HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  Toad raised his right hand slightly and curled his fingers and thumb to form a “C”. Holding his hand at chest height and still staring straight ahead, he released the beer bottle from his teeth. As if he’d performed this trick in the bar a thousand times, as it fell toward the ground, he caught the bottle in his grasp without looking down. Standing expressionless, he raised it to his lips and finished drinking it. His pants still around his ankles, he tossed the bottle fifteen feet toward the trash. I shifted my gaze to the trash can as he released the bottle, aggravated he’d thrown it in the first place. Broken glass on the shop floor was one of my pet peeves. The bottle fell right into place in the center of the can.

  Toad bent down, pulled his pants up, and buckled his belt. With both index fingers, he pointed to his crotch. “Any of you fellas can fuck with that, get in line. I say we go off cock length, boss. You said the bigger the better; let’s give this girl a good solid Sinner fuckin’.”

  “Agreed,” I shouted. “If you’re hung like Toad, step up.”

  I crossed my arms and glanced at Otis. He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his temples.

  Shit, Otis, I know you don’t have a moral bone in your body. Don’t act like you’re thinking about this.

  He lowered his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

  No shit.

  “Alright. I’ve got Otis and Toad. Who else is hung like Toad here?”

  The fellas mumbled and grumbled, but not one volunteer stepped forward.

  Shocked, I raised my hands in the air and glanced at each of the members. “Come on. A shot at a God damned college girl the week before she graduates? Black hair, tight pussy, and tits the size of fucking watermelons? Says she loves sucking cocks too. Hell, I forgot all that part. I need one more, fellas. Who will it be?”

  Pete stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down at his feet. As he looked up, he raised his right hand and stroked his beard. “I’ll do it if we got some rules to this deal, Slice.”

  Hollywood chuckled. “Rules? If it ain’t covered in the bylaws, it don’t matter.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “What the fuck are you talking about, Pete? What kind of fucking rules are there to a gang bang?”

  Pete released his beard and raised his hands. “I can’t do a gang bang, Slice. Hell, everyone here knows I’m hung like a mule, but I got a bad case a stage fright, Slice.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I chuckled.

  “Can’t piss or get a stiffy in front of another man,” he said.

  I wrinkled my nose and stared. “No shit?”

  “Nope. Tried a time or two, and it don’t work. Not at all. I can go first, or in the middle, or hell, I’d even go last. But I can’t be all up in it at the same time one of the other fellas is, and I can’t have ‘em standing by me watchin’ either. If we’re taking turns, hell yeah, I’ll hurt that bitch,” he said.

  I glanced toward Otis and Toad.

  “I don’t need to watch that ugly prick fuck,” Toad snarled.

  “Same,” Otis said.

  “Your Ol’ Lady okay with this, Pete?” I asked.

  “She’s at her folks up in Milwaukee. I ain’t gonna bother askin’,” he responded.

  I looked into the crowd. “Anybody else?”

  Silence.

  “Well, it’s settled; Otis, Toad, and Pete. I don’t want anyone else fucking with this girl. And I don’t want any one talking shit to her about it before it happens. I want it to be a surprise. Like it just happened. Understood?”

  Most of the fellas nodded or began to tell how they would have torn her to shreds if their Ol’ Ladies weren’t coming. I grinned and slapped Toad on the shoulder.

  “Don’t be throwing beer bottles around the shop. One of ‘em breaks, and you’ll be sweeping it up, not the Prospect,” I growled.

  “Gotta miss the can to bust, Slice. I don’t miss,” he responded.

  Considering the amount of grenades he’d thrown in Afghanistan and Iraq, he probably didn’t miss. As the men all began to filter out of the shop and hop on their bikes, I glanced at my bike. Sitting in the rear of the shop with my new blanket strapped to the bars, it looked good. The lick ‘n stick was still on the rear fender from the night before. I shook my head and slowly walked toward the bike. I reached down and gripped the seat in my hands. As I lightly pulled against it to release the suction cups, I turned my wrist and looked at my watch.

