by Sandy Kline
Thank god for small water heaters or I may never have left the bathroom. Right on the tail end of my third orgasm the cold water hits my face and the fantasy is gone. I scramble for the handle as I try to step out of the chilly stream of water. It takes me several cold swipes before I finally get the water turned off. If I can’t keep my mind out of the gutter this is going to be one stressful first date. Turns out it’s a good thing I got an early start on this whole getting ready thing. By the time I finish putting on my mask it’s past the time I should be heading out the door.
Chapter Four
First Date
As I pull into the parking lot of the House of Prime Rib I notice an unusual array of Harley Davidson motorcycles parked in what can only be described as a protective ring around the establishment. That right there should tell me something. Just what that something is I’m not sure. I do wonder though, why did I agree to this date? I mean, I’ve sworn off law enforcement, lawyers, anyone in finance, athletes, and bikers; so who’s left? For a college town like this one I have seriously narrowed my dating pool. Problem is, I just can’t say no to Blue Eyes. If his dad were still alive I’d be in a serious moral dilemma right about now. Pretty sure there’s no law against dating a father and son from the same family, but yuck!
I get out of my car and as I’m approaching the restaurant I notice that most of the bikes parked around the establishment still have the rider on them. As I approach the front entrance I notice I have picked up a pair of scary looking escorts. They hold the door for me and before the maître di can approach one of my escorts directs me to a more private part of the restaurant. Towards the back of the room is a table on an elevated portion of the restaurant. Sitting with his back to the wall is Sean. As I approach my escorts fade back into the woodwork until it’s just me and Sean. He stands up and walks around to pull out my chair. He is stunning! He’s got on a perfectly fitted suit jacket and slacks. Beneath his jacket he’s sporting a black muscle hugging tee shirt. The tight fitting material serves to accent his ripped, mouthwatering physique. He is the embodiment of perfection when it comes to the human male body. As my eyes drift over him from head to toe I can feel him doing the same. Normally male attention like this I drink in, but not anymore. As his eyes wander down my body from the top of my perfectly coifed hair to my stiletto heels I just feel like a fraud. If the evening, or any evening in the future winds up with Sean doing more than undressing me with his eyes he’s going to be in for a bit of shock and awe, and not in a good way either. The crisscross of scars on my back and legs are like some kind of bad road map you don’t want to ever get stuck on.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“Great.” I lie as I take my seat.
“Have you been here before?” Sean asks.
“No, but I’ve heard good things about it. Alex loves the place. Sorry for being late by the way. Time just got away from me.”
“No worries.” He says, handing me the menu.
“Is this the vegetarian menu?” I ask.
“Really?” He asks. “You’re sitting in the House of Prime Rib and you thought we we’re going vegetarian?”
“Not really. Just checking for the presence of a sense of humor.”
“Yeah…I really don’t have one.” He replies in a serious tone. “When you’ve got a body like mine you don’t need a sense of humor.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
“People say I don’t smile enough. I smile a lot. Most just don’t recognize my expression as a smile. See…I’m smiling now.”
“Okay now I know you’re joking because that’s definitely not a smile.”
This time he does smile and it completely transforms him. In one flash he goes from scary, but good looking biker, to just good looking biker who maybe is a little scary. We continue to banter back and forth throughout our very excellent meal. As our plates are nearing empty I feel like it’s time to actually get to know each other.
“There’s something you should know about me.” I begin tentatively.
“This doesn’t sound like first date talk.” He interrupts. “Are you sure we should be heading down this path? Nothing good ever begins with, ‘there’s something you should know about me’.”
“Really?”
“Yeah because it usually follows with I’m married or I have seventeen children and I’m a serial killer… you get my drift.”
“I do, and I promise we’re not drifting down that path.” I reassure him. “I assure you I have never been married, had any children, and have never killed more than one person.”
“That’s good to know because the seventeen children thing would have been a deal breaker! I gotta stop at sixteen; sorry.”
I gotta say, he’s kinda got a sense of humor. Given that he’s a member of a bloodthirsty motorcycle gang, an MMA fighter, and he’s killed a guy with his bare hands I sorta figured humor is not a part of this stunning package deal sitting across from me tonight.
“Let’s play a game.” I say, surprising myself. Must be the red wine that’s loosened my tongue and my brain.
“What kind of game?” He asks.
“This is a kind of a get to know you game.”
“Okay.” He replies. “I’m game.”
“Funny. I like that. Okay so here’s what you have to do. Each person has to say three things about themselves. Two are made up and one is real. You have to guess which two are the lies on the first try or you have to take a drink of wine. You up for it?”
“Sure.” He says. “And, I’ll even go first.” Then he thinks for a minute before speaking again. “Okay…um…I committed my first crime when I was 13 years old. I lost my virginity when I was thirteen, and I graduated from high school when I was thirteen.”
“Oh come one Sean, this is supposed to be hard.”
“Well if it’s so easy what’s your guess?”
“No way you graduated when you were thirteen and I seriously doubt you went beyond second base as a barely pubescent teen so I’m going to say you committed your first crime at thirteen.”
