Chapter 3
During hard times, I’d often found myself thinking about Chloe’s real father. If only I knew where he’d gone, surely he’d have taken care of us had he known I’d gotten pregnant. I’d always hoped to reunite with him, but our paths had never crossed again. I should've tried harder to find him.
One might of thought falling in love with a man through a chance encounter of a one-night stand seemed ridiculous, but I’d never experienced such passion, lust, and love in all of my life. On that night, we’d found true love. At least, I knew I’d fallen in love with him. My gut had told me he might have felt the same about me too. I believed in my heart I had been just as important to him. I wondered why he’d never come looking for me. Maybe he tried but couldn't find me, or maybe I was wrong, and maybe our time together had only been a one-night stand. Of course, I didn't want to believe it.
I couldn’t help but think back to when we’d first met. I’d ran away from home, having been stranded on the streets, having no where to go, having no one to take care of me. I’d squat in abandon houses during the night, and by day I’d roam around the streets looking for bottles I could return for money. I thought it would have been better than living with my parents, but it turned out I was wrong. I contemplated on whether to bow down to my father and comply to his rules or continue to suffer. I was a stubborn girl, so it was a tough decision.
I was smart but couldn’t deal with authority figures, so I kept getting myself in trouble. I’d dropped out of school and had regretted it ever since. In hindsight, I would have made different choices for sure, many different choices, starting with an attitude adjustment.
Just before I’d first met my love, I’d hit rock bottom and was all alone on the streets at night. Almost ready to go back home and face the music with my parents, desperation had set in, and I was hungry. Shivering, I’d pulled my arms in my sleeves, putting my head down, closing my eyes.
The roar of a motorcycle engine blared, startling me, waking me up. As he approached, he threw me off guard, scaring me, making me want to run off. I hid in the shadows, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you hungry? Would you like to get out of the cold? I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Peeking out at him, I was hesitant to go because he didn’t look like a trustworthy type. Although, what choice did I have? I was freezing and my stomach was growling, and I hadn't eaten in a few days.
When he got closer to the streetlight, I could tell he was only a couple years older than me, so I didn’t feel as threatened as I had when he first rode up. I couldn’t believe my eyes. To my surprise, he was striking, definitely defeating my expectations. The handsome biker stared at me with kind blue eyes, lovely and gorgeous. He had long hair and an even longer beard. His worn out jeans and leather boots gave him a rugged look. His slim muscular body perched on a mean machine. Pushing his long, silky hair up, he tied it back with a black bandanna. I envied his smooth locks. His leather vest opened, exposing his bare chest, revealing his six-pack abs, mesmerizing me, almost causing me to drool. His body was irresistible.
He reached for my hand, smiling, making me feel comfortable. Although, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t be sure whether or not I could trust him. I’d learned not everyone out on the street had good intentions. Reluctantly, I climbed on the back of his motorcycle, putting my arms around his waist, holding him tight, his skin soft and smooth, his muscles warm and firm. He smelled wonderful, like fine leather and a mixture of cologne and man. I whispered in his ear, “Thank you.”
“That’s okay,” he replied. “You can make it up to me.”
He turned his head toward me, winked and grinned. Did he expect me to sleep with him? Don’t get me wrong. He was gorgeous, and on any given day, I’d have slept with him immediately, but not under the current circumstances. For a moment, I almost asked him to let me off the motorcycle, but I didn’t for some reason.
He took me to a motorcycle club house. The interior was dimly lit and looked like a bar, filled with pool tables, bikers, and women. When he walked me inside, everyone immediately welcomed me with open arms. Right away, I felt like I’d known them all my whole life. Him picking me up and getting me there happened so fast, I never even got his name. After he walked off, I asked around, but nobody knew his name, which somewhat concerned me. Why was he so secretive? Was he in trouble with the law or something? Everyone called him Hot Stuff, a nickname that suited him well.
