Contemplation.

Keoni sat in a daze behind the Circulation Desk counter at the library most of the morning going over the slow and easy way Throttle made love to her at first. The second time he was a lot less gentle, giving her a choice between the two styles to make her happy. Both ways got her there, quick, fast and in a hurry, but that man would not be rushed. He explored every inch of her body with his hands, tongue, and lips as if her were memorizing by touch or taste her entire body. Never one to be a selfish lover, she reciprocated as much as she could in between the ‘harder Throttle’ and the ‘oh, yeah, oh yeah, Throttle’ chants. If she were a bit younger, she would swear she was in love.

Deep lust was good enough for her right now, and she had her backpack all ready to go to the lake. In her childhood, her father had taken Keoni and her brother Omari camping, but it was in a big Winnebago. To her that wasn’t camping. Throttle had a tent and sleeping bags. Her daydreaming episode ended with the arrival of a scent which stated, before the owner arrived, that Mr. Willie had returned.

Mr. Willie, the old man, walked by the desk. He had a bag in his hand as well, stopping to lean forward on the old mahogany desk top. The cloudy eyes surveilling her face.

“Glad you went, huh?” Mr. Willie asked. “He’s going to be good for you although it is going to take some changes. You gone have to go through some as well.”

“I think it will be worth it,” she said with a smile.

“Stay safe,” he said with a wink as he left a little gun on the counter.

Lola, the Night Supervisor, was standing close by. “I’m telling you, he creeps me the frack out,” she said to Keoni. “Last time it was a mini motorcycle, this time a mini gun. You don’t find that creepy?”

“No, but I find you standing over my shoulder to be right up there in the range of uncomfortable,” Keoni said as her phone buzzed. She shook her hands in excitement as she looked at the message. He’d sent her his address and time.

“Oooh, you’re getting some new dick ain’t you?” Lola asked. “You never seem that excited when Carlton texts you.”

“And you’re just becoming stranger. Back up and mind your business,” Keoni said.

“Fine. Fine. But if you come in here Monday walking sideways or bowlegged, I’m going to know what’s up,” she said, smiling.

Keoni ignored her and went to her office to look at motorcycles. Her imagination taking hold of her common sense as she fancied herself astride her very own hog. Powerful. Beautiful. Sleek. Sexy. All the things she craved to be before she revved up the engine on her personal motorcycle. First, she had to learn to ride. An automatic? Classic with gear shifts. Am I even strong enough to hold up a hog?

“I’m going to find out,” she said as the hours ticked down, and she left the office. Adding a bit more water and food to the automatic feeders for Sylvester, her cat with too much attitude, she secured the front door. Plugging his address into the GPS, she side-street drove herself to his home − surprised by the size and amount of land for the house in the city.

When she rang the doorbell, his grandfather answered. “Hello there, young lady, come on inside,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, looking about the house, which was all about the old man. There was really very little to indicate Throttle lived here.

“My grandson tells me you want a bike and want to learn to ride,” he said.

“Yes sir, I do,” she said.

“Have you chosen your bike?”

“Not yet, but I am thinking maybe an automatic. I know I want a cruiser for long rides,” she said. “Plus, I need a bike I can hold up.”

“Yeah, ain’t nothing uglier than having to lay it down when it gets out of control,” Poppa J said. “If you want, I can teach you. I have a 250cc out back, which is perfect to learn on. Then we can move up in size to find the right fit for you. Have you found you a sponsor yet?”

“No sir, I’m not sure how to even go about becoming a member,” she said.

“First, you find a sponsor to invite you to an event. Then you kind of start as a ‘Hang Around’,” Poppa J said, “meaning you hang around until the other members can get a feel of you.”

“Got it,” she told him.

“Once the members get a feel for your character, you can become an ‘Associate’. That can take a few years until you earn their trust. After you get that, you move up to a ‘Prospect’,” Poppa J said. “I like this phase, where you can attend events but you can’t vote on club matters.”

“Sir, how do I earn the patch and get my cut?” she asked, wide eyed.

“Listen at you,” he said, grinning at her. “Being a member of a MC is not just about riding a pretty bike and looking badass. It has to mean something to you in here.”

