EX-CON

by Scott Hildreth

  Emily did look young, but she sure didn’t look fifteen. She looked her age, but to Sarge, who was used to seeing the leathery-skinned women our MC Brothers typically fucked, making the comparison was a difficult stretch.

  “Yeah, I’ve never known a gal to bullshit one of the fellas,” he said as he tilted his bottle of beer toward me.

  I flipped him my middle finger with my left hand as I grabbed my beer with my right. As I took a long drink from the bottle, I recalled Emily’s facial features and smooth wrinkle-free skin. If she spent much time on the back of my bike in the sun, things would change and change fast.

  “Alright,” Sarge said as he wiped his hands free of a wad of mustard, “So Lucky gets on your last nerve, and you’re gonna start fucking a cute little high school girl. That about sum it up?”

  I shook my head and grinned, “Suppose so.”

  And, as simple as it sounded, it did sum it up. Lucky was a man I didn’t trust and never would, and I felt the need to make my position clear. I certainly didn’t need Sarge’s approval to proceed with Emily, but hearing his opinion on karma helped matters slightly. As he waved his hand toward the waitress, I considered what he said about acceptance.

  He was right. If I could accept my loss as being nothing more than life running it’s course, I didn’t need to understand it. I simply needed to accept it and move on.

  And I was eager to do both.

  EMILY

  June 21, 2006.

  Two weeks. Two weeks wasn’t enough time to wage a war, prepare for a marathon, end the hockey playoffs, or even grow tomatoes in my makeshift garden - but it was more than enough time for me to understand Jackson was the man I had spent my lifetime searching for. He was a very unique person, and not at all what I expected an outlaw biker to be. Although I was quite certain he wasn’t the typical biker, and I was extremely grateful he was different, I stood in wait for him to become someone else. It seemed eventually all men changed into who they really were and I expected in time he would do the same.

  His statements regarding what was acceptable to him were easy for me to understand and follow. In my opinion, knowing in advance what he found tolerable and what he believed to be disrespectful was priceless. In general, it seemed men made an assumption regarding a woman’s understanding of them, and when their respective other did something contrary to their belief of what was acceptable; they would come apart at the seams. Having Jackson explain himself beforehand left little doubt in my mind. Because of my willingness to eagerly accept his relationship requirements, it was easy for me to hope that I was naturally the woman Jackson had been waiting for.

  For me, it wasn’t a matter of making adjustments to how I behaved or what I believed in; I was simply able to be myself. And for once in my life, being me didn’t raise eyebrows or turn heads. If nothing else, it appeared being me able to satisfy someone greatly. And satisfying Jackson, for whatever reason, satisfied me.

  According to Jackson, the time had come for us to have a talk. Since the night we met, we had spent almost every night together - and as many days and evenings as I was able. Although I was prepared for my little world to come crashing down around me, I reserved hope our talk was going to be a productive one and only reveal how happy he was with who he had found me to be. As odd as it seemed to be spending so much time with someone and still not having sex, it was a pleasant feeling to know a man could actually enjoy being with a woman and not be fucking her. Truthfully, kissing Jackson satisfied me much more than any sex I had experienced in the past, so I wasn’t about to complain.

  “Here’s what I’d like to do,” he explained.

  I sat on his couch, staring into my lap, waiting anxiously for him to continue.

  “Are you paying attention?” he asked.

  I glanced up and nodded my head.

  “Yes,” I responded.

  “Are you alright, Em? You look like something’s bothering you,” he said as he stood from the chair he was sitting in.

  As he walked in my direction, I forced a smile. I figured it was my best effort to convince him everything was fine. And, for the most part, everything was fine. I’d never really lacked self-esteem, nor was I a woman who was constantly worried or depressed, but with Jackson, I found myself wanting what it was he offered so deeply, that the thought of not having him all but seemed to consume me.

  And I was left waiting for the proverbial axe to fall.

  “Look at me, Em,” he said as he placed the tip of his finger under my chin and lifted it slightly, “We’re only having a talk. You need to understand, I’m always here to listen just as much as I’m here to talk. Not just now, but always. Understand?” he said in a soothing tone.

  I nodded my head as I glanced upward. It was almost as if he had read my mind.

  “Okay,” I responded.

  He released my chin and sat down beside me. As he situated himself, he placed his hand on my thigh and turned to face me.

  “I’m ready to begin a sexual relationship with you. Sitting here talking about it may seem insensitive, but I can assure you it is not. In fact, it’s absolutely necessary,” he said.

  I repeated his every word in my mind. As his mouth continued to move, I heard very little. Containing my excitement was impossible, but somehow I managed to do so, at least for a while.

  I’m ready to begin a sexual relationship with you.

  I’m ready to begin a sexual relationship with you.

  I’m ready to begin a sexual relationship with you.

  “…and it’s important that you always remember that,” he paused and waited for me to respond.

  Shit.

  I hadn’t heard a single word he had said.

  Considering one thing he had drilled into my head was how much he hated repeating himself, I contemplated my options to get him to repeat himself without making it seem like he was repeating himself.

  “Do you have a pen and some paper? Or maybe a notepad?” I asked.

