Hi Folks, this one is little bit different. This one was inspired by Chrissie Steele's song "King of Hearts." Those of you who checked my twitter page for the update kind of knew that and hopefully were able to listen to the song. I hope it put you in the mood so you can get a better feeling for the story. As with most of my stories, sex plays a very small part in it, so those of you who need an outlet might want to skip it. The first two thirds of the story were edited by the incredible Mikothebaby. Any mistakes in the last third are completely mine. This story is a bit longer than what I've been writing lately, so you might want to hold off and read this one when you have some time. Next week we'll be back to more action, adventure and revenge. SS06
The smell of your body lingers on my sheets tonight. The sting of your kiss still burns in my heart. I go crazy just thinking about you. I can feel your shadow lay down on me. You're the king of hearts.
I rolled over in my sleep and reached for him. And as he had a thousand times or more over the past three or more years, he rolled away just as my fingers were about to make contact. I could see his smiling face only inches away from my outstretched fingers.
My eyes opened up and he melted away, the same as he did every other time when I woke up. The never ending ache in my heart seems far worse when I'm awake. Perhaps that's why I sleep so much nowadays.
The acrid smell of weed; and the scent of stale beer and sweaty bodies, pushes me into full consciousness. The lust filled laughter of a familiar female voice makes me far more aware of what's going on. I slide out of my bed angrily and head downstairs.
As I get closer to my living room, the TV gets louder and so does the laughter. The smell of the marijuana is almost over powering this close to it.
As I enter the living room, I notice four or five men and one woman. The woman is my so-called roommate Beth. Beth is giving one of the guys that I don't recognize a blow job while another fucks her from behind on my couch. There are two guys watching what has to be the last baseball game of the season. One of them, a black guy with long dreadlocks, Marcus, is an old friend. The other, a squirrelly looking younger guy that again, I don't recognize, is the one smoking the weed.
"Beth, you need to do that shit in your room," I scream. "Not my fucking living room." I turn towards the squirrelly guy. "Get out."
"Be cool," he says.
"It's cool as hell outside," I snap. "Just get the fuck out of my house. I don't need any assholes smoking dope in my fucking living room. Seeing as how my house has always been a known biker hangout, the police give me regular visits. I don't think going to jail for your stupid ass is on my agenda."
"Okay, I'm putting it out, mama," he says.
"Good, then get out after you do." I reply.
"Well, I gotta go get my homies," he says. "They're upstairs."
I run back upstairs and look in Beth's room. Her room is empty. I open my door and find two people I've never seen before about to have sex in my bed.
I pull open a drawer and pull out my gun. "Get the fuck out of my room or I'll splatter your fucking brains all over the walls," I yell. The two on the bed look towards me and their eyes get huge. The man is clearly upset and the girl, she's probably in her mid-twenties, but she's too stupid to be called a woman, is smiling. She doesn't realize how close she is to dying.
"It's cool," says the guy. "We were going to use Beth's room, but it's pretty much a shit hole. We saw that this one was empty so we ... uh."
He gave me one of those smiles that are supposed to display all of his boyish charm and just make every woman he sees weak in the knees and wet in her nether regions. It didn't work.
I guess on paper it should have. He was tall and muscular. He had long hair that was tied back out of his eyes. He had a nice beard and a menacing appearance. I checked off every box on my list and he should have done the trick. But he didn't.
Once he saw that his charm had failed, he tried to get tough.
"Listen bitch, I said it was cool," he said. "I don't know what kind of rules this club has but I don't take orders from no bitches. You need to stay in your place." I raised the gun and aimed it directly at him.
"I'm sorry about what I said before," I said. "I'd never be able to put your brains all over my walls. Your brain, hypothetically speaking, since there's no evidence that you have one, is too small a target."
"Bitch..." he said, trying to rise to his feet. "You ain't gonna shoot me."
