by Trent Jordan
I thought, at first, I would take her back to my place, but then I thought about having to explain to her why I had a little dog named Lucky, and then, worse, I thought about having that information leak out to other members of the club. Halfway home, I switched up and asked that we go to her place. She agreed to it, though I can’t say it was done with the most enthusiasm I had ever seen.
I think she was just happy to be away from the party. The same was true for me.
And, if I was honest, I was happy to have her alone, although “happy” was only a relative term.
We made it back to her apartment, which was on the first floor of a three-story building, and I walked with her straight to the bedroom. She tried to kiss me, but I held off from doing that as much as I could. I didn’t want to get intimate with her or anyone else.
Because if they see the good side, they’re going to have to see the ugly side—and I know no one wants to see that, including me.
When we got to her bed, the clothes flew off in almost hurried, frenzied fashion. I was just hard and wanted to get inside of her, and Thea, I think, just wanted to get this over with. She kept looking at me yearningly like she wanted this to be more—like she wanted me to want something more from her than just sex. She had my curiosity earlier, but I was forcing myself not to indulge her, not to kiss her, not to do anything that would make us be any closer than we had to be.
I was on top of her and about to enter her, but she flipped me over, giggling.
“In such a rush, are we?” she said.
Her voice was seductive and hot, but there was something guarded about it, something that was not revealing its full self.
“Let me have at you first. I want to see what makes you feel good.”
I let my head tilt back as Thea ran her tongue over the tip of my cock. I swore it was like fucking magic that she knew that that was the spot. Most girls just started jerking as hard and as fast as they could, and while it wasn’t like that was bad—pretty much all sex was at least decent, if not great—it just wasn’t the best. But this… oh, fuck.
“Damn, Thea,” I growled.
Thea laughed down below, sounding like she was enjoying this as much as I was. She then all but swallowed me whole, deep-throating me and bobbing her head. The girl could work me like she’d been with me before, and to some extent, I was more than happy to stay down this way. Shit, if I could come…
She wouldn’t get anything out of this. And you’re trying to be better, right? You’re trying to not let yourself fall into that selfish, ruinous person?
“Why don’t you climb up on top?” I said.
Thea looked up, and her eyes had that same damn look they’d had just seconds before. The yearning look. The pleading look. She’s too used to anonymous sex. She wants something more.
I didn’t want to think it to myself, let alone say it out loud, but there was something so intense as to be terrifying about the idea of connecting with someone else like that. I knew what had happened the last time I had let myself get to that point. I had no desire to return to that point, both for my sake and for hers.
But that didn’t mean that we couldn’t have some great sex for the time being. We just couldn’t have great intimacy, because I couldn’t—or, perhaps, didn’t want to—have it with anyone.
“I’d like that,” she said as she climbed up my body, positioned herself, and slowly slid herself onto me.
Thea went full bore on me, and she seemed to love whatever I gave her. She ground on me, dug her hands into my chest, and stared into my eyes—or tried to. I just kept tilting my head back or focusing on her great body—but not on her eyes.
Unfortunately, whether by cruel twist or just because of my own actions, I just couldn’t get into the sex like she could. I really hadn’t had sex that had captured my mind but once or twice since my last relationship. It was like my body craved it, and when it got it, it… didn’t want to stick around. It’s not like I went limp and never came—I was still hard right now—but maybe my absolute refusal to be intimate made it so that I could never really enjoy sex like some people said they could.
Hey, they were the lucky ones. I didn’t begrudge them.
We swapped through a couple of positions, though noticeably, we never went to missionary. I worried that if I got into that, I would kiss her, and then I might start to develop feelings for her that I would never follow through on. At best, we’d start having steady sex, but if she was looking for anything else like I thought she was…
It was nice for me to pretend I was considerate, but really, I was just a selfish asshole.
But that was better than being a violent asshole.
I think I made her come when we were in doggie, as her moaning and the pulsating of her pussy got much louder and stronger, respectively, but it was still largely a matter of going through the motions with me. She eventually made me finish when she went back to her mouth. Yeah, it felt fucking great.
But to feel truly satisfied? To have the type of feeling a couple had where they would just cuddle in silence for several minutes after an orgasm because they loved each other? To even just have that feeling of some hot kisses right after good sex? Fuck, just to talk to each other and say how fucking great the other person was?
I never allowed myself to feel that. I was too much of a monster to let anything more than the surface come through. At best, absent the Black Reapers and those who brought out my monster most, I could talk a little bit more than average.
But Thea, though not an actual Reaper, was as much a member of the club as anyone who wasn’t an actual biker. Whatever happened here, whatever I told her here, she was bound to repeat in some other fashion to someone else. Even if it was innocent, even if it was nothing more than a “you won’t believe this nice thing that he said,” I didn’t want it repeated.
The more people knew about me, the more I was inclined to push them away.
