Girl of Bikernet Meets a Dog

I was going crazy. I was horny as hell and had the blues as I wandered into the new Easyriders Saloon and Steakhouse in Sturgis, on Lazelle. The wind whistled across the nearly abandoned street on Thanksgiving Day. The thermometer on the outside of the new western-styled clapboard, three-story building read 39 degrees. I needed a steak, a hot cup of Joe, and a place to sleep.

My motorcycle was in the back of my Ford F-150, along with everything I owned. I was free for the first time in five years, and hungry for a new female adventure. I pulled up a bar stool on the corner facing an old biker at the bar while waiting on a table in the hardwood floor and old outlaw art by David Mann strewn dining room. Just then, an angel floating on two shapely legs walked into the bar.

“Excuse me, sir, I’m Erica” she said with a voice that would melt chrome. “Your table will be ready in 10 minutes. Can I get you a drink?”

Suddenly I couldn’t speak. My throat was as dry as a popcorn fart. I was usually as smooth as creamy peanut butter when dealing with the fairer sex. But she was a brunette who was beyond beautiful. Every curve, her smile as warm and fireplace fire, and those dark brown eyes that sparkled with pure goodness and light on a dark night, signified all that was good in life. Suddenly, my lonely holiday trek had meaning, a future, and gobs of hope.

“Jack on the Rocks,” I finally muttered. The night was rapidly sinking to 23 degrees outside, but I was beginning to perspire. She darted rapidly behind the counter and down the bar to prepare my drink. Her ass was a perfect hourglass draped in short-short denim cut-offs. I openly gasped.

The old biker on the other side of the wooden corner looked up from his drink and followed my gaze to the perfect body bouncing down the bar. Then his solemn vision returned to my blushing cheeks.

“Like that?” he said, and took another slug on his drink. “She’s a human praying mantis, but I can guide you to the nearest whorehouse.”

I was stunned, but she quickly returned with a double Jack on the rocks and a smile so broad, with teeth so white and perfect, I suddenly found myself in a strange dichotomy. When she delivered the drink, she carefully leaned over the polished mahogany bar top and her milky cleavage bubbled in front of me like two soft warm down pillows next to the gates of heaven.

“It’s going to snow tonight,” she said. “Stay warm.” Her smile said it was okay for me to gaze at her ample tits, carefully framed in a soft white shear, cotton western blouse. Her nipples hardened slightly, indicating their approval. “I’ll check on your table.”

She disappeared into the dining room and I turned back to the old biker with the carefully manicured goatee and long graying hair pulled into a ponytail.

“What was that?” I said

“She’s heaven on 4-inch heels, but even her height is a fake,” he muttered. “Have you ever heard of the Dogs vs. the Evil Nesters?”

I wanted her so bad, like a sick puppy wants his mom and warm milk. “Hell no, I haven’t heard of that.” I took a deep slug of my whiskey and prepared for an old guy lecture.

“It’s the code of the west,” he said. “We are the dogs. We will chase any skirt, but we need to be very aware of what the black widow unfolds, under the those tight pants and carefully applied make-up.”

When I look at a nipple hardening, and smell a fragrance that makes me hungry for her touch, my last considerations included reality.

“Think about it for one minute,” the graybeard said and turned slightly toward me. “What will she look like in 10 years, or in 7 months, if she’s pregnant with a child you had no intentions of having? What if she has AIDS, or any other disease? It’s too bad but we have separate intentions. You want to get laid and she wants to wrap you in a web of parenthood, home building, security, and family. Its all a control-freak trap wrapped in the most glorious package man could conceive.”

My stomach began to turn. And the old man with the large shoulders and stern countenance eyed my fearful disdain.

“Hey kid,” he said. “It’s not all bad. There are solutions. I’m writing a book on the topic. Could save your life, your home and your earnings.”

“Excuse me, darlin’,” came that voice wrapped in a body that would make any man cry, or get down on his knees and beg. “Your table is ready.”

I stood up off the barstool and swigged the remaining contents of my drink. She stood beside me at 5’7″ in tall heels. I stood just over 6’2″ and her eyes sparkled, looking into my cold blue questioning gaze. Her nipples were less than six inches from my bicep and the magnetic appeal drowned my sense of reality.

“My shift is over in a half hour,” she said. “If you are still around we could have dessert together.”

The old man witnessed the kid foundering in a sea of sensual treachery. He stood and yanked a card out of his scruffy brown leather biker vest and slid it across the counter.

“Good luck, kid,” he said and extended his calloused hand.

I shook his hand and reached for the card. It read: “The Dogs vs. The Evil Nesters, a man’s survival manual.” There was a phone number, but no name.

The waitress slipped her hand under my arm and tugged gently. “I’ll show you to your table,” she said. When I hesitated her grip became more intense like tightening handcuffs during an arrest. I looked up and the old man was gone. I glanced down at her jiggling cleavage, then at the card once more.

“Damn, you’re hot,” I said, lost.

She tugged on my arm and pulled it against her abundantly soft boob, the effect was mesmerizing and I shoved the plain white card in my leather pocket as she guided me to my table in the Easyriders dining room surrounded with wild biker art from the ’70s.

“I’m just a girl,” she returned.

I looked at one particular piece by David Mann, depicting a lone rider holding a flower up to a girl in a fancy car. I wondered what happened, and where those two young good-looking folks would be today. What would have happened, if this brother in the painting knew about the Dogs vs. the Evil Nesters?

“I’ll get you another drink,” the waitress said and pulled a chair out for me. “That was Jack on the rocks? I will fulfill your every need.”