Page 38 of Baby Girl

“Oh lord. I thought leaving the cum covered pants at the Buckle was bad,” I said, laughing.

As he chuckled, he said, “We’ll throw them in the trash, I am not putting them back in the drawers.”

He handed me a towel, and turned and ran water over one in the sink. “It’s warm, I let the water get hot,” he said as he handed me another.

As we both wiped ourselves off, I wondered how long we had been in the house. It had been some time. With Erik, sexually, I had no concept of time. None whatsoever. I finished wiping myself off, slid to the edge of the countertop, and jumped down. I removed my shoes, and got dressed. As I was putting my shoes back on, Erik spoke.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Let me finish tying my shoes.”

“No, now. Turn around, and stand up,” he said again.

I stood, one shoe tied, and one not. As I was turning around, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the lips. His mouth encompassed mine, and he licked my upper lip. Our lips parted, and he quickly kissed me again. Then, a quick peck on the lips.

“Tie your shoe,” he said, pointing at my shoe.

I stood there amazed. Amazed that I had met this man. Amazed that he was everything in a man that I wanted. Amazed that he would even want me. And amazed that I could please him.

I bent over and tied my other shoe.

“Who owns you, baby girl,” he asked.

“You do, sir,” I responded proudly.

“You amaze me,” he said.

“What?” I said.

I knew what he said. I think I knew what he said. I wanted to hear it again. I stood up and turned around to face him.

“I said you amaze me, Kelli. You certainly do,” he said, smiling.

Yep. That’s what he said. You amaze me, Kelli.

Fuck yes.

ERIK. “No, I met you just before high school. Damn near twenty-five years ago. We started riding together right after your mother passed. What’s that been, five?” Crash said.

“Yeah, five or so,” I responded, nodding.

“Well, you haven’t been in a real relationship for as long as I have known you,” he said as he took a drink of his beer.

“All you’ve done is fuck bitches,” he stuck his finger in his mug of beer.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, wondering why he had stuck his entire finger into his beer. As he pulled his finger out of his mouth, he responded.

“This is the coldest fucking beer I have ever had. God damn, its freezing. And this mug; this is a nice fucking mug. I’m going to drink this mother fucker, hide the mug, and order another. Then I’m gonna walk out of here with these two mugs and put ‘em in my bags. You gotta have a matching pair, or it looks like you stole a mug,” Crash said, holding the mug up, admiring it.

“Dude, it’s a fucking glass beer mug, it doesn’t even have the name of this fucking place on it,” I said, shaking my head.

“That’s what’s cool, Doc. It’ll look like I bought em.”

Teddy and I met when I was young. We immediately became friends. He was fun to be around, and one of those people that always made you laugh. I never spent any time around Teddy that the majority of it wasn’t laughing. When we were in a large group, he was always the center of attention, and for good reason. He had an ability to tell a story like nobody else could. He always commanded the attention of the group for at least one of his tales. The group would always listen eagerly, knowing at some point they would laugh out loud.

I found, since my completion of college – and my riding with the motorcycle club, that I altered my speech patterns and my demeanor based on who I was with. When I was around other members of the club, I would talk just like they talked, all in an effort to make them comfortable with me. There was nothing worse than being around someone that made you feel uneasy or tried to talk above your ability to comprehend. I purposely, in the company of any group of people, tried to talk like they did, and never above them or below them.

About ten years ago, Teddy’s bike was parked in a line of bikes at a local bar. When the night of drinking ended, he attempted to get on his bike and start it. When he did, he knocked it over. The limited parking space at the bar required that all of the bikes be parked side-by-side, and in front of the bar. His bike fell into the bike beside it, knocking it over, and in turn, knocking the next bike over. This continued as a chain reaction, until all of the bikes to the left of Teddy’s bike were knocked over. About fifteen of them, all in all. Initially, he tried to claim that he came out of the bar to find the bikes toppled over, but after a few minutes, he admitted that he had caused the pile-up. His club name immediately changed from Bear to Crash. Bear was fitting, as Teddy stood six foot three and weighed 260 pounds. He was not, in any respect, fat. He had short curly brown hair, and a full beard. Although he kept his beard neatly trimmed, it made him look bigger and meaner than he looked already. The stereotypical biker tattoos littered both arms from shoulder to wrist.