Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  The apartment was sparse, probably even for Alaska standards. It wasn’t that there wasn’t a lot of stuff. It wasn’t a barren apartment, totally empty. But it really wasn’t fancy. It was bare bones styling, you could say. There wasn’t molding on the walls, for instance. There weren’t really any modern things at all. There wasn’t a TV, or even a radio. The whole apartment wouldn’t have looked out of place more than hundred years ago, save a few practical odds and ends here and there. There was a woodstove, rather than modern heating. Roxy wondered how that worked in the bitter cold of Alaskan winters.

  Everything in the apartment was practically. IT wasn’t a typical bachelor pad, which were always dedicated to self-pleasure and entertainment, at least the ones that Roxy had seen. Normally there was something like a big screen TV, and a stereo system. Roxy found it all a little disgusting, when she woke up at some guy’s house and saw all of that stuff, or when he tried to impress her with it—didn’t they see how cheesy that all was, the buying

  products for a lifestyle that could never really have, for lifestyle they didn’t deserve, for a lifestyle that wasn’t any good to begin with? Who wanted to be entertained all day, without doing anything useful? It was the modern fantasy, based on TV and reality shows that featured the decedent lives of the chosen few who didn’t sweat for a living, every week, day in and day out.

  Roxy was pleased to see that Herbert didn’t have any of that nonsense. She wondered whether every Alaskan man had the same sensibilities. But she thought of the idiots in the bar downstairs fighting each other over some bear legend, and she reconsidered. It was just some silly bear legend. What a crazy thing to be fighting over. Wait a minute, thought Roxy. Wasn’t she here in Alaska, risking her entire and very precarious financial status on some crazy bear transformation story she’d seen in a hundred year old book? Maybe she was just as stupid as some drunks in a backwater bar. Maybe that was why she was losing her job. Maybe she deserved it.

  Herbert led Roxy past the rows of skis and snowshoes, climbing and fishing gear that lined the hallways.

  “You don’t have any hunting gear? I thought everyone here was a hunter.”

  “Most everybody is,” said Herbert, in a slow, measured tone, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Most everybody but me that is. Never could abide by a rifle or a gun. Just some quirk in my personality, I guess.”

  “I guess so, too,” said Roxy, smiling a big smile, although she wasn’t exactly sure what she was smiling about.

  Herbert returned the smile. Then he seemed to grow embarrassed again after a moment of the two of them locking eyes. “Look,” he said. “Don’t fell like you need to stay around on my account.

  Roxy actually laughed. “Come on, Herbert. Well... Well, look. I was going to say ‘well, you should know me better than that.’ But I guess the truth is we just met and you don’t know me. But I feel like we already know each other somehow.”

  “I might feel a little of the same,” said Herbert. “Don’t get me wrong, mind you, I’d like you to stay. Stay as long as you like. I was hoping you’d stay the night. But don’t feel any pressure. Don’t feel any pressure, either way, is all I’m trying to say.” A man like Herbert could be so funny, thought Roxy. He had seemed so tough and grizzled, rough and untamed, when she had first met in the taxi. Now he seemed sweet, and soft, and she wanted to cuddle up with him, even though she was still more than a little horny, if she was being honest with herself. Maybe she would like to cuddle up with him after she got off, after he fucked her, and hard.

  He seemed to be a complex man. There was something a little strange about him, but not in an off putting or creepy way. He seemed old-fashioned, if she could call it something. But it was very hard to put her finger on it. There were so many men her age and younger who considered themselves “Old fashioned.” That meant that they acted a certain way, imitating the stand-out old trends that they tried to copy, doing so poorly, from

  old movies with Humphrey Bogart. They knew little tricks like flicking cigarette lighters, and wearing strange hats, and holding doors. But Herbert had something else. It didn’t mean he didn’t hold the door for her. But he did it so naturally. And he had other ways of holding himself that reminded her of a man form another era. She wondered how old he was. He kept saying he was old, and that she was too young for him, but he didn’t look much more than year years older than her. There were some grey streaks in his hair, and a little in his short grizzly beard, but there really wasn’t very much of it. And with his dense muscles, he actually looked quite young, not to mention fit.

