by Tanya Jolie
They seemed to bat their eyes at Mike, and I tried to avoid picturing them with him. One look around the party told me that partners were mostly formal with these people, and that swapping sex-partners was not unusual at all.
As if he’d read my mind, Mike gave my ass a reassuring squeeze and pulled me close. I could tell that he noticed my missing panties. He gave me a sly smile and slid a hand discreetly up my skirt as we walked from the group to explore more of the party.
As Mike introduced me to more people, I felt more comfortable, more like I belonged, and once the initial nervousness of being in this new place wore off, I allowed myself to enjoy the naughty feelings of being secretly bare-assed around all of these people.
I noticed men and women looking at my cleavage, which was a new kind of attention, and I felt exhilarated that my ass and pussy were just a strong breeze from being totally exposed.
Once I started feeling bolder, I found reasons to pick things up off the ground or arch my back and lean in to conversations, giving whoever was behind me an eyeful. Mike, having seen all kinds of craziness in his years with this group, seemed to find my experimentation cute, if not quaint.
In reality, there were women walking around topless and even nude, so my little beaver-shots were probably not especially thrilling for anyone. To me, though, this was something totally new, and taking some ownership over my body, feeling like I had some power over others, was not only novel, but important. It challenged me to evaluate who I was and what I wanted in life.
While Mike and I watched one of his friends perform in a heavy metal concert, he slid his hand down the front of my skirt. As we bobbed to the beat, he cradled my clit between his fore- and middle-fingers, getting my juices flowing.
Eventually, as the band really settled into their set, playing covers that most of the crowd knew, he raised me onto his shoulders. Towering over the crowd, I ground my crotch against his wide, strong neck. The thought crossed my mind that if Mike was an Ox, I was his yoke, but my little personal joke didn’t distract me from getting my rocks off against his neck.
He must have known what I was doing because he anchored both of my knees with one arm as he moved the other hand to my ass, squeezing in rhythm to the music and bouncing a little more deliberately.
As the band played its last song, an apparent crowd favorite, Mike unhooked my bra, and, giving my caution to the night and to my new identity, I let my happy tits free in the cool air of the stars, much to the approval of the nearby crowd, who hooted and hollered.
By the end of the night, my apprehension about Mike’s friends, his lifestyle, and my relationship was nearly dissolved. Everyone I met, even those who were intoxicated on alcohol or drugs or some combination of the two, was friendly and warm, welcoming me in as one of their own.
We were saying our goodbyes, and I was entertaining the idea of getting a small tattoo to really commemorate my stepping away from my mundane upbringing. Right as I was narrowing down some mental-pictures of what I’d like and where, we heard a sudden commotion.
In the parking lot, where everyone had parked their bikes, a group of other bikers with very different symbols adorning their jackets and vests were standing ominously, shouting insults and epithets. I hadn’t been around long enough to understand the inter-gang politics of the local motorcycle groups, but I didn’t have to know much to see that these people were looking for trouble.
Holding Mike’s hand, I felt him tense. I had never seen him look anxious or afraid before, and I realized he was afraid for my sake. Before I could look to him for reassurance, he pulled me to the side and made a b-line around the side of the building.
Getting caught up in a major altercation would violate his parole. If he hurt someone, or killed someone, he would be going back to prison, and probably for a long time. Fortunately, we had arrived late and parked near the rear of the lot.
As we approached his bike, we heard yelling and the sound of glass breaking coming from our previous location. Things seemed quiet, and we were nearly on the bike when we heard a voice from the darkness.
“That bitch has got a sweet ass, Ox.” The voice was whiskey-soaked, and smoke-ruined.
“Watch your mouth, Blotto.” Mike’s voice was calm, but I could see veins pulsing in his neck, and I could feel him squeezing my hand, keeping me close.
“Word is you’re cleaning up your act, Ox. Pretty sure I can say whatever I want. She wearin’ panties under that skirt?”
“I said ‘watch your fucking mouth.’” Mike’s shoulders were tensing and his chest was puffing. He wasn’t the type to show off; he was preparing himself.
Blotto came out of the shadows. He was smaller than Mike, but still a big man. I was surprised to see that the symbols he wore were not of a rival gang, but of an ally.
“I saw you around the party, girly. I really enjoyed the show.” He reached his gnarled hands out before him, groping for my breasts.
I pulled back into Mike’s body, but he let go and stood in front of me. He was standing taller than I’d ever seen him, his posture resembling that of a bear more than of an ox.
“Back the fuck off, Blotto. You don’t want this. You’ve had too much to drink.”
“C’mon, Ox. Where’s your party-spirit? You know what they say, man: Bros before hoes! Any bitch of yours is a bitch of mi-“Before he was able to close his teeth, they were knocked out of his mouth. With one cannonball of a punch, Mike leveled Blotto, dislocating his jaw and leaving him senseless, mumbling in the mud.
“We’ve got to roll, Lauren. Now.” Getting on his bike, he handed me the helmet and pulled me onto the seat. He revved the engine, and we took off, my arms shaking from adrenaline and the cold night air.
