Stormin’ Norman slammed his mug on the bar. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he yelled, tossing the thick, empty beer glass against the mirror behind the bar. Both shattered instantly. Exploding shards of glass blanketed the bar, bartender, and barmaid.
Norman was big and burly. Some called him Bear. He wore a fringed leather jacket with strips of Indian beads sewn on the shoulders like military stripes. He had a massive mane of jet black waves and a full beard. “That motherfucker?” he began, just as three locals tackled him, including the ex-pro ballplayer/bartender. They crumpled to the floor in a shower of bar stools and beer bottles.
Norman worked for public services in the small town of Franklin, 300 miles north of San Francisco, on the coast. He was responsible for the welfare of all the indigent juveniles in the county. He had worked for the government for almost 20 years, and was dedicated to helping children left behind by parents, those dragged from place to place by homeless mothers and fathers, abused kids, and youngsters who, at the age of 10, already had alcohol problems. Norman was also no pushover, and although the four men who had tackled him were all hard working and in shape, he was on his feet in no time, ready to slug it out. 
“Calm down, Norm,” one of the men shouted as he struggled to his feet, hands raised, palms facing Norman to ward off heavy-fisted punches.
“What the fuck is your problem?” shouted Ned Kilpatrick, the redheaded bartender, reaching for a stool for protection.
The sound of a Harley rapped outside, the bar door burst open, and in walked Chicklick Charlie. “What the hell is going on?” Charlie demanded, seeing the melee and assuming that his biker brother had been jumped by the others. He moved alongside Norman, prepared to double his friend’s numbers. “Let’s go,” he said, tossing his black leather jacket on an adjacent table and raising his fists in a fighting stance.
“It’s okay, Chicklick,” Norman said, his shoulders drooping. “It ain’t their fault. I’m pissed. That bitch I saw a couple of times last month prances into my office today and announces she’s pregnant and plans to have the kid.”
“Oh, that’s it,” the bartender said, righting an upturned table before pouring Norm another drink. The other men got to their feet and patted Norm on the back. “Sorry to hear about that, man,” one heavy lumberjack added. “Same thing happened to me. I’ve been paying ever since. She’s never had a job and I’ve never seen the kid. She won’t let it happen.”
“I understand, man,” another burly worker on one of the local fishing boats said. “I’ll buy all the booze you can drink, tonight?but it won’t make you feel any better tomorrow, when she blames the entire mess on you.”
Norm and Charlie leaned against the bar and sipped at their drinks. “How long you known this chick, Norm?” Charlie asked.
“Went out with her a couple of times last month,” Norm replied. “She was okay, a wild woman in the sack, but real interested in my job and dedication to the kids around here.”
Charlie looked at his beer and thought about his own girl. Chicklick was slick and, in contrast to Norm, had never worked a solid day in his life. He had all the women he ever wanted, but none who ever wanted to stay. Charlie was too footloose and fancy free for that, though he was so good in bed that often the girls he saw sought more secure men to trap, while continuing to utilize Charlie’s bedtime talents long after they had snagged a home.
Charlie’s current girl was a friend of Barbara, the buxom ex-dancer who was making her move on Norm. Charlie’s babe was Raline, a former call girl (although she had never told Charlie) who was using the biker to enjoy a free home. She had never held a job, except to roam from man to man.
Barbara lived with a biker for several years, collecting checks from her first husband, living off the biker and pushing for a ring. The guy kicked her out when he discovered she was pregnant. After telling her for years that he had no intention of marrying her or having kids, she continued to push. As a last ditch effort, she let her birth control pills fall behind the bedstand and quit taking them. But the baby ploy didn’t work.
The biker, Bill, had offered to put her through school, but she didn’t take it. He offered her job training, but she preferred to shop, and not contribute to the home. And since she was a woman of the nineties, she had no intention of cooking, cleaning, or taking care of business at home, either. She had only one thing going for her?sex She had the body in the brick house category, but the mortar was crumbling. She no longer worked out after her brief stint as a dancer, a job from which she was fired for showing up late and partying early.
Raline wasn’t much different. She managed to get through high school and find a boy to propose marriage. That was the end of her efforts at a career. While her husband struggled to make ends meet and go to night school, she polished her nails and made demands on him. She wanted a home, a new car, kids, and everything the Jones had. Their union didn’t last long, as her 36DDs worked only a while, and they separated.
