CHAPTER THREE
JESSE
“Good God almighty! Look at the tits on that one.” Sam points to the first contestant stepping up on the stage for the Miss Panama City Biker Rally contest.
The contestant is a typical biker gal: long jet-black hair, a couple of tattoos on her shoulders, and a pierced navel. She’s wearing hot pink shorts that ride three quarters of the way up her hefty ass and a pink bikini top that barely covers her dark nipples.
Definitely not my type.
The crowd of wasted bikers obviously think differently. They push closer to the stage, whistling and clapping as she struts around in her ridiculously high heels. At one point, she wobbles and for a second it looks like she might twist her ankle.
“Damn! She’s going to fall flat on her ass,” I say to Sam, who snickers. “Whoops! No, she’s up on her feet again. Good save.”
The chick recovers quickly. To cover up her clumsiness, she turns her back to the audience and bends over dramatically, giving the men closest to her a glimpse of skin barely concealed by a thin line of fabric.
“That will score her some big points with the judges,” Sam says. “They’ve already forgotten she almost tumbled off the stage. Who needs beauty and grace when you can show a little pussy instead?”
“Let’s give it up for Trixie!” Roger barks into the microphone from the side of the stage. “Hell of a way to start the contest. Right, gentlemen?”
The men roar their approval. The next contestant, a carbon copy of the first, only in a different outfit, begins to shimmy and dance her way across the wooden platform.
Bored, I turn away from the contest.
I’ve seen it all before.
Dyed hair, fake tits, pussies shaved the exact same way.
Why do women all want to look exactly alike? Don’t they realize men need variety in their life?
The other girls are patiently waiting for their turn by the side of the stage. They chat with each other as they smooth down thickly sprayed hair and adjust their bikini tops to show the maximum amount of cleavage.
None of them interest me either.
Too bad, because I’m horny as hell and am counting on getting laid tonight.
What catches my eye is the girl standing behind a huge cooler of ice and beer set up near the corner of the stage. She is tall with long brown hair and shapely legs that go on forever. My eyes follow those legs up from her high-heeled leather boots to the curvy ass in a blue jean skirt. A flag-themed cowboy hat sits on her head.
Her tits, barely covered by a white bikini top, are large, pillow soft, and obviously real. Even from way back where I’m standing, I can tell they’re not pumped full of stiff silicone shit. I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to sink my teeth into the lush globes and roll the thick nipples with my tongue.
My cock stirs against my jeans.
Oh yeah, I’m interested now alright.
I wonder how much sweet-talking it will take to talk her into going back to my hotel room after work. I’m already thinking of how tight her pussy will feel when I sink balls deep inside.
Maybe I’ll ask her to leave the cowboy hat on while I fuck her hard from behind. Those sexy-as-hell black leather boots should stay on, too.
If I had to guess, I'd say she is the type of gal that will act all coy and tell me no at first.
I won’t let a little thing like that stop me.
I’m a man who loves a challenge and besides, I haven’t found a woman yet that wasn’t eventually willing to spread her legs wide for me. And after one good fuck, they always come back begging for more.
Finding a woman to fuck isn’t my problem.
Finding a woman who keeps my interest the next morning definitely is.
The girl smiles and laughs while she hastily pops the tops off bottles of beer and hands them to waiting customers. Dollar after dollar falls into her tip jar. It is almost full and the night isn’t halfway over.
When the last customer in line steps away, her smile instantly drops. I watch her tuck a strand of brown hair behind her ear and adjust the cowboy hat. Her whole demeanor changes when she isn’t putting on a show.
I’m intrigued by her even more now.
She clearly doesn’t belong here. Any fool could see that.
Whereas the other girls exude dirty sex, she projects almost a sense of innocence and purity. Not something you expect, or even want to see, working at a bar loaded with bikers.
I bet she thinks she looks sexy with her high-heeled leather boots and short skirt. And she does, in her own way.
Hot as hell in fact.
Just not in the way she thinks. She reminds me of a juicy, ripe Georgia peach waiting to be plucked from the tree.
I start making my way across the room, telling myself I need another beer. Truth is, I want a closer look at those sweet tits.
Other men obviously have the same idea, and a long line quickly forms in front of her. A man wearing a muscle shirt with a red bandanna wrapped around his head leans forward for a better view down her bikini top. I want to slap the shit out of him and choke him with his bandanna. If he does it again, I might do exactly that.