  But there was definitely something old about him, and it wasn’t just his apartment.

  Herbert was loading up the wood stove. He lit it skillfully and in a moment there was a roaring fire inside. “Should get the place warmed up in about half an hour.”

  Roxy shivered in spite of herself. That always happened to her when someone mentioned it was cold – that was when she finally noticed it herself. It felt like it was going to get quite cold that night, for the Spring. Maybe not cold for Alaska. But cold for Roxy.

  “You want something to drink?” said Herbert, gesturing to the cupboards or the stove stop, Roxy couldn’t tell which. But she felt like at tea.

  “Sure, a tea would be nice, black, if you have it.”

  Roxy sat down on the couch that must have been at least four decades old. It had a flower print that actually seemed to compliment the décor of the hardwood utilitarian apartment nicely. Herbert busied himself in the kitchen for a moment, making loose tea with an infuser, and boiling water in an old fashioned kettle that sounded a loud whistle when the water started boiling.

  He came over, carefully carrying a cup of mug of tea in each hand. The mugs were both chipped, but Roxy noticed he gave her the mug that was the least chipped.

  Herbert sat down next to her on the couch, about a foot away.

  While waiting for the tea to boil, he had put on a thick cardigan sweater in the place of his flannel shirt. He’d also put on some thick plastic reading glasses that he must have worn around the house, in case he needed to read labels. It changed his appearance once again. He looked predictably studious with the sweater and the glasses. But it wasn’t a kind of fake studiousness. He wasn’t trying to be anybody else, or look like someone else. He was just doing what was natural to him. Roxy was already appreciating the subtleties of Herbert’s complex personality. Maybe Alaska did something different to men than the Continental States did. Maybe it forged a different kind of man. But Roxy thought again to the idiots downstairs fighting over a bear, then she started thinking about her bear mission, which seemed so distant now, and even ridiculous.

  “Is there anything to that legend they were talking about downstairs,” said Roxy. She felt like she owed it to herself to at least make something of an effort to investigate the archeological reasons for her visit. She tried to sound casual as she said it, but she was worried she came across a little worried or tense anyway.

  “What do you mean,” said Red, growing pensive looking, furrowing his brow, and blowing steam onto his black tea. “Do you want sugar for your tea?”

  “I’m OK, thanks,” said Roxy. “I mean that stuff they were talking about with the bear and all that. So there’s some kind of famous bear that terrorizes Alaska, or something like that?”

  “Or something like that,” said Herbert, not looking up from his tea.

  Roxy got a weird feeling from Herbert, but she wanted to push him a little further. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “Well,” said Herbert. “There are all kinds of legends. Now, the thing about legends, is that they’re all true. Well, they’re all true in a way, I mean. I’ve spent a little time with the natives here?”

  “You mean the Inuit.”

  Red nodded. “That’s one name for them, yeah. Some people still call them Eskimos. Some of them call themselves Eskimos. Anyway, they have these legends, but they say that the important thing about a legend isn’
t whether it’s true or not. It’s whether people believe it. By believing in the legend, the legend becomes truth.”

  “So you’re saying there’s some many out there who really can turn into a bear?” This was the first time Roxy had mentioned directly the transforming creature.

  Herbert seemed to be growing uncomfortable with the thread of the conversation. He was just looking at his tea and not saying anything. Roxy decided to change the conversation track.

  “So it’s been a while since you’ve been with a woman?” said Roxy.

  Herbert nodded. “Almost a decade, I’d imagine.”

  “I thought all you tough Alaska guys were hitting the whorehouses day and night. Or is that just a cliché I have in my mind from the Wild West stories and TV shows?”

  “Well,” said Herbert. “I won’t lie to you. They’re pretty common. I mean it’s not like in the TV shows. I mean, not that I’ve ever been to one myself. It’s not my style.”

  Roxy nodded. She knew read probably knew all about them from owning a bar, but she could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He wasn’t the type of man to go to prostitutes. She wouldn’t have been interested in him if he had been.

