Tegan

Riding in formation with forty motorcycles was an experience. The comradery, professionalism, and skill of the riders was second to none. Riding with the men of Filthy Fuckers MC along the Pacific Coastal Highway was akin to being in a synchronized swim team.

Side-by-side, the motorcycles started, turned, sped up, slowed down, and stopped. Their placement in the formation was assigned, and no one broke out of the formation during the entire trip.

Whether I truly was or not, I felt like I was a part of something big.

Crip led us along Palm Canyon Road, on a breathtaking journey through the mountains, and eventually we came to a stop in a large parking area filled with other motorcyclists. I quickly noticed various MC’s patches were being worn by people attending, many of which were well-known 1% clubs.

Maintaining our formation, we rode to a vacant spot and parked side-by-side, one at a time.

Simply seeing the men maneuver into their parking spots was jaw-dropping.

The roar in the distance from motorcycles that hadn’t arrived yet – combined with the constant rumble of the riders surrounding us that had yet to park – was overwhelming. I gazed out at the sea of motorcycles.

“Holy crap,” I gasped.

Brad shut off the motorcycle and looked around. “Amazing, huh?”

I gawked in every direction. “I can’t even…”

“This is what it’s all about.”

“There’s Hells Angels over there,” I whispered. “I saw one of them.”

He nodded and motioned toward the countless motorcycles. “There’ll be a bunch of them here.”

I swallowed heavily. “It’s okay? I mean, do you get along with them?”

“They’re just like you and me. You’ll be surprised. And yeah, we get along with everyone here.”

Brad hadn’t shaved in a few days and had a slight growth of facial hair. Seeing him with it while wearing his kutte, jeans, and boots was a huge turn-on.

If I made it through the entire day without jumping his bones, it would be a miracle. I had no idea what the protocol was for affectionate behavior during such an event, but I was afraid before the day ended, I was going to find out.

As I was ogling him, Peyton got off Crip’s motorcycle and walked up to us. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

I tore my eyes from Brad and looked at her. “I do.”

“C’mon,” she said, gesturing toward the long row of bathrooms in the distance.

I shot her a worried look. “Doesn’t someone need to go with us?”

“Believe me,” she said. “No one will mess with you here.”

I glanced at Brad. He nodded. “You’ll be fine.”

Peyton looked like she was about my age, and was petite and beautiful. Dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, she looked like most of the girls I went to college with.

Through the crowd of bikes and the throngs of people, we made our way toward the Porta-Potties.

“So, what do you do?” I asked.

She shuffled between two motorcycles, being careful not to touch them. “For work?”

I did exactly as she did, being double careful. “Yeah.”

She paused. “I’m a journalist.”

“Really?”

“Yep. For the Tribune.”

“The newspaper?”

“Uh huh.”

I struggled to catch up to her. “Oh wow. I would have never guessed,” I said. “That sounds fun. Do you write about cool stuff or boring stuff?”

“I write about crime. Wrote an article about the club and that’s how I met Crip.”

I paused and looked at her. “Really?”

We reached an opening between where some of the motorcycles were parked and the bathrooms. She stopped and turned to face me. “Yep. So, how’d you and Pee Bee meet?”

“You haven’t heard?”

She shook her head. “If you stick around, you’ll see. These guys almost trained not to talk about anything to outsiders. Especially if you’re new to the group. So, how’d you meet?”

“Well, I was in a traffic jam on the 5, and a bunch of bikes were splitting lanes. They were all Filthy Fuckers. I thought they’d all passed me, and I opened my door--”

She coughed out a laugh. “Oh, wait. You’re the one? You’re the one who opened your door and wrecked Pee Bee’s bike?”

I nodded shamefully. “Afraid so.”

She smiled at me genuinely. For the first time. “That’s awesome!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because. He’s anal retentive, and his bike’s always spotless. I can guarantee you, after this run, he’ll spend three hours cleaning it. To think you’re the one who wrecked it, and that he’s allowing you to even ride on his bike? That means you’re pretty special.”

She may not have meant for it to be so, but what she said was a small boost to my ego.

“Well,” I said. “I feel special.”

We used the bathroom, which was an experience in itself, and then returned to where the men were standing and mingling. The crowd of FFMC’s men had thinned to one-quarter of what was there when we left.

“What’d you think of that?” Brad asked.

“What?”

“Pissing in the Porta-Pot.”

It was the most vile thing I had ever seen, and the smell was beyond disgusting. I shrugged. “It was fine.”

I waved at Peyton as she walked away with Crip.

“Everyone went to the food tent.” Brad said, motioning toward the distant tents. He shot me a modest grin. “You ready to get something to eat?”

The muscles in his biceps flared with each gesture of his hands. The testosterone-filled air already had my blood pumping, and standing alone with him was making matters much worse.

“Sure.” The word came out with a distinct indifference attached to it.

“I know what that means.”

