Misadventures with a Biker

by Scott Hildreth

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “You swallowed it long before you loved him, right?” he asked.

  With anyone else, it would have been awkward. With Herb, it was entertaining. I nodded in agreement to his claim. “I suppose.”

  “Can I ask you a question about it?” he asked. “An honest one?”

  “Sure.”

  “Does that shit taste good, or does it taste like one would think?”

  “I try not to taste it,” I said.

  “How the hell does one do that? Swallow something without tasting it? Do you plug your nose?”

  I laughed. “No. I let it go down my throat. Bypass the tongue, no taste.”

  He nodded slowly as if he’d finally comprehended the process of splitting an atom. “That makes sense.” He looked at Devin. “I told you no one wants to taste that shit.”

  I looked at each of them and shook my head. “I can’t believe you two talk about this kind of stuff.”

  “I don’t think you and Kate are much different,” Devin said.

  “We’re probably not,” I admitted.

  “Things sure have changed since I was young,” Herb said. “Girls didn’t talk about spunk, junk, or anything in between. Hell, half of ’em wouldn’t put a man’s wiener in their mouth if their life depended on it. Now, Vinnie said his granddaughters were doing it in eighth grade.” He shook his head. “I think Facebooks and Twitter has everyone messed up in the head.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “I don’t use social media for anything but work, really.”

  “I find that refreshing,” he said. “Gals at the clubhouse sit there all day on their phones, pecking away while they eat lunch. Hell, they don’t even talk to each other.”

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  “Damned sure is,” he said. “I’ll tell you another thing that’s changed. Sending those damned messages. Before we were married, when I wanted to talk to Midge, I had to walk to her house. She didn’t have a phone, and there were times when we didn’t either. Sometimes, I’d walk all the way to her house—three miles, mind you—only to find out she wasn’t home. If it was the middle of the night and I thought of something I needed to tell her, I couldn’t send her one of those messages. I had to scribble it down on a pad I kept on my nightstand so I didn’t forget, and then I’d tell her the next day.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said.

  “We had three television channels, too. ABC, NBC, and CBS. The big three, that’s what we called ’em. That was it, until about fifty years ago, when they added PBS. Now I’ve got two hundred twenty of ’em, and I can’t find a damned thing worth watching. They need to bring Laugh-In, I Love Lucy, The Carol Burnett Show, The Honeymooners, and Archie Bunker back on TV. Maybe kids would stop shooting up the schools if there was something meaningful to watch.”

  “I think they’d stop shooting up the schools if their parents paid attention to them.”

  “You’re probably right.” He looked at Devin. “See how we do this?”

  “Do what?” Devin asked.

  “Talk without arguing,” Herb replied. “I talk, she talks, I talk, she talks. Neither one of us has to be right, and nobody’s wrong. We’re just chewing the fat, passing time. You should try it sometime.”

  “Go to hell, old man.”

  Herb looked at me. “What about that pie?”

  I shot up from my seat. “Oh, crap.”

  I pulled the pie from the oven just in time. After it cooled a little, I served it warm with two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

  Herb ate his slowly, seeming to savor each bite. “Reminds me of Midge’s cooking,” he said, directing his comment to Devin. “Your cooking reminds me of Tex Miller. That piece of shit couldn’t cook to save his respective ass.”

  “Who’s Tex Miller?” I asked.

  “Cook in the army,” Herb replied. “Lazy bastard had three dishes he cooked on rotation. Undercooked scrambled eggs, overcooked burgers, and liver and onions. Dipshit here isn’t much better. He cooks undercooked burgers, overcooked eggs, spaghetti with store-bought sauce, and a damned fine chicken-fried steak.”

  “At least he cooks,” I said.

  He lifted a scoop of pie. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

  Devin glared. “How about you cook next week?”

  “How about you pay half the mortgage?” Herb asked.

  “How about you kiss my ass?”

  “Go fuck a goat,” Herb muttered.

  I rolled my eyes and stood. “Anyone want seconds?”

  Herb raised his spoon. “Right here, sweetheart. When you get to be my age, you learn to appreciate the finer things in life.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Close friends, distant enemies, quiet sunsets, a loud television, a dark room to sleep in, a bright light to read by, something sour with my Scotch, and something sweet with my meal.” He looked at each of us and smiled a heartfelt smile. “And the most rewarding thing of all is if that meal is with my family.” He handed me his bowl. “Thanks for making this possible, sweetheart.”

  I took his bowl and quickly turned toward the kitchen. As I filled it with an extra-large piece of pie, a tear escaped my eye.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I said, wiping it away with the heel of my palm. “Family dinners are hard to beat.”

  Devin sneaked up behind me and kissed my neck. “Impossible.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Devin

  Taking a piece of advice from the old man, Teddi and I were walking along the beach, barefoot. In a matter of fifteen minutes, the sun would be setting.

  “Are you sure no one’s going to mess with our shoes?” she asked.

