- Author
- 11/21/2016
- 1,198 Words
- 2,956 Views
- 24 Comments
.thumb.jpg.64fa2767cd8dd6e9d9cd3bbf6494012a.jpg)
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
American Steel - 4. Brotherhood
Brotherhood
The sun feels good beating on my shoulders while the wind keeps us cool as we cruise up US Highway 27 headed to Orlando. The radio’s off; the unmistakable sound of the Harley-Davidson exhaust my soundtrack.
Riding without a shirt or helmet might not be considered smart by some people but fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. I’m an exhibitionist at heart plus I know I look good half-naked. And a brain bucket dulls my enjoyment of what the biker experience should be: freedom. As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to governmental intrusion, the old line about letting riders decide should be the law of the land.
I stayed in Wilton Manors two extra days as I’d promised the kid. His blood work proved negative for any STDs as I’d sworn it would be and he was elated with the results. So much so, he wanted a repeat performance of Friday night, offering to let me bareback him now he knew I was safe. I declined. Don’t want him to get any ideas. As I’ve said before, sometimes a fuck’s just a fuck and that’s all he’s to me. Cute kid with a great hole but I don’t want any kind of relationship. And I’ll keep my promise: Next time I ride through I’ll stop in and see him, take him to repeat the tests, and then it’s adios.
There’s nothing like cruising with your legs wrapped around a big hunk of American steel. Preferably something designed in Milwaukee, although a couple of older Indians could also give me a boner. I glance in the rear view mirror to check on my buddy, he agreed to come spend a day or two at Parliament House with me. He’s a bike’s length behind and to my right. I smile at his looks reflected on the silver-backed sliver of glass. Also shirtless and without a helmet, the guy’s a stud. Not as ripped as myself now I’ve gone back to the gym with a vengeance, but still looking good.
We get stares and smiles―men and women―as our bikes eat up the blacktop. A hunky motorcycle cop waves as he rides in the opposite direction. Damn, he looks hot. His Wesco’s identical to mine, wish I could see him in nothing but those boots. A trucker pulling a flat-bed with a replica of the Statue of Liberty on the back gives us a couple of blasts; sounds like a fog horn on a ship. I wonder what park in Mouse Town that sucker’s headed to. A lady driving a minivan with a large pink ribbon decal on the back rolls down the window when we stop at a red light. The back’s full of kids but she still winks at us. The twink riding a moped thinks he can keep up with us until we shake our heads and pull away with the roar of thunder following us. We’re like a pair of kids with a Halloween bag of candy. So many damn choices it’s hard to pick a flavor.
But this trip ain’t about getting laid. We can both do that any time we want. This is about friendship. About a pair of buds hitting the road and enjoying the wind in our hair. It’s about keeping the rubber down and the chrome up. About male bonding and not being surrounded by metal and glass. Fuck cages! Give me two wheels and a road with a few twisties and it’s better than an orgasm. Well, maybe not better, but close enough.
“You go on ahead and get me a beer, I’ll be right out.” We checked into our room―two double beds so if either one of us brought a trick back it wouldn’t be a problem―drove the bikes around back, and threw our luggage on the beds. “Wanna wash the road grime off my face and arms.” You might not realize it, but after a day riding half naked, your body’s coated with soot and pollution. I’ll shower later on but I need to get the gunk off my face now.
I walk outside to find my friend sitting under an umbrella by the pool; a sweating bottle of Corona with a lime stuck in the neck in front of him. Its twin by the empty chair next to him waiting for me. Stretching my legs out, I push the line in, cap the opening with my thumb, and turn it upside down. The first sip wets my tongue, the second one’s larger and coats my mouth and throat in slightly bitter coldness which elicits a sigh of pleasure.
“Hey, guys. Gonna take a wild stab here and guess those are your motorbikes parked out back?”
The accented, baritone greeting makes me look up. I lift my sunglasses, squinting against the Florida sun, to get a clearer view at the god standing before me. S T U D, stud! He looks ten or fifteen years younger than us but could otherwise be our sibling. His head and face are covered in dark hair and his chest’s thick fur’s just as dark. No shirt, tight Levi’s, and black leather stompers are all he wears.
“They sure are. And by the way you look, the guess’ you ride too. Pull up a chair. Want a beer? My treat.”
“Oh, man, that would hit the spot. Ernesto,” he says extending his hand. “I just pulled in, left the husband at home waiting for his mother to get there to watch over the kids. So I’m alone until he gets here.”
“Great, but you ain’t alone anymore.” I signal the server with my bottle and raise three fingers. “So what do you ride?”
“Yamaha FJR 1300, it’s parked next to your two now.”
“A rice burner. Damn, I’m disappointed. Didn’t take you for the type.” My smirk should take out the sting of the words.
“Fuck you, Daddy!” The laughter tells me he knows I’m giving him shit for the hell of it. It’s what we do.
“If you weren’t married I might enjoy that. But I don’t do the cheating thing.”
“Good to hear that, hubby’s kinda jealous anyway.” His chuckling’s like music to my ears; his husband’s a lucky fucker. “We’re looking forward to a night away from the kids after all the time we’ve been putting in at work. I hope to be walking funny an hour after he gets here.”
Typical biker, we just met and he’s already talking to us as if we’ve known each other for ages. By the time his phone chirps and he excuses himself to go meet his other half, we’ve downed a couple more brews. We traded life stories, recounted riding experiences, debated the merits of different bikes, and exchanged personal information. We make plans to have dinner together at one of the Vietnamese joints on Route 50. He wants to get fucked and shower. My bud and I just want another beer, a good scrubbing, and a long rinse.
Funny how a bunch of metal on two wheels can bring people together. A new day, a new town, a new friend. A new brother.
-
21
-
1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.