As the sun set over the Los Angles Harbor, Bandit’s Cantina took on a celebratory aura. The gang finally relaxed, as if the evil matron in a boarding school was transferred to another facility. Kenny, the junkman, was thrown out on his ass, never to return.

Left behind was Cinderella, a delightful Hispanic youngster with gigantic tits and a smile capable of melting chrome. Her eyes filled with tears as the underwater welding students returned after ousting her slumlord.

“No mi casa.” She stumbled and slumped into a chair, just as Nyla was refilling glasses with strong Cadillac Margarita mix and the Chinaman burst into the dining room with a fresh round of happy hour hor d?vours.

The Mexican busboy, who the Chinaman rescued from the streets and trained in the Cantina galley, ran to her side, speaking in her native tongue, assuring her she had come to the right place. Mandy and Tina followed suit, with Sheila nodding and pointing to various alcoves in the Cantina where she could crash.

“No trabajo ahora,” she muttered as tears ran down her dusky brown cheeks.

“I’ll speak to the boss,” Marko said. “I don’t know if we need another waitress. Maybe Nyla could use a barback, and she could help tidy up around this joint. Ask her if she has any belongings in Wilmington at Kenny’s junkyard?”

The Chinaman’s helper and his wife, Maria, asked her, but she had nothing, except a few clothes she didn’t care about.

The red phone behind the bar interrupted the conversation. It was Bandit from upstairs. Marko answered it.

“What’s up boss?” he asked.

“It’s mudcheck time,” Bandit said and the line went dead.

Marko knew the drill. Over the years, Bandit and the Cantina crew helped folks out, but it backfired from time to time. They quickly developed a prospect period, coupled with heavy security. Every man, woman or child needed to prove themselves before the door was opened all the way.

Marko sat down with Jose and his wife. “You know, we need to check her out,? he said of the newcomer. ?Find out about her past, family, whatever. Tell her that if she wants a shot, we’ll give it to her one step at a time. She will be treated with honor and respect, but she has to prove herself, or we’ll send her down the road.”

Jose and Maria endured similar criteria when they were allowed to come around the Cantina and work with the Chinaman. They immediately went to work on little Cinderella with the big boobs. Marko towered over their small shoulders. Not one of them stood more than 5’4″.

So Cinderella told her tale while Maria translated. The barrios of Mexico City weren?t the safest place for a young girl whose breasts were budding into adolescence. The dirty, smog-filled streets were rife with drug dealers and pimps, always on the lookout for fresh meat to sell into slavery and prostitution.

As the child blossomed, her mother saw the street slime leering at her daughter?s seductive form as she played in the streets. She knew her daughter was a major score for the gang member who could snatch her and sell her into white slavery or prostitution. So, she began saving funds and trying to find a safe, trustworthy, shipping connection to the States. But pitfalls and notorious traps lurked around every corner. It was difficult to save any money with her meager earnings. She tried to pay off the policia to watch out for Cinderella, but they were as corrupt as the gang bangers, demanding more coin, then extorting from her and threatening to take Cinderella themselves. Her mother worked in an American product assembly plant, making a meager salary, which was very hard to come by, in a town where cleaning ladies, street cooks and laundry jobs were the vocational staples. The class structure was limited to two levels. There were a handful of very wealthy. The rest of the population was dirt poor.

Then Kraft Foods opened a product assembly plant, and she begged for a chance at a regular job. They printed and assembled shipping containers, eight hours a day. The facility was clean and well-organized. Fans blew overhead and cooled the massive warehouse.

But while she worked, she couldn’t keep an eye on Cinderella. She was hopelessly sequestered at work each day, away from any contact with her daughter. She prayed constantly and forced Cinderella to stay in school as much and as long as possible, but then she graduated from high school and the funds weren’t available to send her to a trade school or college.

To top off her anxiety over her daughter, hormones flourished along with her body, and Cindarella hooked up with a boyfriend, Jesus. He had long curly hair, big dark eyebrows, and his smile was quirky and insincere. He was from Del Casa de Diablo. That was here mom’s way of saying he came from a bad home. Of course, Cinderella didn’t heed her mother?s warnings. She was swept off her feet with puppy love, and Jesus didn’t make any attempt to ground her in reality. He played the doting boyfriend until the summer rolled around and hormones flared. Her mother?s worries and suspicions grew. The cops quit coming around. Jesus? clothes were pressed and new, yet he had no obvious means of employment and didn’t mention family ties.

During the interview with Jose and Maria, Cinderella often mentioned motorcycles. Each time she did, her eyes sparkled and a smile crossed her face. It seems Jesus invited Cinderella to the coast at Guadalajara for the weekend and her mother forbade her to go, but when the weekend came, she was gone. Friday afternoon, her mother returned from work on the cluttered city bus to find a small note pinned to the door. Something about going to the beach for the first time.

That was the last she saw of her daughter or the boyfriend, although she thought for sure she spotted him getting in a black sedan with tinted windows. She reported her missing daughter to la policia, to surly officers who didn’t give a shit. She spent a month’s wages combing the streets of Guadalajara to no avail.

Jesus had an easy moneymaking gig. He hit on girls like Cinderella constantly, befriended them, did all he could to get them to fall in love and make love. Then when their romance was warm and cozy, he offered to take them away for a romantic weekend. It all started out peaches and cream and fun, with a serene drive to the coast, some drinks and good seafood. Then the story faded. Cinderella awoke in a barred adobe room with only a few clothes, drugged and shackled to a bed surrounded by a dirt floor.

Jesus wined and dined each girl, and had his way with her if they were willing. If not, he slipped them a mickey, had his way anyway, and then delivered them to a remote compound somewhere on the west coast between Guadalajara and Mazatlan.

She awoke with a start. Cinderella’s mom trained her extensively for such an occurrence and told her exactly what would happen. Some girls would be gang-raped and killed. It was like a prostitution training camp. Some would succumb to the game and become players. Some would fight back and be killed or tortured. Some would become drug addicts and used until there was nothing left. She could only attempt to survive. Her mom told her the game, and she contained all the hot physical tools.

A couple of scurvy looking uniforms unlocked her heavy rustic door and shoved it open. An official looking gent wandered in wearing a white cotton suit and dress shirt. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and lit a cigarette. He explained the drill, and in no uncertain terms told her that she was going to be a prostitute, cooperate fully, or die and be buried with so many other worthless bitches in the desert. He didn’t offer her a glass of water, the use of a toilet, a chunk of bread, a cigarette, nothing. When he finished, he put the cigarette out on her ankle.

“You have one hour to think it over, puta” he said as she whimpered and pissed herself. He tore her top away from her jiggling boobs and gawked at them. “You have the tools to make good money and have some fun.” He turned and left the room.

Her leg stung, but suddenly reality stormed over her like a tsunami. She didn’t pay much attention to her mom’s ramblings as a youngster, but suddenly she was faced with all the lessons she?d listened to half-heartedly. She had come face-to-face with no-bullshit, life and death decisions. An hour passed like the last hour for a death row inmate, except she had a choice, the inmate didn’t. As it turned out, Saxon motorcycles was owned by several very successful property developers who were building luxury condos on the coast of Mexico, and they invited several motojournalists, including Bandit, to experience Mexico on the back of their new models. What a ride! They dodged tarantulas and federales to the coast to find luxury condos and terrific food, while riding the entire line of tough-looking metalflake Saxon motorcycles. After a tough day on a hot saddle, the Saxon gang set up a diner, then a ride to a remote compound on the outskirts of Acaponeta, Mexico. The tanned gringos on sparkling new glistening flamed choppers rolled into a full-blown whorehouse and the party began.

Bandit immediately spotted the young Mexican with the giant soft mambos near the pool. She was as gorgeous as the sparkling clear water lit-up in the night. It was dark, except for large candles, mood lighting, the clear starry nights, and the reflections off the Saxon Choppers. Tequila flowed, but Bandit, a security-minded gent, made his way through the throng of young girls to the small one with the torpedo hooters sitting with her short legs dangling in the pool.