He came back, wrapped me in a blanket, and left again, only gone for a few minutes. Returning with a warm plate of food, he handed it to me, patted me on the head, and told me it was nice meeting me as he walked off. Where did he get the nerve to pat me on the head? I couldn’t understand why he was leaving me. I thought he was going to try to get into my pants. Why was I so disappointed? Obviously, he wasn't even interested in me. He’d actually picked me up off the street to help me, wanting nothing in return. It was shocking to me that he ended up being a good guy.
The place was packed, and there weren't any open seats, so I sat against the wall and put the plate between my legs, gorging on barbecue chicken, potato salad, and coleslaw.
I wondered when he was going to come flirt with me. Remember, I was supposed to make it up to him. Why was he not trying to collect? Was there something wrong with me? Maybe I’d misinterpreted his comment. Maybe he was just being cute. Maybe he wasn’t even attracted to me. Then I saw him walking back toward me with a big smile on his face. He shoved some napkins and an ice-cold soda pop in my free hand, then took off again.
I followed him with my eyes. Then I noticed so were all of the other women in the room. He'd mesmerized all of us with his sexiness, definitely making the most wanted list. All of the other ladies whispering about him, he'd become the main attraction. Eye candy, so enticing, none of us ladies could look away. I'd thought he was looking for an easy lay, but all along he had a whole harem of girls fawning over him, adoring him. Of course, all of the attention he’d been getting didn’t make the other guy members too happy. At least the expressions on the other mens' faces were not pleasant looks.
I heard he’d just been patched as a member, so he was new blood. I believed if they had known how much attention he'd have gotten from their old ladies, they might have had second thoughts about accepting him. I could see the frustration in all of the mens' eyes. He was too hot for his own good.
Most of the men looked intimidating, but they were all respectful to me, which came to me as quite a shock, because I’d always assumed, bikers, by their rough exteriors would have been crass and grabby. Sure, they were wild, but wild in a good way. I couldn’t stop smiling, watching their horseplay. Most of them joked and hollered, and beer shot out of their noses as they couldn’t stop laughing.
Some of the guys teased Hot Stuff, mentioning the fact that he didn't have any tattoos. One of them kept talking about how he’d lost a bet, so they were finally going to be able to give him a tattoo once and for all. They all sat around drinking and speculating on what type of tattoo they were going to give him. To them getting a tattoo had to have a meaning, a rite of passage. they weren't going to give a tattoo unless it symbolized something or had special meaning or made them laugh their asses off.
Most of the tattoos the bikers had were motorcycles, naked ladies, or skulls highlighted with flames. Some of the guys flexed their muscles, having their tattoos move for comic effect, such as pinup girls' boobs and asses shaking. A majority of them had full sleeves of ink, appearing carefully designed, thought out, and meticulous. Looking through the club was like being at a living and breathing art exhibit. The ladies also were highly tattooed, mostly roses and wings. A few ladies even had full-length wings on their backs, which was obvious because they weren't wearing shirts.
I only had one tattoo, which was a drunken mistake. I wondered why Hot Stuff didn’t have any tattoos? He seemed to belong to the club and lived the lifestyle, but also seemed like a loner, a rebel. Maybe h
e was afraid of the pain.
Unable to help myself, curiosity had gotten the best of me. I stood up and walked up to him, blurting out, "How come you don't have any tattoos?"
All of the other guys surrounding us roared with laughter, pointing at him, teasing him.
He blushed and looked down.
"Go ahead," someone said. “Tell her why.”
“Well?” I asked.
He looked hesitant to speak.
"I don't want a tattoo unless it has a personal meaning to me that will last the test of time," he muttered. "I want one that reflects my essence."
All the guys laughed hysterically again. Even I snickered a little. Who knew that he was so sensitive and deep.
I admired that he would want to put a lot of thought into a tattoo. Sure, it was great to be impulsive, but getting ink was a big decision, especially the first one.