"Why not?" I asked. "Let's see how this plays out. You're making threatening moves towards me. You're as big as a fucking train and you've invaded my bedroom in my house. So if I cap your dumb ass right here, all the police will say is, "Self-defense."
"Let's all back this down a peg," said Marcus from just outside the door.
"Trey, you're in the wrong. When we first came here this morning we all understood that the house here is not the club's property. We came here because there's no fucking heat at the clubhouse. Beth told us that we were not allowed upstairs. Once she started screwing your friends, she told you that you and your lady could use HER room. You shouldn't be anywhere else in the house. Secondly, this isn't Beth's house. I think it's time we all left."
Trey got up and started putting his clothes on, grumbling all the time. He said something about uppity women and something else about not having the stones to pull the trigger and Marcus corrected him.
"Yeah, she would have," he said. "You've ridden around this area long enough to know what's up, Trey. Have you ever heard of a guy they call the King of Hearts?"
"Yeah," said Trey. "He was the best rider, the best fighter, the president of the club and all of that shit. He just disappeared, right?"
"Not exactly," said Marcus. "Anyway, Christina here was his old lady. She's been through more shit than you can shake a stick at. And if it came down to it, she really would have shot you. And she'd probably have gotten away with it."
Trey and his girlfriend walked back down the stairs and sat down on the couch. Marcus and I followed them down. By the time we got into the living room, the two guys on the sofa were DP'ing Beth who was moaning loudly.
"Oh yeah Baby, fuck me. Fuck my slutty ass," she moaned. She was flat on her back on top of one of the guys, while the other was on top of her in what can best be described as a Beth sandwich.
"Time to go guys," said Marcus. "Now!"
The guy on top pulled out of Beth and climbed off of her. He didn't look happy but seeing the look on Marcus' face, he didn't say a word. He hadn't even bothered to take his clothes off. He'd just unzipped his pants. He zipped them up and was ready.
The second guy's dick made a popping sound as he pulled it free of Beth's asshole with no regard for her. From the way she yelped in pain, the abrupt uncoupling probably hurt.
Beth looked as if she was as high as a kite. She had no idea of what was going on or why. She just stared around her dumbly.
Marcus turned as they got to the door. "Chris, I'll call you later or tomorrow. It's going to be a really cold winter. We're probably going to go down south for a while," he said. "I have a friend who knows a guy who has a business down there who might hire us for the season and then we can ride back up here when the weather turns warmer," he said.
"But Marcus," I began.
"I know Honey," he said softly. "But when he was here, we had a lot more members. We had a much bigger clubhouse and we used to do those bike shows and swap meets all winter. We were also doing bike repairs and all of that. We don't have any of that sh ... stuff anymore so we have to do things differently. Digger isn't King by a long shot. But he is in charge of the club now, so..." He shrugged his shoulders.
"For what it's worth, I agree with him on this. This is going to be a long cold winter. We're going to get a lot of snow. This is a survival move, honey. You're welcome to go or stay as you please. If you want to go, you can be my back-seater. No strings of course." Then he turned and left.
After I closed the door, I immediately ran back up the stairs to my room. I noticed something that I hadn't noticed just a few moments ago when I was threatening that asshole and his stupid girlfriend. They'd been on top of my blankets. I stripped back the blankets and sniffed my sheets. They still had his smell. The sheets still smelled like King. I also have a bunch of his old clothes and a lot of his personal things so I don't forget.
I lay back on the bed and thought about the good times. I'm thirty two years old, so I actually should be living the good times now, but I made one huge mistake and now I feel like a ship without a rudder.
I take a huge whiff of the musty odor coming from my unwashed sheets. That smell is like a drug to me. It fires all kinds of memories and inflames all of my senses. Just as I'm about to start remembering, Beth staggers drunkenly into my room. "Hey, where'd all the guys go?" she asks. "I'm sure there were guys here. I feel like getting fucked; but not in the ass. My ass is sore. Are there any guys in here?"