  “If there’s one thing that won’t get messed with, anywhere,” I assured her, “it’s an old tattered Harley and whatever’s hanging from the handlebars.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  Over the years, I’d parked my motorcycle at bars, restaurants, rural side streets, and busy shopping malls. Not once was it—or whatever was on it or in it—messed with. There was an unwritten code that was understood by bikers and non-bikers alike.

  You don’t mess with a man’s Harley.

  We walked along the beach, where the ocean pulsed against the surface of the sand. Every few steps we took, the summer’s warm tide cleansed our feet from the grains trapped between our toes. I held Teddi’s hand in mine, knowing one thing it would never wash away would be the memories we were making together.

  With her designer bags, red-bottom shoes, Range Rover, and the petite gold Rolex watch she often wore, Teddi wasn’t at all who I would have expected to fall in love with. I came to believe after meeting Teddi that whom we fall in love with wasn’t a conscious choice we made. It merely happened, and it was up to us to recognize it.

  Convinced her existence in my life was something I’d somehow earned, I strolled along the beach, wondering just what that something might have been.

  Although I’d never been what I would describe as a bad person, I wasn’t a good one by anyone’s definition either. My trip to prison might have been unwarranted for the crime I’d been charged with, but there were several other crimes I’d escaped conviction on during my tenure as an outlaw biker.

  Teddi tugged against my hand. “Look,” she said, facing the horizon. “It’s happening.”

  The sun fell behind a ribbon of low-lying clouds. The sky behind her illuminated. Orange and purple hues replaced the evening’s powder-blue landscape. Pink melded in, casting a reflection on the ocean’s surface worthy of praise.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  I studied the silhouette of her face. The breathtaking colors that spread along the horizon went out of focus. The image I was left with was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

  “It sure is,” I said in agreement, although we were talking about two different things.

  We gazed at the horizon until the sky darken
ed to indigo. Speechless, we faced each other and kissed.

  “I love you,” she said.

  I swept her hair behind her ear with the tip of my finger. “I love you too.”

  “I want to thank you again for allowing me into Herb’s life. I adore that guy.”

  “Thanks for putting up with him.”

  “He’s easy.”

  I took her hand in mine and walked up the beach, toward where we’d parked the motorcycle. Mixed in with the vacationers, lovestruck teens, and others just like us, we worked our way to the boulevard that followed the shore.

  “My life is nothing short of perfect,” she said.

  “Do you believe that?” I asked.

  “I do.”

  “You need nothing?”

  “Need?” she asked. “No.”

  “Want?” I asked.

  “A girl always wants,” she replied.

  “What? What does a girl always want?”

  “A sense of security,” she said. “Reassurance that what she has won’t fade away. To be reminded from time to time that she’s loved. Things like that.”

  “Do I provide those things?”

  She smiled. “You do.”

  “So, what is it that you want?”

  “Now? Nothing.”

  “If that changes, will you let me know?”

  She grinned. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  We reached the parking lot where the motorcycle was parked. On both sides of it, other motorcycles had been parked, each making use of the minimal space that was available along the beach at sunset.

  “They kind of boxed you in,” she said.

  Seeing them reminded me of the many times we’d done similar things while out on the road and unable to find a spot to park. I missed the men in the club. The comradery. The brotherhood. The sense of belonging.

  “Do you miss them?” she asked.

  I realized I was staring blankly at the row of motorcycles.

  “Who?” I asked, although I knew what she was asking.

  “The guys in your MC?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  “The guy who came to Herb’s house won’t let you go see them?” she asked. “Your parole officer?”

  “No,” I replied. “He won’t.”

  “That’s dumb.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  She took her sneakers off the handlebars and untied the laces. “It won’t last forever.”

  “One of these days, I’ll be able to go where I want, when I want, with who I want.”

  She leaned against the motorcycle and slipped on her shoes. “When you’re given that freedom, what will change?”

  I couldn’t give an answer because I didn’t know. I’d spent eight years with the belief that nothing was more important than returning to the club. I now wondered if my priorities were in line with what my life’s necessities truly were.

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  For the time being, what was in front of me was all that was important or necessary. I hoped that no amount of freedom would change that, but I had no way of knowing. So I clung to the belief that what satisfied me at that moment would continue to satisfy me forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Teddi

  Kate pinched a piece of sushi between her chopsticks and lifted it to her mouth. “The craziest?”

  “Absolute craziest.”

  “Crazy how?”

  I sipped my sake. “Something that surprised the hell out of you. In a good way.”

  She wedged the slice of sushi into her mouth. As she chewed, she rocked her head from side to side goofily.

  “I suppose,” she said, still chewing the food, “it’d have to be anal beads.”

  I nearly choked. I leaned over the edge of the table. “Anal beads?” I whispered excitedly. “Oh my God. When?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does,” I argued. “Who was it with?”

  She reached for her drink. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I relaxed against the back of my chair and gave her a side-eyed look. “We’re keeping secrets now?”

  “Fine. It was a few weeks ago.”

