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.