So, when I finished, I just rolled over. It was a completely dickish move, and I knew that Thea wouldn’t respond well to it, but the alternative, in the long run, was much worse.
“Butch, you felt fucking incredible,” she said. “I know most girls might say this, but I mean it. No one has the size that you do.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
Of course any man hearing that would feel good, but it wasn’t like I was going to take this information and hold it over anyone else in the club.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah,” I said.
I could feel the tension beginning to rise, even though I’d just orgasmed. This was supposed to be the moment when I fell asleep, and instead, Thea was keeping me up. She was nicer and had more to her than just her body, sure, but right now, the only way she was going to keep my interest was if she dropped hers.
“Butch?”
OK, that’s it.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
I got up from the bed, reached into my jeans’ pocket, grabbed my phone, and headed to the bathroom. While inside there, finally alone, I went through my text messages.
But that was just a stall tactic. I knew what I was about to do. It was what I did whenever I finished having sex and felt a little overwhelmed.
I went back and looked at the photos of my last serious girlfriend.
Sophie.
I was actually smiling in these photos. I was, hell, I was laughing in one of these photos! I was still the same person then that I was now, but I was much more comfortable expressing my cheerful and bright side.
Sophie brought that out of me.
And then the murder happened…
And no more Sophie.
No more happy Brian.
Just Butch. That’s the only part of me that remains.
Only when I believe there’s no chance of anything about me getting back to the Reapers can I be Brian.
How fucked up was it that I believed my dark side was so powerful and raw that I wouldn’t even show it around the fucking Bl
ack Reapers, men who had served in the military, were willing to die for each other, and shot at enemies with little fear? How fucked was it that I truly believed I couldn’t be happy without exposing my dark side?
But that was something that I had found to be unassailable. I could only be happy if I also could allow the demon in me to rise. It had risen around Sophie. And because of it, I had killed.
That could not happen again.
Eventually, I came back to bed. Thea was on her side, looking at her phone. As soon as I laid down, she rolled back over and cuddled with me. It felt…
It felt good.
It felt surprisingly good to feel wanted, even if she didn’t know who or what she was cuddling.
I could tell by her breathing that she had something to say, but it didn’t seem like she could muster the courage to say whatever was on her mind. I couldn’t blame her.
We all had things to say, but whether because of fear, anger, or disgust, we didn’t say them. And in my case, I didn’t fear the consequences.
I feared myself.
Thea
I could not let the night that I’d just had become like every other night.
I recognized that what I was about to do might be suicidal for me staying in Springsville. It was one thing to act a certain way toward the prospect. It was very much another to do so toward a club officer.
But damnit, I was tired of being nothing more than a cum dumpster for the guys. I didn’t quite think that Butch was treating me that way, but I did get the sense he wished he was. The way he acted toward me was worse than Axle, because at least Axle never really made pretenses about how he saw me.
But Butch? I could tell Butch felt something for me. So for him to then just roll over and pass out…
I had eventually fallen asleep too, but when I woke up first, I put my clothes on and sat in a chair in the corner of the room. I was determined to wait until he woke up so I could get to know him better. Whatever that entailed, I was fine with. I just wanted to know the man I had had inside of me the night before beyond the words “biker,” “badass,” and “big.”
Butch eventually stirred, and in the light of the morning sun, I saw the first thing that I knew I’d ask him about—the scarring on his shoulder.
“Good morning,” I said.
He sat up, looked at me, blinked a few times, and reached over with his uninjured arm to grab a bottle of water. He drank it silently, looking at me the whole time. Without sex or the presence of the other club members around him, it felt like I could finally have a real conversation with him.
“What happened to your shoulder?” I asked as he drank the water.
He let out a gentle sigh when he finished his gulp, looked at me, and shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Well, that was clearly a lie. I wasn’t in the medical field, nor had I witnessed any of the violence that the Reapers would sometimes find themselves in, and I knew clear as day that something had happened to Butch. The question, of course, was what?
“Nothing, or nothing you’re willing to talk about?”
Butch just grunted. So much for that conversation.
“Well, tell me something about you, Butch,” she said. “What’s your real name?”
He rose in full profile from the bed, completely naked. I had to admit there was something sort of majestic about seeing a naked man of his height and health standing in full profile before me under the morning sun, looking utterly muscular and jacked and, well, hard. It was too bad for Butch that the sex wasn’t that great last night—but there was hope for him if he’d just drop the facade he wore.
Too bad that seemed unlikely.
“You don’t need to know that,” he said as he put on his clothes, making it clear he wasn’t into a second round.
“Well, I’d like to know a little something,” I said. “Do you know how often it happens that I come here, sleep with someone, and then get kicked out?”
I should have stopped myself there, but it was all but too late. I decided to just lay it all out on Butch, wise or not.
