This is a
Literotica Winter Holidays Story Contest 2024
entry.
Lisa gripped the wheel tightly as the snow continued to fall. She regretted following the "scenic shortcut" instructions her cousin had given her to cut the mileage she'd have to drive going back to California. The mountain road had seemed fine, until the snow began to fall. And fall. And fall.
She should have turned around when it first started to fall, but she had been enchanted by the surrealism of the snowfall. Surreal at least for a native Southern Californian, seeing snowfall for the first time was akin to viewing multiple moons on a distant planet, or flying through the air like Supergirl. It was something she'd only seen in movies. It was thrilling.
At least, until the snowfall covered the roadway and began to fall ever harder by the second. She tried to stay in the middle of the space between the trees on either side of the road, since she had no idea of where the edge of the roadway was under the snow. When she reached what she thought might be the top of the mountain road, the snow was deep, and the road felt slippery to her.
Was it slippery or was it just her nerves. She thought that freshly fallen snow shouldn't be slippery, not like ice. But could there be ice under the snow? She was shivering, from both the cold and nerves. She wasn't dressed for this weather. She hadn't expected snow this early in the year. September was one of the nicer months back home, but here she was in a snowstorm, with just tennis shoes and a light jacket to protect her if she had to exit the car for any reason. Shit, she had a couple of sweaters, but they were in her suitcase in the trunk. She'd freeze before she could get them out.
She began to breathe a little easier when the snowfall grew lighter as the road crested the mountaintop. The surface of the road sparkled in the moonlight. The snow on the ground ahead wasn't as deep as it had become behind her. She had begun to feel like she was plowing through snow and the tires had felt like they were slipping.
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She'd fled to San Diego from Modesto eighteen months ago, hiding from her boyfriend and the Rolling Tide MC. Raoul had seemed like such a nice guy and it was kind of exciting that he rode a motorcycle. She'd never been on one and loved the feeling of the wind as she sat behind him, clutching his waist as they barreled down the 99 or took the 120 on the way to Tahoe. She didn't know that he was part of the MC until they'd become intimate after two months of dating.
He'd blindsided her, showing up for a date with his vest on, the back emblazoned with "Rolling Tide Motorcycle Club, Modesto, CA", over a sewn depiction of Hokusai's The Great Wave, but with motorcycles replacing the Japanese boats. He told her she was in for a special treat.
They cycled out to a barn outside Oakdale, where a couple dozen bikes were lined up outside, and a matching number of stereotypical bikers and some accompanying biker chicks. She hung back shyly, as Raoul dragged her into the barn and introduced her to his gang. Later she was to find out that they were mostly wannabes, clerks, insurance salesmen, and farmers that dreamed of being bikers. The core, though, were three hardcore druggies who had been thrown out of real clubs, and who were bilking their followers, selling them the biker experience they craved while collecting "dues" and selling drugs. Except for Raoul, they were all bearded, and as far as Lisa was concerned, over the top creepy.
But Raoul seemed happy and was proudly showing her off. He'd had her wear a halter top he'd bought her that exposed her midriff over her tight jeans and showed more cleavage than she was comfortable with. Cleavage that didn't go unnoticed by his excited clubmates.
Drinks were shoved into their hands as soon as they entered, and Raoul kept insisting that she drink. Refills were ever on hand, and later she realized that more than beer was in them. It hit her hard; she could hardly stand straight and begged Raoul to take her home.
That's when he said, "No, honey, you're here for initiation." She found out later that to be a full member, he had to have a bitch initiated. She gawked at him, trying to understand, "Initiation?" Luckily, she passed out from the drugs and booze.
Sore and bruised, she woke up naked the next day. She was lying under a thin blanket on a mattress that had been thrown into one of the barn stalls. Vague memories of bearded faces moving next to her cheek; hands grabbing her breasts. She wept when she realized how sore she was between her legs. She thought she couldn't cry anymore when she felt the stinging on her lower back. Reaching back, she felt a bandage, right when one of the biker chicks came into the stall. She saw her pawing the bandage and said, "You want to leave that on, babe. You don't want your tattoo to become infected."
"Tattoo?" She was struggling to comprehend.
"Yeah, you earned yours last night." She turned around and showed, just above her low riding pants, a tattoo of a wave, with "Rolling Tide MC" superimposed on it. She couldn't stop sobbing.
The other girl smiled at her humiliation, displaying teeth stained and destroyed by meth. "While the guys are out on a run, you should get cleaned up. As one of the Tide bitches, you have to be available to the members on these weekends." The chick winked at Lisa, "And they always give the new girls quite the workout.
"You'll find a bathroom at the back of the bar." She looked at the cum covered girl. "You really need a shower." She was laughing as she left.
Lisa skipped the shower. She wanted to be as far away as she could get before the rapists returned. Grabbing her clothes, she stumbled out of the barn and began walking down the highway, pulling her clothes on as she walked. When the patrol car stopped and questioned the sobbing woman, she begged them to take her home. But, frustrating the officers, she refused to file a report. She just wanted to be gone.
