As we taxied the twin-engine plane I saw the waves of heat rising off the tarmac and could tell this trip into the AZ desert was going to be a hot one. The pilot planned to escape over the border, and I didn’t care. I was on a mission. The high commander at Bikernet gave me strict instructions: Saxon bikes and babes, nothing less than the best of both. The heat penetrated through the soles of my boots and the air hit my face like a blast furnace as I stepped out of baggage claim. It was a dry as a popcorn fart.
The only sizzling hot advantage revolved around persuading babes to take their clothes off. A hired goon showed up, tires squealing to a halt across the hot asphalt. “Get in, we’re burning daylight goddamnit!” He yelled as the door flew open. I hopped in the convertible and knew the ride would be blistering to Saxon Motorcycles secret testing facility deep in the desert, hidden by Sonora cactus, rusty, bullet-riddled car bodies and cattle skeletons. I took the opportunity to get some rest before, what I knew, was going to be an exhilarating day. What’s better than Saxon chopper, glistening in the sun while wrapped with soft flesh, bright eyes and voluptuous curves? Not a goddamn thing. Oh, maybe a couple of iced Coronas might help.
The hot air rushing by my face had a soothing effect and I woke up in a desert junkyard, cars lined up and girls ready to do their best to get us going. At first I just observed. The hired gun handled the photos and his lovely wife took care of wardrobe and makeup, but I knew that direction was important, yes that’s what I am, director of this goddamn photoshoot!
The talent was ready to go and the photographer was ready to shoot. I jumped out and shook everyone’s hand as the convertible disappeared in the distance. “Two guys and two girls. The odds are pretty good here huh?” said my slobbering married photographer. It was obvious he had taken to the local tequila nicely, or his wife was also into the action. “I hope you aren’t referring to us. We are together if you get what I mean?” said the blondes.
The kink level was high under the blazing sun. “Maybe they will get into it and we can watch,” whispered the photographer. Throughout the sizzling afternoon we moved bikes, blocked sun, let our imaginations run wild and tried to get glimpses of the girls as they changed. The photo shoot highlighted the new Saxon Motorcycle line-up as well as the girls’ curves. As the sun began dipping in the west, the photographer started shooting rapid-fire, like he was under attack with only his camera to defend himself. Like all the shooting he handled for the last eight hours was just practice for the last skin-melting half hour of the day.
The insane photographer barked. “I want the flame-job with this light. You, blondie, jump on that bike and make it look sexy!” Creativity and Tequila turned him into a raving lunatic. I steered the remaining sunlight, moved bikes and worked with the girls. I was thirsty, horney and frustrated. I couldn’t wait to get back to Phoenix, enjoy the AC and relax with a drink.
The sun was almost down and the girls complained of cold —a miracle in Arizona. As if by magic a limo arrived. About time these bastards started to appreciate my talents, I thought to myself. A limo ride back to town with a couple of beautiful models was just what I needed. As I walked towards the limo I noticed the goon approaching in the convertible. The limo driver snapped open the door, the girls grabbed their gear and jumped in, like they were born into royalty. The photographer swung his camera bag of his shoulder and jumped in the front seat of limo while his wife crawled in the back with the models. I stood in the desert truck graveyard alone, as the limo kicked up dust and peeled away.
Suddenly the black beast of a convertible emerged through the dust and I noticed we had company. It slid to a halt in front of me, door swinging open. I was relegated to the back because the cooler full of iced beverages filled the front seat. Surprise, I had to sit between another blonde and a wicked brunette, both of whom were dressed for the weather. The blonde grabbed me a beverage as the brunette started to fondle my shoulders. The goon looked back with a devilish smile and said, “Where to boss?”
To which I replied, “Just drive goddamnit!”
