Chapter 15

In the shower, as they cleaned up in preparation for going to breakfast, she rubbed her naked front languidly against his.

"It's too bad you can't build a bike that would let us do it that way while we ride," she sighed, kissing his chest.

He chuckled. "Who says I can't?" That he was now completely comfortable with his woman in his arms became apparent when he added: "I built the Babe Bike, didn't I?"

She looked up at him. "What?"

His complete comfort took a brief hiatus as he realized what he'd just said.

"Nothing," he tried.

Her eyes narrowed. "Daddy seemed awfully interested in the fact that you brought me here on the Babe Bike. When I asked him why, he said nothing, too."

"That's because it's really nothing," said Bob, hopefully.

"Don't nothing me," she said. "What did you mean?"

"I don't want to tell you," he answered truthfully. "'Cause if I tell you, you're going to be really mad at me, and I don't want you to be mad at me."

"If you don't tell me, I'm probably going to be mad at you, too," she informed him.

"Well ... okay," said Bob, finally. "But it was the Drunken Dwarf's idea, though. I want you to understand that up front."

"Who's the Drunken Dwarf?" she asked.

"He's a former SEAL, like your dad and me. He works for me now, in my shop."

"Go on."

"Well ... um ... we were sitting around one night ... you know ... just shooting the shit ... and I was talking about building this new bike, and Dwarf kind of suggested a part of the design that might ... um ... sort of make it fun." He swallowed.

"Fun for who?" asked Jennifer.

"Um ... for the ... um ... passenger, sort of."

"Fun for the passenger," she said.

"Yeah."

Suddenly her eyes widened.

"You mean ... like I've been having ... fun."

Bob looked away. "Uh ... yeah ... I guess so."

She cocked her head sideways. "Are you telling me that all those orgasms were ... on purpose?!"

"No!" he complained. "Not for you, I mean. I never thought you'd ever ride it. And with all the uproar I kind of forgot about it until after the first leg of the trip."

She looked thoughtful. "That was when you bought me that pillow," she said.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"You knew what was happening to me."

"Um ... I figured it out. Just not in time."

"How does it work?" she asked.

He blinked. He could have come up with a dozen things he might suspect she'd say. Asking how it worked was not one of them. But she wasn't screaming at him yet, so he told her.

"There's a rod that goes from one of the head bolts up to the clitty ... um ... I mean this little piece of metal that was cut out of the original seat. When a woman sits on the seat, her ... um ... girly parts ... kind of press against it. It sort of vibrates."

"You said the rod was attached to the clitty," she prompted. "But then you stopped. Why?"

She was paying awfully close attention to all this, he thought dismally.

"Well, you know guys. We're all about jokes and all that, so we sort of gave the design a name." He stopped again.

"Yes?"

"It's kind of a rude name," he said.

"It's kind of a rude idea," she said. "What did you call it?"

He sighed. "It's called the clitty whizzer."

"Because it ... whizzes ... a girl's clitty."

"Yeah ... I guess so."

"And you knew it was whizzing my clitty all that time."

"That's why I got you the pillow," he whined. "I didn't mean to whiz your clitty!"

"Whose clitty did you mean to whiz?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"I don't know," he moaned. "Whoever rode the bike with me."

"So you got some poor girl to get on the... " She stopped and frowned. "The Babe Bike ... that's why you call it the Babe Bike, isn't it!"

"Guys really do like to joke around," he said lamely.

"So you got some poor girl to get on the Babe Bike, and you whizzed her clitty, and got her all excited, like you got me all excited. What then, Bob?"

He got frustrated. He felt like his mother was raking him over the coals for some juvenile prank.

"What do you think, Jen?" he snapped. "The whole idea was to get her turned on. You know what that feels like, and what it made you want to do. I tried to protect you with that pillow, but Oh, no! You decided you didn't need the pillow, because you were having so much fun!"

She didn't act fazed at all. "How many girls have you whizzed, Bob?"

"I don't know!" he said, throwing up his hands. "I don't keep count!"

"And you took it to Chicago, to help your friend because... ?"

What did he have to lose? He was already in such deep shit that a little more couldn't hurt all that much.

"You never know when you might get lucky," he growled. "Okay? I'm single, Okay?"

"That remains to be seen," she said.

"What?"

"Never mind," she said. "Did Daddy know about all this?"

"Come on, Jen, don't ask me to rat out my best friend," said Bob.

"I'm not asking you to rat out your best friend," she said sweetly. "I'm asking you to rat out my father."

Bob had had enough.

"Look," he said heavily. "The bike was designed by a bunch of guys who were drinking beer one night. It was just a hoot of an idea. It turned out to work pretty well, and all the guys have used it to take women for a ride, at one time or another." He blinked. "Not your dad. Just the guys who work for me and helped build the bike." He grimaced. "Anyway, it was built a long time ago and it didn't have anything to do with you. If I'd known I was going to bring you here, I would have taken another bike up there. If you'd have told me you had a car I'd have brought you here in that, for that matter. I did not put you through all this on purpose."

"So why didn't you just tell me what it was all about when I started having all those orgasms?" she asked. "All you had to do was tell me and I would probably have used the stupid pillow!"

"Look at me," he said mournfully. "I feel like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I was embarrassed, and I thought you would be embarrassed. I did the best I could, okay?"

Her lips formed a straight, hard line. "Well, it wasn't a cookie jar this time, Bob, and it sure wasn't your hand that got in it!"

Bob's shoulders slumped. He opened his mouth, but there just wasn't anything else to say.

Except, "I'm sorry, Jen. All I can tell you is that I didn't intend for any of this to happen."

Instead of acknowledging his apology, she turned and walked out of the room, into the parking lot. When he followed her, he saw her on her hands and knees, peering up into the depths of the bike, under the seat. She reached in with one slim hand and felt around. Then she stood up and examined the queen seat. He realized that a thin outline of the clitty whizzer was visible through the upholstery, where who knows how many pussies had pressed the upholstery into the crack between the whizzer and the seat. She turned to him.

"You're a troll, Bob. You're a disgusting, ugly, warty troll, who preys on poor innocent girls."

Bob looked away.

"It's a good thing I fell in love with you before I knew all this," she said firmly. "'Cause if I'd known you were such a troll, I don't think I could have fallen in love with you." She put a foot on the left foot peg and mounted the bike, settling into the queen seat. "Let's go," she ordered. "I'm hungry."

Bob, of course, was a little off balance. It's understandable. His concept of Jennifer had been based on watching her grow up for twelve years, during which time she'd exhibited certain characteristics. She'd always been intelligent and interested in life. He'd seen her passion before, and her relative lack of fear, say, for instance, as she began climbing trees. She'd always been a sweet, loving girl, with a good heart.

All these things were still there, and part of Bob's brain knew that. But many things had changed in the last week, too, and they had changed radically. Jennifer's assertiveness level was one of those things. In the past, Jennifer had been known to be basically shy, but stubborn, on occasion. In fact, it was Bob who had a special talent for dealing with her when she was being stubborn. But, somehow, as her sexual horizons widened, unreasonable resistance to change or guidance had turned a corner and become aggressive action in pursuit of her desires.