“What?”

“Sure means no.”

The truth was that I had become uncomfortably horny, and standing with him amidst 1,000 motorcycles was driving me insane.

I smiled. Kind of. “We can eat.”

He glanced over each shoulder and then looked at me. He raised both eyebrows. “What do you want to do?”

I twisted my mouth to the side and shrugged one shoulder.

He looked bewildered. “What?”

A response didn’t come to me. At least not at once. He must have sensed my desire to speak.

“Look,” he said. “If we can’t communicate with each other openly, we’re never going to--”

“I want to suck you off,” I whispered.

His eyes shot wide. “What?”

I nodded. “I want to suck you off.”

He grinned. “We’ll be back in about four hours, and then--”

I shook my head. “I want to suck you off now.”

“What? Now?”

I gazed up at him and offered a closed-mouth grin. “Uh huh.”

He looked left, and then right. He chuckled. “You an exhibitionist?”

“I told you. I really like sex. And, you look hot. I want it. In my mouth.”

“Here?”

As much as I liked sex, it wasn’t typical behavior for me. But. Being at a biker rally with a thousand bikers wasn’t typical behavior for me, either. And, just mentioning it to him had my pussy throbbing.

I cocked my head to the side. “Don’t make me beg.”

He looked to the right. “Brother Cholo!”

A muscular guy standing twenty feet away – who looked like he was guarding the motorcycles – turned toward Brad. He tilted his head back. “What is it?”

“Don’t need anyone creepin’ up on us for a few.”

He crossed his massive arms and lowered his chin. “You got it, Brother.”

Brad looked down at me. “Right here?”

We were standing between his motorcycle and Crip’s motorcycle. In each direction, there were motorcycles parked for as far as I could see. If we tipped one of them over, they would undoubtedly topple into each other, and domino until the last one was overturned.

“Yeah,” I said. “Right here.”

I motioned toward his crotch. “Get it out.”

He tried to hide his excitement, but couldn’t. “Where do you want me?”

I glanced around. And idea came to mind, but I was hesitant to mention it. He must have seen the mischievous grin I was trying to conceal.

He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Can you sit on Crip’s bike?”

He spit out a laugh. “You want me to sit on his bike while you suck my cock?”

It made my pussy even wetter just thinking about it. I shrugged. “They don’t like me anyway. So, yeah.”

He turned to the side, unzipped his pants, and lowered himself onto the seat of Crip’s ratty-looking motorcycle.

I spread my legs wide, bent at the waist, and took his cock from his hand.

For me, living life wasn’t about going to spectacular places or having material objects. It was about making memories of your own.

And this would be one we’d both talk about for some time.

I took the tip into my mouth.

I moved my mouth up and down the shaft slowly, watching him while I did so. After a few seconds, his eyes fell closed.

His massive girth had my jaw stretched to its limit. His length was far more than I could swallow, and taking half of it into my mouth was quite an accomplishment.

I worked my mouth-magic nonetheless, seeing my accomplishments plastered over his contorted face and arched back.

I shifted my eyes along the row of motorcycles.

Twenty feet away, the man guarding the motorcycles stared straight ahead, seemingly unaffected by what we were doing. In the distance, people rode past, parked, and talked, but no one noticed us.

Stroking him with one hand, and playing with his balls with the other, I continued to suck him eagerly.

His hips began to rise and fall in tune with the motion of my mouth. His breathing became irregular.

Knowing he was close sent me into a sucking frenzy. Now all but attacking his massive dick with my wet mouth, I sucked it forcefully, hoping to bring him to a satisfying climax.

He began to moan.

I moved my hand from his balls to his thigh, gripping it firmly in my hand.

I pressed the tip deep into my throat repeatedly. His moaning became louder, and his breathing choppy.

And then, he erupted into my throat.

Warm spurts, one after the other, a reminder of my ability to satisfy him happily, anytime and anywhere.

“Oh my God,” he said under his breath. “That was amazing.”

I lifted my head, swallowed, and met his gaze. “Thank you.”

He looked at me as if I had three heads. “For what?”

I stood up straight and grinned. “Making memories with me.”

The smell of exhaust, gasoline, and barbequed meat lingered in the air. I would forever associate those smells with giving Brad a blowjob on Crip’s motorcycle.

He stood, pushed his cock into his jeans, and zipped them up. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy bad or crazy good?” I asked.

“Crazy perfection.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss.

He tilted his head back. “Cholo!”

“What is it, Peeb?” The motorcycle guard barked.

“Appreciate ya,” Brad shouted.

“Fuckers forever,” he responded.

“Forever Fuckers,” Brad said with a laugh.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” I responded.

We meandered through the motorcycles side by side, laughing about Bradley’s Sunday dinner set-up, the day we met, and the ridiculous midnight sex rule.

When we got to the food tent, he motioned to a picnic table that was sparsely occupied. “Have a seat,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Anything, really,” I said. “I like any kind of barbeque.”