Bandit sat down beside her, his dusty boot resting next to her succulent ass on the water’s edge. She was a delight for sunburnt eyes.

“Habla English?” Bandit asked.

“Muy poco,” she returned, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not much good at Spanish, either,” Bandit said. “So what gives? You don’t seem to be into the party. Are these bad guys? Hombres malos?”

“Si,” she said.

“How long have you been aqui?”

“Un dia.”

The party was in full swing, girls were performing lap dances (including one very interesting routine with a banana), and getting the guys wound up. Bandit pulled his condo key out of his pocket and slipped it under the girl’s soft leg.

“Como se llama?”

“Cinderella,” she said and looked up at him.

For the first time, their eyes met and his piercing green eyes bored into sad dark eyes screaming for help. She leaned forward and wrapped her petite arm around one of his large legs and held it close, as if she found a long lost teddy bear.

“This party could get crazy,” Bandit said, and pointed at his eyes. “Keep close and your eyes open.”

There was one other editor who was taking it easy. He was short, stout looking guy who had a military security background. He kicked back and watched the crowd of a dozen riders, and an equal number of women frolic in the dim lights. As Bandit strolled toward the bar, he paused by Chris and knelt down.

“Quite a compound, eh?” Bandit said.

“Yep, we’re surrounded,” Chris said and sipped his Margarita.

“We may need to make a flashy exit,” Bandit said and stood up. Chris seemed to know exactly what to do. The motorcycles were strewn around the compound and outside the gate. Chris got up, finished his Margarita, and started to rearrange the bikes. Within a couple of minutes, the guys from Saxon started to help him move the motorcycles just outside the gates beside the Saxon truck.

The Saxon leader announced an hour later that time was up and the crew had to roll. As the guys mustered, some getting dressed and stumbling out of small dirt floor rooms, Bandit stuck close to Cinderella as he counted the crew, then leaned down close to her quiet features and handed her a 100-dollar bill. He touched her leg near his key.

“Follow the motorcycles,” he said twisting his writs, mimicking the throttle on a motorcycle. “Stay here, no matter what happens. Comprende?”

She nodded hopefully.

He stood up and walked over directly towards the biggest security guard of the bunch. “Where’s the head?”

“In the back,” the guard snarled and pointed around one of the dusty adobe buildings. Bandit could imagine what a pit the place looked like in the sunlight, but at night with some well-place lighting, a couple of paper decorations, enough women and margaritas and the joint was a castle, except for the stench. He found the pungent outhouse, took a leak, picked up a can of gas, and continued around the building to the opposite end of the U-shaped compound where the bar was. He poured two gallons of gas against the back wall of the bar and through the open window, set it ablaze and ran to the opposite corner.

The bar was aflame and security ran to assist. Bandit ran to where the trashcans resided beside the exit and grabbed one.

“Hey, guys let’s help.”

He dumped out one of the plastic containers and ran to the pool. He scooped as much water as he could carryt and ran toward the saloon, tossing it at the flames. The guards were impressed with his efforts and soon the flames were quelled. During one run, on his return to the pool he scooped up the girl in the trashcan and dumped her outside the gate. Then he returned to the fire.

With the fire out, the Saxon rep gave the saloon owner a couple of hundred bucks to help with the damages, while the guys returned the buckets and trash cans to their rightful locations. They were heroes to the security team and the girls as they mounted their colorful scooters and motored back to the coast where the condos reflected the moonlight against ten floors of sliding glass doors and the rippling Pacific. The smell was fresh and clean as they pulled into the parking lot and locked up the flashy new scooters.

Gradually the riding writers finished their final beers and smokes and wandered off to their luxury rooms. The night was clear as Bandit leaned against a concrete wall overlooking ocean and watched the moon’s reflection dance on the water. He caught a Saxon rep heading to his room.

“Terrific party,” Bandit said. “Thanks.”

“Do you need anything before I turn in?” the young man offered.

“Did you bring any extra bags?” Bandit asked. “I bought some trinkets to take home.”

“I’ll check,” he said. “We brought a bunch of stuff to give away, so we may have something.”

They dug around in the back of the Saxon van and came up with a big cordura gym bag, almost the size of a sea bag.

“Yeah,” the young gent said. “This was used to bring all the t-shirts we gave away.”

“Thanks,” Bandit said. “This may work perfectly.”

He returned to the wall and gazed out at the Pacific as the Saxon rep locked up the truck and roamed off to his room. The night turned quiet. There was no traffic and the nearest town was a couple of miles away. He thought about the girl, and if she would make it or return to the compound. Bandit was never against prostitution; in fact, he favored it, but not the forced variety. He pulled a Jack Daniels flask out of his vest and took a snort. It had been a helluva day.

“Hola,” a small voice whispered at his back. Cinderella stood, covered in dust and dirt with her hand outstretched. She was holding his room key.

“How about a warm bath?” Bandit asked, picked up the bag, and led her to his condo. She was dazzled by the interior.

The next morning, Bandit met the young Saxon rep at the van first thing with his bags, one in particular. He carefully positioned the heavy bag deep in the van and protected it with other bags. That was the last he saw of Cinderella, three years ago.

The bike in all it’s original, beat-to-hell glory!

Several years back, Bandit bought this hunk of shit bike from Arlen Ness with the hopes of turning the pile of shit into a decent running bike. Having been friends with guys like Rick Fairless can help in times when a guy needs a kick ass custom built. Bandit turned the hunk-a-shit over to Rick’s crew at Strokers Dallas, and this little gem is what they turned out.

The first time I saw this bike was in a story in AIM a few years back. To tell you the truth, I thought it was crazy considering nobody was building bikes like this. The bike’s a cross between chopper/ bobber/ racer. Nowadays it seems everyone has started to scale back on their builds, so you are starting to see bikes built around a simpler, mor realistic platform. It’s almost as if Bandit and the Stroker’s crew started a trend 4 years ago.

Kristin and Marie have once again agreed to decorate the bike with their heavenly figures.

I had to once again bribe the girls to stand next to the bike so we could get you some good shots. Hef was calling from the mansion on my cell, so we had to run. It seems one of his 3 hotties was having a birthday celebration and we were late for the party.

The girls arrived ready to play. Mmmmm…I’m ready to play too!

We arrived at the shoot just as Bandit had gotten back from his trip up the coast with Billy Lane and Tattoo John. He was bubbling with excitement from the trip causing me to wonder if he had started experimenting with mescaline again. Oh well, to each his own, right? Bandit’s always been a big junkie for one thing or another, women, bikes, cars, women, weed, red-heads, women…ya get the picture.

What could be finer, a beautiful woman draped over a finely customized machine.

While the girls were being photographed, I sat by my bike watching life drive by me in Long Beach. I am amazed how similar Long Beach is to my own home in Texas. An industrial wasteland overgrown with warehouses, factories, dockworkers, longshoreman, and bikers, the place was just like home to me. I could hear the girls giggling inside, so I knew Bandit was working the charm. I had to smile as I decided to grab a burrito from the taquiera across the street.

Maybe a bare chested brunette is what you long for?

I remember watching my dad ride his shovelhead away from the house countless times as a kid. No matter the weather, he would take that shovel to work, riding the bike like a madman. At night, no matter how late he worked, he would be in the garage either cleaning or repairing the bike. Bandit is of the same cloth as my father. I could see them riding together, my dad on his bike while Bandit screams down the street on his shovel Sturgis chop.

Whether sitting on or standing behind, I never seem to notice the bike until after I have finally blinked.

Just as I finished the burrito, and as my mind slipped through memory lane, the girls erupted from the door of the studio bursting with laughter. Bandit walked just behind with that half grin he sports when he has just said something clever. I was sure I was the butt of the joke, but I didn’t mind.

DEAL OF THE WEEK–We are selling this Bikernet Project bike for just $19,000. It's all fresh and originated as a bike owned by Arlen Ness, then the driveline was completely rebuilt by JIMS Machine. The TV crew of Rick Fairless' Strokers Dallas built the bike based on a design by Keith R. Ball or Bandit. The bike we call our 1928 Shovelhead, has now been in the Bikernet collection for four years. If interest give us a call at (310) 830-0630. For a very reasonable price, you can have her! I am talking about the bike. If you’re interested, just contact Keith Ball!