  12:48.

  I pressed the seat back into place and threw my leg over the seat. As I relaxed into the seat, I raised my hands to the apes and rested them on the grips. As if programmed to do so, I twisted the throttle twice, pulled the choke, flipped the ignition, and hit the start button. As I pulled out of the shop and toward the gate, several of the fellas turned and stared.

  “Last man out lock up the shop,” I hollered over my shoulder.

  Because this might be an all-nighter.

  Chapter Twenty

  AVERY

  For a woman to accurately determine what a man is really thinking would be similar to a man having a full understanding of what it’s like to go through a menstrual cycle. It’s never going to be completely clear to either party no matter how much a person tries to explain.

  “So, let me get this straight. I’m not trying to play with words, or be a smart-ass; I’m really not. But let me see.” I said as I stood from the park bench I forced my hands into the rear pockets of my shorts.

  I twisted myself into my best naïve schoolgirl pose just to throw him off a little. The shorts I was wearing were absolutely killing my pussy without any underwear, but they looked hot as fuck. As much as I wanted some relief, I pulled back on the pockets and tried to give him just a little of a show up front. He sat quietly on the park bench and stretched his rubber band to the point of complete failure.

  Snap!

  Good. Now, if you like it, take it.

  I pulled my hands from my pockets and tossed my hair. “So, I’m going to stick by your side and stay quiet. If someone talks to me, I will respond. If they don’t, I stand, smile, and look pretty. If anyone asks if I’m available, I say no, and if they ask if you and I are together, I say no. And if someone asks if I’m your Ol’ Lady, I say hell to the no. Lastly, if anyone fucks with me, I find you or if I can’t find you, I find Otis. So, technically I’m not spoken for, but I’m not available either. Right?”

  “You coulda left the last part out, but that’s it. You got it,” he said as he played with the rubber band on his wrist.

  I lowered my hands and stuffed them into my rear pockets again.

  Holy fuck that’s uncomfortable.

  I bent my knees slightly and rocked my hips back and forth. After he snapped the rubber band again, I lifted my right shoe slightly and dug the toe into the dirt, twisting it back and forth as I watched the impression I was leaving in the sandy soil. No one knew better than I did that I didn’t have any tits, but what little I did have was exposed to the world through the opening of my vee neck tee shirt. As I felt the early evening breeze across my nipples, I glanced in his direction. His eyes were fixed on the opening of my shirt.

  Get an eyeful, Axton.

  “You want to sit the fuck down, you’re making me nervous,” he grunted as he shifted his gaze upward.

  As I tilted my head and gave my best duck face, he snapped the rubber band twice.

  Good, all that practicing I’ve been doing in front of the mirror worked.

  “My legs are cramping. I need to stand,” I lied.

  He stood from the park bench and pulled his knife from his pocket. As he raised it to his other hand, he flicked the blade open. Now focusing on his fingernails, he fidgeted with his knife and stopped paying attention to me altogether. Frustrated, I turned away from him and dug the denim out of my sore pussy.

  “What are you afraid of, Axton?” I asked over my shoulder as I turned to face him.

  He looked up from the half-assed manicure he was performing. “What the fu
ck are you talking about?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “With us. You and me? What are you afraid of?”

  He folded his knife, clipped it to his pocket and lowered his chin slightly. “A lot of motherfuckers will claim it, but only a handful actually mean what they say; I’m one of that handful. I’m not afraid of a God damned thing on this earth.”

  “So what’s keeping you from making progress with me?” I asked.

  He turned and stared at me as if I were absolutely insane. As he crossed his arms and continued to stare, it was obvious I’d touched on a subject he really wasn’t ready to discuss. The muscles in his biceps pulsated. As soon as he began speaking, the tone of his voice was sterner than before.

