Page 55 of Misadventures of a Biker

“She sure does.”

He relaxed into the back in his chair and whistled through his teeth. “Who in their right mind would want a hand job if that was an option?”

I chuckled. “Precisely.”

“Does she have you finish on a tissue, or does she collect it in her hand? Midge used a tissue.” He shook his head, as if recalling one of their sexual activities together. “Drove me nuts. She always had her left hand dangling at her side clutching a Kleenex. Made it hard for me to stay focused.”

I chuckled again. “Neither.”

He seemed confused. “What’s she do with it?”

“She swallows it.”

“Jesus jumped-up Christ,” he blurted. He straightened his posture and clapped his hands together. “That gal’s a keeper.”

“Because she swallows my spunk?”

He raised his index finger. “She’s motivated.” He raised his middle finger. “Devoted to her job.” He continued extending his fingers with each point he made. “Financially stable. Gorgeous. She’s got a nice rack. She’s got a great personality. And she’s willing to do what she must to keep you happy.”

She might have taken a ride on my motorcycle, but that didn’t make her willing to do whatever it took to make me happy.

“I’d agree with all of them except for the last one,” I said. “It has yet to be seen.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “There’s not a girl on this planet who sits in front of the television at night thinking to herself, damn, I wish I had a mouthful of come. If they sold that shit in stores, nobody would buy it, even if they set it right beside the Coca-Cola. If restaurants offered it by the glass, nobody’d order it, either.” He shook his head as if disgusted with me. “That shit’s nasty, and you know it. If she swallows it, she’s doing it for no other reason than to keep you happy.”

I’d taken her willingness to swallow my load for granted. He had a good point. I doubted anyone yearned for a mouthful of come.

“You’re probably right,” I said in agreement.

“If she can choke down a mouthful of that shit without complaining, that damned woman’s willing to go out of her way to please you,” he said, seeming upset that he had to mention it again. “Women like her are few and far between. Understand that. A woman’s desire to please a man is worth a lot more than looks or money, that’s for damned sure.”

“So, I should keep her because she swallows my come?” I asked, my tone coated in sarcasm.

“No,” he snapped back. “You keep her for all the reasons I gave you a minute ago, one of which is that she’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep you happy.” He picked up his plate and stood. He gave me a flippant look. “You might be intelligent, but you’re slowly proving that common sense isn’t something you possess.”

“Fuck you, old man.”

“I made my point.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Now you need to prove your worth by being man enough keep her.”

I had no immediate plans to get rid of her. If nothing changed, I could see us staying together until I was free to decide where I chose to call home.

“I’ll probably keep her around until I’m free to go to the other side of the state,” I said. “Then I guess we’ll see what happens. I doubt she’s up for a move to Miami.”

“Miami?” He tossed his plate into the sink. “There ain’t one of those pricks you used to run with who gives an honest fuck about you. Your best bet is to make a change with who you run with.”

“They’re a good bunch of guys,” I said. “They really are.”

Now facing me, his disapproval of my claim was apparent. He looked like he just swallowed a cat turd.

“Are they?” He put his hands on his hips. “How many of ’em came to visit you in the joint?”

“Bikers aren’t much for visiting prisons,” I replied.

“How many of ’em wrote you letters?”

The only person who wrote me while I was locked up was Herb. I’d looked forward to his letters as much as I’d anticipated the arrival of Christmas as a child. Without them, I would have had no connection to the outside world.

“I’ll take that dumb look on your face as a response that none of them did,” he quipped. “Any of ’em send you a few bucks for snacks?”