The layout of the bike is exquisite! You would never believe this to have once been screaming down the strip in Mexico as a police cycle.

As I mounted my bike, I noticed Bandit whispering into the girl’s ears. I am sure it was an invitation to come back later…the horny bastard. Just like that, we were screaming away from the Cantina, splitting lanes and heading for the land of the stars, Hollyweird. I am not sure what happened during the photoshoot, but the girls smiled the entire ride to Hef’s mansion.

You know why she’s smiling? She knows the power of what’s under that seat and she wants another ride. Are you going to give it to her?

On a serious note, you can never have enough pictures of extremely fine ass standing next to a fine custom bike. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what the hell else there is.

The bike in all it’s original, beat-to-hell glory!

Several years back, Bandit bought this hunk of shit bike from Arlen Ness with the hopes of turning the pile of shit into a decent running bike. Having been friends with guys like Rick Fairless can help in times when a guy needs a kick ass custom built. Bandit turned the hunk-a-shit over to Rick’s crew at Strokers Dallas, and this little gem is what they turned out.

The first time I saw this bike was in a story in AIM a few years back. To tell you the truth, I thought it was crazy considering nobody was building bikes like this. The bike’s a cross between chopper/ bobber/ racer. Nowadays it seems everyone has started to scale back on their builds, so you are starting to see bikes built around a simpler, mor realistic platform. It’s almost as if Bandit and the Stroker’s crew started a trend 4 years ago.

Kristin and Marie have once again agreed to decorate the bike with their heavenly figures.

I had to once again bribe the girls to stand next to the bike so we could get you some good shots. Hef was calling from the mansion on my cell, so we had to run. It seems one of his 3 hotties was having a birthday celebration and we were late for the party.

The girls arrived ready to play. Mmmmm…I’m ready to play too!

We arrived at the shoot just as Bandit had gotten back from his trip up the coast with Billy Lane and Tattoo John. He was bubbling with excitement from the trip causing me to wonder if he had started experimenting with mescaline again. Oh well, to each his own, right? Bandit’s always been a big junkie for one thing or another, women, bikes, cars, women, weed, red-heads, women…ya get the picture.

What could be finer, a beautiful woman draped over a finely customized machine.

While the girls were being photographed, I sat by my bike watching life drive by me in Long Beach. I am amazed how similar Long Beach is to my own home in Texas. An industrial wasteland overgrown with warehouses, factories, dockworkers, longshoreman, and bikers, the place was just like home to me. I could hear the girls giggling inside, so I knew Bandit was working the charm. I had to smile as I decided to grab a burrito from the taquiera across the street.

Maybe a bare chested brunette is what you long for?

I remember watching my dad ride his shovelhead away from the house countless times as a kid. No matter the weather, he would take that shovel to work, riding the bike like a madman. At night, no matter how late he worked, he would be in the garage either cleaning or repairing the bike. Bandit is of the same cloth as my father. I could see them riding together, my dad on his bike while Bandit screams down the street on his shovel Sturgis chop.

Whether sitting on or standing behind, I never seem to notice the bike until after I have finally blinked.

Just as I finished the burrito, and as my mind slipped through memory lane, the girls erupted from the door of the studio bursting with laughter. Bandit walked just behind with that half grin he sports when he has just said something clever. I was sure I was the butt of the joke, but I didn’t mind.

DEAL OF THE WEEK–We are selling this Bikernet Project bike for just $19,000. It's all fresh and originated as a bike owned by Arlen Ness, then the driveline was completely rebuilt by JIMS Machine. The TV crew of Rick Fairless' Strokers Dallas built the bike based on a design by Keith R. Ball or Bandit. The bike we call our 1928 Shovelhead, has now been in the Bikernet collection for four years. If interest give us a call at (310) 830-0630. For a very reasonable price, you can have her! I am talking about the bike. If you’re interested, just contact Keith Ball!

The layout of the bike is exquisite! You would never believe this to have once been screaming down the strip in Mexico as a police cycle.

As I mounted my bike, I noticed Bandit whispering into the girl’s ears. I am sure it was an invitation to come back later…the horny bastard. Just like that, we were screaming away from the Cantina, splitting lanes and heading for the land of the stars, Hollyweird. I am not sure what happened during the photoshoot, but the girls smiled the entire ride to Hef’s mansion.

You know why she’s smiling? She knows the power of what’s under that seat and she wants another ride. Are you going to give it to her?

On a serious note, you can never have enough pictures of extremely fine ass standing next to a fine custom bike. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what the hell else there is.

The summer breezed into the harbor like a Valium cocktail, as mellow as a morning kiss. Heat waves never erupted; the cool afternoon offshore breeze calmed every evening. The skies were radiant blue with pure, wispy, milky white clouds. Each afternoon, the reflecting setting sun captured the compliant clouds and set the sky ablaze in fiery hues just to keep the dockworkers entertained as they headed to the Cantina for a drink after checking into the union hall for a hopeful job.

Bandit discovered Sirius radio, and Frankie, the ex- homeless drunk, installed the receptive antenna on the Spanish- tiled roof. The crew enjoyed ’50s rock n’ roll played without the annoyance of screeching commercials. Although the depressed economy hit the port town like a tsunami flooding a small island, spirits were high among the Cantina?s never-say-die patrons. The stout and mouthy Jeremiah continued to ride the hell out of his straight pipe bobber. Even the cops backed away from their restrictive noise roadblocks and harassment.

Bubble-chested Nyla seemed even more receptive and alluring. She stole the strongest margarita recipe from the Green Onion Mexican Restaurant, to the delight of local bikers and long shoreman. Clubs weren’t fighting, the sun was shinning, and life was sedate.

A new crew of students at the Polytechnic Oceaneering School moved into Wilmington, like sailors from a foreign port. The school was over four decades old and trained young men and a few women in underwater welding, navigation, and the basics for running crews on the docks. Kids came from the midwest, the north, and even the east coast. They were youngsters looking for a new beginning, a better paying trade, an adventure, or an escape from the farming family, a drug problem, or a bitchy wife.

Most didn’t understand the streets of Los Angeles. It was an all-new exciting adventure, in the center of the toughest region on the southern California coast . Hollywood was just a half-hour away, but it might as well be a thousand miles. Not long after arrival, the freshmen students rapidly discovered Bandit’s Cantina on the water under the Vincent Thomas Bridge. They were young and generally respectful. Marko recognized the drug users and the drunks right away, and encouraged them not to come around.

The summer settled into a calm world of the Chinaman’s spicy Mexican appetizers, strong Gold Cadillac Margaritas, and hot waitresses jiggling from table to table, until Kenny, the nautical junk collector, brought his crackhead blond into the Cantina.

Kenny was an older than middle-age longshoreman, with a history of collecting junk off ships and container yards for 40 years. He amassed a vast brass porthole, lamp, and latch collection. A strange plodding stump of a man, his potbelly shoved his stained and faded denims below his waist, while springy suspenders held them up. He wore a pair of bent and scratched bi-focals with flip-up shades protruding like open garage doors over his darting eyes. He was a strange frumpy guy who collected odds and ends, and hit every swap meet, until he could turn each find into more properties, while he fed his Long Beach family with union wages. He wasn’t dumb, except with his junkyard employees.

He hired one homeless creodont after another to watch over his rusting and fading treasure trove, including a homeless blonde, who didn’t look half bad after an hour of Revlon chemical and powder artistry. He brought her into the Cantina and treated her like an outlaw treats a new house-mouse. Kenny shoved out his chair and dropped his plump ass in place and started barking orders to the blond before she could bow subserviently and pull out her own arched wooden chair. Before the bus boy arrived with a basket of hot chips and a warm ceramic bowel of fresh Chinaman’s salsa, she was ordered to meet him halfway to the galley door and order margaritas simultaneously from the lovely Nyla, who slithered up and down behind the bar like Little Egypt seducing tips from her patrons. No wonder she was the best-paid barmaid on the harbor. Guys would double the price of a $6.50 Gold Cadillac for a glimpse into her quivering succulent cleavage.

