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“He didn’t tough me. The only reason you are here Richard, is because Bambi has you under her claws. She has made a false accusation. In fact, she has made many and Richard has brushed them all under the carpet. Or should I say, up Bambi’s skirt?” She states, then steps behind the Agent Dexter’s partner.
“Well, well, well. Agent Dexter, we meet again. Justice steps forward. “Here is how it’s going to work. You will take my client, Max Sutcliffe, to the station, and I will have him out faster than Bambi can say, “Fuck me harder, daddy.” Then I will turn around and have you charged with assault and battery, tack on the false arrest and the racist comments you like to throw around. Commando here will be walking past you eating your donut.” Justice steps forward.
“That’s rich coming from you lot. You literally gave him the road name Commando.” Agent Dexter states, a smirk playing on his lip.
My brothers burst out laughing, me along with them. The reason behind my road name has nothing to do with my ethnicity and everything to do with the fact I hate wearing underwear. The offending piece of fabrics restricts the boys and makes me feel like my cock is strangled.
“Brother, please inform the Agents and everyone, why your road name is Commando.” Viking states, shaking his head as he chuckles. His chest rising and falling with his laughter.
“My road name is Commando, simply because I fucking hate wearing underwear. The brothers caught me with my pants down when I first got here and the name stuck.” I state, shrugging my shoulders.
“And why don’t you wear underwear, Commando?” Cappy asks, a snort slipping past his lips.
“The fuckers strangle my boys.” I state, looking around the room at all my brothers and their old ladies. This is my family, the only one that I know and they have my back. This right here is loyalty.
The ringing of my cell in my helmet brings me out of the memory. Hitting the Bluetooth button on my gear shift, I answer. “Yo.”
“Commando, how you doing, brother?” Prince asks, movement in the background indicating that he is walking through the building.
“I’m about to turn off and gas up. I should be crossing into Canada within the next hour. From there, it’s only about a two-hour trip to the place I will be staying. I’m lucky my Kookum (Grandmother)’s cabin is so close or it would have been a longer drive.” I say, putting my arm out and down with two fingers out as another biker rides by.
“Alright, brother. Text when you get settled. We will hopefully have some news for you. Keep the shiny side up Commando.” Prince states, before he hangs up the phone and I signal to pull into the rest area.
Guiding my bike to the pump before shutting it down and removing my helmet. Before I take in my surroundings. There are a group of travelers hanging out around cars to the left, a few transport trucks to the right. By the looks, they have pulled off for their rest time, although one looks like something a little more is going on. The way the cabin shakes back and forth, you can guarantee the trucker is fucking.
Getting off my girl, a blacked-out Indian Springfield Dark Horse. Reaching down my leg and grabbing my chain that’s attached to my wallet, following it to my back pocket and grabbing my wallet. As I step up to the pump and insert my card, a truck pulls in across from me and shuts down. A tiny female jumps out and steps to the pump.
I watch as the window rolls down and a dude yells, “babe, can you get me zesty Doritos and a bottle of pop?” She nods her head and starts to pump the gas. I turn and shake my head. When did some guys stop pumping gas for their women?
“I can hear you thinking from here. If you pull some macho, the man is supposed to pump the gas bullshit. Then you can go ahead and suck my left tit. My daddy raised me to be independent. I don’t need a man to pump my gas or change my oil.” The woman states, placing her hand on her slender hips.
“Lady, whatever floats your boat. A woman can be totally independent, but if your man is in the car with you, he still needs to get off his ass and pump the gas. That is, unless it's you with the dick in your pants. But hey, that’s my opinion. You have a great evening.” I state, pulling the nozzle out of my tank and placing it back on the hook. I screw the cap back and straddle my bike, starting it up and moving it to the front of the store.. I need food, but I’m not leaving my girl here.
Chapter Four
Mae
“Welcome to Club Curve, where your fantasies become reality. My name is Charlee. How may I help you today?” The girl on the other end answers. My nerves kick up and I feel vomit rise in my throat.
“My name is Mae Ironside, and I am calling about the exotic dancer position. Is it still available?” I ask, slowly taking in a deep breath.
“The exotic dancer’s position is a position for a certain body type. We are looking for a curvier woman. We currently have two spots available. You can forward a full body image in bra and panties, and your resume to our e-mail address, or come down in person tonight at four o’clock and audition.” She says, typing on the computer and snapping her gum.
“I’ll see you at four tonight. Thank you, Charlee.” I state, looking into my closet as I hang up the phone. I had every desire to try to get on full time again at my day job. But with the way the company was going, it looked like I would need a complete change of pace. Club Curve has an amazing reputation. They keep their clientele happy by catering to the desires the client’s request.
Opening the door to my closet wider, I look inside. To the right is dresses from the few weddings I have been to. The middle has my jeans followed by my little black dresses, then a section of costumes from Halloween’s past. I look to the shoe rack and smile before I turn to the dresser and open the top drawer. Reaching inside, I pull out the leather corset and matching leather panties. Then place them on my bed before returning to the closet and pulling out the leather pencil skirt and placing it on my bed.
I look at the clock and notice I have two hours to get cleaned up and my ass over to club curve. My first job is to shower and shave all the bits and places that should look like a hairless cat. Walking into my bathroom and starting the water for the shower. Turning, I grab a towel, my razor and hair conditioner, then turn my waterproof speaker on to the local radio station. I pop the tab to push the water from the faucet to the shower head and throw in a coconut and island orchid shower puck into the bottom of the shower and step in.
“Up next on 99.8 The Hop, Miley Cyrus’ newest hit Flowers. Ladies this is your new empowerment anthem.”The announcer on the radio states, as the opening chords of her song begin to play. Grabbing my bottle of shampoo, I begin to sing along with Miley as she shows the world that she doesn’t need anyone to do things for. This song is giving me the strength I need. It’s making me want to go all out. Makeup, hair and body glitter. I want it all. I spend the time in the shower making sure that everything is clean, and just as the water begins to turn cold, I turn off the water, and step onto the bathmat, before grabbing the towel from the rack and wrapping it around my body. My hair shirt is out in my bedroom.
Singing to myself, I go to my kitchen and grab my coffee cup and place it under my single serve coffee maker, pressing the button and walking to my room. I need to get my hair wrapped, so it begins to dry.
At three thirty, I grab my purse and leave my house, heading toward my car. I drive a Volkswagen Golf GTI Performance. I was able to buy the car outright from the bonus I got for landing a big client when I was full time. After that, things began to crumble. They sold the company to a hedge fund and that hedge fund began to dismantle the very being of what the original owners had built.
Pulling into the parking lot, I notice a few things. There are three areas. Two are entrance by badge only and the one I pull into is labeled guest. I park and shut off my car. “Mae, you’ve got this. This will help to pay for the expenses coming over the next few months.” I say, talking to my steering wheel. Looking at my clock, I grab my purse and slide out of the car.
Standing tall and walking toward the entrance, and then like a scene in the movies, I raise my hand over my shoulder and lock my car.
