A week had passed as calmly as the morning fog burning off the harbor. The Cantina rocked every night. Signs of winter evening chills brought the brothers out in droves. They wanted to party before the misty cold prevented all but the hard-core from riding. Some bikes were headed for teardowns and rebuilds.
It was Friday afternoon and Marko was busying himself around the property sweeping up peanut shells, and cigarette butts. He had been training regularly and came back from a diving exercise off the coast of Catalina Island. Marko was feeling fine, but he had a hankering for a woman as he swept out the patio with some of the kitchen help.
It was during that afternoon lull that Marko watched the lunch crowd clear out. The Cantina was nearly empty. He observed a mammoth Cruise Ship pass as it headed to Catalina then south to Mexico. The water under the brilliant sun showed a turtle green almost hinting at a clean spirit, hiding the oily pollution the harbor was known for.
Since Steve’s departure, Mandy had trained to take over as the morning shift bartender position. She stumbled some learning the tricks of the trade, but her supple feminine form behind the bar made the difference. Her red hair splashed into half the drinks she concocted until she wised up and pulled the natural amber waves into a ponytail.
Just one customer remained at the bar. He was a rider on a older custom Softail still parked in the ?Bike Only? parking outside, so Marko could keep an eye on it. The young rider with stiff dirty blond hair leaned heavily on the bar. He had lunch with an attorney who announced that his wife wanted a divorce and laid down the parameters of her outlandish demands. The slippery attorney took advantage of the fact that Clay had no representation at his side. He poured the incessant claims on Clay almost to the point of requiring the keys to his Softail. That’s when Clay unwrinkled his dower features and told the sonuvabitch to fuck off. He pushed his heavy oak Cantina Mexican style chair back abruptly and jarred the table knocking over his margarita glass. The short, suited attorney was shocked by his outburst. “Get the fuck out of my sight,” Clay snapped.
The attorney, a clean shaven kid had the appearance of a rodent in a suit. He was small, demure looking with a face that scrunched up like the whiskered nose of a startled mouse. He yanked his papers off the rattled table into his briefcase and headed toward the door. Out of range of Clay’s fists he turned as if hiding behind a block of cheese, “You’ll be served…”
“So will you, muthafucker,” Clay snapped startling the other patrons. “Get the hell out of here.” Clay lunged in the weasels direction and the little suit shoved his tail between his legs and scampered out the door.
Clay ignored his half eaten Enchiladas Rancheros and stepped up to the bar. “Gold Margarita on the rocks,” Clay spat, “It’s one of those days. Make it a double.”
Mandy had features that would make any man smile and forget his woes. This was Clay’s first time in the Cantina and he had never set eyes on the redhead with Cherry Ice-cream skin and a light smattering of freckles. Her cheeks glowed with warmth naturally. She had soft green eyes that said everything would be all right.
She stumbled around the bar looking for the Triple Sec and Margarita mix. She poured the drink stiff and slipped in onto the thick lacquered bar on a Cantina napkin. “What happened?”
That was all Clay needed to unleash his wheel-barrel of woes, “My wife of 15 years left me today. No note, no face to face, just this fuckin’ weasel of an attorney. Plus, I had to take my Rottweiler to the vet this morning. He’s in bad shape, getting old. And my best friend had a motorcycle accident last night and I spent all night at the hospital.”
“Will he be all right?” Mandy said wiping down the thick wooden bar top.
“The dog or my brother?” Clay said perking up some.
“Gimme a report on both,” Mandy said, “I had to put my dog down recently.”
“Knucklehead the Rott will be all right with a pile of money,” Clay said. “My brother will also survive. He broke a couple of ribs, but his bike is a mess.”
“I’ll ask Bandit about a good lawyer,” Mandy said and giggled. “He’s been married five times. I suppose that means five attorneys he’s been through.”
“Thanks,” Clay said, “I feel like I’ve been through a ringer.”
