Misadventures with a Biker

by Scott Hildreth

  “No,” I said. “You got the right one.”

  His eyes shot wide. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Sorry it took so long,” I said. “It’s sixty days after everything clears escrow, but it starts on the first of the month following the sale. Anyway. I hope you put it to good use.”

  He looked at the check and then at me. “This is mine?”

  “Every cent of it,” I replied. “I want you to know how much I appreciate the hard work.”

  “I need to give you part of this, for sure.”

  “Believe me,” I said. “I got my part.”

  He studied the check as if he was unsure that it was real. “Are you sure?”

  “The company gets its share, the selling agent gets his, and the listing agent gets hers,” I explained. “It’s all covered.”

  “Selling them beats the shit out of building them,” he said.

  “Get your license,” I said. “I could use a construction-savvy agent.”

  He grinned. “I’m good right where I am for now.”

  “Well. Congratulations, and thank you, again. I couldn’t have done it without you. I wish I could do more, but if I did, it would be unfair.”

  “More?” He coughed out a laugh. “This is more than I would have expected out of a lifetime of doing what I did. I enjoyed it.”

  “You still want to go out to eat?” I asked. “Or are you going shopping?”

  “Shopping?” He laughed. “I’m not much of a shopper.” He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Let me straighten up my desk and I’ll be ready to go.”

  We strolled along the sidewalk at Mercato, one of Naples’s open-air shopping areas that included a theater, fine dining, and exquisite shopping. As we walked toward one of my favorite Italian restaurants, Bravo!, we passed Dunkin’s Diamonds showroom.

  I took a quick glance at a ring that caught my eye in the window. Certain that my interest went unnoticed, I continued my stride at the same pace.

  “Do you want to go in?” Devin asked.

  “Me?” I asked. “No.”

  He stopped. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “You sure seemed interested in something.”

  “I just glanced at a—”

  “Let’s go inside,” he said. “You can take a longer look.” He nodded toward the restaurant, which was on the other side of the narrow street. “They’re not even busy. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  I couldn’t speak for other women, but for me, looking at diamonds was a love-hate affair. I loved doing it, but afterward, I hated the fact that I didn’t have a ring on my finger. I always seemed to slip into a slight state of depression after looking at rings. Each one I saw acted as a reminder that I was perpetually single. Nevertheless, I loved it until I came to that realization.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just for a minute.”

  We stepped inside. Necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of every imaginable design, ranging from elegant to gaudy, were on display in the well-lighted cases.

  “The ring in the window,” Devin said, directing his comment to the middle-aged salesclerk with perfect salt-and-pepper hair. “It looks like an old mine cut. About four carats. Maybe more. Can we see it?”

  The suit-wearing salesman smiled at me. “The man knows his diamonds.” He looked at Devin. “You’ve got a keen eye. It is an old mine cut stone. A five-point-two carat center stone, with just over two carats of side stones for a total carat weight of seven-point-two-two carats. The color and clarity are remarkable for an old mine cut.”

  “What’s an old mine cut?” I asked.

  “It’s the earliest form of brilliant cut, dating back to the early seventeen hundreds,” the salesman replied. “The stones were cut in that fashion to allow them to sparkle in even the dimmest of lights.”

  “I see.”

  He removed the ring from the display and handed it to me. “This particular piece was obtained through a local family following the downsizing of an estate. We normally don’t carry old mine cuts, as they tend to be lesser clarity and often fail to meet our standards in respect to color.”

  “This is a good one, though?” I asked.

  He chuckled and then looked at Devin. “VVS1 clarity with a D color and no fluorescence.”

  Devin coughed. “Yeah. It’s beyond good.”

  I started to slip the ring onto my finger and then paused. “Can I?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  I slid it onto the ring finger of my right hand. I felt six inches taller, invincible, and, strangely, loved.

  An instant of admiration followed, and then I pulled it off like it was on fire. I handed it to the salesclerk.

  “It is nice,” I said. “Thank you.”

  He seemed appalled that I didn’t enjoy it for longer. “Is there anything else you’d like to see?”

  “No,” I said, turning away slightly. “We were just on our way to dinner.”

  He wiped the smudges from the ring with a cloth. “Where are you dining?”

  “Bravo!” I said. “Right next door.”

  “Great choice. I love the calamari.”

  “Thanks again,” I said.

  “Absolutely.” He reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “I’m James.”

  “Teddi,” I said. “And Devin.”

  He smiled. “Stop in anytime.”

  I handed Devin the card and turned toward the door, wishing we hadn’t stopped in. The ring was nothing more than a gorgeous reminder that in time, Devin would be with his motorcycle club, I’d be single once again, and I’d never have such a remarkable diamond on my finger unless I bought it myself.

  Devin draped his arm over my shoulder as we stepped through the door. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” I lied. “Just fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Devin

  Freshly showered and following the lure of frying bacon, I stepped into the kitchen. Wearing a pair of sweats, an old T-shirt, and slippers, Teddi stood in front of the stove, staring into a skillet. Although I wasn’t accustomed to the look, it suited her well.