"Beth, just go lie down in your room and sleep it off," I command. She nods her head and staggers drunkenly into the wall next to the door.
"I could have sworn there was a door here," she says. "Your room is so complicated."
As she staggered out of my room, I shook my head. Beth was always the life of the party. She's like Peter Pan, the kid who never grew up. At thirty five, Beth is three years older than I am and she's starting to look her age. It's funny as I look back on it, Beth was the age that I am now, when I fucked it all up. It's also funny that I'm the one who's criticizing someone else for refusing to grow up.
Beth was also there when it all fell apart. Maybe that's how it's supposed to be. Maybe all of the true immortals have to come in pairs. Maybe Beth and I will be like Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, or Stephen Tyler and Joe Perry. Maybe when we're forty, we'll still be together, still throwing our legs over the backseat of any guy who'll let us ride behind them. I hope I'm not as desperate as Beth is. Beth is drunk most of the time. And she lets any guy who asks her fuck her. Beth exists in a haze of sex, drugs and alcohol. I'm not sure if she even knows what day it is most of the time.
Am I any different? I sleep sixteen hours a day now. I don't eat right and I'm drinking more than I have at any time in my life. And why do I sleep so much? That's an easy one. My dreams are so much better than the reality of my life. I think that if I could, I'd sleep forever like some kind of reality-averse sleeping beauty.
I laughed as I leaned back on my bed and thought for not the first time about the ruin I'd made of my life. At first, I didn't think I was ruining anything. I was so sure that my opinion was the right one and everyone else was fucking crazy. They, meaning the entire world outside of my small circle of friends, were all just losers. They didn't possess the special ability to separate what was real from the bullshit that society throws at us.
I guess it all started before that really. I always danced to the beat of a different drummer. I went from daddy's little angel to wild assed problem child seemingly overnight.
I resisted classification. I was one out of only one. There was not another person I knew who was like me. A lot of people don't know this but the United States Government allows a ritualistic coming of age/rite of passage process for young adults. This process is crueler by far than any tribal torture ever seen on any of the seven continents. The process scars many young adults for life and the mental scars often stay with a person for the rest of their life.
The process is called high-school. It's only function is to take away the very freedom and individuality that the founding fathers wanted us all to have. By the end of those four tortuous years, we've been changed and molded into something that in many cases bears no resemblance to the person we once were.
We are forced to assume roles that we, in many cases, play out throughout the rest of our lives. Before high school, we were all just kids. There were very few nerds or jocks or cheerleaders or losers. In high school, I refused to be categorized. I made up a category of one. But even then, they tried to force me to assume a role. I became the weird girl.
On all three areas of growth, Academic, Social, and Humanistic, I refused to follow the path. Academically, I kept my head down and sought anonymity. I earned straight C's without breaking a sweat. I was thought of as a solid student but actually, I simply never tried. They probably thought that I was too smart to be stupid, but not smart enough to excel academically. I'd probably get into a junior college or a less prestigious one and end up a secretary or a mom. I laughed at their plans.
Socially, I also refused to follow the path. I never took an interest in anyone or anything that the school offered. I didn't make any friends and I shunned the advances of my fellow students. I thought that I was above them. Couldn't they see how stupid it all was? Who really gave a rat's ass about which airhead was the head cheerleader at Millard Fillmore High in 1999? I sure didn't. And sports were even dumber. There were always two teams kicking a ball or something and one team lost and the other team won. I really couldn't understand why it was important.
Let's start with football. My brother, Joe, worked his ass off to get on the football team and simply never made it. He spent all of his time lifting weights and running just so he'd earn the right to wear some tiny little pants that were too tight and too short and get his ass run over by bigger and stronger guys. To me, he won by losing. He didn't have to associate with the assholes who were allowed to wear the tight pants. He also didn't have to get the hell beat out of him trying to play the stupid game. In my opinion, the guys on the team were the real losers. They had to perform like a bunch of fucking trained seals every week in front of a crowd of screaming morons.
