Misadventures with a Biker

by Scott Hildreth

  “I’m going to ride you like a stolen bike,” I bragged.

  I gripped the back of the seat in front of me and braced myself. I gyrated my hips with the timing and precision of a dancer. Working my pussy up and down the full length of Devin’s rigid shaft, I took deliberate strokes. It was the first time we’d had sex that I was in charge of the operation.

  It felt magnificent.

  If it was the excitement of having sex in a full theater or that I was riding him in my favorite position, I didn’t know, but sixty seconds into the act, I was on the verge of a sexual meltdown. I slowed my pace, but it provided little relief from the euphoria that was building within me.

  I accepted my sexual fate and continued at a predictable pace. Just this once it was going to be about me, not Devin. I didn’t care if I needed to give him a hand job when I was done, I fully intended to get what was rightfully mine without apology, explanation, or reservation.

  Four carefully timed strokes later, the end was imminent. Knowing the next stroke would certainly be my last, I drew a shallow breath. I slowly lowered myself the length of his shaft. As each swollen inch of his girth penetrated me, my vaginal walls contracted a little more.

  At the instant the tip of his dick pressed against my cervix, my pussy clenched his swollen cock like a vise. As I relished in the orgasm that began to take possession of my very being, Devin’s finger found its way into my ass.

  I hadn’t expected it, nor was it something I would have asked for in my wildest dreams. Nevertheless, the insertion of that single digit not only took me by surprise, but it also sent me through the climactic roof like a Saturn-bound sex rocket.

  Incapable of suppressing my pleasure, I wailed out my satisfaction in the form of a blood-curdling carnal scream. At the same instant, the scene on the screen changed from a hundred-decibel auto race to a quiet office setting.

  If the people in attendance weren’t aware of what we were doing prior to my outburst, they were afterward. Claiming it was anything other than sexual wasn’t a remote possibility. Embarrassed, exhausted, and satisfied beyond words, I hid between Devin and the seat in front of him.

  “Jesus, Teddi,” he complained. “Make it obvious.”

  I withered into his lap. “Sorry.”

  I took my seat and watched the remainder of the two-and-a-half-hour-long movie. When it ended, we waited for the theater to empty and then rose from our seats.

  I strutted out of the theater at Devin’s side. Once in the corridor, I gestured toward the bathrooms.

  “I need to use the restroom.”

  He kissed me. “Me too.”

  Once inside, I glanced in the mirror. I looked like one of the many drunken celebrity mugshots that often circulated through social media circles. My dress was wrinkled, my hair resembled the Bride of Frankenstein’s, and my makeup was smeared beyond repair.

  After ten minutes of primping, I felt that I was presentable enough to sneak out of the theater, hopefully unnoticed. Proud of my movie theater accomplishment but frustrated with my disheveled appearance, I meandered out of the bathroom with my shoulders slumped.

  Devin was in the corridor, talking to a well-dressed elderly man. A very familiar well-dressed elderly man that I didn’t want to recognize me.

  I lowered my head and turned toward the exit. “Let’s go,” I murmured.

  “Hold up a minute,” Devin said. “I want you to meet someone.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck.

  I turned to face them. As I made eye contact with the suit-wearing billionaire, I feigned surprise. “Harry Morgan?”

  He alternated glances between Devin and me and then met my reluctant gaze. “Teddi Mack?”

  I stepped in front of him and shook his hand. “How are you doing, Harry?”

  He smirked. “Not as good as you, I suppose.”

  I suspected he’d heard of the sale of Margaret’s beachfront mansion. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

  He glanced at Devin and then at me. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly. “You two were in the front row of the theater, weren’t you?”

  My face flushed red hot. “We were.”

  “I’ve been trying to talk Maggie into something like that for a lifetime,” Harry said with a laugh. “She’s far too prudent to agree to it, though.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I offered him a crumpled smile.

  Following a moment of awkward silence, he gave a crisp nod. “Nice to see you again, Teddi.”

  “Nice to see you, too,” I replied.

  Devin shook his hand. “I’ll look forward to your call.”

  He patted Devin’s shoulder. “Enjoy your youth.”

  Devin draped his arm over my shoulder. Red-faced and embarrassed beyond words, I shuffled toward the door.

  “He wants to sell his house,” Devin said. “There’s one in Port Royal he’s got his eye on. He said it’s time to downsize.”

  Harry’s home was one of Naples’s most prestigious. To date, it was the most expensive piece of real estate I’d ever sold.

  I raised my head. “Really?”

  “We were talking about the movie, and he commented about the ‘people up front who were having fun.’ I laughed like I had no idea who they were, and the conversation went to my tattoos. Then he asked, ‘Where’s a guy like you get a job?’ But he said it jokingly. I told him where I worked, and he said, ‘I know a gal who works there. She sold me the house I’m living in. I was planning on giving her a call.’ Then you walked out of the bathroom. It was like a lightbulb went off when he realized we were the two in the front of the theater.”

  “Perfect,” I said in a sarcastic tone. “Just perfect. I can’t believe he saw us doing that.”