Chapter 6
During the ride, as the initial shock of the fight wore off, I finished scolding myself for coming to the party in the first place. I was overtaken by immense gratitude, and not only for Mike’s having saved me. I was grateful for his bringing me into this world, for proving to me that I was not a simple, boring girl, destined for a plain life.
I fit in at the party, and I was excited by the prospect of exploring this side of myself, this dormant rebelliousness that, until now, had found no release. I had found a man who I could trust, and who inspired me to trust in myself as well.
I knew Mike couldn’t hear me over the engine, and I knew my voice would waver with emotion if I tried to speak. Instead, I kissed his neck and arms.
I wore his leather jacket, to protect me from the cold, but I could tell from his goose-bumps that he was not too strong to feel the chill. I rubbed my hands along both of his arms to warm them as I dotted his shoulder with what was left of my lipstick.
I could see that he was speaking, so I removed the helmet and put my ear near his mouth.
“I have to leave town,” he said. “I know that dirt-bag will press charges, and that’ll put me away. I can’t believe, after I’ve done so much to make better choices, it takes one asshole to ruin everything.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said into his ear, the wind whipping my hair. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to fight him.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, nearly taking his eyes off the road. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t see how good my life could be without all the illegal stuff. The night I met you, I was deciding whether to make a pretty major drug deal, one that could make a lot of my friends a lot of money.
“I was weighing the odds of getting caught and going back to prison. I met you, though, and you told me about my daughter, about Maggie, and that she couldn’t draw me. It wasn’t about the crayon. It was about me. I haven’t been there for her, and it’s because of my shitty decisions. I went home and thought hard about my priorities.
“I want her back in my life, and I want you in my life. For both of you, I need to change myself. I need to change myself for my own sake too, and it took meeting you to help me realize that. I may have saved you tonight, but you saved me back at that
bar.”
We arrived at my apartment as he finished his sentence, and tears were in my eyes. I was moved to tears not only by his touching words, by his love for me, but by the thought that I might lose him right as I was beginning to realize how much he meant to me.
Without speaking, he walked me to my door, and we hugged for a long while, ignoring the shivering of our bodies.
Eventually, I found the words: “I’m going with you. I have to. I don’t know where this is going, between you and me, but I have at least the summer to figure it out. I’ve learned so much about myself over our short time together.”
He bent down to kiss me, and in addition to the stubble on his cheeks, I could feel the warm wetness of his cheeks. He was crying too, silently, and he seemed even stronger for it.
We moved into the warmth of my apartment without ending our kiss, the saltiness of our tears joining where our lips met. We stripped one another and lay, naked, exploring our warming bodies with cold hands.
We took time to kiss one another on every sensitive area, paying extra time and attention to the spots that made our hair stand up or made us catch our breath. I took him into my mouth, taking pleasure in giving him pleasure. He slid his tongue into me, kissing the lips between my thighs as deeply as he had those on my face.
I stood with my back to him, bracing my hands on the back of his neck, and ran his hands over the front of my body. His hands finally found their homes in the crevice of my pubic triangle and over my breasts, while his manhood grew appreciatively against the crack of my ass.
I propped my foot up on the bed as he pushed his nose into my hair and kissed my neck. He slid into me. We both gasped as our bodies tensed, swelling and tightening as he pushed into me and I pushed back. The passion was such that we relied on slow, measured thrusts to prevent us from peaking too soon to fully enjoy our union.
The build was slow but intense and, though we drew it out, it was not long before we fell to the mattress, panting in each other’s arms, a mess of sweat, tears.
“This is right,” I thought.
“This is right,” he said.
Chapter 7
In the early morning light, before the sun had truly risen, we mounted his motorcycle. We had packed two small bags, not knowing what lay ahead but knowing that we wouldn’t need much more than one another.
I left a letter for my parents and one for my friends. He left one for his crew and for his daughter. I would have the whole summer to decide if I wanted to come back to teaching or to journey elsewhere.
The sun began to peek over the mountains as we moved on to the freeway, and I could feel the anxieties of my old life, of my old self, thaw in the morning light. As if I had been tethered to that town, I could feel myself being loosed, strand by strand, as the houses and businesses, as everything I’d ever known, disappeared into the distance behind us.
It was the first time in my life that I knew nothing of what lay ahead, knew nothing of the landscape or of what my future held. I couldn’t have been happier, and the smile on Mike’s face was not the smile of a tough guy, or of a dangerous felon, but of a man in love.
And as I pressed my knees into his sides, feeling the vibration beneath me, feeling the wind on my arms, I was reminded of the concert. Again, I felt like Mike was my ox and I was his yoke. I tamed him. And he drove me wild.
The End
Wanted by my Biker Stepbrother
Faces in Smoke
Faces in Smoke
Chapter One
Alaina swayed back and forth to the sound of the music that blared through the speakers. The base line made the stage tremble, its beat reverberating through the aged, painted wood, and up through her bare feet. Always bare feet. Heals were for the other girls—the ones that needed gimmicks and flashy clothing to command attention.
Alaina did it with her body.
She clasped the pole with her right hand, tiptoeing around it, each step popping her hip, her movements growing quicker and quicker with every new footfall. Gaga’s voice blared through the speakers as her arms contracted and she squeezed her torso, lifting herself up. Her legs extended outward to either side of her as whistles filled the room.