“You’ll get your say,” Mandy said and patted Clay’s rough callused hand.
—-
Marko worked out side the Cantina with their upkeep man who kept the Cantina detailed. They roamed the grounds looking for paint that needed touching up, rot iron that required repairs or landscaping fixes. The shop was open where the tools were kept and the thoughtful Hispanic gentleman drew a can of paint and a brush from the shed and went about his careful touch-up operations.
Marko was inspecting the grounds in the sunlight when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He spun instinctively lifting his left arm slightly in an automatic defensive maneuver. Generally he was careful never to be caught off guard. He faced the woman who accompanied her drunk sister to the bar a couple of weeks prior.
“Did I startle you?” Marge said in a voice that was brisk, but compassionate. She wore a form fitting white t-shirt with tight black spandex pants that looked like her shapely legs had been painted flat black. She was over 5’6″ tall and her breasts stood directly out from her chest . They weren’t big but well shaped and held tightly to her form with a workout bra. She had a hint of sweat around the soft edge of hair on her forehead.
“Working out?” Marko said.
“Running,” Marge said, her light brown eyes boring into him. She was standing close, very near. She looked at him in a curious fashion, like they were in an ongoing relationship during the infatuation stage, and she was wondering why Marko didn’t snatch her into his arms.
Marko was inquisitive as hell. He didn’t know whether to run his big arm around her waist and pull her to him? All the body signals were telling him affirmative, but he didn’t even know this chick. Only met her once, and he didn’t fare well during that encounter.
“Need some lunch money, lovers?” Salty Mary spat on the recently swept and hosed asphalt startling the couple. She was the toothless bag lady who roamed the water front picking up cans and panhandling. The lovers’ moment was burst like a pin to an over-inflated balloon. Marko’s standard tough, agile demeanor was rocked with sexual tension and Mary recognized her intrusion. “I’m on my way,” she said turning to her rusting grocery cart stacked high with plastic trash bags packed with her collections.
“Yeah,” Mark said unable to grasp a more appropriate retort, then remembered the five spot he found in the parking lot, “Wait Mary,” He said digging deep in his work out pants, “Here,” he said his voice box still tied in knots.
Mary stepped forward and took the money gratefully, shoving it deeply in a small tattered leather hand bag. Usually she would try to kick off some meaningless conversation about cops picking on her, but when she looked in Marge’s eyes she recognized the passionate steam rising in the young slender girls torso. Sex was pulsating around her like radar beams from a war ship. Mary backed off, scratched her ruffled mane of gray hair, bowed slightly and stumbled away pushing the cart. Her feet were graced with two completely different shoes, her thin ankles wrapped in rags to keep her warm while she slept on concrete.
Marko looked at Mary like a symbol of how life can turn on you in the blink of an eye. One wrong drink, one terrible temptation to snort an unknown drug, one wrong wicked relationship that destroys a person forever. It made him shutter and avoid all three.
Marge looked at the woman as if in a Zen session. She was disturbing Marge’s Wa, her area of pleasure. Marge was less the philosophical scholar haunted by the history of others. She wanted the distraction to disappear like a disgruntled parent wants a yapping teenager to go outside. Marge knew what she desired and dismissed the vision of the down-and-out and turned back to Marko. The second she had his full attention she touched his arm and cemented her gaze to his. She was on a sexual mission.
——
Inside Mandy washed glasses from the bustling lunch service and broke one from time to time as she listened to Clay ramble about his wife. He was torn and the news was just beginning to set in. He was so deeply startled by the revelation that his sensors that edited his stories from one woman to another were turned off. He blithered unencumbered by his attraction to the redhead. He needed a pair of ears to listen. He downed the Gold Margarita and ordered another, then began to spill his guts again.
“I’ve been married 15 years and unhappy most of the time. I’ve had more affairs than I can count,” Clay began, and Mandy’s ears perked. “I had one girlfriend for over seven years. She recently dumped me. Didn’t even call, she just dropped me a note, and now this,” Clay’s head drooped closer to the polished bar top.