National Polytechnic College of Engineering and Oceaneering. In 2002, the college became a part of the National University system. In 2004, the college was accredited by the Commission for Community and Junior Colleges to offer an associate of science degree.

Twice a week for a month, Kenny arrived with the blonde and reprimanded her harshly and constantly in front of the bar patrons.

“You idiot,” he said over and over. “Polishing brass and filling orders isn’t rocket science. I give you a place to live, buy you margaritas, and you can’t take care of shit.”

The summer was mellow as a down comforter in front of a winter fire. No one paid much attention. Crack whores were known for inconsistent work ethic and ducking out at the first sign of a white-powder line drawn on a chipped glass plate, so the brothers didn’t think much of it when she didn’t show up with the junkyard landlord.

He sat by himself in the corner and snapped at Mandy to deliver one shot of Patron tequila after another. Jeremiah, always looking for a deal, hit on Kenny for brass ship’s portholes. “Got anything new?” Jeremiah asked. “I’ve got a kitchen remodeling job.”

“Stop by when you’re in the neighborhood,” Kenny said. “You can dig around in the back. I’m breaking in a new slave.” He was a runt of a man who didn’t allow a manly eyeball-to- eyeball gaze to test his metal, but he could snap at a woman with impunity.

Two weeks slipped past without the abusive 5’6″ Kenny and a helper. Then he arrived with a 5’2″ Hispanic girl who couldn’t speak English, and it sparked Kenny’s nasty nature, especially since she couldn’t understand a goddamn thing he said. His physical and psychological damage elevated several notches.

The girl was different, though. She was young and poor, but not a druggie or a street urchin from addict parents. She glowed with sparkling naivet?, and she had massive tits that swayed and her nipples pressed hard against her flimsy T-shirt. Her 25- year-old bubble butt filled her tattered denims like sand in an hourglass. Her face was tanned butter spread delicately on a freshly blossoming bird of paradise. She was naturally gorgeous with a youthful smile that melted the silverware on the table.

The bi-sexual waitresses, Mandy and Sheila, immediately drooled over her shapely form as if Bandit just delivered an early Christmas bonus. But the young Oceaneering students immediately grew warrior swords to protect the innocent maiden from a foreign land.

Marko immediately scoped the situation and postulated the outcome. It was a drink recipe for a fight. He watched Kenny mistreat the girl with no sense of recrimination, and three young under-water welding students sat at barstools across the dining room from the couple and conferred, as crevasses, shots of Tequila and whiskey fueled the banter. It was as if the Chinaman was brewing a pot of spicy chili in the galley, but with each additional sliced jalapeno, it became dangerously closer to an explosive concoction. One drop of nitroglycerin too many?

“You’re just as dumb and the last idiot blonde,” Kenny slurred and downed another shot of Patron. “Get me another shot!” The young girl darted to her feet and ran across the dining room to the bar, “Uno mas,” she said to Nyla and her glowing features were beginning to depict fear.

“What’s that bastard got on you?” Tim, a young, stout, student asked.

“No hablo English,” she said and looked with desperate longing at Nyla, who was quickly pouring the tequila in a thick shot glass.

Nyla sensed the urgency. Tim detected her fear and didn’t like it. For the first time in this comforting season, anxiety crept along the adobe-tiled deck and hardwood floors like a rattlesnake sneaking into the dining room.

“Como se llama?” Tim asked.

“Cinderella,” she said and the hint of a smile returned to a face as delicate as a blossoming rose.She darted back to Kenny at the table with his shot.

“What the fuck is this?” he snapped. “I can’t stand that Cuervo Gold shit!” He tossed the tequila in her face, slammed the thick glass against the checkerboard tablecloth, and cocked his hand to slap the young jewel of a woman.

It was as if the entire crew was on the bridge of a battleship and the captain had sounded general quarters. Jeremiah snatched a heavy wooden dining room chair and hefted it over his head. Frankie yanked his mop off the floor into a batter’s position. Marko unholstered his glistening 9mm, cocked it, and snapped off the safety. It was aimed directly at Kenny’s temple.

Tim and another the young student rushed to the girl’s side and pulled her away from the table. Kenny was surrounded. A sound system click alerted the crew that Bandit was on line. “That’s enough; throw the bastard out. He’s banned from the Cantina,” said Bandit. The line went dead.

Three young, athletic students from the Polytech School of Oceaneering hoisted Kenny out of his chair and dragged him to the door and tossed his ass into the parking lot. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to that illegal bitch,” Kenny fumed, and jumped to his feet. “She’ll be back.”

Find out what happened to Cinderalla. Don’t miss the next episode?

The summer breezed into the harbor like a Valium cocktail, as mellow as a morning kiss. Heat waves never erupted; the cool afternoon offshore breeze calmed every evening. The skies were radiant blue with pure, wispy, milky white clouds. Each afternoon, the reflecting setting sun captured the compliant clouds and set the sky ablaze in fiery hues just to keep the dockworkers entertained as they headed to the Cantina for a drink after checking into the union hall for a hopeful job.

Bandit discovered Sirius radio, and Frankie, the ex- homeless drunk, installed the receptive antenna on the Spanish- tiled roof. The crew enjoyed ’50s rock n’ roll played without the annoyance of screeching commercials. Although the depressed economy hit the port town like a tsunami flooding a small island, spirits were high among the Cantina?s never-say-die patrons. The stout and mouthy Jeremiah continued to ride the hell out of his straight pipe bobber. Even the cops backed away from their restrictive noise roadblocks and harassment.

Bubble-chested Nyla seemed even more receptive and alluring. She stole the strongest margarita recipe from the Green Onion Mexican Restaurant, to the delight of local bikers and long shoreman. Clubs weren’t fighting, the sun was shinning, and life was sedate.

A new crew of students at the Polytechnic Oceaneering School moved into Wilmington, like sailors from a foreign port. The school was over four decades old and trained young men and a few women in underwater welding, navigation, and the basics for running crews on the docks. Kids came from the midwest, the north, and even the east coast. They were youngsters looking for a new beginning, a better paying trade, an adventure, or an escape from the farming family, a drug problem, or a bitchy wife.

Most didn’t understand the streets of Los Angeles. It was an all-new exciting adventure, in the center of the toughest region on the southern California coast . Hollywood was just a half-hour away, but it might as well be a thousand miles. Not long after arrival, the freshmen students rapidly discovered Bandit’s Cantina on the water under the Vincent Thomas Bridge. They were young and generally respectful. Marko recognized the drug users and the drunks right away, and encouraged them not to come around.

The summer settled into a calm world of the Chinaman’s spicy Mexican appetizers, strong Gold Cadillac Margaritas, and hot waitresses jiggling from table to table, until Kenny, the nautical junk collector, brought his crackhead blond into the Cantina.

Kenny was an older than middle-age longshoreman, with a history of collecting junk off ships and container yards for 40 years. He amassed a vast brass porthole, lamp, and latch collection. A strange plodding stump of a man, his potbelly shoved his stained and faded denims below his waist, while springy suspenders held them up. He wore a pair of bent and scratched bi-focals with flip-up shades protruding like open garage doors over his darting eyes. He was a strange frumpy guy who collected odds and ends, and hit every swap meet, until he could turn each find into more properties, while he fed his Long Beach family with union wages. He wasn’t dumb, except with his junkyard employees.

He hired one homeless creodont after another to watch over his rusting and fading treasure trove, including a homeless blonde, who didn’t look half bad after an hour of Revlon chemical and powder artistry. He brought her into the Cantina and treated her like an outlaw treats a new house-mouse. Kenny shoved out his chair and dropped his plump ass in place and started barking orders to the blond before she could bow subserviently and pull out her own arched wooden chair. Before the bus boy arrived with a basket of hot chips and a warm ceramic bowel of fresh Chinaman’s salsa, she was ordered to meet him halfway to the galley door and order margaritas simultaneously from the lovely Nyla, who slithered up and down behind the bar like Little Egypt seducing tips from her patrons. No wonder she was the best-paid barmaid on the harbor. Guys would double the price of a $6.50 Gold Cadillac for a glimpse into her quivering succulent cleavage.