  “It’s more like single working women. They have hard lives, really. It’s not really right to look down on them, just because their line of work. We get a lot of them coming into the bar every night. And a lot of the men...Well, a lot of the men here have heard lives. It’s the only pleasure the get sometimes. Not to mention the only feminine comfort. There aren’t a lot of soft spots in their lives up here in Alaska. A lot of the guys are truckers or oil rig workers. Or fishermen. They can go weeks without ever seeing a woman. And male comradery only goes so far. You saw what happened in the bar downstairs tonight. That’s how most of their nights end up, in fights.”

  Roxy nodded. “They didn’t seem like friends, really. At least from what I saw. How can friends end up fighting like that?”

  “They’ve got a hard life,” said Herbert, slowly. “That’s the way things work out here. A lot of fighting. A lot of acting tough, despite what you feel inside. They’ll probably wind up going to visit a ‘lady of the night,’ if you will, once they’ve each knocked a couple of the others’ teeth out onto the snow.”

  Roxy snickered at Herbert’s old-fashioned use of ‘lady of the night.’ She hadn’t heard that term for years and years, maybe since she was a little girl. “Wait,” said Roxy, once when had stopped laughing, realizing what Herbert had said. “You mean they’ll go to the same woman? Like at the same time?”

  Herbert nodded, cracking a little smile himself. “It’s kind of funny, really. Friends here have to do everything together. Whether it’s working, drinking, fighting, or fucking. Doesn’t really matter. They got to do it together so they can talk about it later.”

  Roxy pictures the huge man and the short man mounting a prostitute together. Would one go in her mouth, while one entered her from behind? Would they enter her together, at the same time, shoving their erect cocks together into her pussy? Would they come together, excreting cum all over each others’ cocks, so that they each had to wipe the semen off once they had finally pulled out?

  Roxy got excited just thinking about it. She could feel herself breathing a little faster. Her big boobs started to heave up and down in time with her panting. She was getting wet, she knew, down below. “Hey,” she said, somewhat awkwardly, since she was still picturing the two men mounting the prostitute together. “I know you just...um...finished. But since it’s been a while, maybe you have another load read to fire?”

  Herbert laughed, looking somewhat bashful.

  Roxy looked down at his jeans, where a big bulge already forming.

  Herbert was looking into his tea, and glancing up occasionally at Roxy. Or, more accurately, he glanced up occasionally at her breasts.

  Roxy got up and moved closer to Herbert. She didn’t need to do anything more. Once again, Herbert’s personality seemed to change before her eyes. His physical being seemed to change along with his personality. He suddenly seemed again powerful and tough and wiry, and very animal like. His breathing became heavier and heavier, and faster and faster. Gone was the bashful, shy Herbert who hadn’t been with a women in a decade. He was replaced by the Herbert who knew what he wanted. And he wanted Roxy.

  He leaned over and kisser her deeply, reaching out with his right hand to lightly tough the side of her neck. He ran his hand down her neck until it connected with her breasts. He didn’t fondle them yet directly, but lightly ran his fingers like a paintbrush around the sides of her breasts and down to her stomach, where his hand came to rest on her belly button. It was as if he was holding her womb, a womb he might want to, at least in the moment, impregnate with his own seed.

  They continued to kiss. His tongue was deep inside her. But it wasn’t too much. The kiss didn’t have too much saliva, and it wasn’t too dry. It was just right. Herbert used his other hand, meanwhile, to stroke Roxy’s hair.

  Herbert was tender yet powerful. The make out session felt romantic, rather than lustful. But in another moment, that all changed. Roxy knew her own breathing was growing stronger. She let out an inadvertent soft moan as Herbert’s hand landed for a moment on her moist crotch. The juices from her vagina had already soaked through her underwear and, this time, even her pants. She looked down for a moment, opening her yes during the kiss, to catch a glimpse of Herbert’s stubble, and, as her eyes moved down, her own completely soaked pants crotch. Her body was ready for him. It was lubricated itself so much that Herbert would be able to slide in and out, penetrating her with ease, despite his enormous and throbbing mushroom type member.

