I had a sexual encounter with Maren Caldwell, and I fear, if I let myself, I might become addicted.
To her body.
To her mouth.
To her wit and sass.
I’m a biker, first, last, and always. I am the longest-serving Outlaws president of all time.
I’m not a lover.
And this is a phase, something I’m going to have to put away in my memory box of things that nearly happened that could have derailed everything. Because I’m clearly having some kind of midlife crisis that’s making me think of Maren Caldwell and that a life with her is even remotely possible.
Can’t say I’m staunchly for or against playing happy families with someone. I know my mom is desperate for grandkids, but that certainly isn’t the right reason to sign up to a lifetime commitment. Maybe it is my age making me feel like this. Forty-five next birthday, more than halfway through my life. I probably should think about what I’m gonna do with the second half of it, at some point.
But not now, while I still remember the feel of Maren’s hand wrapped around my cock and carry the scent of her in my beard.
As I pull into the clubhouse lot, I’m relieved to see that the clear up has begun in spite of the lingering wind and intermittent rain. The structure is still standing, and its roof is still attached. It’s a building that was built to last, but it’s always a relief to see the old girl in one piece.
Vandal has a chainsaw in his hand, chopping off a tree that split about seven feet from the ground. Thankfully, it fell across the lot rather than the building. He stops the chainsaw and pulls his bandana away from his mouth when he sees me. “You good, Prez?” he hollers.
I raise a hand and park the bike. “All good.” Someone is hammering in the distance. There’ll be a lot of that today as people assess their damage.
I walk in his direction while he pauses to take a sip of something from a mug. Irish coffee, if I had to guess. Piping-hot black coffee with a splash of alcohol to even the keel.
“Been out long?” I ask.
Vandal shakes his head. “‘Bout forty minutes. Just wanted to get the fallen trees dealt with before people started pulling their bikes out of the garage and shit.”
“Good call. Looks like we dodged the worst of it.”
“Apparently, it turned north a little before it hit us. Where did you end up last night?” he asks. “Not like you to not be in the clubhouse.”
Where did I end up?
I think about how tight Maren’s pussy felt around my fingers. About how we wrapped our fingers around my cock and pumped me dry. About the way her pussy tasted as she came on my tongue, and how her lips were soft and plush when I kissed her.
“Followed those two guys in their truck until the storm got too wild to continue. Didn’t want to put my life at risk.”
If Vandal is concerned about the way I dodged the answer, he doesn’t say anything.
Ridge and Sunny are dragging the sandbags to the front of the building so they are ready to dry out when the sun breaks. They both raise a hand when they see me crossing the lot, and I salute them.
Miscellaneous piles of debris sit in the corner of the lot. Everything from palm and cypress tree branches through to plastic chairs and a sign that I know hangs in front of the motel about five hundred meters away. Such is the way after a storm like this. We’re lucky we didn’t get the eye of it, and that a low Category Three doesn’t cause the same level of devastation that a Category Four would do.
But the cleanup still matters. Placing stuff that isn’t yours out on the curb for people to find. Returning it to people if you know who the owner is.
Sunny hugs me when I reach them, and I slap his back as he says, “Worried about you, Prez.”
I repeat the action with Ridge who says, “It’s not like you to not tell us where you were.”
“It was all good. Got caught out and decided not to risk it. What did you guys get up to?”
“Gotta be honest, the details are hazy. Seem to recall I had to separate Lock and Havoc because they ended up arguing about whose dick was biggest.”
I laugh at that, glad Sunny is so easy to distract. “Who won?”
Sunny laughs. “Vandal. Just dropped his pants in the middle of the clubhouse and started singing that line from ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me.’ Something about being sticky sweet from his hands to his feet. Then, he said if either of their dicks were bigger than his man snake, they should drop their jeans.”