National Polytechnic College of Engineering and Oceaneering. In 2002, the college became a part of the National University system. In 2004, the college was accredited by the Commission for Community and Junior Colleges to offer an associate of science degree.

Twice a week for a month, Kenny arrived with the blonde and reprimanded her harshly and constantly in front of the bar patrons.

“You idiot,” he said over and over. “Polishing brass and filling orders isn’t rocket science. I give you a place to live, buy you margaritas, and you can’t take care of shit.”

The summer was mellow as a down comforter in front of a winter fire. No one paid much attention. Crack whores were known for inconsistent work ethic and ducking out at the first sign of a white-powder line drawn on a chipped glass plate, so the brothers didn’t think much of it when she didn’t show up with the junkyard landlord.

He sat by himself in the corner and snapped at Mandy to deliver one shot of Patron tequila after another. Jeremiah, always looking for a deal, hit on Kenny for brass ship’s portholes. “Got anything new?” Jeremiah asked. “I’ve got a kitchen remodeling job.”

“Stop by when you’re in the neighborhood,” Kenny said. “You can dig around in the back. I’m breaking in a new slave.” He was a runt of a man who didn’t allow a manly eyeball-to- eyeball gaze to test his metal, but he could snap at a woman with impunity.

Two weeks slipped past without the abusive 5’6″ Kenny and a helper. Then he arrived with a 5’2″ Hispanic girl who couldn’t speak English, and it sparked Kenny’s nasty nature, especially since she couldn’t understand a goddamn thing he said. His physical and psychological damage elevated several notches.

The girl was different, though. She was young and poor, but not a druggie or a street urchin from addict parents. She glowed with sparkling naivet?, and she had massive tits that swayed and her nipples pressed hard against her flimsy T-shirt. Her 25- year-old bubble butt filled her tattered denims like sand in an hourglass. Her face was tanned butter spread delicately on a freshly blossoming bird of paradise. She was naturally gorgeous with a youthful smile that melted the silverware on the table.

The bi-sexual waitresses, Mandy and Sheila, immediately drooled over her shapely form as if Bandit just delivered an early Christmas bonus. But the young Oceaneering students immediately grew warrior swords to protect the innocent maiden from a foreign land.

Marko immediately scoped the situation and postulated the outcome. It was a drink recipe for a fight. He watched Kenny mistreat the girl with no sense of recrimination, and three young under-water welding students sat at barstools across the dining room from the couple and conferred, as crevasses, shots of Tequila and whiskey fueled the banter. It was as if the Chinaman was brewing a pot of spicy chili in the galley, but with each additional sliced jalapeno, it became dangerously closer to an explosive concoction. One drop of nitroglycerin too many?

“You’re just as dumb and the last idiot blonde,” Kenny slurred and downed another shot of Patron. “Get me another shot!” The young girl darted to her feet and ran across the dining room to the bar, “Uno mas,” she said to Nyla and her glowing features were beginning to depict fear.

“What’s that bastard got on you?” Tim, a young, stout, student asked.

“No hablo English,” she said and looked with desperate longing at Nyla, who was quickly pouring the tequila in a thick shot glass.

Nyla sensed the urgency. Tim detected her fear and didn’t like it. For the first time in this comforting season, anxiety crept along the adobe-tiled deck and hardwood floors like a rattlesnake sneaking into the dining room.

“Como se llama?” Tim asked.

“Cinderella,” she said and the hint of a smile returned to a face as delicate as a blossoming rose.She darted back to Kenny at the table with his shot.

“What the fuck is this?” he snapped. “I can’t stand that Cuervo Gold shit!” He tossed the tequila in her face, slammed the thick glass against the checkerboard tablecloth, and cocked his hand to slap the young jewel of a woman.

It was as if the entire crew was on the bridge of a battleship and the captain had sounded general quarters. Jeremiah snatched a heavy wooden dining room chair and hefted it over his head. Frankie yanked his mop off the floor into a batter’s position. Marko unholstered his glistening 9mm, cocked it, and snapped off the safety. It was aimed directly at Kenny’s temple.

Tim and another the young student rushed to the girl’s side and pulled her away from the table. Kenny was surrounded. A sound system click alerted the crew that Bandit was on line. “That’s enough; throw the bastard out. He’s banned from the Cantina,” said Bandit. The line went dead.

Three young, athletic students from the Polytech School of Oceaneering hoisted Kenny out of his chair and dragged him to the door and tossed his ass into the parking lot. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to that illegal bitch,” Kenny fumed, and jumped to his feet. “She’ll be back.”

Find out what happened to Cinderalla. Don’t miss the next episode?

Let’s look at what we have. There is a country restaurant as the famous “Cattlemen’s Club” from the “Dallas” TV-series. We have a bike named “Graf Porno,” that says Earl Porn in English. Plus we have Alisha, an on-the-way-to-fame actress in the German erotic-business. So let’s make something out of it!

How it comes to name a bike “Earl Porn?” The owner Frank Körschen is nicked that way. As son of a family with a couple of houses to rent Frank had his first adolescent dream come true with his driving license. He was allowed to drive the old ’64 Rolls Royce that belonged to his Grandpa. Rolling along with that limo people around started calling him “Graf,” meaning “Earl” in German.

The earl grew up and at one point he jumped straight into the mid-German biker-scene. He made friends amongst the bikers and clubs around, became well known and kept his nick “Earl.” He kept that Rolls and added a first Harley. When getting older one day he replaced his father in the family’s property-rental-office and became estate manager. From time to time he inspected abandoned flats and houses. It was one of these occasions properties where he received his second nickname.

There was a house to empty because of the death of its resident. So the boys of the wrecking crew flew in to clear the furniture and clean. There in one room – planned once as the kid’s room – he found the biggest, largest, most extensive porn collection you may imagine. The resident collected more than 3000 VHS-cassettes with xxx-content in a small and narrow room, a couple of DVD-racks and tons of mags on the porn topic. What a hobby.

At that moment Michael gained his second nick’s part. He took the collection home, the story became told and famous and from this moment, Frank was called “Earl Porn!”

There are people that might have felt harassed getting such a name, but not Frank. He took pride and rebelliousness from this name, and so it became a second personality as “Bandit” or “Viking” does.

In summer of 2007 he decided to have his first fully self- planned bike built. He went to the team of CHOPPERS WORLD at Gelsenkirchen, Germany. Jörg Dünnebacke planned out a lean, low and stylish hardtail, connecting traditional views with up to date parts.

Based on a Santee rigid frame they added parts that recite old style and new designs. It became a wild and stylish compilation of chopper’s best styles.

A Springer frontend with 0°rake in the trees, combined with a mid-high-necked rigid frame. A long stretched Sportster-style gas-tank with a riser-less, all black handlebars attached to an all-chrome Paughco frontend. Pin-up-style mirrors for shine, but no belt-covers on the primary, but aren’t they mudflap girls? What sounds like a bike from the ’70s gets together in a very unique style and suddenly fits. So to say the bike is like porn: nasty here and there, but with a certain attitude, it’s exciting and thrilling.

Let me introduce Alisha Sweet, an upcoming star in the erotica business. She took part in a couple of xxx-rated films and was really good at it (people told me…). Now she poses around the “Graf Porno” like she never did anything else before. Alisha and the Earl, an arousing picture-set.