“Is that your final answer?” He asks.
“That’s my final answer.” I confirm.
“Wrong!” He shouts with glee! “You are so wrong.”
“Oh my god, how old was the girl?”
“Uh…she was eighteen and I was 17 but that’s not the answer. I graduated from Berkeley High with a 4.0 three days after turning thirteen.”
“No freaking way! You the badass biker? No way! I didn’t even figure you graduated period. You know you can’t lie in this game right?”
“Yeah. Lying would kinda defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”
“So did you go to college then?”
“This isn’t the game of twenty questions Jenna. Now it’s your turn.”
“Fine. But some day you have to finish that story. I still can’t believe you graduated so young. But anyway, here’s mine. I committed my first crime when I was thirteen, I’m terribly disfigured, and I stole a car.”
“Wow…I’m having a hard time believing any of those. Are you sure you’re not a pathological liar?”
“If I am would there be any point in me asking that?” I counter.
“No…probably not. Okay, here’s my guess. I don’t believe you stole a car and it’s pretty obvious you’re not disfigured so I’m going to say your first crime was at the tender age of thirteen when you pocketed a tube of lipstick at the local dollar store.”
“Wrong.”
“Holy shit, you actually stole a car? Man for a girl you got balls lady. Big steel balls.”
“I’m disfigured.”
“What?” He asks.
His expression is almost funny. It would be if it wasn’t so tragic. He was right in the middle of a huge smile and laugh and suddenly his mouth drops open and his eyes bug out.
“But you look…you look so perfect.” He finally says.
“Yeah well you haven’t seen the ba
ck of my calves or my upper back so…”
“I’m so sorry.” He says. “Where you in a fire or something?”
“That and more.” I reply. “The worst part of my injuries you can’t see. They’re all buried in here.” I say, tapping my forehead with my index finger.
“I’m sorry Jen, you don’t have to tell me.” He says, apologetically.
“Yeah that’s more of a second date talk. Let’s just say I had a lot of really bad stepdads, and leave it at that.”
“Wow, this game got dark fast.” He comments. “Well… I guess it’s my turn then.”
“Let’s try something different.” I suggest.
“What do you have in mind, truth or dare?”
“Not a bad idea. But I was actually thinking more along the lines of twenty questions. Something like I get to ask you one question and you have to give an honest answer, then you get to ask me. You can ask anything but keep in mind, if you’re going to get deep and personal so will I. I get to go first.”
“Fine, shoot.”
“Was your father a member of the Death Crusaders?”
“I think we already covered this but yes he was their Sergeant at Arms. He was a member for twenty-three years until he died of cancer. Now it’s my turn. What happened to your real father?”
“Wow, going for blood already. Okay, I can answer that one but you’d better be ready for mine. The answer is, my alcoholic, drug addicted mother ran him out of the house and out of town. He wasn’t much of a dad though because when he left he really left. At first I got the obligatory birthday card and Christmas card but that only kept up for a couple years or so then he just seemed to disappear off the face of the map.”
“That’s a shitty thing to do to your child.” Sean comments. “Fatherhood’s a lifelong commitment, not a when-things-are-good commitment. I’m sorry he abandoned you. Your turn.”
“Why’d you join the club?”
“That’s an easy one.” He replies.
“Lemme guess. You joined them because you didn’t have a family at home and the Death Crusaders became your family.”
“That’s probably what everyone thinks.” He says. “But there’s a lot more to it than that.”
“Can you elaborate on that?”
“Well you already know my dad was a member first. I’m not sure why he joined because he already had a family at home. When he joined he pretty much disappeared from the house. I started hanging around the club after he went to prison. Well, hanging around what was left of the club that is. I wanted to see what took my dad from his family. I didn’t understand at first but the brothers took me under their wing and looked out for me. I realized they were the family I lost; or never really had. So when I was old enough I became a prospect and eventually a patched member. Now it’s my turn to ask questions.” He says.
“Fire away.”
“What’s the deal with you and your ex?”
“He is a psycho stalker who happens to be in law enforcement.” I reply honestly.
“Oh great. Talking about ex’s is always a tricky subject in new relationships…dates early dates.” He corrects himself. “But wow you’ve got a stalker for an ex and he’s a cop. That’s a lot of baggage missy. A hell of a lot of baggage.”
“Oh you haven’t even heard the worst part. You know I have a restraining order against him? Let me tell you - that was fucking hard to get. He was a super popular…is a super popular cop and getting a judge to sign off on one was hell. He has to stay at least 500 yards from me at all times and he can’t call, email, or text me. He still does, of course. He doesn’t call but he uses other guy’s phones to send messages. He doesn’t send anything threatening and he doesn’t send anything specific enough that a judge can see and go, ‘oh yeah that’s him alright’. The bastard is smart and he’s careful. If you should happen to get to know me you’ll start getting visits from him and his friends; count on it.”
“You think he would try to intimidate me?”