Mandy didn’t know what to say or do. Her concern for the man’s dour day had slipped into the trash can with the peanut shells, cigarette butts and busted beer bottles.
“I know,” Clay said lifting his face to rest his blue eyes on Mandys hardened features. “I’m not worth the powder to blow me to hell.”
“It’s the honesty thing,” Mandy said.
“I know,” Clay said and his face turned ashen as if suddenly he would light up his scooter and ride off a cliff.
“No,” Mandy said, “You don’t understand. I do. You rarely can be honest with a woman. It forces men to find other outlets for their natural drives.”
Clay looked at her astounded.
———-
“I’ve got some work to do,” Marko said turning, but sensing every millimeter of her lingering touch on his triceps.
“Mind if I hang with you?” Marge said following him into the shop that was used to house motorcycles when customers were too drunk to ride. It was the size of a three-car garage, but only one door was open. Marko strolled deep into the garage where his bike and the work bench was located. She was stride by stride with him. She seemed to be magically and magnetically attached.
When Marko reached the bench, he turned and she slide up next to him. He immediately felt her nipples pressed against his chest. He recognized that she was a sign of the times. Not a sign he rejected, but appalled. The sexually aggressive female. He didn’t turn her down so she pressed in closer until their lips met.
They hadn’t exchanged a dozen words, yet a novel in body language, touch, chemistry and pheromone dueling. They were two tingling beasts who found their match. Marko wasn’t one to play by chemistry. He had been in love once and was dumped. That was enough for him. He hit on chicks for limited sex and moved on. That was the extent of his involvement, but this hit him like a heroin packed needle. As he pressed her tight muscular torso against his equally toned body his bone marrow began to melt. It was a foreign reaction, but a damn pleasant one. He pulled her tighter to him and ran his hands over her smooth ass as his tongue searched her mouth for the meaning of life.
As she felt his erection grow against her toned stomach muscles, she noticed her soft shaved mound arch and reach for his member. Her back was against the bench and with her mouth a suction cup against his bearded face she worked her elastic pants down over her pliable thighs while kicking off her tennies. In a matter of seconds she was nude from the waist down and Marko’s hands slipped into an area of pleasure so overwhelming that man cannot describe the touch of a woman’s ass.
Marko grabbed the sheet that covered his chopper, quickly folding it and laid the soft cloth on the bench. With their mouths locked in the dance of tongues, he lifted her to the top of the bench and drop his sweats. She was so wet he slipped neatly into her as if they had been lovers for years.
Simultaneously they sighed, engulfed in a level of pleasure only new lovers understand. The break from lip contact allowed Marge to yank at the hem of her top and pull the tight white shirt and athletic bra over her head, tossing it down the stainless steel topped bench. For the first time he saw her jutting breasts as he thrust into her naked form on a Friday afternoon in broad daylight in the Cantina garage. For them, there was no clock, no riders pulling up outside the bar for a beer, no workman wandering dangerously close to the open garage door, no daylight, just them connected in a way that removed the rest of the earth from their sexual galaxy. It was just the two to them memorizing every sensation, touch, smell, feel and thrust. She came the first time in less than a minute. “Don’t stop, Marko,” She murmured almost unconscious, “please don’t stop.”
He didn’t want to as he looked at her wonderful form, her bouncing boobs and her euphoric facial features. He didn’t ever want to stop. He wanted it to never end…
—
Clay looked at Mandy dismayed. For the first time in his life, he was rapidly scrambling into a deep depression that was kicked in the ass several weeks ago when he received a ?Dear John? letter from his seven year old fling. The girl was tight, nice and married. She was in a crappy relationship, but other than sex, she had little to offer Clay. He had been married for 15 years to an attractive professional who unknowingly gave him all the financial freedom in the world to hunt the opposite sex while bouncing from one part time gig to another. His wife thought he was playing with his motorcycle, if he wasn’t working.