  He paused. “I can’t take these tattoos on and off. I like it that way. It forces me to be the same guy whether I’m at work, a biker rally, or a movie theater. I can’t fake my way into being anyone other than who I am.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Take ownership of who you are instead of trying to hide from it.” He paused, placed his hands on my cheeks, and kissed me. “You might be surprised at how good you feel about yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Devin

  Wearing his Sunday best, Herb surveyed the table. The last time I’d seen him so happy was the day he picked me up from prison. Glowing with a combination of pride and excitement, he put his hands on his hips.

  “Damn, this looks good,” he said, glancing from one dish to the other. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  “You said chicken-fried steak was your favorite, so that’s what you’re getting.”

  He looked at Teddi. “I’m not sitting until you do.”

  She took her seat, glanced at the food, and let out a sigh. “I haven’t eaten like this in a long time.”

  “You look like a few meals wouldn’t hurt you any,” Herb said. “You’re thinner than when I bought this house, that’s for damned sure.”

  “I was going through a phase when you bought this house,” she said. “I was on a cookie-and-wine diet.”

  Herb took his seat. “Don’t sound like much of a diet to me.”

  “I don’t know how she stays so small,” I said. “You ought to see her eat.”

  Herb nodded toward the platter of meat. “This stuff’s going to get cold if we don’t get busy. Get the woman a steak, would ya?”

  “I’ll get it started.” Teddi reached for the serving fork. “Which one do you want, Herb?”

  “The big one on your right,” he replied. “The one dipshit’s eyeing.”

  Laughing, she lifted the steak from the platter and dropped it onto Herb’s plate. “Here you go.”

  Herb looked at me and grinned. “I saw you eyeballing that thing. Tough luck, asshole.”

  “Go to hell, old man.”

  “Lead the way,” he said with a laugh.

  Teddi’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “Are you guys always like this?”
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  Herb slopped a huge dollop of mashed potatoes on top of his steak. “Like what?”

  “Arguing.”

  Herb chuckled. “This is nothing. When he opines about politics, police, or pussy, we really get going.”

  Thirty years of cussing in the army was difficult to erase, but we’d discussed being civil during Teddi’s debut at Sunday dinner. It was apparent he either didn’t care or he’d forgotten our agreement.

  “Damn it, Herb,” I snapped. “We talked about this. I thought we weren’t going to cuss?”

  He spooned corn onto his plate like it was his last meal. “Who’s cussing?”

  “You said pussy.”

  “Pussy’s a body part. It’s not a cuss word,” he replied without looking up.

  “The hell it’s not.”

  He arched a wiry brow. “What else am I going to call it?”

  “Hoo-hah,” Teddi said.

  Herb seemed confused. “Who what?”

  “Hah,” Teddi said. “A hoo-hah.”

  Herb looked at me. “Do people call them that?”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Or a cooch,” Teddi said. “You could call it that. Or a muff.”

  “I’ve heard that one,” Herb said. “On the HBO.”

  “HBO,” I said. “Not the HBO. You sound like an imbecile.”

  He shot me a glare. “Better than looking like a living, breathing dog turd.”

  “You guys are funny,” Teddi said, giving each of us a quick look. “This is fun.”

  “I don’t know that I’d describe anything that included him as being fun,” Herb said. “But it’s often entertaining.”

  “How about we agree to cuss,” Teddi said, winking at me as she spoke. “We’ll just be ourselves.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Herb said. “As long as dipshit agrees to it.”

  “I’ll agree if you can keep it civil,” I said.

  “Fuck it,” Teddi said with a laugh. “It’s settled. We’re cussing.”

  Herb poked a piece of gravy-slathered steak into his mouth and looked at Teddi. “You know, when you jumped dipshit’s ass in that meeting right after he started, I told him he should have told you to go fuck a goat. Now that I’m getting to know you, hell, I like you.”

  Teddi smiled. “He was intimidating at first. I overreacted.”

  “That’s not what you said, old man.” I gestured to him with the tines of my fork. “But whatever.”

  “I thought we were being civil?”

  “Civil and honest,” I said.

  Herb swallowed his food and took a drink of tea. He looked at Teddi. “I told him you should fuck a goat.” He looked at me. “There, is that better?”

  Teddi gasped. “Holy cow.”

  “Goddammit, old man,” I seethed.

  He gave me a look. “You said to be honest.”

  “I meant if you can’t be honest, don’t speak.”

  “Well, that’s not what you said,” he huffed.

  “It’s fine,” Teddi interjected. “I probably would have skull fucked me too.”

  We all had a laugh and continued with our meals. It was a nice change having Teddi at Sunday dinner. Herb saw us as the children he never had the time to father, and we each saw him as the parent we’d lost at an age earlier than we were prepared to let go.

  We talked about Jeopardy’s best all-time players, Vanna White’s tits, and the recent resurgence of game shows like Match Game, The $100,000 Pyramid, and Let’s Make a Deal. Convinced that there was a place in my life for Teddi and that she was in it, I picked the steak from between my teeth and listened to her and Herb attempt to solve the world’s problems.