The girl keeps up a steady stream of flirty banter with the men who reach the front of the line. I notice she is careful to treat them all the same, thanking each one politely for their compliments, even the lewd ones, and laughing at their jokes.
The girl is good at her job. No wonder her tips are piling up.
The longer I watch her, the more I want to sling her over my shoulder and take her back to the hotel. Or upstairs, if there is an empty room, or even a broom closet. I’m not picky about the location. As long as I can get a good angle, I’m pumped and ready to go.
Finally I reach the front of the line and it’s my turn to order. She looks up at me and smiles. It seems genuine, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I never have any problem getting ladies to do exactly what I want them to. There’s nothing to make me believe this pretty gal will be any different.
For some reason, the thought leaves me slightly disappointed. Occasionally it might be nice to have to work for it.
Love them and leave them wanting more is my rule.
Take her home, do the dirty, and kiss her goodbye. Hell, if she’s a fantastic lay, I might even buy this one breakfast.
“Hey gorgeous,” I say, suddenly and inexplicably at a loss for anything more clever.
“Hey yourself,” she responds. “How many bottles of beer do you need?”
“Just one.”
She pulls an ice-cold beer out of the cooler, pops the cap, and hands it to me. “You’re a big drinker, I see,” she says with a wink. “That will be five bucks.”
I hand her a ten-dollar bill so she can see me put the five in change into her tip jar.
“I’m usually a whiskey man,” I explain. “I’m only ordering beer so I’ll have an excuse to see your beautiful body up close and personal.”
“I appreciate that,” she says. She smiles politely and looks over my shoulder at the next customer.
“What can I get you?” she asks the man standing behind me.
Damn! Did she really brush me off that fast?
I blink in surprise and turn around to face him.
“How many beers do you need?” I ask. “I’m buying if you’ll move along quickly.”
He laughs and slaps me on the back. “You got it, buddy. I’ll take two.”
I fork over more money and she hands him the bottles. “Hope you get lucky tonight,” he says before walking away.
For a brief moment, we’re alone. I know it won’t last for long. Not unless I want to keep buying beer for a line of guys all night. I better make my move fast. Like Sam says, time is wasting.
I lean closer.
“So I was wondering, what you are doing after work tonight, sweetheart? Got any big plans that can’t be cancelled?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You were wondering, huh? You and about a hundred other guys in here. No offense, but you’re not the first person to ask me that exact same question tonight.”
“Since that isn’t a valid answer, I’m not taking it as a ‘no.’”
With a sigh, she turns away to start jamming beer bottles further down into the ice. She almost seems pissed at me. I can’t figure out why, since I haven’t done anything.
Yet.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’ve already got plans,” she replies with a sarcastic emphasis on the ‘sweetheart.’
Guess she doesn’t like to be called endearing names. Most women eat that shit up. I wonder what her issue is.
“Doing what?”
She straightens up and hesitates for a split second too long. “Well for starters, I have to go home and make lunch for my three kids to take to school tomorrow. They’re all in elementary school and are quite a handful. You know how it is…homework, stomach flu, lice. You name it, they’ve got it.”
I grin and take a sip of the cold beer. She is a terrible liar. “How old are they?”
“Five, six, and eight.”
“So you started popping out babies at the age of what…twelve?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “I look young for my age. Everyone says so.”
“Is that really the best excuse you can make up for not going out with me? At least let me take you to grab something to eat after work.”
“And where would that be at two o’clock in the morning? Last call isn’t until one forty-five, and then we have to clean up. I appreciate it though. Truly. The answer is still no.”
She smiles again to soften her words and to convince me to give up quietly and move along without making a scene.
I’m a little surprised at how fast she is shutting me down.
This isn’t going as well as expected.
“So why aren’t you up there in the beauty contest?” I ask, pointing to the last contestant up on stage. “You would win. Hands down. There wouldn’t even be a contest.”
Compliments always work to warm up the ladies.
She laughs out loud at the suggestion. “No way. Prancing around on stage isn’t my thing.”
I take another swig of beer. “Glad to hear it.”
She lifts her eyebrows and gives me her full attention. “And why do you say that?”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to stand all those assholes looking at my girl. If you were mine, I would keep you all to myself.”
Before she has a chance to reply, I turn and walk away without a backwards glance.
I’ll let her chew on that little tidbit for a while.
She’ll come around looking for me before the night is over.
They always do.