I made it easy for her, didn’t let her see the abomination that’s now my face. I took her and did what other members would do, sent her packing immediately.
Only, she hadn’t left. Had instead witnessed my breakdown. I’d been disgusted with myself for using her, and it had hit me hard, the knowledge of what I’ve turned into. Forced me to look into my future, where it will only be whores who will accept my attentions for the rest of my life. Someone who’s paid to provide their services. Better than my hand? Not with the self-recrimination that comes after.
It’s going to be hard to come to terms with that’s the best I’m going to get. What woman would want someone like me stepping out with her? The act which should have provided a physical release, had instead opened the floodgates on everything that’s wrong.
I’ve lost my job and the camaraderie of being on a team. I’ve lost my family in the club. I’ve lost the ability to do what I love, and those dreams of a future wife and kids? Blown to the wind.
There’s nothing left.
I’m bitter as hell as well as angry. I’ve lost everything that mattered to me in my life.
My eyes flick to the drawer where I keep the letter I received while in the hospital. It’s a fucking joke, a thank you from the woman who’d run back into that house, causing me to chase after her to save her. She offered no apology for her impulsive actions, only gratitude for mine. Because to her, all that mattered at the end of the day was that her cat was alive.
Do I fucking give a damn? I’d rather have my mobility, my unfettered sight, my job, my club, my old life. All for the sake of a bundle of fur whose time on earth is limited. It will die a natural death before I’ve lived out a fraction of the sentence handed to me.
It’s not that I don’t like animals, but fuck, from now on, I think I’ll always hate cats.
I want Allie to go. I want to be alone. Alone I can work out what to do with my life now that everything’s been taken away.
No, that’s not the truth, there’s nothing I can work out or resolve. Alone I can mourn what I’ve lost.
She’s sitting on my couch, seems to have put down roots. If she doesn’t go soon, I’ll have to physically evict her. Her presence is making the air difficult to breathe, shrinking my home to impossible proportions.
Why did Drummer have to send her? Out of the four sweet butts, she’s the one I wanted to see least.
Prospecting was hard, I don’t deny it, even though the club was easier on me because of the respect they have for my job, and because I started already possessing much of the trust other prospects have to earn from scratch.
All those months I split giving my all to my job as a firefighter and then, after my shifts, to the club. It had been a hectic time. Matt and I were run off our feet with the different duties and jumping to all the members demands, but we’d done it.
My love for the club warred with my love for my job, my duty, as I saw it, to protect and serve. What firefighter could sit back, seeing the wildfires getting worse: bigger and seemingly more malicious? Anyone’s house could be lost, whether they were a prince or a pauper. Fire, the great equaliser, taking from rich and poor alike. Like a recidivist, it was getting worse. Now it was intent on not just taking possessions, but lives.
I could help, it was where I was needed.
I took the decision to leave the club, but instead of feeling let down, they honoured me by patching me in as a full member. That had been one of the proudest, most amazing experiences of my life. To be given my full patch that night before I’d left for California.
The high that I’d felt could never be equalled.
I was leaving early, so I couldn’t drink, but I was still encouraged to take advantage of my new status in other ways. Sweet butts.
I’d always been fascinated by these women who were very much part of the club, but also distant from it in many ways. I’d picked up that before the men started settling down with their old ladies, the sweet butts held more sway. Gradually the pendulum swung in the opposite direction, particularly when Drummer, the president, took an old lady. The sweet butts who used to have free run of the club were banished when old ladies and kids were around.
But still, they had their time, and their uses.
The sweet butts were provided for by the club, in exchange they’d make themselves available to any and every one of the men. A crooked finger, a knowing wink, and the sweet butt would understand exactly what was expected of them, and went off to do their job with a smile. It had occurred to me that these women must like sex. They never showed the slightest hesitation, whether it was one man or more.
Though other clubs may be different, the Satan’s Devils sweet butts were never forced. If they weren’t feeling up to it, they wouldn’t be dragged out of their beds. They weren’t hurt, and like anything else belonging to the club, were fiercely protected.
Although society might look on them as scum, I learned a certain respect for them. Why should a man receive a slap on his back for the number and variety of women he goes with, and a woman not afforded any admiration at all? It’s a strange social dynamic.
There’s a general belief that sweet butts are all looking for that one special member, the brother who’d take them on the back of his bike and make them his old lady. I know a couple of our sweet butts had met their sorry end as they’d set their sights on men who were unobtainable. But I couldn’t have said any relationship between a club girl and a member would ever work. These girls like sex and lots of it. It would be hard for them to settle down and only ride one cock for the rest of their lives, just as I couldn’t understand the men who were addicted to one pussy.
That night I was patched in, I only had a few hours before I would leave. Never one to turn down an opportunity, I looked around for an available sweet butt and spied Allie. I already knew she was friendly and fun, loyal to the club and the men in it. It didn’t hurt she’s also pretty, with ample tits and a perfect heart-shaped ass. Well, you couldn’t miss her attributes with the skimpy clothes which appeared to be her uniform, screaming availability and fuck me.