Links:
Photos and words: www.wikinger.com
Chrome and Shine: www.choppers-world.de
Model: www.alishasweet.de
Location: www.american-essen.de

 

GIRL OF BIKERNET GRAF PORNO ULTRA SPEC CHART

Owner: Graf Porno, Frank Körschen
City: Essen, Germany
Builder: CHOPPERS WORLD
Model: Graf Porno
Year: 2007
Time: 22 weeks

Engine:

Model: 2007 Rev Tec 100 cui. Evo
Air cleaner: Rev Tec
Ignition: Crane
Exhaust: CHOPPERS WORLD

Transmision

Year/model: Rev Tech 2007
Type: 4-gears with kicker
Clutch: Barnett
Primary: BDL 3”

Painting

Idea: CHOPPERS WORLD
Colours: green/sand/gold

Frame

year/model: 2007 Santee Rigid
Type: Chopper
Rake: 40 degrees
Swingarm: none
Suspension: spring seat

Extras

Handlebar: CHOPPERS WORLD
Controls: RST
Footpegs: Choppers Inc./CHOPPERS WORLD
Tank: CHOPPERS WORLD
Fender: CHOPPERS WORLD
Wiring: CHOPPERS WORLD
Headlight: Headwinds
Flasher: yes
Seat: CHOPPERS WORLD

Fork

Type: Paughco Springer

Wheels

front: spokes, rim 1,75×21“ with 80/90-21 Metzeler
Brake: RST, disk CHOPPERS WORLD

rear: spokes, rim 5,5 x 18” with 200/40-18 Metzeler
Brake: pinion-brake, disk K-Tech

Prize: about 35.000 Euro / 55.000 USD

Let’s look at what we have. There is a country restaurant as the famous “Cattlemen’s Club” from the “Dallas” TV-series. We have a bike named “Graf Porno,” that says Earl Porn in English. Plus we have Alisha, an on-the-way-to-fame actress in the German erotic-business. So let’s make something out of it!

How it comes to name a bike “Earl Porn?” The owner Frank Körschen is nicked that way. As son of a family with a couple of houses to rent Frank had his first adolescent dream come true with his driving license. He was allowed to drive the old ’64 Rolls Royce that belonged to his Grandpa. Rolling along with that limo people around started calling him “Graf,” meaning “Earl” in German.

The earl grew up and at one point he jumped straight into the mid-German biker-scene. He made friends amongst the bikers and clubs around, became well known and kept his nick “Earl.” He kept that Rolls and added a first Harley. When getting older one day he replaced his father in the family’s property-rental-office and became estate manager. From time to time he inspected abandoned flats and houses. It was one of these occasions properties where he received his second nickname.

There was a house to empty because of the death of its resident. So the boys of the wrecking crew flew in to clear the furniture and clean. There in one room – planned once as the kid’s room – he found the biggest, largest, most extensive porn collection you may imagine. The resident collected more than 3000 VHS-cassettes with xxx-content in a small and narrow room, a couple of DVD-racks and tons of mags on the porn topic. What a hobby.

At that moment Michael gained his second nick’s part. He took the collection home, the story became told and famous and from this moment, Frank was called “Earl Porn!”

There are people that might have felt harassed getting such a name, but not Frank. He took pride and rebelliousness from this name, and so it became a second personality as “Bandit” or “Viking” does.

In summer of 2007 he decided to have his first fully self- planned bike built. He went to the team of CHOPPERS WORLD at Gelsenkirchen, Germany. Jörg Dünnebacke planned out a lean, low and stylish hardtail, connecting traditional views with up to date parts.

Based on a Santee rigid frame they added parts that recite old style and new designs. It became a wild and stylish compilation of chopper’s best styles.

A Springer frontend with 0°rake in the trees, combined with a mid-high-necked rigid frame. A long stretched Sportster-style gas-tank with a riser-less, all black handlebars attached to an all-chrome Paughco frontend. Pin-up-style mirrors for shine, but no belt-covers on the primary, but aren’t they mudflap girls? What sounds like a bike from the ’70s gets together in a very unique style and suddenly fits. So to say the bike is like porn: nasty here and there, but with a certain attitude, it’s exciting and thrilling.

Let me introduce Alisha Sweet, an upcoming star in the erotica business. She took part in a couple of xxx-rated films and was really good at it (people told me…). Now she poses around the “Graf Porno” like she never did anything else before. Alisha and the Earl, an arousing picture-set.

Links:
Photos and words: www.wikinger.com
Chrome and Shine: www.choppers-world.de
Model: www.alishasweet.de
Location: www.american-essen.de

 

GIRL OF BIKERNET GRAF PORNO ULTRA SPEC CHART

Owner: Graf Porno, Frank Körschen
City: Essen, Germany
Builder: CHOPPERS WORLD
Model: Graf Porno
Year: 2007
Time: 22 weeks

Engine:

Model: 2007 Rev Tec 100 cui. Evo
Air cleaner: Rev Tec
Ignition: Crane
Exhaust: CHOPPERS WORLD

Transmision

Year/model: Rev Tech 2007
Type: 4-gears with kicker
Clutch: Barnett
Primary: BDL 3”

Painting

Idea: CHOPPERS WORLD
Colours: green/sand/gold

Frame

year/model: 2007 Santee Rigid
Type: Chopper
Rake: 40 degrees
Swingarm: none
Suspension: spring seat

Extras

Handlebar: CHOPPERS WORLD
Controls: RST
Footpegs: Choppers Inc./CHOPPERS WORLD
Tank: CHOPPERS WORLD
Fender: CHOPPERS WORLD
Wiring: CHOPPERS WORLD
Headlight: Headwinds
Flasher: yes
Seat: CHOPPERS WORLD

Fork

Type: Paughco Springer

Wheels

front: spokes, rim 1,75×21“ with 80/90-21 Metzeler
Brake: RST, disk CHOPPERS WORLD

rear: spokes, rim 5,5 x 18” with 200/40-18 Metzeler
Brake: pinion-brake, disk K-Tech

Prize: about 35.000 Euro / 55.000 USD

Felicia Crowton, MILF and GOB. The response has been unbelievable!

Ever since we started the GOB at Bikernet, we get swamped with e-mails, letters, even phone calls begging for more. Let’s face it, while we love Custom Bikes, most of us on the site love tits and ass even more. Even the lovely temptress of Bikernet, Layla, will comment on a fine ass or a nice pair of tits. You just have to appreciate the beauty of it!

Straddling the knuckle, Felicia makes this bike look ordinary.

A few weeks back, we ran a GOB featuring the lovely MILF Felicia. The phones haven’t stopped ringing since. We can’t seem to get Wrench to get any work done because he spends half the day either daydreaming about her, or performing unmentionable objections to himself. The women of Bikernet have all been teetering on the line of insanity with their workouts, because (as Sin Wu told me), they’d be Goddamned if any mother would look better than them. The only one who seems to be smiling is the big bastard, Bandit, and why not? He gets to play with all these vixens.

Paydirt. Now that’s what I’m talking about!

As I was saying, the phones haven’t stopped ringing since our Felicia GOB. People are demanding to see more of her. My inbox gets at least 10 hits a day asking about her. The one thing I don’t hear about is the bike that is featured with the girl. Strange as it sounds, I think you guys just want to see some tits!

The silky black hair combines with voluptuous soft curves. You have to admire the beauty of this woman!

I had to go to Bandit and beg him to set up another shoot with Jerry, the photographer. As luck would have it, Jerry had Felicia scheduled for a photoshoot. He did have a slight problem, we didn’t have a bike to shoot with her. Bandit, being the clever devil he is, offered to ride his red-hot Dicey Knucklehead over to the studio after lunch. SO all was set, and our readers would get another GOB.

One hand on the bars to the stars, the other twisted back on the rear, this shot is timeless!

You may remember Bandit’s red knuckle, built by Milwaukee Iron, featured from a story on Bandit’s personal rides. Check that story here:

The big guy and his knuckle before the apes were added. Even in this stage the bike cuts and intimidating profile.

http://www.bikernet.com/bikebarn/bandit46knuck.asp

Bandit ordered me over to the studio to check out the photoshoot and make sure Felicia and Jerry would have everything they needed. Unfortunately, when he called me, I was in the middle of a threesome with two of the lovelies who belong to my little group. I like to call them the Honeys of Humbles’ Harem.

I explained to the ladies we would have to head out to a photoshoot, when they started bitching and moaning about wanting to be in a shoot as well. So, not wanting to piss off the ladies, I told them I would see what I could do, and we jumped aboard our bikes and blazed through the Southern California traffic to the studio.