I looked down at my ankle, thinking back to when I'd gotten my tattoo of a small, pink heart. Of course, I was stone-cold drunk when I'd gotten mine and didn't realize I had it until the following day when my mother woke me up, screaming and smacking me with a wooden soup spoon. I agreed with him, admiring his decision. If I could have done it over again, I might have waited. I certainly didn't regret getting the tattoo, even though I had so many bad memories attached to it. Just looking at it made my head hurt, remembering the pain of the spoon cracking my noggin.
Hot Stuff got a tattoo that night. I chuckled just thinking about it. Those were fond memories, being with him. I’ve really missed him a lot. My grin widened just thinking about our time together.
Chapter 4
Hot Stuff’s biker friends continued to rag on him, dishing out a lot of grief. They were trying to bring his stock down, so he might not be so desired by their old ladies, his gorgeous looks bruising their egos. Their insults hadn’t worked, the ladies still ogling him. If anything, the men were drawing more attention to him, which was driving the women crazy. The men were definitely going in the wrong direction. Referring to him as Hot Stuff was only advertising how damn good looking he was and showcasing to his irresistible body.
As the night went on, more and more bikers and their old ladies showed up. The evening had bloomed into a party, and it was standing room only.
I saw Hot Stuff looking at me from across the room. I pulled out my compact mirror from my pocket and tried my best to fix my hair before he got closer. When he walked up, I put on the best smile I could, hoping there wasn’t anything between my teeth. It was my chance to finally get to know him. Before we were able to talk, feedback from the speakers caused everyone to quiet down. Someone announced over a loud speaker that it was time for Hot Stuff to get his tattoo. Everyone hooted, hollered, and whistled.
A couple of members told him to pull down his britches. He was reluctant and refused, trying to get away, but he wasn’t fast enough. They chased him down until a half-dozen members surrounded him, all smiling wide. He jolted, attempting to run away, but they grabbed him by his arms and legs, him laughing the whole time, fighting to get free. A few of their old ladies yanked his leather boots and vest off.
Lifting him up, the men held his body over their heads, walking him to the back room, which contained a tattoo chair and what appeared to be a massage table. The walls contained tattoo artwork specifically designed for the MC members. Everyone in the club house surrounded the doorway, laughing hysterically. Hot Stuff’s face turned red as some of the members’ old ladies peeled off his jeans, revealing his muscular, sexy legs. He wasn't wearing any underwear, which cause all of the ladies to ooh and aah, staring at his package. He attempted to cup his genitals with both hands, but it was impossible because his manhood was too large for him to conceal.
Ladies’ eyes lit up as grins flooded their faces. His body was certainly quite a spectacle to witness. I caught myself fantasizing what I intended to do with him later.
They dropped him onto the massage table, flipping him around onto his stomach. His bare ass appeared to be the intended target for the tattoo. Everyone cheered and made way for the tattoo artist as she approached. She was covered in tattoos, her hair a shade of lavender. Her apprentice shaved and cleaned the area, while she sketched. A group of members whispered ideas in her ear. She created a stencil, placed it on his ass, and then peeled it off. I tried my best to see, but I found it difficult to distinguish the design. The stencil covered almost one whole ass cheek.
"What design did you jokers choose?" Hot Stuff asked. “Show me. Come on.”
“No way, man,” someone said, “That wasn’t a part of the deal. You said we could tattoo anything.”
"It suits you," one of the old ladies said. "Trust me. You'll love it."
The whole place got quiet when the tattoo artist started tattooing his ass. The buzzing sound of the tattoo machine vibrated as she put down the first line.
“How was that?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hot Stuff replied.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I know.”
He smiled at her, and she blushed. All of the guys burst into laughter again, hooting and hollering. One of them ran off laughing so hard, shouting something about almost pissing his pants.
I felt sorry for Hot Stuff, but noticed he had a silly grin on his face, so he also seemed to be in on the fun. Everyone cheered and chanted, “Hot Stuff! Hot Stuff! Hot Stuff!”