At first he didn’t think that loosing this girl would bother him, but it did. He was still screwing three other women, but something about the relationship haunted him. Although it wasn’t practical to save her from an abusive marriage, he wanted to be the one, just didn’t have the balls to take the chance.
His life started to slip into a 45-year-old garbage disposal after that with one bummer after another. Everyday his depression seemed to loom like a tsunami building in the Pacific with an earthquake tremor on the sandy bottom that kicked a swell in the ass and sent it rolling and building for devastation once it slammed into the coast. Then Mandy said that shit and suddenly he was standing in the eye of this terrible emotional storm, his world twisting around him, but he was momentarily detached. “What did you say?” he muttered nearly unable to speak.
“Look,” Mandy said. “It’s ridiculous, and I can only say that because I’m not in a relationship.” She paused and looked around as if she was a Nazi about to give a secret to the allied side. “Men are built to chase women. We spend all our lives trying to lure you, then cut you off, once you’re roped in. It’s bullshit to take away sex, then get mad if you look somewhere else. If we were honest, we’d admit it. You’re just caught in the midst of dealing with the outcome of what is natural but not politically correct. It’s cool, you’ll get over all the hurt and be on the prowl in a couple of months.”
Clay looked at her as if she was the Virgin Mary and had cured his life-long blindness. Suddenly he was sober, gave Mandy a twenty dollar tip, spun on light boots and headed for the door.
Mandy looked after him, giggled and continued to wipe the bar down.
—
Marge screamed as she climaxed for the fourth time. Marko couldn’t hang on for another second. His cock was squealing for release with each thrust. It was like a high-powered automatic pistol and he had just stumbled into the perfect holster. He didn’t know whether he would die or explode when he came. His toenails felt loose and rattled as he began to shutter.
She sensed him swell, his taut arm vibrate under her grasp. Her wet mound quivered and she raced toward another climax. They perceived in their lust that the garage was enduring the effects of an ongoing California quake. Marko had never known such a responsive girl and it was a thrilling experience. He was a man of knowing. He knew every aspect of his life like the calloused palm of his hand, except the Cantina clientele. That was the only unknown. He knew his motorcycle stem to stern, his abilities, his workouts, his stunt work and his writing efforts. This was different. He didn’t know anything as his body shuttered and he began to groan completely out of control. She screamed simultaneously as they climaxed together.
Marko was at a mental loss. He wasn’t sure if he had died and gone to heaven, whether he would be the same man when it was over, or if he would be a mere fraction of his former being. Sweat ran over his body freely dripping on the cold concrete of the garage.
As he slipped from her body he felt scared as if his life source would come completely unplugged, but it didn’t. He stood there in a daze and held onto the edge of the bench as she slipped off the bench, stumbled, her legs weak and pulled up her drawers. He glanced at her glistening ass once more as she squirmed into the elastic covering. She snatched the blouse from the far end of the bench and turned toward Marko for final effect as she lifted her arms above her head and revealed her jutting jiggling tits one final time. Then the sweat soaked fabric was pulled over her trembling nipples.
Marko still had his trousers around his ankles as she came near, patted his dripping member, kissed him and laid a card on the bench. “Call me,” she said and strolled out of the garage fussing with her damp hair.
Marko tried to speak, but his throat was dry as a popcorn fart. Nothing came. He watched that spandex engulfed ass sway back and forth as she disappeared out the door.
—–
Clay made his way to his stripped Softail, unlocked the rotor lock and bumped into a lovely form as he inadvertently stepped around the bike to straddle it while he pulled his gloves on. The girl was wet with sweat and smelled of musk. She was in a world of her own as they collided. She looked at Clay and their eyes met briefly. “Excuse me,” Clay said.
She tried to speak, but no words came as she grappled with the small handbag that came loose in the collision. She walked on, but dropped a card from her purse to the pavement. Clay picked it up gingerly.
Her name was Marge.