  He appeared confused, at least for a moment. After standing, he turned toward the back bedroom and walked away. When he returned to the living room he carried a pad of paper and a pen in his hand.

  “Here,” he said with a slight laugh as he held the pad and pen at arm’s length.

  His normal attire was jeans, a white tank top, and boots. Although the jeans changed daily in their style and the color of the denim or their wash, the shirt was always the same - as were his boots. It was something I expected he was comfortable with, and seeing him wear the same thing for a few weeks straight didn’t bother me at all.

  Until now.

  Seeing him now, knowing I was going to be in a sexual relationship with him allowed me to see him in more of a sexual manner than simply an attractive one. With his arm extended, holding the pad and pen, he waited for me to accept his offer of office supplies. I was no longer interested. The muscles on the back of his arm flexed slightly as he held his arm in place. A large portion of his chest was now bare, stretched beyond the limits of his small shirt. The praying hands tattooed to his chest were slightly exposed, and for some strange reason were becoming a huge turn-on. As he shook the paper in front of me, his bicep flexed again, causing my focus to shift once again.

  I blinked my eyes as I realized I was drifting away.

  “Thank you,” I said as I reluctantly accepted the pad and pen.

  As he sat down, I leaned into the corner of the couch and turned to face him. After placing the pad in my lap and drawing a few circles in the corner of the page, I glanced up and grinned.

  “Okay, I know you hate repeating yourself, but I think it’s important I get everything down in notes - I’m an avid note taker. So, can you start at the beginning?” I asked.

  He grinned and shook his head. “Okay.”

  “I’m ready to start a sexual relationship with you. Although sitting here talking about it may seem insensitive, I can assure you it isn’t. It’s absolutely necessary, so we both have an understanding what it is we want
, expect, and won’t accept. This relationship will always hinge on open communication between us both, and you need to remember it’s important to me that you always act like yourself, and you need to know that will please me more than anything. I don’t want you to try and become or be something you’re not,” he paused and gazed down at the empty pad.

  Shit.

  I scribbled my best recollection of what he had said onto the pad.

  Sexual relationship.

  Understand what we want.

  Open communication.

  Be yourself.

  As I finished writing, he continued.

  “What it gets down to is this, Em. You need to fall in love with yourself before you can fall in love with someone else. Are you comfortable being you?” he asked.

  I raised my index finger in the air as I scribbled.

  You need to fall in love with yourself before you can fall in love with someone else.

  I glanced upward and tried to keep from smiling. It didn’t work for long.

  “Yes. I think so. Well, at least now that you said that, I am. Can I ask a question?” I asked, my mouth still curled into a full-on grin.

  “Absolutely,” he responded.

  “So you just want me to act like I’d act if you weren’t around? Like be myself? The way I’ve acted my whole life, and you won’t get mad at me?” I asked.

  “I’ll never get mad at you for being you, no,” he responded.

  I pressed the tip of the pen into the pad.

  Never gets mad.

  I glanced up from the pad as I tapped the pen on my cheek.

  “Okay that’s it for now, continue,” I said.

  “I’ll be committed to you, and I’ll need you to be committed to me. I’ll never cheat on you in any way, and I expect the same from you. I’m not controlling, and I won’t limit who you can see, when you can see them, or tell you what you can or can’t do. Just be comfortable what your doing is always done with our best interest in mind. Is that understood?” he asked.

  I nodded my head as I scribbled.

  Committed relationship.

  No cheating.

  He’s not controlling.

  “Got it,” I said as I tapped the pen against my temple.

  “I’ve said it before and I will remind you again. The MC is my family. The men are my brothers, and they may not always come first, but they’re pretty damned close. No matter what becomes of us, club business will always be club business, and it will never be open for discussion. That’ll never change. It has nothing to do with you, or my trust in you. And, just so you know, I won’t discuss our relationship with the club. Is this understood?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I responded as I nodded my head.

  Club business is club business, and not MY business. I scribbled as he sat and studied me.

  “Now, the sex,” he paused and leaned forward.

  Saved the best for last…

  He rested his forearms on his knees and sighed. After inhaling a shallow breath and exhaling slowly, he turned to face me again.

  “We need to decide what our limitations are. What we’re willing to do, and not willing to do. Nothing is worse than not knowing what a partner’s limits are, hopefully anticipating something, and finding out she’s not willing to proceed with your desire. Knowing in advance will prevent disappointment and confusion for both of us. So, we’ll need to spend some time discussing these matters,” he said.

  I sat, waiting for him to continue. After a long silent pause, I explained myself.

  “I’ve been reading about this type of relationship on the internet. My limitations are pretty easy to remember. I’ll agree to nothing that includes piss, shit, or cutting me. My thoughts on cutting may change in the future, but the piss and shit will never change. I’m really excited to give everything that pleases you a try. I just really hope piss and shit aren’t included on your list of wants,” I blurted.

  He shook his head and sighed. “What if I want to tie you up and spank you?” he asked.

  “Spank away,” I responded.

  “Nipple clamps. Ever heard of nipple clamps?” he asked.