She had a friend she could count on in San Diego. What she couldn't fit into her Subaru, she left behind. By the following noon, she was already packed and crossing over the Grapevine.
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Lisa had been visiting her cousin Molly Handler and her family in South Dakota, where her mother was from. Molly was Aunt Deidre's daughter, and her aunt and cousin had come out to Lisa's mother's funeral two years ago and Lisa had felt it was her duty to return the favor when Deidre passed away.
Plus, she had been living in fear in San Diego and was tired of looking over her shoulder. She avoided contact with people; she didn't date. Her self-image had become the thing she felt like that morning in the barn, a dirty, cum-covered thing that had no value. She felt tainted, unloved and unlovable. She loved the freedom that a road trip provided. She loved the desert in Arizona and the beauty of Santa Fe in New Mexico, the Rockies in Colorado, and all the open vistas along the way.
But her duty, attending the funeral, she regretted as soon as she arrived. Molly and her family were wonderful, but they lived in a remote valley, without any hotels nearby and her cousin insisted she stay with them, although they were already hosting Molly's two sisters and their families. Lisa's addition involved displacing the teenage daughter from her room to a couch in the family room, a move that the daughter resented and who made her unhappiness evident in every look or movement around Lisa.
Plus, the three days that Lisa was there were spent in mourning. Molly was inconsolable, and only stopped weeping when her hostess duties demanded she interact with her sisters or her cousin. The TV and radio remained off all three days, and unlike her mother's funeral, which more resembled a family reunion, with laughter and fond memories of her mother's life, this occasion was as somber an event as Lisa had ever attended. No laughter and little conversation. By the end of day one, as Lisa settled into her usurped bed, she wanted nothing so much as to be back in her own bed in Fallbrook.
The one conversation she had was on the second day, when Molly's sisters, sitting quietly on the couch next to her, commented on the California plates on her car. "It's so strange that you were able to rent a car that also came from California," she said.
"Oh, no," Lisa responded. "That's my car. I drove out to be here."
Her cousins looked shocked. "You drove out alone?" they asked. "Weren't you afraid, a woman alone? Anything could have happened."
"It was an adventure for me. And the scenery! I've spent my entire life in Southern California, among pine trees and eucalyptus. The deciduous trees, the mountains, oh and the mesas and deserts in New Mexico and Arizona! I came up through Santa Fe and Denver, but I plan to return through Wyoming, Utah and Nevada. I really want to see it all." Lisa felt like she had broken out of a depressive shell, remembering the joyous trip she had made.
But when she looked up and saw the now silent Molly, with tears still running down her cheeks, staring at her, she felt guilty displaying her enthusiasm for traveling in the face of the family's determined sadness. Then she heard Molly's eldest sister comment to the third sister, "No honest God-fearing woman would be traveling alone like that, asking for it." She dropped her head and looked at her lap as she sat back against the couch, wishing again that she had never come. The rest of the day, the most she said was, "Please pass the potatoes," at dinner.
It was especially uncomfortable the night before the funeral, when the angry daughter walked into her room to retrieve some clothing and got a look at Lisa's tramp stamp. She immediately rushed to tell her religious parents what a biker slut her mom's cousin was. When she tried to explain, she could see disbelief and disappointment in her cousin's eyes. Molly's family encircled her in the parlor, kneeling and praying out loud for her soul. Molly held on to her cousin, telling her that Jesus loved her and would forgive her. To Lisa, she felt like she had, back in that barn. It brought back the pain and humiliation of the gang rape, and Lisa cried herself to sleep that night.
Although she wanted to flee, she stayed the next day for the funeral. After the burial at the family plot, Molly walked next to Lisa as they returned to the cars. "You are leaving today? You can't stay for a few more days? I've been so missing my mother that I feel like I've hardly gotten to talk with you."
Lisa sighed, thinking that they'd talked enough for her, but not wanting to insult her cousin, yet still determined to make good her escape as soon as possible. "No, Molly, I'm sorry. I'd like to have stayed longer, but I must get back to San Diego. I've used up my vacation already coming here."
Molly sniffed. "I understand. It's too bad." She reached out and grabbed Lisa's hand, holding it as they walked. "I really appreciated you coming. It's such a long way." She thought for a moment. "Are you planning on going to Sturgis?" her cousin asked, looking at her cousin through the corners of her eyes.
Lisa sighed. Even she knew that the Sturgis Rally was back in August. Raoul had talked a lot about the one before her "initiation". Obviously, her cousin still thought she was one of the motorcycle sinners.
"No, Molly. I'm not into that crap. I told you, I was drugged, raped and tattooed. I didn't want any of it." Lisa's voice broke, although she tried to keep calm and hold back the tears. Her sanctimonious cousin was convinced she was some kind of biker whore.
Molly nodded, but didn't respond for a moment. Then she asked, "Did I hear you say that you're going back through Wyoming?"