And the game of football made absolutely no sense. One team did their best to get a ball from one side of the field to the other. And if they made it, they just had to try to do it all over again. What the hell was the point?
My dad was a big car racing fan. What was so special about a bunch of guys with names like Jim Bob driving around in a God damned circle for two hours?
On the humanistic side, I was the most thoroughly confused. I remember the argument I had with my mother when she sat me down to explain the birds and the bees to me. I think that both my mother and father thought that something was wrong with me. When we had the talk, I was nearly eighteen years old and had never had a boyfriend. Believe me, there had been guys who'd tried. Despite my piercings and weird hair colors, there were guys who'd tried to get with me. I think a big reason for that is hormones and low hanging fruit.
In high school, you have all of these young adults who are maturing and their bodies are full of hormones. The urge to merge and to mate is very strong. It's kind of like Luke Skywalker and the force. Most of these guys want Buffy the blonde cheerleader with the enormous pom-poms and the small IQ. The guys that know that they can't have Buffy often settle for less desirable partners. The ones who can't get even the average girl go after attractive but slightly damaged girls or low hanging fruit.
So even though I was a wack-a-doodle, I still had a nice ass and a nice rack, so every year, I got several guys who thought they'd scoop me up and make a woman out of me. I was also supposed to be really God damned grateful for the opportunity.
Anyway, when Mom started telling me about sex, I kind of got the idea that she knew that I knew all of that shit already. After all, she'd signed the permission slip and I got a solid C in Sex education. I think that she was just trying to figure out why I didn't have a boyfriend or any posters of boy band members on the walls in my room.
"Christina, you're at an age where your body..." she began.
"Mom, I reached that age at about thirteen when I had my first period," I said. She looked a little uncomfortable.
"Well, have you been ... uhm?" she began.
"Mom, just ask me?" I said in frustration. "Jeezus, you're my mother. If we can't talk, who can I talk to?"
"Well, my mom was uncomfortable talking to me about sex and uhm..." she said.
"Don't worry about it mom," I said. "There's nothing to talk about."
"You mean you've never had sex?" she asked in a very surprised tone.
"Never have, never will," I said. Her eyes got huge.
"Christina, you're too pretty to be a lesbian," she said nervously. "Or you would be if you'd take all of those spikes out of your face and pick one or two somewhat natural hair colors."
"Mom, I'm not a lesbian," I said. She actually blew out a sigh of relief so loud that it was audible.
"I'm asexual," I said casually.
"You're a sexual what?" she asked smiling.
"A-sexual," I said. "I'm not having sex with anyone or anything. I just don't see the benefit of rubbing up against some sweaty man or woman. It's simply not something I'm interested in." Her face fell.
I could see her visions of grand-brats disappearing before my eyes. "But what..." she started.
"Mom, I'm just not "Mother" material. Shit, I can't even take care of goldfish. And I don't want to be responsible for another human being's life. I have no interest in dragging some kid around on a leash or feeding them. How the hell am I supposed to tell them what they can't do when I still probably want to do it myself? Trust me; humanity will go on just fine without my participation in the propagation process."
Four wasted years and a few thousand dollars of my parent's money later, I hit one of life's defining moments. I was skipping one of my classes, I forget which one, but since I skipped most of them it really didn't matter.
Anyway, it was the same old story, a boy on one hand and a girl on the other. They meet under circumstances so random that it had to be fate. I was on my way to the cafeteria where I could get something to eat, while I skipped class and wasn't paying attention.
A guy came walking purposefully out of the door and we ran into each other. My book and papers flew, so did his. He apologized gruffly and began helping me to pick my stuff up. I recognized him immediately. He was one of the loser/asshole/morons that my brother had tried to become one of.
Actually, we'd gone all the way through school together and had never said a fucking word to each other. I was surprised to see him in my armpit of a junior college though. I'd expected that by now he'd be the quarterback at one of those division one schools and be knee deep in all of the cheerleader pussy he could grab.