  I gasped. “You’re seeing someone?”

  She picked up another piece of sushi. “Kind of.”

  I slapped her hand. “Stop eating. Tell me more.”

  “I met him at Cavo.”

  “You went there without me?”

  Her brows pinched together. “You’re going clubbing with me now? You and Devin?”

  I let out a sigh. “Good point. Anyway…” I finished my sake. “Give it to me.”

  I raised my glass. She lifted the flask and poured me another. “He’s older than me, and he—”

  “How much older?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “He’s thinking about moving here. He was—”

  “He doesn’t live here?”

  “No.”

  “You had a one-night stand that included anal beads?” I gave her a look. “Who are you?”

  “I’ve seen him ten times, give or take. The first time was three weeks ago.”

  “What’s he do?”

  She chuckled. “It’s kind of funny.”

  “Funny how?”

  “Well.” She sipped her sake until it was gone. “He’s a drug dealer. Kind of.”

  “A pharmaceutical rep?”

  “No.” She raised her glass. “A drug dealer.”

  I eagerly poured it until it overflowed. “A pharmacist?”

  She shook her head. “Drug. Dealer.”

  “A fucking drug dealer?” I whispered. “Like, drugs?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He sells CBD oil.”

  Disappointment washed over me. I scoffed. “CBD is legal. Everywhere. All fifty states.”

  “But it’s still drugs.”

  I picked up a piece of sashimi with my fingers. “So is Tylenol.”

  “Well, he’s originally from San Diego, and he’s kind of a hippy. He’s got long hair, he doesn’t always shave, and he—”

  “Does he stink?”

  “What?”

  I bit the sashimi in half. “Stink. Does he smell like poop?”

  She laughed. “No. He’s—”

  “Does he wear clean clothes?”

  “He’s a businessman,” she said, clearly defending him. “He dresses nicely. In his own way but nicely.”

  “Does he have a big dick?”

  She coughed out of surprise and leaned forward. “It’s as thick as my wrist,” she whispered. “I compared them one night.”

  “Devin’s is the size of a fucking cucumber.” I poked the other half of the sashimi in my mouth. “One of the big ones. Every time he fucks me, it’s like the first time all over again.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “That’s exactly how it is with Forrest.”

  I laughed. “His name is Forrest?”

  “Stop it. I like it. Forrest Cambridge.”

  I nearly choked on my sashimi. “That’s like an oxymoron. First name hillbilly, last name wealth.”

  She crossed her arms. “I like it.”

  I grabbed another piece of sashimi. “Tell me about the beads.”

  “We met at the bar and immediately hit it off. His hair is kind of long, almost to his shoulders. It’s all one length, and he wears it back—”

  “Beads,” I said, rolling my hand in a circular motion. “We can come back to all this.”

  She shot me a glare. “Thanks for caring.”

  “This always happens with you,” I complained. “We start talking about something, and the next thing I know, we’re discussing San Diego’s skyline, and I can’t remember what it was that we were originally talking about. I end up mad at myself because I can’t remember, and I can’t remember because you go off on some tangent about something completely unrelated to the subject I wanted to talk about.
We were talking about crazy sex. Beads, bitch,” I said with a laugh. “Let’s hear it.”

  “It was on the second night we were together. He—”

  “Second time you two met, or was it two consecutive nights?”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because. I want to know.”

  “Two consecutive nights.”

  I smiled. “Awesome. Go ahead.”

  “He asked me if I was interested in experimenting. He’d explained on the night we met that he was open-minded. So, on night two, he asked if I was open to experimenting.”

  “Did you two bone on the first night?”

  “We did.”

  “Basically, you’re a whore,” I said dryly. “You know that, right?”

  “Shut up. You used to screw guys and give them Theresa Bianchi’s business card. Don’t talk to me about being a whore.”

  I poked the remainder of sashimi in my mouth and smiled. “Ouch.”

  “On the second night, I agreed to try the anal beads. I figured what the hell. You and Devin are fucking in your office, and he’s choking you until you nearly pass out. You screwed in the grocery store parking lot, for Christ’s sake.”

  “And?”

  “I have to hear all those stories,” she said. “I wondered what I might be missing.”

  “Back to the beads. Did he have them in his suitcase? He probably doesn’t have a suitcase, does he? Backpack. Did he have them in his backpack?”

  “We bought them in Fort Myers.”

  “We? You went to a sex shop?”

  She grinned. “I did.”

  “That’s disgusting. Were there dildos everywhere?”

  “Everywhere. Purple. Black. Pink. Big. Small. Curved. Even ones with little curvy things attached to them.” She glanced over each shoulder and then leaned forward. “Two holes at once.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m aware.”

  “They even have them set up by the cashier, like the candy bars at the grocery store. In case you forget you needed one while you were shopping.”

  “So you bought the beads. Then what?”

  “We were doing it doggy style, and just as I reached climax, he tugged on the little string. They came popping out of there like pop! pop! pop! I came so hard, I nearly passed out.”