  “You just don’t get it, do you? I am making progress with you. More than I’ve made with anyone in the last fifteen God damned years. It’ll probably come as no fucking secret, but I fucking hate women. Last I checked, Avery, you’re a woman,” he said as he tilted his head toward the bike.

  “I absolutely hate, and I do mean hate having that seat on the fender of my bike. About every ten minutes when you think I’m rubbing my cheek, I’m not. I’m looking over at that God damned lick ‘n stick and wondering if it’s eating through the clear coat on my fender. But I’ve left that motherfucker on there for what seems like a month straight. Do you want to know why?” He rested his hands on his belt and raised both eyebrows while he waited for me to respond.

  I was beginning to feel small. I swallowed heavily and nodded. A very inaudible yes puffed from my lips.

  “Because I like having you on the back of my bike. I have no fucking idea why, I really don’t, because I hate bitches on the back of my bike. But for some God damned reason, having you back there makes me feel, at least for as long as we’re riding, like I’m normal. Well, Avery, I got a news flash for you. I’m far from normal.”

  He snapped the rubber band more times than I could count.

  Yeah, that’s not the ‘I think you’re way too cute’ snap, is it?

  “I’ve been shot at and missed, and I’ve been shot at and hit. I’ve been beaten, burned, cut, stabbed, and I’ve gone long enough without food and fucking water that I should have died. I’ve been in more fucking fights than any professional boxer, and my left arm is pinned back together with metal screws - because the third time it broke, I didn’t have time or the money to fix it. I’ve been to jail more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. No, Avery, I’m far from normal. You want to know why they call me Slice?” he growled.

  I stood and stared. I suppose I should have been scared or surprised. For some reason I was neither. I was beginning to like him more. For the first time since we had been spending time together, he was coming out of his shell. I attempted to swallow the rock in my throat, but couldn’t, so I simply nodded my head once. He reached down and grabbed each side of his cut, and pulled upward, unsnapping it.

  He leaned over, hung the vest from his ape hangers, and turned toward me. As he stood facing me, he reached down and pulled his tee shirt over his head. He quickly turned, tossed it over his shoulder and onto the seat of the bike. As he turned around, now shirtless, I gazed like an idiot at his upper body.

  Oh my God.

  His chest was massive, and far more defined than I would have imagined. His stomach didn’t have an ounce of fat on it. In fact, it was chiseled to perfection. His upper arms were solid muscle, and now that he was angry, were quite swollen. But my focus wasn’t solely on his muscles or well-proportioned body. My focus, at least now, was on the twelve-inch-long scar on his stomach.

  And the one below it that was eight or so inches long.

  And the one across his chest.

  And the one that went from his rib cage toward his back and appeared to never end.

  The wounds didn’t seem to have ever been stitched or taken care of by a medical professional. It looked as if he’d been tortured by a chainsaw wielding maniac. As I stood and stared, he slowly shuffled his feet and turned around.

  On his back were smaller scars, but there were more than I could count. They ranged in size from an inch to several inches long. Without speaking, he turned around again and grabbed his tee shirt. As I stood and stared, he pulled it over his head and covered his body.

  “That’s why they call me Slice. Now, before you ask, about three or four of them came from fights. The other thirty or so?” he asked as he ran his fingers through his hair. “My Ol’ Man. You wanna know why I don’t have any on my arms? Because a shirt wouldn’t hide ‘em when I went to school, that is on the days he would let me go. And none of them ever got stitched because I couldn’t let the doctors see ‘em or he’d have been arrested. When I was a kid he’d already been to the joint twice. One more time, and it’d been life in prison. Well, now he’s doing life in prison, and I’ve got these to remember him by.”

  “Turn around,” he demanded and he stepped toward me.

  “Axton, I…”

  “Turn the fuck around you question asking bitch,” he demanded.

  Reluctantly, I turned around. The park bench was only a few inches in front of me. I felt as if I was trapped, but I faced it anyway. As he positioned himself behind me, he raised his hand to the left side of my jaw, clenched it between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted my head to the right. As he breathed into my ear, he pressed his hips into the back of my ass.

