I was once again on the road. I loved cruising through the deserts of the Southwest U.S. on my sun-yellow Harley. The vibrations were just about to put me to sleep when I saw two things that got me excited: a sign saying 10 miles to the next town, Lordsburg; and a smoking car with four scantily clad young ladies surrounding it.
I had to stop. Regardless of how hungry I was, I had to stop and "render aid" to these girls.
All four were dressed in short cutoff jeans and light tops. No bras in sight.
As I parked the bike behind their car, the first three walked over to me. The short, sassy-looking blonde approached me and spoke first. "Damn nice bike, but it’s gonna have to hold four if you really want to be a hero. That P.O.S. is dead."
"Whaddaya mean dead?" I asked.
"I mean, the only way that car could hit forty is if we pushed it off a cliff." The tall brunette answered.
"Shut up." The short blonde said. "He wants to know what’s wrong with it, Dorothy. Sorry, she can be just a little bitchy when her cell phone is out of range from Bloomingdale’s. I think we’ve burnt out the motor. There’s no oil showing on the stick thing."
So I walked to the front of the car. No hurry. Just a slow saunter. I wanted to let the girls check out my small, Wrangle-covered, butt hanging out of my chaps. Now I know that I’m no Antonio Bandaras, but I won’t make milk curl with just a glance. I’m 6 feet tall and tip in at about 160 pounds, most of it in my upper body (yeah, that’s right: chicken legs).
Now up to this point, I’d seen three of the four. All of them I would show my friends and brag about or take to a high school reunion. But as I turned the corner and saw the fourth, I forgot about the first three. When she stood up, she was about five foot eleven and slim. She was wearing cutoffs like the others, but had on a white tank top that fit her like a second skin. She was covered in sweat and grease over her hands and arms. As the cooler breeze driven air swept over her, her nipples began to strain the fabric against them.
As she brushed back a loose lock, she saw me and spoke. "Too late. It’s dead." A soft yet strong contra-alto voice that could smooth a shot of cheap moonshine.
She showed me the dipstick: dry as British humor.
"Well, do you want me to take one of you to Lordsburg to get help for ya’ll?" I asked her.
"What, you’re not man enough to take all of us?" She was just daring me to start something I needed food to finish.
"Not on an empty stomach. Oh, you’re talking sex. I was talking on my Harley. Five ain’t what Milwaukee was thinking about when they designed the thing. But I could fake it. I’m up for trying if ya’ll are."
We locked up their stuff and mine in the car, then walked over to my bike. I straddled the bike in my normal seat then started orchestrating the mount-up. The tall one got on behind me first. Next was the two short ones sat in front of me facing backwards. They had their legs wrapped around me and girl in the middle. Finally, the tall brunette stood on the rear footpegs, and we were off.
I drove slowly so as not to kill us. I took about 40 minutes reach town. The sun had set and we were all tired and hungry. The chick behind me told me to pull into the first restaurant we saw. They were buying; so I was not gonna pass up a huge meal.
The girls had decided to put off doing anything about the car and just get a room. I had no problem with that, but I wasn’t gonna ride all night to get to Tucson like I had planned. I mentioned that to the leader (the tall blonde from the front of the car) while the others were gone to "freshen up" (why freshen up when you were about to check into a motel?).
She asked what I was gonna do in Tucson, and I told her I was just going to do some honky-tonkin’.
"What, you can’t do that here? It might be fun." That was all the encouragement I needed.
"Sure, I’ll just check in first with ya’ll so I won’t have to later."
With a wink she tells me not to. "You never know what might happen later."
Yikes. This was making me a believer in being a Good Samaritan.
When the rest came back, the blonde (her name was Jacq, pronounced Jake, short for Jacquelyn), told the rest the new plans for the night. They were going honky-tonkin.
We all needed to change clothes, so Jacq "volunteered" to go back to the car with me for some clothes for all.
As the others waited and cleaned up at the motel, Jacq and I went back to their car and picked up my stuff and two changes of clothes a piece for the girls and rode back to the motel.
Jacq went to the room she was sharing with Tabbi (the short blonde) and told me to knock on the other door and clean up there.
Dorothy answered the door wearing only a towel and almost dropped that when she saw it was me and not Jacq. I handed her the bag with her and Christy’s clothes in it, and told her Jacq said I could clean up in their bathroom.
I exited the bathroom dressed in Wranglers and a Harley tee shirt, looking as good as I was going to get.
The country bar the motel manager told us was hot, was just down the street, so we walked. That was fine, I was going with four beautiful girls, so I didn’t need the bike to try to pick up anyone.
They offered to buy my drinks, but I told them I didn’t drink anymore. That was cool with them so I asked if anyone wanted to dance. I started with Dorothy, then Christy. Neither of the brunettes could dance for shit, so I tried Tabbi.
Damn that girl could dance! We turned, spun, flipped, and generally turned that bar on its ear.
When we got off the floor after three songs, we were both drenched in sweat and she looked like she had just had a mind-blowing orgasm. Just that happy.
The next song was a waltz, and Jacq looked at me with desire in her eyes.
She was smooth, sure, and dead on with the beat. I started by her turning her into a side-by-side position. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers had nothing on us. It was almost like sex, but in public with our clothes on. She could do anything and make it look effortless.
After a couple of speechless dancs, we made it back to the table. Dorothy and Christy got bored and tired, so they went back to the room, while Tabbi now had her choice of any man in the place.
Jacq and I spent the next two hours dancing and talking. I knew her life’s story and she knew mine. We fit together perfectly on the dance floor, but what was going through both of our minds, was what was gonna happen later. When the band started to repeat songs, it was time to go back to the motel.
Tabbi wasn’t in the room, so we kinda met in the middle with a kiss. It was slow, smoldering, and sensual. We were locked together for what seems like an eternity. When we parted, Jacq backed up and started to unbutton her blouse. As she started to peel her jeans down over her hips, I finally stopped staring at the perfection in front of me.
I didn’t want to be the only one clothed with a woman this beautiful nekkid in the room.
As I started to pull up my shirt, Jacq said, "don’t, let me do that."
I was stunned. This girl wanted to make love to me, not a mutual thing. This kinda thing doesn’t happen to guys like me: Average, thin, and a working class kinda guy.
When she was down to just a classy pair of white lace panties, she turned her attentions towards me. She dropped to her knees and slowly pulled up my shirt as she kissed my stomach above my belt and then slowly worked her way north, running her fingers through the hair of my chest. While tenderly running her tongue around my nipples, she raised the shirt over my head.
