HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Choad?” I chuckled.

  “Yep, a choad. Short fatty. Look it up,” she said.

  “Hell, I believe you. Just haven’t heard that one,” I responded.

  She closed her eyes momentarily and started laughing. As she got the laugh down to a light chuckle, she continued.

  “So I guess she’s all wet from the ride, and thinking she wants this Cash guy to fuck her. So they go to his house, and he’s all acting like he’s going to fuck her brains out. He’d been telling her that as they rode slowly through town to his house. I’m going to fuck you ragged, he told her. She said he ripped off his pants like he had no idea he had this fat little mushroom head thing going on. She said she looked down at it, thinking it was soft, and when it got hard she’d be in for a hell of a ride, because it’s so fucking fat you know?” She paused, shrugged, and started laughing uncontrollably.

  Her continued laughing and my thinking of the situation caused me to begin to laugh. As I chuckled at the thought of Cash’s choad, she finally continued her story.

  “So, she said she got down on her knees and started sucking, and realized that was it. She said deep throating him would be taking the head in her mouth, because there was nothing else. No shaft. Seriously, when she told me the story we were at Taco Bell. I spit out my fucking burrito. No lie, right on the table. I almost pissed my pants. Sloan’s my best friend, don’t get me wrong. But she really, really, really likes cock; the bigger the better. And this dude pulls out the head, and it’s the size of a fucking apple, but that’s all he’s got.”

  “So what happened?” I asked as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

  “That’s the funny part. Sloan’s kinda like me. She doesn’t really pull any punches. Maybe that’s why we’re friends. But she’s not like mean. She said when she realized it was hard, and all of an inch long, she spit it out and got like grossed out. She said she stood up and pointed at it, and just started laughing. Like uncontrollably.” She paused and began giggling again.

  “And your boy Cash acts like he had no idea. So she left; like walked home. That kind of left. The I’m walking home kind,” she said.

  “Holy shit,” I said as I shook my head.

  “Yeah, that’s kinda what I said. Holy shit. So, anyway. That was her first ride. She’d never been on the back of a bike. And now? She’s hooked. It’s all she can talk about. And, just so you know, she’ll probably start stalking your man Otis. She’s guessing there’s no way he’s got a choad.”

  “Stalking, huh? That’s probably not a healthy thing to do. And good luck finding him, he kind of keeps to himself,” I said flatly as I looked around the bar.

  “Oh, Cash showed her where your clubhouse is,” she responded.

  That dumb little cocksucker.

  I tightened my jaw, and leaned into the bar. “Well, it’s no fucking secret. We ride in and out of there all damned day, but the clubhouse is off limits to outsiders. Without an invitation, no one’s allowed but members. If anyone comes there without prior approval, they’ll be escorted off the premises.”

  “Sore subject?” she said.

  I shook my head. “Club business is the club’s business, not public business. It’s a private club. If she finds Otis and fucks him, I don’t give a shit. Hell they can run off and get married for all I care, but she can’t come to the clubhouse without an invitation.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell her. I didn’t know it was like a secret,” she said apologetically.

  To explain to Avery my disappointments in Cash’s big mouth would make the club seem to be a little too eager, almost desperate, in the selection of Cash as a Prospect. To me, any club business was the club’s business. It wasn’t a huge thing that Cash had told Sloan where the clubhouse was, and we didn’t keep the location a secret from the public. It didn’t change the fact that I thought Cash was an immature waste of the club’s time. He had until August to show his ability to be an asset to the club. In my opinion, he’d need to change quickly.

  I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled. I studied her for a short moment and then responded. “It’s not. There are rules and we have bylaws in place. One is admittance into the premises of the club. It’s prohibited. The rules are a requirement, not a recommendation. Nothing against Cash, but it probably wasn’t very wise of him to show her where the clubhouse was and not tell her the rule regarding visitation.”

  “Okay. Well, that doesn’t sound as bad. I’m not trying to get him in trouble, but I just thought if maybe you had some kind of new members must have an actual cock requirement; he’d like be out of the picture,” she said.

  “We don’t. But don’t worry, you’ve done a good job of burning a mental image into my mind of his choad,” I said.

  More than likely my entire problem with Cash was his immature behavior. Typically, with age comes maturity. Although he was thirty years old, he was extremely immature. As I sat and became angry at his childish decisions and behavior, I realized Avery was a senior in college. She, too, would be immature by mere design. Her lack of exposure in life would cause her to lack the maturity I’d need to even allow me to expose myself to her without placing the club at risk. As much as I enjoyed looking at her, and truly enjoyed talking to her, I knew what was in the club’s best interest. I stood from the stool, stretched reached into the pocket of my jeans.

  “How much for the burger?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened. “You leaving?”

  “Yeah, I need to get back. I’ve got a business deal to finish putting together. Hell, I’ve been here for two hours. Time got away from me,” I said as I looked at my watch.

  “Wasn’t anything I said?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house,” she said.

  I pulled a twenty from my wallet and slid it below the cardboard coaster underneath my glass of water. “Well, this is your tip. Thanks.”