“That you’re a biker will not faze him one bit. He’s a cop remember and he has the full force and legal system on his side.”
“Well I’ve a hundred and twenty homicidal bikers behind me so…”
“So you’re at war with the local clubs… I’m guessing that’s the reason for the iron curtain that surrounds this place and the fact that I got two armed escorts the moment I got out of my car. Isn’t that overkill?”
“Not at all. If they get wind that I’m dating someone and if they think that someone could end up being my old lady…”
“Slowdown cowboy!” I just about shout. “We’re barely into our first…first whatever you call it and you’re talking marriage? I mean that’s kind of like being an old lady right? The same level of commitment at least?”
“More.”
“What? How could it possibly be more? I mean, what’s more committed than marriage?”
“Oh come on, nobody takes their marriage vows seriously.” He replies. “You say ‘til death do us part, but what you’re really saying is ‘til you get too much to handle. Vows go out the window when somebody gets fat, old, or full of cancer. It’s pretty obvious to me. That’s why sixty percent of all marriages end up in divorce. Nobody takes their vows seriously no matter how much in love they think they are in the beginning.”
“So when you become an old lady then it really is ‘til death do us part?” I ask. “Is that what you’re saying? No one can break it apart?”
Soon as I say that he gets this uncomfortable look on his face and right away I know I’ve touched on something. And I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
“Let me guess.” I begin. “When a woman becomes an old lady the only one who can terminate the relationship is the man. Am I right?”
He nods, and knows better than to say anything.
“Wow!” I reply. “Welcome to the dark ages. Ain’t progress wonderful?”
“I don’t make the rules.”
“But you’re happy to live with them, aren’t you?”
“Hey I believe in the club and what it stands for. It’s an amazing feeling to have a hundred plus brothers behind you that would be happy to step in front of a bullet for you should the occasion arise.”
“Sounds romantic.” I deadpan. “So sad that women can’t become members.”
“You’re a bad liar Jennifer.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You talk like lying is a bad thing. In many circumstances a well-placed lie can be a good thing.”
“You’ll never convince me of that.” I reply. “I’m basically an honest person. Lying is never the best option.”
“And you’ll never convince me of that.” Blade replies with a laugh. “Because I’m basically a dishonest person.”
“Yeah that’s probably not something you wanna share on the first date.” I admonish him shooting back a smile.
We carry on through two bottles of wine and a few mixed drinks and well into the night. When I finally look around us I realize we’re the only ones left and it’s 11:30pm. We have been eating, drinking, and testing one another’s wit for the last three plus hours. When we started the night our chairs were separated by a round table. Gradually as the night has worn on our chairs have been slowly closing the distance. With an audible clack I suddenly realize our chairs cannot possibly get any closer together. As Blade laughs at my latest joke his breath tickles my nose causing a sudden sneeze. I barely get my head turned to the side narrowly avoiding embarrassment. When I turn back to face him he has leaned in so that our noses side swipe each other, followed by the most natural thing in the world at this point; a kiss. At first I freeze in shock, before melting into his embrace. I feel so safe and protected with his arms around me. How could anything ever go wrong with this man around? As our lips open and tongues begin their initial exploration my kitty begins to tingle with such sweet pleasure it takes me by complete surprise. I swear if I had a third hand I’d be using it to diddle myself right abou
t now.
A sudden crash in the kitchen behind us makes me jump in my chair and suddenly the mood is broken. It’s a good thing to because I was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind. Ten minutes ago if he would have invited me home I’d have jumped at the chance then jumped at his bones.
“This has been nice…” I say to him, and I really mean it. This could not have gone any better.
“I’d invite you home…but I get the feeling I’d get punched if I presumed so.”
“Yeah you’re a pretty good judge of character Sean.”
“I like that.”
“Like what?” I reply.
“When you say my name; Blade. No one’s called me by that name in years. In fact I don’t know if anyone even remembers it. But when you call me Sean…it... it means something.”
“Good. Now say goodnight.”
“Goodnight Jennifer.”
“Goodnight Blade. You can call me again if you like.”
“I’ll think about it.” He says as he turns to his bike. “I’ll most definitely think about it.”
“Me too.” I whisper. “Me too.”
Chapter Five
Sunday
I pretty much knew Blade would be calling on me again but I didn’t expect to hear from him the very next day. On the phone he was very sweet (as sweet as a biker could be) and insistent (like only a biker can be). I knew I would accept the invitation the moment I heard his voice on the phone. If there is going to be any chance of things working between us then I have to face my fears about my scars and eventually let him in. I just don’t know if tonight’s going to be that night.
Dinner is fine, but clearly we both have something else on our minds and the sexual tension brings dinner to a quick close. Once in his truck we pause so our lips can get reacquainted. It’s nice until I realize we have company. I cheated and opened my eyes and I saw no less than four Harley’s uncomfortably close to us.
“What?” He asks when I freeze.
“Sorry but your escort is a serious buzz kill. I’m really not into the whole spectator thing. Yeah I know some gals like that sort of thing but I’m not one of them.”