No words needed.

I was slamming through the lanes clutching the grips like a madman while the ladies on their Sporty’s played catch up. People always honk their horn when I fly by their cars at mach 1, probably because I scare the shit out of them, but this time they were honking at the women. Almost every guy on the planet will look at a woman on a Harley, there’s something insanely hot about it!

We pulled into the studio, and Bandit’s standing at the door tapping his watch with his finger. Like I don’t know I’m late. His disdain leaves immediately once he sees the girls ride up. Ever the horndog, he immediately transforms into a silver tongued devil trying to seduce my ladies. He forgets we’re late as he guides us into the shoot.

The perfect pair…a bike and a girl. What did you think I was talking about?

Felicia is stunning, standing in front of Bandit’s Knuckle, arms raised with breasts blazing. I felt my heart begin to race as I realized the beauty of these three in the room is stifling.

Marie and Kristin, two of the beauties involved in Humble’s Harem.

We pitch the idea of having my ladies in a photoshoot, to which Jerry is ecstatic. Unfortunately, Felicia has to pick up her kids from daycare, so she would finish her shoot alone and have to head out early. I barely turned my back for a minute when I heard my girls giggling behind me as Bandit whispered into their ear. I couldn’t even get mad. The way I figure it, if he still has it at his age, let him enjoy it. Besides, girls are everywhere, but you can count true friends on one hand.

Just as Felicia finished with the last of her poses, Jerry called for my ladies. I was amazed at the way they warmed to the camera in an instant. It was as if they had wanted this their whole life.

At first he shot angles and shots of the girls together. They climbed aboard the bike and playfully wrestled with the bars to the stars. I was amazed at how smoothly they moved around the bike as well as each other.

This is Marie, a pin-up come to life. I could definitely see her image painted on the sides of U.S> Bombers during WWII.

Felicia blew us kisses as she left the building. I noticed the big guy smeaking out the door to have a final word with her, only God knows what else happened out there. All I can say is he came back in 20 minutes later looking like the cat that ate the canary; shit-eating grin and all.

Marie showing her ass-ets. Like my son says, “They ain’t a hottie, unless they got a body.” Truer words were never spoken more by a 7 year old.

The girls were starting to get very cozy when Jerry interjected and decided to shoot them one at a time. He asked Kristin, the brunette bombshell, to step aside and let Marie take a few shots with the bike. Kristin went outside to talk on her cell when I noticed Bandit sneaking out again. This guy must have a lifetime prescription to Viagra!

Her auburn red makes the white and red of the bike really pop!

Marie’s auburn red hair lit up beautifully with the combination red and white from the bike. Her athletic curves complementing the shape and lines of the knuck. I have always felt a fine bike is like a beautiful woman, but her lines next to it amplified the correlation!

She cooed as Jerry had her slither around the bike, constantly snapping shots. She sounded like a cat purring away as the sound of Jerry’s shutter clicking echoed ferociously behind. He wasn’t taking a sot or two, but two or three thousand!

Kristin’s turn to have some fun.

Once again, after twenty minutes or so, Kristin came into the room and glared at me with her bedroom eyes. I wasn’t sure if she was angry with me, but she sure didn’t hesitate to jump into the shoot with a new found enthusiasm. She started with very forceful, beauty shots.

Those bedroom eyes flickered just as this shot was taken. It didn’t take me long to realize what we had in store.

I love Kristen’s athletic figure, never more apparent than with the behind shots. She loves to show off her ass, especially in a thong. I could never understand how any man could not be attracted to women, beauty like this makes my head swim and my heart flutter. That doesn’t even compare to when a beautiful women touches you, or rides with you. The feeling of their firm breasts pressing into your back. I could ride forever with a wonderful hottie on the back of my bike.

Before too long, the shoot was over. Bandit had to get back to Nyla, as she wanted him to work on the bathroom, or kitchen, or some other queer task around the house. I was shocked when Kristin told me she’d see me later, and followed him on her sporty! Holy shit this guy’s good.

I hadn’t turned my eyes for a second, and Kristin really got in the spirit. We hadn’t planned on any of these shots.

Jerry thanked us for bringing the ladies over, and he even suggested I bring them back in a week or two to do another shoot with another bike. Of course I agreed, I was sure Bandit would be up for it.

Marie mounted her Sportster and exclaimed how wonderful the shoot was. She could hardly wait to come back and do it again. I just smiled because I have seen this 100 times before.

Be tuned next month for Part 2 of the shoot with the ladies aboard another of Bandit’s beasts. Until next time….

Felicia Crowton, MILF and GOB. The response has been unbelievable!

Ever since we started the GOB at Bikernet, we get swamped with e-mails, letters, even phone calls begging for more. Let’s face it, while we love Custom Bikes, most of us on the site love tits and ass even more. Even the lovely temptress of Bikernet, Layla, will comment on a fine ass or a nice pair of tits. You just have to appreciate the beauty of it!

Straddling the knuckle, Felicia makes this bike look ordinary.

A few weeks back, we ran a GOB featuring the lovely MILF Felicia. The phones haven’t stopped ringing since. We can’t seem to get Wrench to get any work done because he spends half the day either daydreaming about her, or performing unmentionable objections to himself. The women of Bikernet have all been teetering on the line of insanity with their workouts, because (as Sin Wu told me), they’d be Goddamned if any mother would look better than them. The only one who seems to be smiling is the big bastard, Bandit, and why not? He gets to play with all these vixens.

Paydirt. Now that’s what I’m talking about!

As I was saying, the phones haven’t stopped ringing since our Felicia GOB. People are demanding to see more of her. My inbox gets at least 10 hits a day asking about her. The one thing I don’t hear about is the bike that is featured with the girl. Strange as it sounds, I think you guys just want to see some tits!

The silky black hair combines with voluptuous soft curves. You have to admire the beauty of this woman!

I had to go to Bandit and beg him to set up another shoot with Jerry, the photographer. As luck would have it, Jerry had Felicia scheduled for a photoshoot. He did have a slight problem, we didn’t have a bike to shoot with her. Bandit, being the clever devil he is, offered to ride his red-hot Dicey Knucklehead over to the studio after lunch. SO all was set, and our readers would get another GOB.

One hand on the bars to the stars, the other twisted back on the rear, this shot is timeless!

You may remember Bandit’s red knuckle, built by Milwaukee Iron, featured from a story on Bandit’s personal rides. Check that story here:

The big guy and his knuckle before the apes were added. Even in this stage the bike cuts and intimidating profile.

http://www.bikernet.com/bikebarn/bandit46knuck.asp

Bandit ordered me over to the studio to check out the photoshoot and make sure Felicia and Jerry would have everything they needed. Unfortunately, when he called me, I was in the middle of a threesome with two of the lovelies who belong to my little group. I like to call them the Honeys of Humbles’ Harem.

I explained to the ladies we would have to head out to a photoshoot, when they started bitching and moaning about wanting to be in a shoot as well. So, not wanting to piss off the ladies, I told them I would see what I could do, and we jumped aboard our bikes and blazed through the Southern California traffic to the studio.

No words needed.

I was slamming through the lanes clutching the grips like a madman while the ladies on their Sporty’s played catch up. People always honk their horn when I fly by their cars at mach 1, probably because I scare the shit out of them, but this time they were honking at the women. Almost every guy on the planet will look at a woman on a Harley, there’s something insanely hot about it!

We pulled into the studio, and Bandit’s standing at the door tapping his watch with his finger. Like I don’t know I’m late. His disdain leaves immediately once he sees the girls ride up. Ever the horndog, he immediately transforms into a silver tongued devil trying to seduce my ladies. He forgets we’re late as he guides us into the shoot.

The perfect pair…a bike and a girl. What did you think I was talking about?

Felicia is stunning, standing in front of Bandit’s Knuckle, arms raised with breasts blazing. I felt my heart begin to race as I realized the beauty of these three in the room is stifling.

Marie and Kristin, two of the beauties involved in Humble’s Harem.