  “I suppose I’ll see ya the next time I see ya,” she said as she pushed her hands into the back pockets of her shorts.

  If you only knew…

  As she started twisting her hips again, I almost sat back down. Avery was attractive, and would be so to any man. Her personality and her actions, however, made her almost irresistible. As she rocked from side-to-side and smiled, I started to lose myself in thoughts of my childhood, and my girlfriend at the time, Shellie. She was a cheerleader in school, and until she fucked the quarterback, and I ended up in jail for beating his ass, our time together was all memorable. She was probably my only real love. The only recollections I had of actually enjoying time with a woman involved her solely.

  I stared at Avery, pulled against the rubber band, and released it into my wrist.

  Snap!

  I pulled against it again, held it, and stared down at her sneakers.

  Snap!

  “I appreciate it,” I said.

  She grinned and nodded her head, unaware of what I truly meant.

  I scanned her body from head to toe, and back up again slowly. I pulled the rubber band again, tightened my jaw in anticipation, and released it into my wrist.

  With a mental image of her still burned into my brain, I turned and walked to the door.

  As I pulled the door open, I chuckled at my increased vocabulary.

  Choad.

  As I walked to my bike I wondered if there was a name for one as big as your wrist and nine inches long. I threw my leg over the bike knowing I’d never know if there was; at least not from Avery.

  There was no way in hell I could ever fuck her once and walk away.

  None whatsoever.

  Chapter Nine

  AVERY

  In my observation, I realized Axton snapped the rubber band against his wrist when he was uncomfortable or troubled. Initially I was going to ask why, but later decided there was probably more value in my keeping my mouth shut and seeing if there was some type of pattern to his behavior. After watching for some time, I believed he did
it even more when he was tempted to do something he felt would be better left undone.

  When he came to the bar the second time, I noticed he did it when I did my innocent little naïve school girl pose. There was no other reason, no awkward discussions, and nothing I said had pissed him off. But each time I put my hands in the pockets of my shorts and swiveled my hips, he snapped his rubber band repeatedly. Probably out of nervous habit more than anything.

  I attempted to do as much research on the club as I could, but found very little to read. There was a website for the Selected Sinners Motorcycle Club, listing Slice as President, Stacey as Vice President, Mike as Treasurer, Fancy as the Secretary, Hollywood as the Road Captain, and Otis as the Sergeant at Arm’s. The website listed the bylaws, and Axton wasn’t joking about the clubhouse. The rules regarding Ol’ Ladies were pretty clear in that respect. I desperately wanted to know about the club, but even more, I wanted to know as much as I could about Axton.

  “I can’t believe they’ve been here all along, and we never knew,” I shouted over my shoulder as I closed the window on the computer.

  “I know. God, I want another ride. Not with that weirdo Cash, but with one of ‘em. I bet that Otis dude is freaking hung,” Sloan hollered from the bathroom.

  I rolled my eyes in agreement, knowing she didn’t necessarily expect a response.

  “You know,” she said.

  “They say you can tell about a guy’s cock from his hands, feet, and confidence. Otis’ hands are huge, and his feet are huge. But Axton? God he’s hot. And it freaking creeps me out that he’s so confident. The way he walks, he acts like he could just beat anyone’s ass that’s dumb enough to get in his way. I bet his cock’s a freaking foot long,” she yelled.

  I leaned back into the stool and smiled at what she said. I felt the same way, but hadn’t expressed it. Axton’s confidence was apparent in his walk alone. The look on his face, his stride, and his demeanor screamed do not fuck with me. He looked like a wind-up toy when he walked, there was a certain rhythm to the steps he took, and the process repeated itself roughly every six or so steps. As I watched him walk I wondered if it was a conscious thing, or something that simply happened.

  I decided it was just Axton. I liked thinking of him that way.

  “What in the fuck is on your nose?” I asked as Sloan walked out of the bathroom.

  Although she had attempted to wrap herself in a towel, it was painfully obvious there was far too much of her to try and cover with the shitty little towels we had in the apartment. With all of her ass and a good part of her pussy peeking out the bottom, her boobs were bulging out of the top. She could cover one of the areas, but definitely not both. She stopped and touched the side of her nose with the tip of her finger delicately.

  “It’s freaking sore.” She winced as she pressed her fingertip into the edge of her nose.

  “You pierced it?” I squealed as I bounced from the chair.

  “Uh huh,” she responded.

  “When? Why?” I asked as I moved my face closer to her nose.

  “I went to Tracy’s.”

  I leaned away from her nose and stared at her. “The jewelry shop?”

  “Uh huh,” she said.

  “You dumb ass. They pierced it with a gun, didn’t they?” I asked.

  “Uh huh.”

  “You dumb ass.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head lightly. We had discussed getting our noses pierced when we moved to Wichita, because they had actual piercing shops which pierced with needles the proper way, and not with guns. From what we had read on the internet, and learned from asking around, having your nose pierced with a gun intended to pierce ears with was a no-no, and could possibly cause infection and trauma.

  “Why didn’t you wait?” I said.

  “I dunno. I wanted those guys to like me. I thought if I had it now, maybe they’d see me differently,” she whined.