This was the closest I'd ever been to one of those guys, and up close, he wasn't bad. His hair was longer than it had ever been in high school. And he was kind of unshaven. It looked good on him.
"Hi, I'm..." I began.
"I know who you are, Christina," he said. "We've gone to the same set of schools since birth."
"Well, thanks for helping me pick my stuff up," I said. "Here, let me help you with yours."
"Don't bother," he said.
"I was trying to be..." I began again. My dander was rising. I totally misread him. I thought that he was looking down on the weird girl, like everyone else.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said, as if he knew what I was thinking. "What I meant was, there's no need to pick my stuff up, because I was on my way out of here. This is all just so fucking pointless. If we hadn't crashed into each other, I was going to go outside and just throw all of this shit as far up into the air as I could and just walk away. Fuck the books, fuck this place. I don't want any of this shit anymore. So picking that shit up is just a waste of time."
For the first time in my life, I was in love. When I looked into his eyes, I saw all of the pain and all of the depression I'd always felt mirrored right back at me.
"Anyway," he said. "Sorry, I bumped into you. I'm outta here." He started walking towards the door. His long legs took huge steps and I stood there watching him. The next thing I knew I was running after him. When I got outside, I screamed at his back.
"Hey!" I yelled. He turned back to look at me. I smiled at him and threw three hundred dollars- worth of science textbooks into the air. My folders opened up in midair and papers flew all over everywhere. People in the area looked at me as if I was crazy.
"Can I come with?" I asked. He smiled and nodded. One of the campus police officers came running over to me. "Do you know that littering is a crime?" he asked. "Do you know that you can be suspended for it?"
"Do you know that I just quit?" I yelled. "Go home and listen to Alice Cooper's song, School's out. Make sure you study it thoroughly because there will be a test on it." He looked puzzled.
My new found ally and I quickly ran over to the parking lot. I looked around for his car and saw him sitting on a motorcycle. He held out the second helmet to me and I took it. He rocketed away from the school and we simply never looked back.
For the next few months, we bummed around town with some friends of his who rode bikes. I did call my mother to tell her that I'd met someone and I wouldn't be back for the foreseeable future. That summer saw changes in me that no amount of high school, college or life thus far had wrought.
I went from the living embodiment of individuality, the paragon of asexual virtue, to biker babe in the blink of an eye. I loved the freedom of the biker lifestyle. We just hung out all day long. We didn't have jobs. We didn't have a place to stay. We didn't have bullshit. But I had love. I had Raymond Heart.
I was willing to do anything I had to do to keep Ray. At first, we were just kind of buddies. We learned the whole biker lifestyle together. We kind of made it up as we went along. Ray was a handsome, charming, good old boy who was tough as nails when he had to be. But he didn't have to be. Everyone loves Raymond. But when there was a fight? One punch from a guy who bench presses three hundred and fifty pounds was usually enough to knock some sense into whoever was on the other side.
Over that summer, three small groups of individual bikers melded into one large club. And I had to change too. There were any number of girls who wanted Ray. To his credit, he never once asked me to change. But when I took all of the piercings out of my face and allowed the holes to seal up, he told me I was pretty. When I dyed my hair back to its natural chestnut brown, he told me he'd been wrong about me being pretty. My face fell until he lifted my chin up and told me I was beautiful.
He also started holding my hand when we went places. I was happier than I'd ever been in my entire life. There were two types of women who hung with us in those days. There were club women, who were the property of the club meaning that anyone in the club could have them. And there were "old ladies." If you were someone's old lady, it meant that no one could touch you without his permission. Once I'd done my makeover, a lot of the guys in the club took notice of me. And once, when I was drunk and too out of it to notice it, a guy tried to take advantage of me. Ray's hand in his chest put a stop to that. When he told the guy that I was his "old lady," even drunk as an English sailor on leave, I was so happy I could have died.