I led her into the crash room with no expectations other than getting my rocks off before heading out into a dangerous situation. Like any soldier about to resume active duty, the idea of my mortality had been close to the forefront of my mind, and fucking a good way to deal with it, to scream to the world that for that moment, I was alive.
Whether it was that I was still on a high from the euphoria of the change in my fortunes, being made a full member instead of leaving the club, or whether it was the thought of the inherent danger of the situation I was heading into, I’m not sure, but the sex with Allie was out of this world. So much so, I stayed with her until I had to leave, fucking her every which way to Sunday, knowing I could grab a nap on the plane.
Her responses seemed genuine, her enjoyment undeniable—unlike earlier—when I knew she was faking it.
But then she’s a seasoned whore, no need to read any more into it. Her experience showed as she gave me everything exactly how I liked it, and let me take from her what I wanted.
That night had been so good. It must have been that it was the last act I’d taken before leaving the clubhouse, but when I’d gone away, the memory kept returning to me. Her scent, her touch, the feeling of being inside her. When I had a break from firefighting and got the opportunity to lay down my head to rest, as I closed my eyes it was her face I saw, smiling above me. When I had the chance to use my hand on myself, it was my memory of her that fuelled the cum spurting from my balls.
I had planned to seek her out when I returned from California, if only to repeat that mind-blowing experience. She was a good fuck, that’s how I remember her.
Now she’s here, in my house, and I want nothing to do with her. The juxtaposition of my past and my future jarring, my hopes and expectations lost. She’s nothing special, being here she’s only proved what I knew all along. Women like her will fuck anything. Even someone who looks like a f
reak.
If Drummer had sent someone else, maybe I’d have been better able to deal with it. But her? It’s liked he’s stripped me of my manhood, taunting me with a life I’ve lost.
Because of a fucking cat.
I’ve been so lost in my own head, worrying about myself, I hadn’t stopped to think about the girl on the couch or her feelings. The girl who’d given me the best fuck of my life that last night I was in Tucson. I notice her now, she’s still got her head bowed in her hands, she’s unmoving, apart from her fingers which are tangled in her still-damp curly hair, tightening and loosening as if she’s purposefully tugging at the roots to cause a sting of pain.
Why doesn’t she just go? She’s done what she came for.
She’d changed when I said Drummer should send somebody else. Someone with the same experience who could equal that performance I remember. These girls know how bikers like to fuck, they’re probably all pretty much similar.
Could she be upset that I basically told her I didn’t want her? For the first time in months, I feel something other than self-pity and anger. A brief flicker of guilt. My lips press together, the action still pulling at my left cheek which hasn’t the movement it had before. She’s a sweet butt. She provided what she’d been asked to do. No more, no less.
But she had done more. She’d tried to comfort me, and hadn’t run screaming when I let her see exactly what I am now.
Truth is, except for the heavenly feeling of being in her cunt, I don’t know much about her. Strange thing to say about someone whose path crossed with mine for a year. Fact is, though, there’s a hierarchy in the club. Officers and members at the top, then come the prospects. Old ladies, well, sometimes I wonder exactly where they fit in, but they sure are important. Just one rung off the bottom of the ladder are the hangarounds trying to get patched in. And right at the end, seen as a necessary evil, are the whores.
I don’t think I’ve really thought of Allie as a woman before, just a combination of tits and ass there for my use. I’m not proud, it’s just the way it’s always been. I’ve taken my steer from the other members.
I’d expected her to run crying when she’d seen my face, not as much from pity, as disgust.
She hadn’t.
I’ve been lost in my thoughts too long, virtually ignoring her, though that hadn’t been my intent. It’s been a long time since I thought about anything other than what I’d lost. Her presence has brought back memories of the club, and why I’d originally joined it.
Seeing movement out of the corner of my eye, I watch her stand up. She’s moving stiffly like a marionette being jerked by strings. I’d have had to have lost my other eye too to be blind to the fact she’s hurt.
What do I care? I’ve got enough to worry about with myself.
But I do. Maybe my humanity isn’t completely lost.
“I’ll tell Drummer you’d prefer one of the other girls next time.” The words seem difficult for her to get out as she pats her back pockets, as though checking she hasn’t dropped her phone or wallet. “I’ll see myself out.”
“My left side took the brunt of my injuries. They bolted my arm and leg back together, but I’ll never have full movement or strength back, my ankle is fixed in place, and I’ve lost two fingers on my left hand. I’m a mess of scars as you can see. Some from the burns, some from skin grafts.” As words I hadn’t intended speaking spill out of my mouth, I can’t tell who’s more shocked, her or I.
She winces, but it’s on my behalf. “Are you in pain?”
I nod, while acknowledging that part of my anger comes from feeling like an injured bear most of the time. “Mostly headaches. That’s from trying to adjust to using one eye.”
“Your eye,” she begins to ask in a matter of fact tone, “don’t they do fake ones?”
I see red. “Yes,” I spit out. “They offered me a prosthetic eye, but why the hell should I bother? Of course I wear a fucking patch when I go out, don’t want to upset people’s sensibilities.”
She looks at me assessing, not at all upset from my sudden burst of rage. “It’s not just for other people, Truck. It’s for you. Okay, it wouldn’t be real, but a prosthetic eye would give you more confidence to be with people.”