Bitching about a sour marriage and all the shit her husband denied her, Raline found herself rubbing elbows with Charlie while he was making a deal on the truck she took from her old man during their divorce. Charlie noticed no remorse in her eyes as she sold the truck to him for a fraction of its worth. Raline was in a hurry and wanted the cash.
Charlie himself never had a job, as such; instead, he spent his time building bikes and working deals. He had purchased a foreclosed home for cash and made life on his own, in his own way.
It was winter, and the fog hung on the dense redwoods like a cold blanket thrown on high spirits. “Listen Norm,” Charlie said, sipping a Seven/Seven, “let me check around. Don’t let this get under your skin just yet.” Downing the rest of his drink, he threw on his jacket and went outside to his Shovelhead.
The bar, Oil Can Chuck’s, sat less than a block from the winding Pacific Coast Highway. The roads were damp and a halo hung over each street light like a meter to the denseness of the fog. Charlie kicked over the stretched bike with the solo seat and highbars, then popped it into gear and headed up the narrow highway for the next town, where the girls lived.
The phone rang in the small apartment in Gold Creek, an old mining town north of Franklin. Raline picked up the receiver next to where she was putting on her makeup and cradled it on her shoulder so she could continue to work on her face. “Hello,” she cooed into the phone.
“Raline, it’s Barbara. I told him.”
“Told him what?” Raline said, pushing her deep cleavage up to expose as much of the silky flesh as possible, and powdering the mounds approvingly.
“I told him I was pregnant,” Barbara replied.
“Did you tell him it isn’t his?” Raline inquired, not really interested in the response, but enjoying the soap-opera exchange.
“No, why should I? He doesn’t need to know. He’s like all the rest, he wants to fuck around, but not take the responsibility. I thought because he worked with all those kids, he’d be different. But he just got real pissed and hung up on me.”
“Wasn’t rape was it, Barbara? Who enjoyed the fucking more, or was he lousy in bed?” Raline inquired into the receiver while fussing with her hair.
“No, he’s good, but it’s time he settled down,” Barbara responded. “Listen, what are you doing tonight? Let’s go drinking.” Rubbing lotion on her freshly shaven legs, her hands massaged the creme into her thigh and around her pussy where she trimmed it, pausing momentarily to touch herself. She caught her breath, admiring her legs.
“Sure, I’m getting ready now, but I thought you were pregnant.”
“Yeah, I am, and he’s pissed, so let’s party,” Barbara said. “What about Charlie? What’s happening with your relationship?”
“Charlie’s Charlie. He ain’t ever gonna change. But he promised to introduce me to a guy who owns the bike shop in town,” Raline said. “See, I’m looking for security in a guy. Charlie likes to party, but he don’t want no steady relationship.”
Barbara’s voice mellowed. “I was just talking to Gloria. She’s 24 and about to have her second kid. She married that Chiropractor who has the nice bikes. She’s got a new car, new home, two kids. Why can’t I get that?”
“Does she work?” Raline said rolling her eyes.
“Nah. She went to college for a while, ?cause her ma told here that’s where she’d get a man,” Barbara cooed into the phone. “She’ll meet us at the Palomino.”
“Doesn’t she have to look after the kids?” Raline inquired.
“Nope, she’s got a maid,” Barbara began to explain. “At least, I think she’s a maid. The two of them party a lot together. I wonder?.”
“See ya there in half an hour,” Raline said, hanging up the phone. She pulled on a new pair of fishnet stockings, and the shortest black skirt in her overflowing closest. Her black see-through bra was pushing her tits to the moon, and the satin and velvet vest-like bustier was buttoned to show an alluring line of flesh around her bellybutton to accentuate her narrow waist while tapering up to display her tits like two massive mounds of coke on a golden mirror in front of an addict. Her lips were full, her nose was fixed, and her dyed blond hair barely showed their natural roots. She was dressed to kill.
Barbara poured herself into the same action and trotted to the door. Gloria was already snug in a corner booth in the honky-tonk bar when the other girls arrived an hour late.
“I knew you two wouldn’t make it on time,” said Gloria, her shoulders slumped, her make-up askance, and her hair jumbled.