His knobby hands went to his chest. A balled-up fist rubbed across the place where his heart wasn’t, but she understood the gist of what he was saying. Right now, for her it was all about the desire. He knew the type but being in an MC had to be earned.

“I get it. You are asking me to check my motivations for wanting to do this,” she said. “For me, it’s about belonging to the bigger sisterhood. The collective of souls seeking adventure. That freedom of the open road. Loading up my saddle bags and taking off on a ride and seeing the country from a different perspective.”

“After this weekend, if you still want to do this, I will personally teach you to ride,” Poppa J said.

“Oh, that is nice of you, but Throttle, I mean Dave, said he would teach me,” Keoni said.

“Who do you think taught him?” he asked, walking away and leaving her sitting there alone. A few minutes later, a chime rang, announcing the back door was open and her tall, sexy, Throttle appeared in doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey there, Hot Stuff. You ready to roll?”

“I am,” she said, standing up in her leather pants and black leather jacket. Fine sheens of sweat mottled her face and back. This was just the start of being in leather pants in the South. She was either going to pass out or get dehydrated.

“Poppa J?’ he called out. “Your meals are already made. The daily pills are in the containers beside the meal containers. Don’t forget to take your medicine while I am gone.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a child in front of your woman,” Poppa J demanded.

“No disrespect intended,” Throttle offered, “just a reminder.”

Poppa J frowned, waving at him with his hand, telling them to get going. Keoni tried to tamp down her excitement as she loaded her backpack into the saddlebag of his Harley Roadmaster. Attached to the back was a small trailer, and she felt like a second grader wanting to ask him a million questions.

“Hot Stuff, have you ever ridden before?” he asked.

“No, this will be my first time,” she said, eyeing the bike like it was a new toy at Christmas.

“I’ll get on first, then you get on behind me. Hold on to me and when I lean for a turn, you lean with me. On the bike, our bodies have to be as one. Understood?” Throttle asked.

“Like yesterday, as one,” she said, smiling at him and sending jolts of happiness to the crotch in his pants at the remembrance.

“Something like that,” he said, offering only the smallest curves at the corner of his lips. Throttle swung his leg over the hog and started up the bike. He nodded at her to get on and passed a helmet to her.

Keoni swung her leg over the back of the bike, thankful the leather pants weren’t too tight and put the helmet on her head. It fit snuggly around her cheeks. She heard his voice say, “Hold on.” With her gripping the side of his jacket, the bike rolled down the drive onto the street. Throttle maneuvered through the neighborhood as kids in yards waved at him. His hands were occupied so she held on with one hand, waving at the kids with the other.

Soon, they were entering the interstate, heading up I-75. The feeling of maneuvering through traffic with the wind hitting her leather jacket was exhilarating. She leaned her chest against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist until they got past the stop and go traffic. The lanes cleared once they rolled beyond mid-town, and when the freeway opened up and so did Throttle. The bike reached top speed as they zoomed up through town towards Lake Allatoona. A 30-minute ride up the road was ideal for her first time on a bike.

Fifteen minutes into the ride she relinquished her hug around his back and noticed he was not wearing the Easy Rider patch on the back of his jacket, but Legion of Guardians patch. She would ask about it later. Leaning her head to the side a little, she looked at the road ahead, spotting more motorcycles that they rode hard to catch up to. Riding past the Tail Gunner, Throttle gave a signal. The Tail Gunner signaled back as they moved into the cluster of riders.

“Holy shit! I’m in a ride out!” she said loudly.

“Yeah you are, Hot Stuff,” the voice came back through the helmet.

Her arms went around his waist again, giving a gentle squeeze as the biker gang maneuvered up the road to the lake. As the riders exited the interstate, another smaller group of riders were ahead of them. She heard Throttle curse under his breath.

“Everything okay?” she asked with concern.

“Long as they stay on their side, we will stay on ours, but this is not good,” he said. “Stay sharp this weekend. There could be trouble.”

Trouble wasn’t quite the right word to use for what happened next. It would be an afternoon that the men talked about for the next year as a small woman named Keoni Wiles made MC club legend.