The women going after Ray were still trying to test me though. Ray was, after all, a man. So the shorts they wore got shorter and their tops got lower. And I had to compete with them, but Ray never laid a hand on me.
I had a couple of women in the club who were friends of mine, including Beth, who helped me keep tabs on things. Beth helped get me into a number of things that on further thought, would probably have been better left alone. Ray knew that I had feelings for him and he also knew that I was a virgin. At twenty-one years old, nothing had ever been inside of me. I wanted him badly but I had no idea of how to go about doing it. Beth got me drunk as a skunk and showed me how to take my own virginity with a big vibrator. After I got used to it, Ray was supposed to be my first. It didn't work out that way.
We had a big biker rally at the state fairgrounds and I got all ready. There were bikers and clubs from all over the state. We made a lot of money with that rally and the party afterwards is still legendary. Ray and I camped out and had our own tent. I'd been out smoking weed with Beth and I went back to our tent.
I pulled back the flap and saw Ray with an older woman with long red hair and huge tits on top of him. She was working her ass like a porn star. It bounced up and down on his dick like it was made of rubber. "Oh shit," moaned Ray. "Get up, I'm gonna cum."
"Fill me up baby," she said. Ray pushed her off of him. He obviously didn't want to risk her getting pregnant. She grabbed onto his dick and started licking it like an ice cream cone. Ray shot blast after blast of sperm on her face and she just let it sit there.
When he was done, Ray noticed me staring at him and went into shock. Before that moment, I think that I was too shocked myself to even react. But the tears just came from nowhere. I ran out of the tent and as far away from it as I could. I could hear Ray calling me while he tried to get his clothes on and I could hear the old redhead laughing. I eventually found Beth and we got so high that I didn't know which way was up. It was the only way I could deal with the pain of what I'd seen.
I guess the combination of alcohol and drugs was so powerful that I really don't remember much. My next waking thought, was of some guy literally being ripped out of me in mid-stroke. He was just some greasy young biker and I was flat on my back with him between my legs. As I gained consciousness, all I felt was a sore pussy, mostly from him being snatched out of me. He was thrown to the ground so hard that the impact of him hitting the dirt next to me had to have knocked him out. But then Ray was straddling him and pounding the shit out of him. Then he turned and started on the guy who'd been waiting to go next.
I blacked out again but Beth later told me that the look Ray had on his face when he looked around, cleared the tent. There had been eight guys there taking turns fucking Beth and me. And these weren't average guys. They were tough bikers, but Ray cleared that tent so fast that people still talk about it. The only one still in the tent when he turned back around was the guy he'd slammed and he was only there because he was out cold.
Even the guys who were fucking Beth left. No one wanted any part of Ray's rage. She later told me that he'd picked me up as if I was a baby and carried me out of there. He'd taken his share of the money we'd raised and checked us into a nice hotel. When I woke up the next morning, he and I were alone and he looked miserable. Beth had told him about how I'd made myself ready for him to take my virginity and how things ended up.
It was a very bittersweet moment in my life. We had our first real talk. Not just about hiding from the real world, but about ourselves and how we saw things. The moment was very sweet to me because Ray told me that we had a problem. He'd started out telling people that I was his old lady to protect me. He knew that I was a virgin and didn't want anyone to force me into something I wasn't ready for. But his feelings for me had grown. He'd pretty much gone the whole time that we'd been together without having sex because he didn't want to push me into anything either. The previous night had just found him tired drunk and horny and he'd succumbed to that redhead.
When he'd seen the look on my face, he'd known in that instance that he loved me and that he'd probably made the biggest mistake of his life. My heart nearly burst hearing him say that he loved me. I told him that I'd felt the same and that I'd been hurt so badly by seeing him giving that fat old redhead something that he was supposed to only give me that I'd gone out and gotten way too drunk.
We forgave each other and swore to never do it again. The bitter part of the memory is that something that should have been a special gift for Ray was taken by some guy whose name and face I can't even remember.