  “You look cute,” I said.

  She glanced at me and smiled. “Thank you.”

  It seemed something had fallen apart during our dinner date. Short-tempered a little more than normal, less talkative, and lacking interest in sex, she’d gone to sleep without saying much more than good night after we returned to her home.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  I kissed her neck. “I did.”

  She wedged my face between her shoulder and her jaw. “Stop it.”

  “Stop kissing you?”

  “Stop kissing my neck,” she said. “It drives me nuts.”

  I pulled away and moved to the other side. I kissed her neck twice, hoping it would bring her out of the foul mood it seemed she’d slipped into.

  “I’m going to burn the eggs,” she complained.

  Her hair was fashioned into some kind of an “I’m in a hurry” bun. Errant strands of blond hair danced at either side of her face as she shuffled from side to side in an effort to escape my attack.

  I considered slapping her on the ass but feared doing so wouldn’t be well received. Instead, I gave her side-armed hug. “I had a good time last night.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

  She removed the skillet from the stove and rushed to where she had two plates sitting. She slid eggs onto the plates and handed me one.

  “Eat it before it gets cold.”

  “Perfect timing,” I said.

  “I started frying the eggs when I heard the shower turn off.”

  I poured a cup of coffee and joined her at the table. “What’s your favorite type of egg?”

  “Fried, over medium,” she said. “But I rarely eat them that way. Scrambled is the norm around here.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re healt
hier. Less fat.”

  I gazed across the table at her as I nibbled my bacon. She was a remarkably beautiful woman. I couldn’t believe she found interest in me beyond sex. While she fidgeted with her eggs, I realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  It wasn’t surprising, considering she was in the privacy of her home. For some reason, however, I was fascinated by it. Her boobs were small by today’s “often enhanced” standards but large for her small frame. Swaying from side to side as she cut her toast into bite-sized pieces, they were nothing short of amazing.

  My cock began rising against my shorts. Surprised by my unsolicited state of arousal, I began to daydream about playing with Teddi’s boobs.

  The next thing I knew, my cock was as stiff as a steel rod.

  For most men, an erection in such a setting would have been an everyday occurrence. For me, it was a much more noteworthy accomplishment. For as long as I could recall, I needed aggressive sex to obtain an erection. At minimum, the knowledge of rough sex being on the horizon was required.

  Yet.

  I sat across from Teddi with a stiffy so significant, my head was swimming.

  Wondering if the entire thing was nothing but a fluke, I diverted my attention to my food. Mindlessly, I nibbled my toast and ate my eggs, fully expecting the swelling to subside. Ten silent minutes later, my food was gone, and I was still as stiff as a pubescent teen in a strip club.

  I glanced at Teddi. She’d eaten her food and was staring blankly at the center of the table. Sporting my embarrassingly rigid hard-on, I stood, grabbed our plates, and took them to the sink. After rinsing them and placing everything in the dishwasher, I was still as erect as if I were face fucking a willing participant who lacked a gag reflex.

  I tapped Teddi on the shoulder and tilted my head toward her room. “C’mon.”

  “C’mon what?” she asked.

  I glanced at the horizontal tent I was pitching. Her eyes naturally followed mine.

  “What’s that about?” she asked.

  “That’s all you,” I said.

  She beamed with pride. “Why?”

  “Because,” I replied. “You’re sexy as fuck.”

  “In this?”

  “In anything.”

  I took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. In what I expected was part experiment and part wishful thinking, I took a position at her side on the bed. A few minutes of playful kissing followed.

  Still as stiff as a stone, I removed my shorts and shirt and tossed them aside. She followed suit, stripping herself of her morning’s attire entirely.

  I positioned her with her head at the headboard, flat on her back. I nestled myself between her legs and kissed her gently.

  In the past, the positioning and the sexual temperature wouldn’t have been enough to arouse me more than a soap commercial.

  My throbbing cock twitched against her inner thigh, itching to feel the pleasure of her warm confines.

  As we kissed, she guided it between her legs. Free of dirty talk, ass slapping, choking, or hair pulling, I carefully slid my length inside.

  Not so small that it was uncomfortable but tight enough to evoke caution in my manner of proceeding, her pussy fit me like a custom-made glove.

  Nearly overcome with excitement regarding my newfound ability to have meaningful sex, I made love to her like it was my first time. In many respects, it was. My previous sexual encounters, although not in their entirety, had been driven by thoughts of violence, hate, and domination.

  The sex that was underway was fueled by nothing other than deep-seated feelings for the woman who lay beneath me.

  I made love to her tenderly, and in silence, enjoying the feeling of her naked body against mine. Our two bodies managed to become one, neither of us requiring instruction from the other to proceed with fulfilling our sexual desires.

  My forestrokes were met by her aft and vice versa. As if choreographed, we continued, holding one another tightly as our hips moved in perfect timing with one another. I feared if I released her, the magic would somehow come to an end. It was a chance I wasn’t willing to take, so I held her like our time together was to be our last.