  I raised my clenched fist to my mouth, coughed, and rolled my eyes. “You want ‘em to like you? Seriously? Wear your new sixty dollar bra, they’ll love you. Jesus, go get dressed before something falls out of that towel.”

  I watched as she stumbled to the bedroom, touching her nose with her finger the entire way. I sat down at the desk and peered through the door as she got dressed, knowing if I had her huge titties, everyone would love me.

  No doubt.

  God, if I just had half those tits, I’d have Axton begging me…

  I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and stared at myself in the mirror. I turned to the side and tried to imagine myself with boobs. As I sucked in my nonexistent stomach and tried to force my flat ass to look round, she stepped into the doorway.

  “What are you freaking doing?” she giggled.

  I turned my head and smiled. “Trying to imagine myself with tits and a little ass.”

  “Your tits are perfect, and you have a cute little ass.”

  “I look like a boy,” I said.

  “A hot fucking boy,” she said as she reached over my shoulder for the blow dryer.

  “So I do. I look like a boy, don’t I?”

  “No,” she said as she started drying her hair.

  “Why’d you say it?” I asked as I stared into the mirror and twisted my body so my ass faced the mirror.

  It’s helpless. I have no ass.

  She shrugged and continued to dry her hair. I sighed and walked out of the bathroom and back to the desk. Frustrated, I lowered myself into the chair and stared at the black computer screen. Convinced I’d graduate from college, move to Wichita, and remain a flat assed and titless single woman for the rest of my life, I silently pouted at the thought of it all.

  “What was that?” Sloan hollered over the sound of the hair dryer.

  I blinked my eyes and looked around the room. “What was what?”

  “Sounded like someone knocked on the door,” she shouted over the sound of the hairdryer.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I responded as I swiveled the chair toward the door.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Holy shit, someone’s here,” I said as I jumped from the chair and ran to the door.

  Having someone come over probably wasn’t a big deal to the majority of the population of the free world, but to Sloan and me, it was a huge deal. In the two years we lived together, we’d had a total of two visitors that I could recall. One knocked on the wrong apartment door, and the other was pushing bibles and religion.

  I bounced to the door and looked through the peephole.

  Holy shit!

  Chapter Ten

  AXTON

  After finding out my point of contact could speak English not very well, I learned every member of the club spoke Spanish not at all. A quick inventory of the Ol’ Ladies produced not one single Spanish speaking person. Having the ability to effectively communicate while trying to sell 100 AK-47’s to a first time customer was instrumental to the success of the sale. Frustrated, and not willing to lose a deal due to the incompetence of the club, I opted to find someone who did speak Spanish; someone who would be willing to go to a simple drop-off site and watch Otis and me sell a few guns to a Mexican street gang. The only drawback was it had to be someone I could trust, and I didn’t trust anyone outside the club.

  Knowing if this deal fell apart, I was risking the life of one of the strongest members of the club, I decided to go beyond the boundaries of what I would normally do, and consider the help of an outsider. After all, the deal we were doing was legal and legitimate. Including an outsider in the transaction didn’t expose the club to any real risk. The Sureños may not have legal intentions with the weapons after they receive them from the club, but that was none of my or anyone else’s business.

  A Google search confirmed a degree in Criminal Justice required a foreign language class, and my guess was Avery’s choice would have been Spanish. Contrary to my typical beliefs and behaviors, the club was asked, and they voted in favor of her being my Spanish speaking assistant. It
was further agreed Otis and I would be the two members to do the deal with the Sureños. Otis’ size alone would be intimidating to a bunch of short Mexicans, which should minimize the potential for anyone trying anything stupid. If she agreed, Avery could simply stand on the side, look pretty, and tell me what the little fuckers were really saying. In my opinion, with Otis and Avery participating in the transaction, there was little risk to the club that anything could go wrong with the deal.

  We would have brains, brawn, and the ability to communicate clearly.

  After much thought and a long mental battle with myself about the inclusion of an outsider in what I believed to be club business, I fully accepted the decision the club had already made, and began my journey to find Avery. Frank provided me with Avery’s apartment number, and I rode there to discuss matters with her. Even though it was settled with the club, in my mind it was still rather undecided. As she opened the door, the expression on her face made her level of surprise quite clear.

  “Got a minute?” I asked.

  She stood wide eyed with her mouth agape. “Yeah, come in.”

  Still standing in the center of the doorway, she stared. I motioned for her to move so I could step into the house, “You’re going to need to step aside if you want me to come in.”

  “Uhhm. How’d you find me?” she stammered.

  “I’m resourceful. I told you that,” I responded jokingly.

  “So, you come by to give me that ride?” she asked as she flopped down on the couch.

  The apartment was much smaller than small. Although I hadn’t been in the bedrooms, I could see in the doorway of each room. The apartment was approximately six hundred square feet from what I could tell, roughly twenty feet wide and thirty feet deep. Two people living in it was one person too many. A small desk at one side, a bathroom on the opposite wall, a couch, and two chairs were the extent of the furnishings. I sat in the chair beside the couch and turned to face Avery.