We pitch the idea of having my ladies in a photoshoot, to which Jerry is ecstatic. Unfortunately, Felicia has to pick up her kids from daycare, so she would finish her shoot alone and have to head out early. I barely turned my back for a minute when I heard my girls giggling behind me as Bandit whispered into their ear. I couldn’t even get mad. The way I figure it, if he still has it at his age, let him enjoy it. Besides, girls are everywhere, but you can count true friends on one hand.

Just as Felicia finished with the last of her poses, Jerry called for my ladies. I was amazed at the way they warmed to the camera in an instant. It was as if they had wanted this their whole life.

At first he shot angles and shots of the girls together. They climbed aboard the bike and playfully wrestled with the bars to the stars. I was amazed at how smoothly they moved around the bike as well as each other.

This is Marie, a pin-up come to life. I could definitely see her image painted on the sides of U.S> Bombers during WWII.

Felicia blew us kisses as she left the building. I noticed the big guy smeaking out the door to have a final word with her, only God knows what else happened out there. All I can say is he came back in 20 minutes later looking like the cat that ate the canary; shit-eating grin and all.

Marie showing her ass-ets. Like my son says, “They ain’t a hottie, unless they got a body.” Truer words were never spoken more by a 7 year old.

The girls were starting to get very cozy when Jerry interjected and decided to shoot them one at a time. He asked Kristin, the brunette bombshell, to step aside and let Marie take a few shots with the bike. Kristin went outside to talk on her cell when I noticed Bandit sneaking out again. This guy must have a lifetime prescription to Viagra!

Her auburn red makes the white and red of the bike really pop!

Marie’s auburn red hair lit up beautifully with the combination red and white from the bike. Her athletic curves complementing the shape and lines of the knuck. I have always felt a fine bike is like a beautiful woman, but her lines next to it amplified the correlation!

She cooed as Jerry had her slither around the bike, constantly snapping shots. She sounded like a cat purring away as the sound of Jerry’s shutter clicking echoed ferociously behind. He wasn’t taking a sot or two, but two or three thousand!

Kristin’s turn to have some fun.

Once again, after twenty minutes or so, Kristin came into the room and glared at me with her bedroom eyes. I wasn’t sure if she was angry with me, but she sure didn’t hesitate to jump into the shoot with a new found enthusiasm. She started with very forceful, beauty shots.

Those bedroom eyes flickered just as this shot was taken. It didn’t take me long to realize what we had in store.

I love Kristen’s athletic figure, never more apparent than with the behind shots. She loves to show off her ass, especially in a thong. I could never understand how any man could not be attracted to women, beauty like this makes my head swim and my heart flutter. That doesn’t even compare to when a beautiful women touches you, or rides with you. The feeling of their firm breasts pressing into your back. I could ride forever with a wonderful hottie on the back of my bike.

Before too long, the shoot was over. Bandit had to get back to Nyla, as she wanted him to work on the bathroom, or kitchen, or some other queer task around the house. I was shocked when Kristin told me she’d see me later, and followed him on her sporty! Holy shit this guy’s good.

I hadn’t turned my eyes for a second, and Kristin really got in the spirit. We hadn’t planned on any of these shots.

Jerry thanked us for bringing the ladies over, and he even suggested I bring them back in a week or two to do another shoot with another bike. Of course I agreed, I was sure Bandit would be up for it.

Marie mounted her Sportster and exclaimed how wonderful the shoot was. She could hardly wait to come back and do it again. I just smiled because I have seen this 100 times before.

Be tuned next month for Part 2 of the shoot with the ladies aboard another of Bandit’s beasts. Until next time….

I've got to tell you a story. It's almost true. I may exaggerate some, but the general facts are accurate. It started a couple of years ago when Charlie Brechtel and his clan, including Berry Wardlaw arrived at the Bikernet Interplanetary headquarters in Wilmington, California. Charlie is the magnificent leader of the only reputable Biker Blues Band on the planet. He's played with most of the greats including BB King and Deacon Jones, but he loves to ride, so his songs are all about being a biker.

Bill Hayes and Charlie Brechtel tuning up the Bikernet Headquarters Shipping Department.

I'm drifting some, but we've all experienced this small world of the American Biker and how tough it is to stay true to the Code of the West and make a living. Charlie started the Bikers' Inner Circle web site to promote his band and cute, half- naked girls, and that's what brought him to Bikernet. He wanted to interview me in hopes that I would talk about his band and Bikers' Inner Circle on Bikernet. He needed gigs.

We had a few shots of Jack, produced a hell of an interview and we talked about biker-related television. I told him how much we needed a motorcycle talk show and he buzzed with enthusiasm. The next thing I remembered, he cut a deal with Woody, of Buffalo Chip fame, in Sturgis and kicked off Sturgis Rider Live. Every time we met we kicked around ideas and he kept pushing me to host one of these shows. “I'm not a stand- up comic,” I said over and over, but he persisted.

The next thing I know we set a date, January of '08, and I discovered that he knew and interviewed Bill Hayes, the most articulate outlaw on the planet. Bill wrote the history of the Booze Fighters book, a sage description of the outlaw spirit through one club from 1947 until today. Bill is a member and his girlfriend, a professional editor and a Columbia grad, Jennifer Thomas, is his partner in all things literate. We started kicking ideas around and in short order we had graphed two show itineraries, line-ups with motorcycle builder stars like Gard Hollinger and Chopper Dave, Charlie's band, Deacon Jones, kings of motorcycle legislation, skits, techs, you name it and Playboy models.

Here's the personal aspect of this fiasco. Bill, Jennifer and I spent a couple of weeks preparing for the show, while Charlie loaded his band equipment in a van and coerced the band and two models to make a 300-mile midnight run to Los Angeles. Thursday night it hit me like a freight train that this production was coming together, under my nose, in less than 24 hours. I couldn't sleep. I don't like cameras or giving speeches.

The Host and Janitor, Bandit, Charlie and the legendary Deacon Jones who played with Curtis Mayfield.

At 5:00 a.m. the next morning, I sat bolt upright in bed drenched in a cold sweat. I scrambled out of out of the sack, splashed Jack Daniels in my face, snorted coffee and answered the door. Bill and Jennifer were parked out front in a mid '70s hearse. We went to work, clearing the shop, finishing the Assalt Weapan as a prop for a photo shoot, with Felicia Crowton, a Playboy model, who was flying into Long Beach at noon. Charlie, his band and two more models were scheduled to arrive at 9:00 a.m., which turned, into noon. Jeremiah rolled in at 11:00, an hour late. He was scheduled to pick up Felicia at the airport, but she missed her plane and didn't arrive until the early evening. We were all on scattered time zones. Nothing went as planned and Jerry Southworth set up a still-photo studio in the back of the shop and shot girls until midnight.

As pandemonium attacked the Bikernet Headquarters, Jeremiah and I became the ever-vigilant construction crew, motorcycle repairmen, security, and prop builders. Charlie hauled a fake 50-caliber machine gun and banderoles of ammo from the DAM Ranch in the Gold Country so Jerry could mirror the bomber girl on the Assalt Weapon from fender with a live model. His enthusiasm was on overload and he didn't bring a tripod for the mock weapon.

Jeremiah and I scrounged around the shop for parts and pieces and ended up hacking a Softail swingarm and making it work. This reminded me of an interview with a Roger Korman movie star.

“I was the star,” she said, her tits bubbling out of her top, “but between shoots I had to help move the lights.”

I was the host, and Jeremiah the co-host, but we were the grips, writers, security guards and janitors, too. Felicia, the world- famous MILF from Playboy was cool and so were the other girls, but I was too busy sweeping the shop to pay much attention.

This is the first in a wild series of shoots from that weekend and you can see excerpts of the show on Sturgis Rider Live and In the Bikernet Studios. And hang on. Two more Sturgis Rider Live Girls will be indoctrinated into the Girls of Bikernet ranks in the near future. Hell, you might see Sturgis Rider Live, Hosted by Bandit from Bikernet.com on the Discovery Channel or SpeedVision. Ya never know.