  His breath against my ear caused goose bumps to rise along the length of my arms.

  “You feel that?” he breathed.

  All I could feel was his warm breath against my face. I swallowed heavily.

  “Feel what?” I squeaked.

  “That stiff cock of mine, Avery. It’s pressing against your ass. You feel it?” he asked as he pressed his hips against me with a little more force.

  I nodded my head and whimpered.

  “That lump you feel rising against that little round ass of yours, you want to know what I call it?” he growled.

  Still holding my jaw firmly, his control of me was apparent. His strong hand not only held my face in the position he wanted it to be, but provided me a sense of ownership and restraint. Had he released me, I would have melted into a puddle right then and there. I nodded my head again and puffed out another dry yes.

  “I call it progress,” he said as he bit my earlobe between his teeth.

  With my ear still clenched firmly between his teeth, he continued. “For the last fifteen years, my cock ain’t been much good; probably either from my Ol’ Man beating me, or from all the women who fucked me over, hell who knows.”

  “Reach back there with your right hand,” he demanded.

  I stood in shock and trembled. Not from fear, but from nothing other than one hundred percent alpha male arousal.

  Although we were standing in the hot sun, his breath against my ear caused me to shiver, “You little tease. You said whatever I told you to do, you’d do. Now reach your skinny little arm back here and grab that big fucking cock of mine.”

  I reached behind me, slid my hand along the thigh of his jeans, and felt around until…

  Oh God.

  “I said grab it. If you can’t grab it any harder than that, I’ll toss your little ass in the dirt and ride the fuck out of here. Now grab it,” he growled.

  Staring straight ahead with my eyes closed, I squeezed his cock firm in my hand. It felt as if I were gripping a baseball bat.

  “Now tell me just what it is you feel.” he said as he released my ear from his teeth.

  “Progress?” I squeaked.

  He released my jaw, spun me around, and stared into my eyes.

  “You’re God damned right. That’s progress.”

  “Now you want to know why that motherfuckers hard?”

  I bit my lower lip and lowered my head.

  “Because every time you stick your hands in your pockets and twist around like you’re some innocent little farm girl, it makes me want to fuck you. Bad. And for right now…”

  He reached
down and grabbed the rubber band.

  Snap!

  Snap!

  Snap!

  “For right now, I’m exercising patience,” he huffed. “Now, you got any more God damned questions?”

  I shifted my gaze to meet his. My eyes now trained on his, I reached toward my left hand. As my fingers found the hair tie which was wrapped around my wrist, I pulled against it and released it sharply into my skin.

  Snap!

  Incapable of speaking, I simply stood and lightly shook my head.

  Again, I pulled against the hair tie.

  Snap!

  Officially head over motherfucking heels, sir.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  AXTON

  Respect. In the hustle and bustle world of the modern age, the general population has forgotten how to be respectful. Most of what would make us more courteous as adults was drilled into our heads as children. Don’t touch it if it isn’t yours. Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal. Use the words please, thank you, and excuse me in everything you do. Think before you act. If someone serves you something, eat it out of respect without complaint. Stand up for what you believe in. If you make a mistake, be man enough to admit it. Don’t say you’re going to do something unless you have every intention of following through with your promise.

  No, it’s not okay to cut me off on the highway because you’re late for your son’s soccer game. There is never a good time to text a picture of the soup you ate for lunch to your girlfriend while you’re on the highway.

  People assume because I look tough, I’m covered in tattoos, and I ride a motorcycle I must be disrespectful. Nothing could be further from the truth. I treat others with respect, and I expect the same in return. For me to walk this earth smiling at every person I see and shaking the hands of strangers would be the same as living a lie. Most people on this planet aren’t the caliber of person I want to know, be friends with, or allow to the luxury of even saying they’ve ever met me.