“Do you know how little I know about the people I sleep with? I don’t expect commitment or love or happily ever after, but I’d at least like to think that if I ran into some of you outside of the clubhouse, you’d know something about me, and I’d know something about you. Instead, all I know are your biker names. How the hell is that supposed to work? Or what your interests are?”
Butch just stared at me the same way a dog would have stared at me after such a rant—confused and unsure how to even respond.
“You know what, never mind,” I said, disgusted mostly with myself for thinking that Butch, of all people, would be the one to open up. “I’m just a club bunny, here to please you and make you happy. I’m sorry for opening my mouth for reasons other than sucking your cock. I’ll go, and you can choose to pretend this never happened if you don’t want to.”
Butch still said nothing. I brushed past him and headed to the living room so I didn’t have to stare at him. I knew I’d have to see him one more time as he left, but I hoped that he would at least take the opportunity to tell me his real name.
That’s what life was for me now. Hoping that men would tell me their real name so I could feel connected to them somehow. What a fucking hot mess this shitty excuse for my life had become.
I heard Butch come out of the room, but my gaze lay ahead on the white wall before me. I wasn’t crying, because it wasn’t sad, not like a death or a sudden loss would be. I’d already lost the human connection long ago and shed the necessary tears; this was just a reminder that no, dummy, that hadn’t come back, nor was it likely ever.
But instead of him leaving, I heard him emit a loud sigh as he looked at me. There was something in his eyes…
“I feel like I’m talking to a wall sometimes,” I said, which, given the direction of my head, was a literal statement at this point. “I just want to talk to a human at some point.”
In my peripheral vision, I could see Butch remaining still. I could feel his eyes resting on me, not so much sizing me up sexually as he was trying to, I hoped, actually see me. Really see me.
He sauntered over, held his hand out, and waited for me to turn to me.
“Come.”
I took his hand. He lifted me up, walked me to the door, and grunted as he got his shoes back on.
“Brian,” he said. “My name’s Brian.”
“Brian,” I said. “Thea is my real name. They don’t—”
“I know, Thea,” he said. “Let’s go get breakfast.”
I knew the place well before we had even taken the final turn to get there.
Mama Sue’s was a favorite of all of the Black Reapers, one of the few spots that they didn’t have to be cautious about mingling with Fallen Saints. It served breakfast until two in the afternoon, making it a favorite of those who preferred to sleep in. It then served dinner well into the evening, usually until midnight on weekdays and until two on weekends. As far as I was aware, none of the bikers or bunnies worked here, but it was very obvious that the staff and management knew who their primary customers were.
So much so, that when Butch—err, Brian, rather—walked in, the front waiter didn’t say a word. He took us to the very back left corner, to a booth that was about four tables removed from the next nearest customers. It wasn’t cordoned off from the restaurant, but given the distance from everyone else, it might as well have been.
“My name is Brian,” he said. “And I’m from Iowa.”
“Brian from Iowa,” I said.
It had a nice ring to it. Maybe I was just trying it on for size.
“I grew up on a farm with a lot of traditional values, and I don’t mean politically. I mean, we settled our own shit however we needed to.”
Though his voice was still pretty neutral and his expression hadn’t suddenly transformed into theatrical, he seemed lighter here. I didn’t know what it was about Mama Sue’s that made him suddenly so verbose,
but I wasn’t going to ask why and ruin it.
“So then what got you to this part of the country, Brian?”
He snorted.
“Matters,” he said. “And don’t call me Brian at the club. You can call it to me here. But not there.”
Interesting. He doesn’t want the club to know about his normal self. And he doesn’t want me to know much.
I wonder what you might be hiding within, Brian.
“What about you,” Brian said, less of a question and more of a statement that trailed off as the waiter came by to take our order.
I put in a small order for two eggs and hashbrowns. Brian, on the other hand, ordered about three main courses, two of them three-egg omelets, and one of them an oatmeal bowl that seemed to include every optional add-on. He also ordered us both coffees. Even with his enormous size, that seemed ridiculous, and it showed on my face.
“You can eat that much?”
“Yeah.”
I might as well have asked him if he liked breathing air for how casual he answered the question.
“What about you?” he asked, now an actual question. “What’s your story?”
I didn’t expect to feel emotional hearing that question, but the watering in my eyes and the lump in my throat told me otherwise. No one—and I mean no one—in the Black Reapers had ever wanted to know anything about me beyond how quickly I could get undressed and how well I could suck cock. Frankly, even before then, very few people saw beyond my physical appearance.
“Well,” I said, laughing in an attempt to not show how fragile I looked. Brian’s going to never see me again if I make a mess of myself here. “I told you this, remember? Grew up in Arizona, went to school at USC. Joined a marketing agency where I’d get to craft films occasionally but still have real work.”
“Oh, right,” Brian said.
And then it all went to shit.
“It kind of worked out, but things fell apart, you know, tough economy—”
“Tough economy?”