One revolution after another and she managed to avoid becoming dizzy. Her whole body swung, but she remained aware of herself; she held onto the ground because through the haze, she could still see that face.
Her head hung back, her chin pointed at the film-covered bulbs as she slowly allowed herself to slide onto the ground. In the next moment, she was on her hands and knees, Gaga’s toxic sound driving her forward. She opened her eyes—really opened them to scan the entire crowd. Some men were on their feet as bills, wads, flew in her direction, while others sat leaning back in their chairs, their eyes holding a smoky gaze and their hands rubbing the bulge in their pants. She could do anything up there and they would empty their pockets for her.
Soon, the music stopped and Alaina with it. She deftly gathered her earnings and walked back towards the curtain.
She couldn’t resist taking one more look back at that man—that face. She drank him in, gathering everything from his hazel eyes to his long, crooked nose. She caught the furrow in his bushy brow and the curve of his lip. She watched him flip his hair, drawing it back into a low man bun, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. Eventually, the silence had gone on too long, so she turned and continued on off stage.
Behind the curtain, it was much more peaceful. She could hear her own breath, her own thoughts.
“Hey Girl!”
Alaina looked up through the mirror and saw her best friend Frida who was already half way through the process of taking off her makeup. “Stop yelling,” she said, placing her palms on the table in front of her.
Frida giggled at this, slamming an ice cold bottle of water right next to her hands. “Stop being so heavy…”
Alaina cleared her throat. “Thanks.” She picked up the water and sucked in gulp after gulp.
Frida eyed her stack of cash, her thin eyebrow raised. “Wish I could work it like you do.”
Alaina shrugged.
Frida sighed, clutching the back of a nearby chair and slamming it down in front of her. Another girl came in, sighing to herself and counting her bills. Alaina glanced up at her head of fake blond curls before returning to her own tired image in the mirror.
Frida followed her gaze before saying, “Where does all that passion come from?”
Alaina shrugged. “It’s just a job.” She sighed, picking through her pack of make-up remover wipes. Even through the curtain, she could hear the whistling and shouting dying down. The night was coming to an end. “Calculated. Just like any other.”
Frida rolled her eyes, hopping out of her chair and returning to her own mirror. “Where were you manufactured, Alaina?” she asked.
Alaina let out a humorless laugh. “China.”
Frida giggled at this, but as her eyes wandered to the calendar hanging just above her mirror. Her giggles faded away. “Are you still down for Bethany’s memorial?”
Alaina pursed her lips. “Remind me again why we’re having a memorial service for a girl that was murdered like ten years ago?”
Frida’s eyes went wide, her eyebrows shooting up as she ducked her forehead. “How would you feel if you got killed and no one found the murderer and everyone eventually stopped giving a shit?”
Alaina couldn’t help but to laugh at this. “I don’t know, Frida. Dead?”
Frida shook her head at this, returning to her mirror.
When Alaina had succeeded in wiping off most of the excess makeup, she looked up to find Frida still peering at her. “Look, I’ll go with you guys okay?” She said as she stood up, draping herself in her real clothes. “It’s gettin’ late and I can barely keep my eyes open.” She approached Frida, planting a kiss at the crown of her head. “I’ll see you Friday. Yes?”
Frida nodded. “I still don’t get how you managed to get off a whole two nights.”
Alaina shrugged. “Well, apparently having your mother remarry does the trick.” With that she left the dressing room, reentering the club and all of its musty, smoky glory.
She had made it all the way to the door before she felt a body behind her. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Yes?” She turned, and, just like she had predicted, there was that face.
His eyes were impossible to resist at pointblank range. Maybe it was the vodka, or the smoke, or the second hand weed, but Alaina felt particularly inhibited.
“There’s something different about you.” He said, his voice soaring over the sound of the music and dwindling chatter.
Alaina couldn’t stop herself from giggling at the trite compliment. “There’s something creepy about you.” She yanked open the door and stepped outside, sucking in buckets of the relatively clean air.
She didn’t have to glance behind her to know that he was following her. He had been doing this after every shift for the last week. It had become something like their little unspoken dance.
“Can I at least get a name?” he called after her.
She pivoted, but kept walking, travelling backwards in the direction of her car. “Alaina!” she called back.
His lips stretched into a crooked smile. “You sound like a princess.”
Alaina laughed at this as she slipped her keys out of her purse and stuck it into the driver’s side of her car. From over the roof of it, she could see him half-running towards a row of bikes.
She raised an eyebrow. He was just a biker, probably passing through.
He had wrapped his hands around the handles of a motorcycle when he stopped and called over to her. “I reckon, I can’t convince you to give me a number?”
Alaina nodded, smiling in spite of herself. “You reckon correctly,” she replied. With that, she climbed inside of her car and gingerly drove home.
Chapter Two
Meaningless images rolled through Alaina’s mind. She could hear the roar of the people that filled Cajun Field, there boos of disapproval and cheers of adoration punctuating every hit the football players took. Their bodies towered over her, her mother’s legs to her right and a stranger’s khakis to her left.