  “I think the government needs to get its hands out of everything,” Herb complained. “They overtax us, regulate shit that’s none of their business, and can’t seem to make decisions when it’s high time to do so. Guns, drugs, terrorists, don’t get me—”

  Herb flinched at the sound of someone pounding on the door.

  “Who in the hell could that be?” he asked.

  I didn’t need to ask. The “cop knock” was all too familiar.

  Herb rose from his seat and shuffled to the door. Upon opening it, he began his tirade.

  “What did I tell you the last time you came banging on my door like that?” Herb asked. “What the fuck are you doing here on the Sabbath? Don’t you rotten pricks ever take a day off?”

  “I need to see Mr. Wallace,” my parole officer announced.

  Herb leaned to the side, giving a clear view of the dinner table. “There,” he said. “You can see him. Now get the hell out of here.”

  I stood. “It’s all right, old man.”

  “Who is it?” Teddi whispered.

  “My parole officer.”

  “Oh.” A worried look washed over her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Just a routine call.”

  “On Sunday?”

  “On whatever day they choose, really.”

  I turned toward the door. “Afternoon, Mr. Jacobs.”

  He raised a plastic cup. “Can I get a sample?”

  “I’ll give you a goddamned sample,” Herb said. “I’ll drop a nice turd in there for you.”

  “Leave it alone, old man,” I said.

  “Fuck this asshole,” Herb snarled. “I told him the last time he came barging in here to call first.”

  “That’s not how we operate,” Jacobs said. “They’re surprise visits for a reason.”

  “Give me your address,” Herb said. “I’ll pay you a surprise visit while you’re enjoying dinner. We’ll see how cordial you are.” He gave him a once-over. “I bet you’re a real fucking treat when you’re irritated, huh?”

  I nudged Herb away from the doorway. “Come on in.”

  “Still employed?” he asked.

  “Since the report I sent you last week?” I asked with a laugh. “Yes, I am.”

  “Had any contact with law enforcement?”

  “Other than you, no.”

  “Used any illicit drugs?”

  “Sure haven’t.”

  He handed me the cup, which was sealed in a protective plastic bag. “You know the drill.”

  “Follow me,” I said.

  He followed me into the bathroom and stood at my side as I gathered the courage to piss in his presence. Federal officers were required to witness the piss leave the tip of your dick and enter the cup without being tampered with.

  After I trickled enough urine into the cup for him to test it, I held it at my side. “There you go.”

  He stretched rubber gloves over his hands and inserted the test strip, waited a moment, and then looked at it. He sealed the strip in a plastic baggie. “You can dump that.”

  I dumped the cup out in the toilet and then tossed it in the trash.

  “You know I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said.

  “No word on my motions?” I asked.

  “You’ll know at the same time I know,” he said. “If not sooner.”

  “They ask for your recommendation, don’t they?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  It was the standard response from a federal officer when they didn’t want to give an answer to a question. I’d spent the last eight and a half years hearing it every time I asked a question, no matter how simple it was.

  “I guess I keep applying until they say something one way or another,” I said.

  “That’s my unofficial recommendation.” He peeled off his rubber gloves and tossed them in the trash. “What are your plans if they agree to an early release?”

  I knew exactly what I was going to do upon my release. I intended to ride across Alligator Alley and return to the club I was forced to abandon. It was none of his business, though.

  I zipped my pants and reached for the door. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Teddi

  Devin stepped into my office. “Everything all right?”


  “Absolutely,” I said. “Shut the door, if you don’t mind.”

  He closed the door and approached my desk, stopping ten feet from the far side. “What’s up?”

  I gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit down. Please.”

  “You sure everything’s okay?” he asked. “You look like something’s going on in your head.”

  “Everything is fine,” I assured him. “Have a seat.”

  Balancing my personal life with my professional life wasn’t an easy task. As much as I wanted to jump Devin each time he came into my office, I knew better than to get caught up in such antics. There was a time and a place for us to be affectionate toward one another, and it wasn’t during work hours or at the office.

  “Can you believe it’s been three months?” I asked.

  He sat down. “What’s been three months?”

  “Since you came to work here.”

  “Has it?” He grinned. “Seems like yesterday.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “I am. It sure doesn’t seem like three months have passed.” His gaze lowered for an instant, and then he looked at me. “Then again, it sure seems like a lot of stuff has happened since I came to work here. I don’t know. Time flies, I guess. Is this my ninety-day review?”

  I laughed. “No.” I reached for his envelope, flipped it across my desk, and nodded toward it. “That’s for you.”

  He picked it up. “What is it?”

  “A bonus, of sorts.”

  “Bonus?”

  “For the Seever residence.”

  He tossed it at me. “That’s ridiculous. I enjoyed it. You don’t need to do—”

  “I’m not doing anything for you that I wouldn’t do for anyone else. There’s an equation I use for non-licensed sales, and I’ve followed it.” I tossed the envelope at him. “Open it.”

  He pulled a knife from his pants pocket. “As long as it’s legit.”

  “It is.”

  He cut the envelope open, shook out the check, and looked at it. He choked out a cough at his surprise. “Looks like you gave me the wrong check.”

  “How much is it for?” I asked, trying not to smile.

  He lifted it to the light. “Seven hundred and fifty-four grand.”