Things got better for us after that. They'd been great all along but that day despite its ups and downs, established us as a real couple. Over the next few weeks, Ray blossomed as much as I did. He used part of the money from the rally to rent a large clubhouse for the club. He had a head for business from the very start and could see far enough into the future to make long range plans for all of us.
There was never any kind of election or anything like that. Ray was just the natural leader of the club. We did all kinds of fun things. We even had a big weekly poker night. Ray was a hell of a poker player. I never saw him lose. The funniest thing about him was that although he won all the time, whenever he won big, it always involved a hand that contained one particular card. Whether it was a flush, a straight or four of a kind, Ray's biggest hands always included the King of Hearts. After a couple of those victories, people just started calling him, "King."
Something I need to point out here is that during this time, Ray and I were almost never apart. We ate together, we slept together, we were always together. If he was working on his bike or helping someone else with theirs, I was there beside him handing him tools. He sometimes had to move me over just so he had the space to do something but neither of us cared. It was literally the happiest time of my life.
I wanted my entire life to be that way. I was living among people who accepted me for who and what I was. When we pulled into places, no one gave us any shit. We didn't have jobs or any of that bullshit. We were a society to ourselves. We never caused any problems. We weren't outlaw bikers. We didn't run drugs or anything like that. Some of us may have used them, but we didn't sell or manufacture anything. That life fed my need for individuality. It was the perfect thing for me. It was the answer to my dreams. It was the way I always wanted things to be. Having Ray and that lifestyle completed my soul.
I guess I thought that it was the same for Ray, but it wasn't. Ray loved me and I loved him, but neither of us really knew the deep dark depths of each other's pain or the causes of that pain. We talked almost constantly but we somehow skirted the darker issues. We skirted mine because, as I said, I was living la vida loca. My life was crazy and wonderful.
What I didn't know, was that our life together, and by that I meant Ray and me as a couple, was healing Ray's issues as well. What I also didn't know, was that Ray, unlike me, had never had any social issues. Every one we ran into immediately fell in love with Ray. Women wanted to be with him and men wanted to be his friend. On that day that Ray and I met and just said, "Fuck it," there were things going on that I'd never imagined. Ray had missed most of our last year of high school. He'd had to quit the football team and missed most of his classes because his dad had suffered a nearly fatal heart attack. Both Ray and his mom had altered their lives significantly to care for him when he came home from the hospital.
Ray and his dad had always been close, so if there was a choice between football and his dad, football lost. After months that saw his grades plummet along with his chances for a football scholarship, Ray's dad started to improve. In fact, he got well enough that Ray was able to enroll at the last minute in the junior college that I attended.
After a few weeks there though, the improvements, turned out to be just the last dying gasp of Ray's father's heart. He'd passed away two weeks before I met Ray. His mom had insisted that Ray continue attending his classes.
Ray had come home one day, during the week before I met him, to find the police on his doorstep with a note from his mom. She'd taken her own life. She couldn't bear the thought of being without her husband. She'd left enough money for him to finish his classes, but it wasn't money he missed. Ray had been a part of a very small but very close family. It had always been just the three of them. Without his parents, Ray had tried to right the ship of his life, but there just seemed to be no point in it.
The biker lifestyle meant different things to us. For me, it was my dream. It was something I embraced with both arms. For Ray, on the other hand, it was just something to hold onto while he found what he needed to replace what was missing in his life. For me it was an end destination. For Ray, it was only a bus stop or a stop gap.
So, even by the end of the first year, Ray had started to come out of his pain. He put me back in contact with my parents. They really didn't like the life I was living or Ray for that matter, but they were glad that he'd made me call them.
The biker rallies that we'd had during the summers were so successful that we were able to house the club members who didn't have homes for the whole winter. At the same time, Ray and I had our own place. It wasn't huge or luxurious but it was cozy and warm and we had some degree of privacy.