  Herbert seemed to sense that Roxy was ready. In a moment, the mood went from romantic and slow to lustful and fast. That was more what Roxy was used to. She was used to one night stands where the man wanted to enter her as soon as possible, do his deed, ejaculate inside her, inside a condom of course, and then flee well before the sun rose.

  Roxy sense in Herbert a different kind of desire. He wanted her. He wanted to possess something about her. He wanted her body. But he also wanted something deeper and more innate, something more powerful.

  Herbert rose up a little, opening his eyes, and drawing away from Roxy’s mouth. She rose up on the couch, the way a bear might in the wild before it attacks. Then he pounced, pushing himself forward on Roxy. His pounce was a gentle but powerful attack. Roxy was pushed onto her back on the couch, her head sinking into the deep cushions. It didn’t hurt, and in fact the ‘attack’ made her even more excited. Normally, in her one-night stands, Roxy longed for more caressing, for a slower pace. But tonight, here in Alaska, she was ready for Herbert to penetrate her as soon as possible. She didn’t need any more caresses or kisses. She wanted to be fucked, hard and fast.

  Herbert seemed to read her mind. He pushed himself on top of her. She felt the whole weight of his body, and was overwhelmed with his manly Alaskan sent. There was something animalistic not only in his movements, but in his scent too. His smell reminded Roxy of the woods, of camp fires. It reminded her of the distant Northern tundra that she had only seen in movies, and read about in books. It reminded her of the ice melting in the spring, and of the salmon swarming the rivers. It reminded her of fishing, and of sunsets and the bittersweet sting of mosquito bites.

  With his weight still fully on her, Herbert bucked up his hips and reached down with his hands to undo his thick belt buckle. With a deft and quick motion, he unbuttoned his fly. Roxy could hear the buttons popping out one by one, and she seemed to quiver in anticipation with each button. In a moment, Herbert had undone her own pants and pulled them down around her knees.

  She could feel his huge erect penis pressing against her thighs. In a moment, he was pressing its mushroom head to the wet juices of her pussy. It was sliding all around. He was trying to tease her, by pushing the head in just a smidgen, and then pulling back out again, and by rubbing it all over her. The teasing worked, and Roxy l
et out a loud, uncontrollable moan.

  But Herbert wanted it too badly to really tease her properly. The next thing Roxy knew, Herbert had plunged all the way in, not even going slowly and gently. The pain was substantial, and it shot all the way through her. But it mixed with the pleasure of having him inside her, and the pleasure overwhelmed the pain.

  The pain didn’t subside, like it sometimes did. It grew strong and stronger, but so did the pleasure. She was acutely aware of Herbert’s heavy body pushing down on top of her. She wouldn’t have been able to get up if she’d wanted. He was groping her breasts, pulling the top of her shirt up to expose them wit his teeth. He was acting like an animal, but so was Roxy. She was bucking her hips, enjoying the sensation of power she had, even though she was underneath him.

  He was grunting loudly with each powerful thrust. He continued over and over to penetrate her. The strokes of his cock were long. He pulled it nearly all the way out each time he went to reenter her. He seemed to have magnificent control of his cock. Sometimes he would pull it all the way out, and then enter her again without even using his hand to guide it. But Roxy was so wet that the cock slid back in easily. All it had to do was make brief contact with the outer labia, and it would find its way back home, back deep inside of her, where he belonged, as if it were magnetically guided.

  Roxy moaned as she received Herbert’s cock. It seemed to last for hours. Her mind’s eye was filled with the imagined image of his cock piercing her. But other images were coming in. Images of bears, images of hunters and rifles, images of the spring ice melting. Images of Alaskan forests in the winter. An image of a sacred grove somewhere deep in the wilderness, a crudely carved statue in the center, a statue of unbelievable importance. They felt like ancient images, and she didn’t know where they were coming from.

  They came together. Roxy’s orgasm built up over about thirty seconds. “Come inside me, baby,” she managed to say, between pants and moans.