I could tell he was beginning to enjoy the recognition of being called Hot Stuff. After all, he'd earned it. He was hot stuff, the hottest man in the room.
In the area, the only sound was the buzzing of the needle and the occasional snicker. The tattoo artist diligently worked, but it seemed like it took forever for her to finish the tattoo. Throughout the entire process all of the guys teased him. Hot Stuff patiently waited until it was done, blushing now and then. He took it like a champ.
After the tattoo was finished, his tattoo artist had applied a lubrication of some sort on the tattoo, cleaning it, advising him on care. She handed him a mirror and he placed it behind himself taking a look. Before he had a chance to see, one of the members grabbed the mirror and ran off.
"Come on you motherfuckers," he pleaded. "Give me a break."
One of the old ladies grabbed Hot Stuff's ass, and her old man playfully smacked her hand away and gave her a look.
"I don't care to look," he said. "I'll see it eventually."
Hot Stuff appeared to be at his wit's end.
"Don't throw a hissy fit," I said, without thinking. "Man up."
His eyes got big and his jaw dropped, shocked at my statement. I don't think he'd ever had a woman talk to him like that before. I'd bet they’d all kissed his ass.
"What?" he asked, frazzled at my statement.
"If you'll stop whining, I'll let you use my mirror," I said.
I pulled out my compact mirror, handing it to him.
The tattoo was so vivid, bright red and various shades of oranges in a strong, black outline. The tattoo design was the words Hot Stuff! in flames on his right ass cheek. The expression on his face was priceless, like a painful smile.
He caught me staring at his ass. Mortified, I quickly turned my eyes away from him. When I peeked back to take another look, he was still staring at me, me feeling like a fool, him knowing I was interested in him. I’d become vulnerable.
All of the ladies were focused on his package, his cock partially erect and huge.
I didn't like the idea of the other women gawking at his naked body, so I looked around until I found his pants. I offered them to him, and he thanked me while he put them on. Of course, I left his vest behind. I didn't want to completely cover him up.
We got to talking and flirting. Soon after, we disappeared into a dark corner, slow dancing. I could feel his hardness pressed up against me. Apparently he liked me even more than I’d thought. I reached down and fondled him, his bulge grew over double in size. I hurt just looking at it, in a good way.
He took my hand and led me through t
he club until we got to one of the clubhouse bedrooms. He sat on the bed. I sat next to him, reaching over, rubbing his back, feeling his muscles, giddy that I was finally able to spend some quality time with him.
I kissed his neck, fondling his package, zipping down his pants, releasing his cock to my eager hand. His cock thrust, seething with desire. I knelt down on my knees in front of him, licking the tip while stroking his length. He played with my hair, encouraging me to go deeper. The warmth of his shaft sliding across my lips caused a tingle between my legs. I wanted him to fuck me hard. As if he’d read my mind, he pulled me up on the bed. I shed my clothing immediately, climbing on top of him. I slid his hot cock into my wet pussy, and I thrust myself down on him, forcing his huge erection inside of me. His mouth softly kissed my breasts, while his hands fondled my ass. He rammed his cock deeper inside me. I licked my top lip fighting not to bite down. Accelerating the speed, he fucked me extra hard. Then he grabbed me, flipping me over on my back, getting on top of me, fucking me harder. I squealed with delight, hoping he wouldn’t stop because he’d hit the right spot. Our bodies were covered with sweat, and I was loving it. His muscles quivered, feeling like his cock had grown even larger. I could tell he was about to come, so I reached down and massaged his balls, which took him over the edge. He fucked me harder and harder, me feeling a burst of warmth fill me with his love. And that was the moment that changed my life forever.
Out of all the women at the club, I was the only woman who was able to interest him. I couldn’t resist seducing him because I wanted him so badly, thinking sooner or later one of the other women might have eventually been able to entice him, and I wouldn’t let that happen because he was mine.
Hot Stuff Page 2