“Drink?”

“Water, tea, anything.”

“Be right back,” he said with a nod.

I sat at the end of the table, recognizing the few people who were seated there from the morning meeting in the parking lot. After exchanging a few glances with them, the faint sound of my phone ringing got my attention.

Embarrassed, but quite curious as to who might be calling, I pulled it from my pocket. The telephone number was local, I didn’t recognize it.

With slight reluctance, I answered it. “Hello.”

“Tegan?”

“Yes, this is Tegan. How can I help you?”

“Tegan, hun. This is Deann. I tried to call Brad, but he didn’t answer. Are you together?”

She seemed well-composed, so I was sure everything was okay.

“We’re in Palm Springs. Yes, he’s with me. Do you want me to have him call you?”

“Hun, we need you to come home. It’s Bradley, he’s…” Her voice became soft and fragile. She cleared her throat. “they just took him away in an ambulance.”

I felt sick. I broke into a cold sweat.

My lip quivered uncontrollably. The inevitable was happening.

“Hun?”

“I’m here,” I murmured. “Is he. Is he...okay?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. I’m leaving now. They’re taking him to Scripps Mercy. It was a heart attack.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” I sobbed.

“Okay. Thank you, hun.”

I hung up, jumped to my feet, and took off in a dead run toward the front of the tent.

Frantically, I searched the line for Brad and saw no one I recognized. My eyes darted from one side to the other and back. Again, nothing.

I began to sob at the thought of not reacting quick enough. Not knowing where to find Brad, and of Bradley not making it. His heart was weak, and I knew it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crip.

He was standing with some men I didn’t recognize, and he was laughing.

I ran to his side. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I wiped them on my biceps. He glanced over his shoulder, noticed me, and went right back to talking.

I tapped him on the arm.

“Just a minute.”

I cleared my throat. “I don’t have a minute. Pee Bee’s father had a heart attack. He’s at Scripps Mercy. His mother just called.” I paused, swallowed hard, and gulped a breath. “And, I can’t find him.”

“Bamma, Blake,” he said to the two men he was talking to. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her move an inch.”

“Got it Crip,” the bigger of the two said.

I felt incapable. Weak. Small. I was surrounded by men I didn’t know, and the one man I had allowed myself to love was in the hospital.

“Your Old Man’s Pop’s in the hospital, huh?” Bamma asked.

I fought not to burst into tears, and nodded.

“Who’s your Old Man?”

He was as big as Brad, but looked much meaner. Covered in shitty tattoos, and wearing a foot-long beard, he looked like an old-school biker. I noticed his kutte had the letters AFFA on the front, and wondered what it meant. I swallowed heavily. “Pee Bee.”

“Pee Bee’s good people.” He reached out, wrapped his arm round me, and hugged me. “We’ll get him found, don’t worry.”

I had no idea who he was, but that moment, he was all I had.

In a few seconds, Brad and Crip came running up to me.

Brad was frantic. “What happened?”

“Your dad. Heart attack. We need to go. He’s in an ambulance.”

He turned toward Crip. “Gotta go, Boss.”

Crip nodded. “Take escorts, you ain’t going alone.”

“Will do.” He glanced at me, and then looked at Crip. “Boss, I’m gonna be haulin’ ass. She should probably get a ride back with someone.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped.

He looked at me. “I’m going to be going as fast as that sled’ll go. If we wreck, it’s all over.”

“Then it’ll be all over for both of us. I’m going.”

The man who hugged me looked at Brad. “Need escorts?”

Pee Bee nodded. “Yeah, but it’s gotta be quick. We need to get now.”

“People see our colors, they move the fuck over,” the man said. “We’ll get you there in one piece.”

My heart swelled.

Brad nodded.

The man turned around. The back of his jacket had a banner across the top that I’d seen earlier.

Hells Angels.

“Bamma,” Crip said.

The man glanced over his shoulder.

“Appreciate ya,” Crip said.

“Anything for the Fuckers.” Bamma nodded once and turned away. “Angels!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Saddle up!”

We ran to the motorcycle, got on, and rode to the entrance of the park. My mind was in a fog, and Brad and I didn’t speak the entire time. When we pulled toward the entrance, my jaw dropped completely.

A line of motorcycles two wide and longer than I could count was waiting for us. One motorcycle was out in the street, stopping traffic.

Bamma was parked sideways in the road leading into the park. We pulled up to his side.

We’ll lead the way,” Bamma said over his shoulder. “I’ll get two out ahead running rabbit. How fast you wanna go?”

“As fast as we can,” Brad said.

Bamma looked at me, nodded once, and turned around. He cupped his hands around his mouth and tilted his head back. “Balls out, Angels!”

The men all shouted in response. “Hooaah!”

A warm tear ran down my cheek.

And we hit the road.

Balls out.