During the winters, we held biker swap meets at the fairgrounds. We did bike repairs and customizations. We brought in experts from the factories to give classes in bike maintenance and we held our weekly poker games. Ray actually made a deal with the local authorities to give half of the profits from the poker games to local charities. He even arranged for a volunteer police officer to handle both the books and the till.
Ray gave serious consideration to returning to school then. What actually changed his mind was my father. My dad told Ray that he might want to consider being a plumber. He outlined all of the pluses and minuses, with Ray listening intently. He even told Ray about classes the plumber's union held. Ray politely listened to all of it, while I sat back and laughed.
When we left that evening, I was still smiling.
"You really had my dad going," I said. "He really thinks you're serious about going to school to become a plumber."
"I am," said Ray. And he wasn't smiling. But I was sure he'd never give up the biker lifestyle. Even when Ray enrolled and started going to the classes, I was sure that he was only doing it to impress my dad. Ray loved me and he wanted things to be okay between my parents and me. I was sure he was only doing it for that reason.
As time went on, he was still very active in everything we did with the club, but no one knew that while most of us lived an almost nocturnal existence, Ray was in school every day and doing really well. My dad was especially proud of him. Ray was soon invited to most of our family functions. He also started to tie his hair back and dress normally when we weren't doing things with the club.
I loved him so much that I didn't care if he wanted to put on what I considered a costume, for his daily life. Our sex life was great, he loved me and I loved him, so no matter what he wanted was fine. When we were with the club, I watched him like a hawk. Not because I didn't trust him, but because I didn't trust a lot of the women who hung out with the club. Ray was too tempting a prize for some of them.
Sex with Ray scared me. It wasn't that I was afraid that he'd hurt me or that things would get too wild, it was just the opposite. By then I'd sampled enough drugs to know that they weren't for me. But when Ray and I had sex it gave me the same kind of high. There were too many nights where we'd start out gently rubbing each other and end up slamming our bodies against each other with such ferocity that I was surprised we didn't hurt each other. Other times he was so gentle that we barely moved and all of the stimulation came from the fact that we were linked with the person we each loved most in the world.
There were times when it just felt like my insides just opened up to caress his dick because it was the missing part of my body. I just wanted it to go on and on and never end. Some of those nights it ended with the alarm sounding at six a.m. so Ray could go to school. I'd briefly open my eyes and realize that we had spent the entire night fucking but it seemed like only moments. Sometimes now, if I close my eyes I can still feel him thrusting against me while I suck on his tongue.
"Christina," he screams in the throes of passion. I can almost hear him calling my name now.
"Christina, what the fuck are you doing?"
My eyes snapped open and I saw Beth standing in front of me holding the phone. "It's for you," she said, staring at me. When a woman that is usually high stares at you, like you're doing something strange, it's an eye opener.
"Chis, we're leaving tomorrow," says Marcus. "The day after that it's going to snow here. We don't want to be riding bikes or even trying to, in slush and ice. I got something for you. I'll be by to pick you up at about eight in the morning. We need to get out of here as early as possible to make sure we're clear of the storm. Dress warm. I mounted a couple of side carriers to my bike for the trip. One of them is yours. You have about the same amount of storage space that you'd have in a suitcase. Motel accommodations are on me, but bring as much cash as you can spare."
After he hung up the phone, I saw Beth still staring at me. She had dried up sperm all over her but she was staring at me.
"That was Marcus," I told her.
"Uhm, I know that," she smiled.
"We're leaving tomorrow. Did you arrange a ride?" I asked.
"That was the point of me fucking those losers today," she smirked. "Give them a little pussy and they'll do whatever you want."
"Where'd you get a little pussy?" I smiled. "Yours is so stretched out that you could march a battalion in there."
"I'm not the one who was just lying in her bed, with her whole hand stuffed in her vagina and moaning her own name," she said. "Didn't that hurt? You were arched off of the bed with only your head and the soles of your feet touching it. Whatever the fuck you're on, you should stop being such a tightwad and give your best friend some of it."