  Each stroke brought me measurably closer to climax. Our eyes met. We didn’t speak. Words would have only tarnished an otherwise perfect meeting of two souls meant to share an equally perfect lovemaking session.

  As if our lives were connected by a string, we reached climax together as we kissed. When the fireworks ended, I collapsed at her side.

  The time to speak was upon me. So I did just that.

  “I love you,” I said, meeting her content gaze. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I’ve been loving you,” she said in a shaky voice, “for some time now.”

  Smiling, I kissed her. My father always said ladies first.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Teddi

  Herb lifted a forkful of the baked grouper to his mouth. “Best damned fish I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve eaten my share, believe me.”

  Devin claimed that Herb was eighty years old, but one wouldn’t think it by looking at him. He would easily be guessed for sixty-five by anyone who met him.

  He was physically fit for his age and wasn’t overweight or disproportionate in his build. If anything, he still looked as if he were in the military. His aging chest was broad, his waist was trim, and his arms still bore the shape of an athlete regardless of whether or not they were as muscular as they once were.

  He always wore khaki-colored polyester pants, a button-down, short-sleeved shirt, and soft-soled walking shoes. In my opinion, he was adorable in looks and in attitude.

  I smiled at his remark. “Thank you.”

  “Can’t believe this shit was made in my kitchen.”

  “It’s not where it’s made, old man,” Devin said. “It’s who’s making it.”

  Herb lowered his fork and gave Devin a dirty look. “Would you just shut up for once? Just once? Let me eat in peace.”

  “If you weren’t talking nonsense, we’d all be eating in silence,” Devin retorted. “But you keep saying dumb shit.”

  “You don’t have to correct everything I say,” Herb complained.

  Having eaten with them on the past four Sundays in a row, I realized their back-and-forth banter was nothing more than playful antics. At first, I didn’t know what to think. I now saw it as entertaining and often found myself goading them into an argument if I could.

  “Just try to minimize the stupid remarks,” Devin said.

  Being a part of Herb’s weekly routine was something I looked forward to more than I ever would have expected. The death of my parents came at a young age, leaving most of my adult life to be lived without parental figures, family dinners, gift sharing on Christmas, or a celebrated birthday.

  Something as simple as Sunday dinner with my biker boyfriend and a retired army veteran was enough to satisfy me to no end.

  “Can we make this a tradition?” I asked.

  Herb looked up. “This fish? Fuck yes, we can.”

  I laughed. “I mean the Sunday gatherings.”

  “I declared it a tradition after the first time you showed up,” Herb replied. “I told dipshit if you weren’t here on Sundays, he was going to have to find someplace else to live. His tight ass doesn’t want to spend a dime if he doesn’t have to, so he agreed.”

  “Is he frugal?” I asked.

  Herb barked out a laugh. “Tell her how long you’ve owned your motorcycle.”

  I looked at Devin. “How long?”

  “Nineteen years.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  He nodded. “Really.”

  “Ask him about the boots.”

  His boots were worn, but they couldn’t be very old. I asked, nevertheless. “What about the boots?”

  “Twelve years,” he replied. “Maybe thirteen. They were in a closet for eight of those, though.”

  “Don’t make light of the fact that you’re a frugal prick,” Herb snarled. “Most men wo
uld have tossed those nasty bastards upon receiving an eight-year sentence. What’d he do? He put them in the back closet. He cleans ’em once a week and oils them nearly every night. Man hates to spend money. The thought of it makes him itch.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  Devin nodded. “I’ve always been this way.”

  “Have you spent any of your bonus?”

  He shook his head. “Not a dime.”

  “Devin!” My eyes bulged. “You’ve got to treat yourself.”

  “To what?” he asked. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  His reasoning was sweet and difficult to argue with. “I guess saving money is a good thing.”

  It frustrated me that I’d saved as much as I had and then lost it to a bad investment with an equally bad boyfriend. Although Devin said at one time that he’d take care of it, I realized there was nothing he could do to get the money to reappear.

  “You never said what was in the oven,” Herb said, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s starting to smell good.”

  “Pie,” I said. “Peach. They had fresh ones at a market in Immokalee.”

  “I was going to have another helping of that rice, but I’m not going to spoil my appetite,” Herb said. “Damned shame we don’t have any vanilla ice cream to go with it.”

  “I brought ice cream,” I said. “It’s in the freezer.”

  “You know,” he said, giving me a soft look, “when turd bucket told me you swallowed his junk, I told him you were a keeper. Now I’m sure of it.”

  “Goddammit, Herb,” Devin growled. “That’s enough.”

  I coughed on a mouthful of rice until it came out my nose. After making things right again, I looked at Herb with a face that was undoubtedly glowing red. “I can’t swallow his junk.”

  “Spunk,” he said. “I get ’em mixed up.”

  Embarrassed but entertained nonetheless, I laughed out loud. Devin said I needed to own who I was, so I did without hesitation.

  “I swallow his spunk because I love him,” I said.

  His brows pinched together. “He told me all about the declaration of love. From what I understand, you were swallowing that goop long before then.” He looked at Devin and then back at me. “Am I wrong?”