Too late did Throttle realize he hadn’t covered the rules with Hot Stuff on the culture. She was his ‘Old Lady’ and he was her ‘Old Man’. Her job this weekend was to tend to his needs, be quiet, and not talk out of turn to the men. It was a subservient role, and he didn’t know how she would feel about that.

He hadn’t planned to join the group on the ride out. Initially, he thought him and his Old Lady had left late enough to do their own thing and just enjoy the lake, but once he spotted the group, he fell in line. Throttle just prayed that Keoni would as well.

“Listen,” he said through the mic in the helmet. “As my ‘Old Lady’, you don’t talk. You act like a lady, stay the hell out of their way, and treat me like my dick has the best cocaine in the world in it.”

“What?” She asked, raising the visor on the helmet to look at him.

“Biker culture is different. Coming in on the back of the bike is another subculture that you will have to learn if you ride in the bitch seat,” he said. “I didn’t expect to come in with them, but here we are. Play it cool.”

“Okay,” she said, holding onto the sides of his jacket.

Keoni stayed on the bike as all the men parked and went inside to secure their camping spots. Other women were on the backs of bikes. A few waved at her and she waved back. They didn’t get down off the bikes to come over and talk with her, and this weekend, she would watch what they did and emulate them as long as it wasn’t demeaning.

She wanted to check her watch because it seemed like the men had been inside forever and her bladder screamed for relief. Moments later, the bikers began filing out. The leader of the gang lumbered out of the building first, the wooden steps of the lodge creaking under the mass of his weight. Keoni watched as his ‘Old Lady’ leaned back on the bike’s rack, gripping the metal as he swung his leg over the seat. All the women did the same and she, in turn performed the same action for Throttle. The engines were loud as they all fired up and the Legion rolled out.

The lake, even through the dark visor of the helmet, was gorgeous this time of year as the bikers kicked up dust during the drive to the campsite. A short ride later, they came to a clearing where all the bikers rolled in, finding a spot to set up for the night. It would be dark soon and she still had to pee.

“We will pitch camp here,” he said, killing the engine and swinging his long, muscular leg off the bike. “Lend me a hand over here please, Hot Stuff.”

“Throttle, I have to pee,” she said.

“Okay,” he told her, waving his hand in the air in a circular motion. He then pointed at her, and three of the women walked over. “Ladies, this is Hot Stuff.”

“Hey,” they all chimed in. “Leave the ‘dome’ and let’s go.”

None of them wore the helmets and she rested her ‘dome’ on the back of the bike. Her hair was matted against the back of her head from sweating inside of the helmet. She did what she could with her fingers to fluff it back out, but her main focus was her bladder. The ladies were quiet as they formed a small half-circle and made their way to the bathrooms, which Keoni was pleased to see, had showers.

Still quiet, she did her business and came out to find the ladies waiting.

“I’m Handles,” the one with the large breasts said.

“My name is Chickadee,” the brunette said. “Make sure anytime you have to go, you come get one of us. We never go anywhere alone, especially with the Rough Riders here. They are still 1% Percenters and proud of it, so nothing is off limits to them, especially women. Stay frosty.”

Handles added, “Yeah, they will take ‘property’ that’s not theirs and pass it around, sending back a pulp of awfulness. Be wary, okay?”

By property, Keoni realized they meant women. I am Throttle’s property. She didn’t like the sound of that, but she had asked to come along, so she had to play by the rules in the big kid’s sandbox. Sand and dust filled the air where the men camped as a loud commotion was heard outside, and the women took off running to the campsite. The Low Riders had ridden into the middle of the fray and quickly she recognized Big Jock. That man was trouble with a capital T.

Big Jock was in Throttle’s face, yelling with saliva beads spraying through the air. Other men from both groups circled about, kicking up dirt, hindering her vision of Throttle. Her Old Man was standing cool and calm with his feet shoulder width apart, ready to take a shot at the man if he came any closer. Big Jock took advantage of the moment of distraction when Throttle’s eyes sought her face, not looking at the big man who lunged closer throwing a punch into the air and Throttle countered, landing the punch right square on his nose.