“What happened to you?” Barbara asked, slipping her tightly wrapped ass onto the slick, vinyl-upholstered, button-tuck booth, a relic from the fifties.
Just then, while the band was on a break, the women heard the pop of a big V-twin at the back door. “Must be Charlie, Barbara,” Raline cooed, glancing across the room at the owner of the local Harley shop. Charlie had promised to introduce her, and she knew the young entrepreneur’s eyes followed her every silky step across the dance floor when she arrived. She pushed her tits up in anticipation.
Charlie strode into the darkened room and scanned it for the girls, nodding to the dealer while peeling out of his leather and heading across the dance floor. Before he could reach the booth, Raline was on her feet and rushing to Charlie’s embrace. She molded her body against his slim form, and when the wet kiss lingered, he knew why he was getting all the attention. Raline purposely twisted Charlie 45 degrees in order to give the dealer a long look at the profile of her legs and ass.
“Introduce me, Charlie,” Raline whispered into his ear, along with a wet tongue. “I’ll take care of you later. You know I’ll always be your girl.”
Charlie was rigid. He had business to take care of, but with a glance at the table in the corner, he thought it best to handle the two girls at the table without a third cheerleader. Taking Raline by the hand, he introduced her to Ted, the handsome owner of the dealership. He then excused himself and headed back to the booth.
Sliding behind the table so he was facing the two of them, Charlie caught the last of Gloria’s plaintive wail. She had obviously been crying. “Barbara, the bastard kicked me out.”
“What happened?” Barbara asked, holding Gloria’s hand.
“He was always working, never had time for me,” Gloria whined. “I got bored and my maid and I started fooling around with the guy who came over to fix the Jacuzzi.” She started to sob. “He came home early yesterday and caught us all in bed.”
“Where were the kids?” Barbara asked, her eyes indicating concern, doused with a large dose of titillation. “I had hired another nanny to take them out. That sonuvabitch, after all I’ve done for him, I’ll sue him and be set for life. He’ll never see his kids again.”
“Let me get this straight,” Charlie said, interrupting the girls. “You’ve been with this guy how long?”
Gloria stiffened. “Six years, why?”
“You tell me if I’m wrong here,” Charlie said, straightening his narrow back against the booth and stroking his pointed goatee. “This guy put himself through school, married you, built a home, and a private practice, which he runs without your assistance.”
“I don’t want to be there and see all his young-girl patients,” Gloria said, interrupting.
He feeds you, your kids, your pets, and clothes the bunch. By the way, do you handle paying the bills?” Charlie inquired.
“No,” Gloria replied, shrugging. “But he gives me an allowance.”
“So he manages the household as well, and you don’t work, look after the kids, clean, or cook.” As Charlie said it, Gloria stared daggers at him indignantly, as if he had asked her to betray the female gender. “And I’ll bet you’re pissed at him, and make him handle his own food ?cause he works late.”
“I’m tired by then. Besides, I get a massage after I eat,” Gloria snickered. “Makes him jealous to see another man touching me.”
The steam was beginning to rise around Gloria. She had drawn herself up haughtily, when Charlie turned to Barbara. “And what’s your problem?couldn’t land the last guy, so you told Norm the kid is his?” Charlie glared at Barbara, who was trying to uphold the grandeur of feminine innocence while the biker berated her friend, who was now on the spot.
“I don’t have to put up with this shit.” Barbara squealed. “Let me out. It’s about time you all settled down and took some responsibility. We’re always saddled with the kids while you bastards run off.”
“You’re breaking my fucking heart, bitch.” Charlie snapped, their voices rising and attracting the attention of others around them. “Did your last old man rape you? I doubt it. And I know the level of undeserved respect Norman shows all the women he knows, because he looks out for rape victims’ kids, every fucking day.”
“Fuck you,” Barbara screeched. “I’m outta here. All you bastards can think about is sex. You get what you deserve!” She was almost pushing Gloria onto the floor to get past her.
“Wait just a fucking minute,” Charlie shouted, shoving the table to block her escape. “Sure, we think about sex. Look at the whorehouse way you’re dressed. And if sex wasn’t the only card you carried, what fucking use would you be to any man? You won’t cook, clean, or work. You won’t take care of business, and you’ll snivel about anything you can’t do, like carry something weighing more than a pound. And by the way, aren’t pregnant women supposed to avoid drinking?”
