lookin’ up, she says, ‘Holy shit. Does it get bigger?’ I stop strokin’ it, look over my shoulder, and turn toward her. ‘Only if it’s in a gal’s twat. But she’s got to have really big titties.’ I tell her. And she looks at me like she won the lottery. Now I ain’t shittin’, fellas, not one bit. She looks at me, drops her hand away from her mouth, and this crazy bitch says, ‘Oh my god, I’ve got huge titties.’ Red Wing spit out about half his beer, and I just widened my eyes and said, ‘Hell, I didn’t even notice.’ It wasn’t ten minutes, and I was balls deep in that gal’s twat in her SUV in the parking lot. Motherfucker had three of them kid seats in the back, which was kinda weird for a minute,” he said.
“You’re a fucking whore,” Otis said with a laugh.
“And damned proud of it,” Biscuit said. “But that’ll be the last she’s gonna see of me.”
“Why’s that?” Toad asked.
“Are you fucking kiddin’ me? I ain’t lookin’ to raise another man’s kids,” Biscuit said.
I found it strangely satisfying that all of the men at the table were single, and for the most part, short of Biscuit, none of them were actively pursuing women. Biscuit’s pursuit was more of a hobby or sport than a desire driven by any means of attraction, and excluding him, the men shared the same feelings regarding women.
I sat quietly, thinking of Sienna as the food showed up. As everyone reached for a plate, my mind began to wander to the what ifs and the why nots of being in a relationship with her. All things considered, I was more of an individual, and never conformed to the patterns or opinions of the masses, these five men included. If I was going to be in a relationship with her, it was going to be for all the right reasons, and although I believed sex was always an important part of a relationship, it wasn’t the sole reason to be in one.
As I ate a rib and paid very little attention to the next story Biscuit began to tell, I decided the next time I saw Sienna, we were going to have a talk.
A serious talk.