  “Not until last week, but yes, I have. And yes, I’m ready,” I responded.

  “Butt plugs, anal play, piercing, fisting, electrocution, bondage…” he paused and raised one eyebrow.

  “If it turns you on, let’s give it a try,” I responded. “I want to be the woman you’ve always dreamed of. And not because I think that’s what you want to hear, but because it’s what I want. I really want this to work, and I want it to work without many limitations at all.”

  “Very well,” he said as he stood from the couch, “Want a drink?”

  “Sure,” I responded, “Water.”

  As he walked past, I gaze down at the pad. After a few seconds of staring blankly at my notes, I scribbled a few more.

  Fisting??

  He wants to electrocute me.

  Google BDSM piercings. WTF?

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked as he handed me a glass of water.

  “Very much so,” I responded.

  “Alright,” he said as he sat down, “As of right now, you’re committed to me, and I’m committed to you. Our current limitations are no watersports, no feces, and no bloodletting. We need to decide on a safe word, and it’ll need to be something you’ll always remember, even when you’re under duress and possibly confused,” he paused and inhaled a deep breath.

  “You do know what a safe word is, don’t you?” he asked.

  I nodded my head, “A word we use if for some reason I want to stop or if things get out of hand.”

  “Any ideas?” he asked.

  I gazed down at the pad and thought. After a few minutes, I scribbled my safe word.

  Caterpillar.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay, what?” he asked.

  “Caterpillar,” I said.

  “What?” he asked as he began to laugh.

  “Caterpillar. You know, they change into a butterfly - a metamorphosis - changing from one thing to another. That’s what’s going to be happening with me, so caterpillar is the best I can think of,” I shrugged.

  “Well, caterpillar it is. So, do you have any questions?” he asked.

  I nodded my head. “When can we start?” I asked.

  He shook his head, “We already have. And you’ll be screaming caterpillar before you know it.”

  “Wanna bet?” I snapped back.

  For a long time, he studied me. After what seemed like an eternity, he shook his head.

  “No, something tells me you’d damn near die before you gave up,” he said.

  He was right.

  And I was more than ready to prove it.

  JACK

  June 26, 2006

  My having only had two previous sexual partners set me apart from almost every thirty year old man on the planet, and was definitely in clear contrast to the sexual escapades of every one of my brothers in the MC. My sexual partners, adventures, and who I was committed to never came into discussions with the Fury, and most of the men realized even asking was going to piss me off, so they didn’t bother.

  Being in a 1% club wasn’t for everyone, and for the select few who chose it as a way of life, nothing would ever compare to the feelings of family, brotherhood, or excitement associated with being a patched in member. Riding into a town twenty deep and being stared at by civilian that passed by - out of either disgust or envy - was a thrill in itself.

  Rolling through a small town or a major city, and being followed by the cops - knowing they were either wondering what brought an MC into their town or pondering just what may be boiling behind the scenes - was a satisfying and exciting feeling unlike many others.

  Protecting my brothers, and in turn protecting the club that the assembled brotherhood formed was something I didn’t have to think about. For me, a natural protector of what I loved, it was as easy as allowing my heart to beat.

 
; The men who knew me often described me as intense. I spoke very little, glared much more than I probably should, and always stood ready to react to any and all adverse situations which may present themselves. Protecting what I loved and what I believed to be mine was the only way of assuring myself that my life would continue to be tomorrow everything it was for me today.

  And so far, every ‘today’ I had lived was pretty damned close to perfect.

  Sarge glanced around the crowd of men. He reached toward his beard, gripped it with his tattooed fingers, and stroked it slowly as he gazed out into the shop. The tugging of his beard was reserved for intimidation purposes or when he was thinking, and he sure wasn’t trying to intimidate his brothers.

  “Well, we knew this day was coming. Fat Bart and Woody were rolling into town and one of the Shovelheads was flying a lower rocker claiming our territory after refusing to pay us their tax. I’m sure most of you already heard, but Fat Bart forced him off the road and before he got his bike picked up, Woody stomped the shit out of him and took his cut. I’ve got his colors locked in the safe,” he paused, released his beard, and clenched his fists.

  As the men began to talk amongst themselves and grumble their opinions of what may be next, Sarge held his left hand in the air to quiet them.

  “Let’s just say, right now, you can figure we’re about one step from being at war with Shovelheads MC. That one lone member of their MC rolling through the outskirts of the city wasn’t the only one of them fuckers with a rocker on their cut. These cock suckers are asking us if we’re prepared to protect what’s rightfully ours, and I’m standing here asking you. Are you fucking prepared?” he shouted.

  The group erupted into cheers, thrusting their fists into the air and explaining to the man at their side what they’d do if they encountered a member of the Shovelheads claiming our territory as theirs.

  In the civilian world, what they had done was the equivalent of a home invasion. And, if said civilian woke from his sleep only to find a burglar sitting on his couch drinking one of his beers, there would be hell to pay. After questioning the thief produced a response of ‘this is going to be my house from here on out, you’ll need to leave,’ the civilian would certainly react in a manner which would be protective of what he believed was rightfully his.