She’s wrong. In the mass of scar tissue covering my face, even a fake eye wouldn’t make me look normal.
I bang my hand on the back of the couch. “I don’t want to see anyone, Al. I… can’t. I can’t deal, not right now. I need time to process. There’s no point trying to do the impossible, make me look normal. I just need to be alone.”
I wait for her to tell me what therapists have already tried, that I should reach out and talk. But I can’t. It’s too soon. After six months, I’ve started to believe the time will never come. I need to come to terms with and accept my limitations now. Seeing people living the life that I’d thought was mine would be too fucking hard.
Again, she surprises me by not continuing to argue. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll explain to Drummer. I’ll ask—”
I interrupt, “I don’t want another sweet butt to come around, Allie.”
A flicker of something crosses her face. I can’t read what it is, but it forces me to take a step back and think for a moment. Fuck, I shouldn’t be taking all my frustration out on her. I resent that she came visiting in the first place, but there’s part of me that’s found solace in her being around. I don’t mean just physically either. But her sacrifice, letting me have my release without getting hers, her no nonsense approach to my looks and my injuries, forces me to add, “Allie, I appreciate that you didn’t run off screaming when you saw me. If… If you want to come back, you can. I can’t promise what mood I’ll be in.”
She nods, but that expression crosses her face again. She’s giving an interpretation to my words which I hadn’t meant to imply, that another sweet butt may have a different reaction. Fuck, I’m hurting her without meaning to. I’ve evaded human company so long, I don’t know how to speak to people. Then, again, I don’t want to encourage her.
I wait for her to go, but she turns to me instead, her eyes examining my face but with no hint of unease. “I think you ought to consider the prosthetic, Truck. Not for others, but for you.”
I shrug. “It would only be cosmetic. Whether I had one or not, doesn’t make any difference. Not to me.”
She wants to improve my appearance. I wait for her to try to persuade me, but surprisingly, she says no more on the subject.
Instead, she asks, “Can you drive yet, Truck?”
I don’t tell her that the doctors have cleared me, but my one try had been a failure and I hadn’t even gotten out of the parking lot. My brain needs to get used to receiving signals from just one eye, and as yet I don’t quite trust myself. I’ve attended enough motor vehicle accidents, MVAs as we call them, to know someone who has difficulty with their sight shouldn’t be behind a wheel. Instead I wear a patch and take an Uber. “No, I can’t drive.”
“Let me know if you want a lift or anything. Or just a friend to keep you company if you have an appointment to go to.”
A friend? Is that how she sees herself. Do I need one? Nah, I’ve gotten by alright up to now. I pause too long in my reply.
Without waiting for me to reject her final offer, she takes the hint, walks to the door and, at last, leaves.
Twenty years in the future – Drummer
“Of course I didn’t know if it would work,” I tell Peg. Watching the light play on the mountains, thinking yet again how amazing this place is, and how lucky we are to have our compound here. I doubt I’ll ever get tired of it. Well, I haven’t yet, and we’ve been here getting on forty years.
“It could have ended like Jill or Chrissy. You took a risk, Drum.”
I did. I shift my old bones, trying to get into a more comfortable position. “Chrissy. Christ, that seems so long ago, Peg.”
“Sweet butts had gotten used to men being as available to them as they were to us, they saw things changing and
didn’t like it. Wraith was the catalyst, when he decided to make Sophie his old lady.” Peg chuckles. “When the VP found his one, seemed almost all of us followed.”
“Our need for sweet butts certainly decreased,” I agree with a grin, then frown as the memories come back. “Chrissy was mad that Wraith had set his sights on the Englishwoman, and hadn’t a use for her anymore.”
Peg’s eyes crease, as though he’s trying to remember. “Yeah, didn’t she give details of the ride he was going on to the wrong people?”
“She did. Almost got him killed.”
“What I remember, Drummer, is you taking her out mercifully. She didn’t see it comin’, and you didn’t make me, or anyone else do it.”
“I killed a woman.” My mouth twists in distaste. “First time and last, Peg.”
“Had to be done. She knew too many secrets and we wouldn’t have been able to trust her. She hadn’t seen it coming, at least you don’t have to live with that.”
I’d walked behind her while she’d been sitting at our table in church, and fired that bullet into her brain when she least expected it. Didn’t want to place that burden on any of my brothers. I’d had no choice, didn’t mean I’d enjoyed it. Took a long time for me to be able to view that seat without imagining her in it. By the grace of the devil, Wraith hadn’t ended up dead. I’ve no doubt in my mind, she deserved it.
“Wraith got his ol’ lady though.” Peg suddenly snorts a loud laugh. “And his four fuckin’ daughters. He kept tryin’ for a fuckin’ son, never got one.”
“He stopped after Hilda.”
“Yeah, that name.”
“Sophie’s great-grandmother, I think.” I’m chuckling too. Not so much at the old-fashioned name we’ve now become used to, but that Wraith had indeed kept trying for a son.
“He spoils those girls rotten though. Loves them to pieces. You never wanted another kid, Drum? You stopped after Eli and Zane.
Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11 Page 6