“You’re just a sexist bastard,” Barbara screamed.
“Does the kid belong to Norm or not?” Charlie persisted.
Instantly, Barbara looked away from Charlie’s penetrating gaze. “Well…” she began, hesitant and obviously flustered.
“Hey,” said a big dude from across the floor. He had been witnessing the melee and had decided to play chivalrous. “Is this guy bothering you ladies?”
“Not anymore,” Charlie said, springing to his feet. He looked at the tearful girls. “Both of you together can’t take care of this. You need some unsuspecting jerk to rescue you.”
The would-be hero was six inches taller than Charlie and outweighed him by a good 75 pounds. He drew back a massive arm, and Charlie could see his large biceps bunch up under the plaid shirt, as he was turning to face his assailant. Charlie blocked the punch and countered with a direct blow into the hero’s solar plexus. As the man doubled over, Charlie sidestepped him, saying, “Neither of them are worth it, man.”
Charlie exited the back door of the bar, as another stocky man came to the rescuer’s rescue. Charlie kicked his bike to life and straddled the machine, his heart racing and his mind whirling. He questioned himself, as well as society as he was raised to accept it, and his own freewheeling lifestyle. He wondered if he was all wet in the battle of the sexes, or whether there was a master PR movement to paint men as awful beasts. “What a bunch of horseshit,” he thought, dropping his bike into gear and burning out of the parking lot onto the highway heading south back to Franklin.
Inside the bar, the big man in the plaid shirt unbuckled his torso and rose to his full 6 feet, 4 inches while still gasping for air. Barbara saw his pain and embarrassment, mixed with concern for her. Or was it her cleavage sprouting above her top? She began to sob.
“You all right, Bobby?” the other stocky man asked, coming to his friend’s aid.
“What did the biker do to you?” Bobby inquired of Barbara, breathing through his nose like some tired bull after a rodeo competition.
“It’s a long story,” Barbara said, sobbing. “I feel so alone.”
Bobby slid into the booth beside her. “You’re not alone now,” he assured her. Barbara perked ever so slightly, but continued to cry. “I don’t get it,” Bobby said. “What can I do?”
Barbara leaned against him, lowering her shoulders so he was looking directly into her top. Her chest heaved, along with her tits. He could almost see her nipples as her 36-inch boobs withdrew from the insides of her vest, pausing slightly, then filling the top again. “He wants me to have an abortion,” she sobbed.
“That bastard!” Bobby barked. “I don’t believe in abortion. What the hell is he thinking?”
“He’s only thinking about one thing,” Barbara replied. “We’ve been together for years, and now that he’s got a new girl friend?uh, he wants to duck his responsibilities.” Stumbling with her story, she looked at Raline for support.
Raline turned to the other cowboy. “That’s right. She loved and took care of the bastard for years. He never worked. She stuck with him, and now that she needs him, he walks away.”
Barbara burst into tears as Bobby put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her head against his massive chest. “I wish he was dead,” she sobbed.
“I’ll take care of you,” Bobby said, feeling the softness of her chest heave against his. He sensed the warmth of her cheek against him, and caught the perfumed smell of her hair flowing down over her shoulders.
“I can’t stand the thought of him running to her arms,” Barbara said, running her hand around his waist, pulling herself more into his torso.
“Why don’t you guys go after him?” Gloria murmured to the other cowboy, who was beginning to make his moves on her. “We’ll wait for you here, and when you come back, we’ll go over to my place.”
“Yeah, maybe we can talk some sense into him,” said the short, stocky cowboy.
“He was going to see her in Franklin, Barbara sobbed. “But I don’t want you to go.”
“It’s okay. We’ll be back shortly.” Bobby said, squeezing her like she was some lost child. “I’d like to spent some time with you, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll wait right here for you,” Barbara said, opening her big, brown eyes and gazing deeply into his rustic face and deep-seated eyes, slightly red from alcohol consumption.
“Come on Sam, let’s go,” Bobby said, kissing Barbara gently on the lips and glimpsing again the silky mounds heaving in her skin-tight, short red dress.
The two men pushed out of the booth, headed for the parking lot…