All hell broke loose as men squared off, fighting, swearing, and throwing punches. Keoni’s eyes were wide as she watched the brawl, not knowing what to do. It was getting dark and her night vision was being challenged by the men kicking up dust in the fray of heavy boots and black leather. Squinting, she tried to see Throttle, who was on the ground. He swung his fists, landing blows against a different man and Big Jock, now on the ground, pulled out a metallic object, going for the leader of the Legion of Guardians. She didn’t know his name, but his back was turned to Big Jock and without some sort of warning, the man’s life was in mortal jeopardy.

In hindsight, her actions were stupid, reckless, and out of place. However, if she didn’t act, the leader could have been fatally wounded. She ran at top speed, stopping short of Big Jock and providing a well-placed roundhouse kick to his face, knocking him to the ground.

“Hot Stuff! Get out the way,” Throttle called out to her. He was otherwise engaged with a Low Rider who at the moment seemed to be sitting on his chest, swinging unfocused blows into the dusty air. Keoni’s focus was on the big man. Big Jock scrambled, going again for the object, which Keoni saw was a gun.

Instinct kicked in and she did the same thing to Big Jock’s lips, kicking the man in his mouth. Another roundhouse to his arm followed by a perfect axe kick to his hand dislodged the weapon. The other men had stopped fighting to watch the little lady in action. Each time Big Jock tried to get up, she would land another kick to keep him down.

“Stay down, asshole,” she said, kicking the weapon towards Throttle, who refused to pick it up.

A loud whistle sounded and the fight was over. The leader of the Legion of Guardians MC picked up the weapon. Big Jock’s face was bloodied and his new biker gang helped him get to his feet. The Run Captain, or the Legion of Guardians Leader, of the group who also was the front door of the group as they road in, held the weapon. His words were to Throttle even though he was talking about her. He stood at an angle so she could see his face in the ever-dimming light of the remains of the day.

“This your Old Lady, Throttle?” He asked. His cut said “Grinder” in bold black letters.

“Yes, she is, Grinder,” Throttle replied, knocking the dust off his jeans.

“She needs to learn her place,” Grinder said. “She could have been hurt getting in menfolk’s business, but she saved my life.”

Keoni remained quiet, although she had a great deal to say to all the jack holes fighting in the middle of the woods. As hard as it was, she held her tongue. Throttle’s Old Lady didn’t have a voice in this chant and the laryngitis was killing her.

“She knows, but there is a history between her and Big Jock. He tried to take my property, and subsequent actions got him kicked out of the Easy Riders, which is why he came at me,” Throttle offered. “I guess the Rough Riders don’t care who they let into their folds.”

“Understood, but if she’s going to be a problem, this will be her last time on a ride out on the back of your bike,” he said.

“It may be anyway,” Throttle said. “She wants her own and to be a Lady Guardian.”

The words hung in the air like stale smoke from old cigarettes. Throttle was telling him for a reason. Grinder grunted, gave a nod, and started to walk away, but paused, not looking at Keoni and speaking to her under his breath.

“I owe you a solid for saving my life,” Grinder said. “I repay my debts.”

Keoni didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care. She just wanted to pitch the tent, crawl inside and hide for the rest of the weekend. Instead, she nodded and moved to her Old Man’s side. The crowd dispersed as Throttle went back to work, getting the remainder of the tent up and tossing in a sleeping bag. Keoni noticed there was only one.

Her lips hurt from keeping her mouth shut for so long until the tent was up and they were inside.

“That was the smartest dumb thing you could have ever done,” Throttle said.

“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t going to let that ape hanger shoot the man in his back,” she said. “The paperwork alone would have ruined the weekend.”

“Hmm,” he said, taking off his boots and jacket. “You were pretty amazing with the Kung Fu.”

“Karate, but hey, it works,” she said.

“Yeah it does,” he told her, reaching for her and pulling her down onto the sleeping bag. “We have some time before dinner to relax. Let’s do that.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, sliding close to him and holding tight to his arm. Relaxing was the last thing on her mind. Her body was jumping from the activity, the fight and seeing the men in action. Keoni thought of Mr. Willie, her fortune teller. The little paper gun. Was it an omen like the mini motorcycle?

At this point she didn’t care. She just wanted to stop shaking. Throttle held onto her as he waited for the adrenalin rush to slow down in his Old Lady. Until it did, he would simply hold her close.

An activity he was starting to really enjoy doing.