The Story Of Missy

Ok, as I'd mentioned in a previous story (Jamie II), when I was younger I rode with a motorcycle club (MC). Not the bullshit crap you see now – accountants and businessmen on their designer Harleys who dress up as "bikers" on the weekends, put on do-rags and high-dollar leathers so they can parade around and pretend to be hard-asses. No, this was the real deal – An MC that you've heard of and, if you encountered them, you were probably afraid of them – or should have been. They were real bikers who lived the life 24-7, not pretending on weekends.

I was never a patched member. I got to know them sort of by accident. I lived in a very rural area at the end of a dead-end canyon. In this canyon was a house that I'd ridden by many times and often noticed bikes parked in the driveway and around the shop. So, being a naive country boy, one day, as I was riding by, I decided to stop and say howdy. Turned out that it was the home of the Club President (Prez). I didn't get what you'd call a warm welcome when some of the members walked up and asked what the fuck I wanted. I immediately realized who they were and just told them I lived up the canyon and just stopped by. That didn't seem to change their attitude much. I didn't feel like I was going to get my ass kicked but nobody was shaking my hand either.

I was just getting ready to make my exit when the Prez walked up. Surprisingly, he was a little friendlier than the others – but not much. He checked out my bike carefully, it was obviously a well built and sorted scoot and he could see that, asked me a few questions and suddenly his face brightened, a smile came across his face and he said "hey, you're that guy..." He recognized me as a local pro-racer on the professional flat track circuit – racing a factory built XR-750 Harley Davidson race bike. He looked me in the eye, stuck his hand out, told the others who I was and almost unbelievably, that changed everything.

Well, sort of. It wasn't like they were patting me on the back and buying me beers, but the tension was gone and I hung out with them for an hour or so that day. Two days later I was riding by the bar (can't mention the name, wish I could, because it had a cool name) that was the home bar for the club; saw a bunch of scoots parked out front, flipped a Uee, and walked inside. And that was really the beginning of my two year long association with the MC.

It's a long story and much of it I can't discuss. Even though I wasn't a regular member, I spent a fair amount of time with these guys and during that time I learned more about the operations of the club than I probably should have. It wasn't that I was trying to and the guys certainly weren't telling me things in confidence – I was just around and we'd become friends and I heard things and saw things – and I rode along with them a few times to conduct some business. So, to this day, I pretty much keep my mouth shut about it. Even though my wife knows about this period of my life, I've never told her the name of the club or any of the particulars. Probably not a big deal at this point, but still...

I hung out with these guys for almost two years. I went on runs with them and was welcome in the clubhouse. I talked about this a little more in Jaime II – but am having trouble cleaning it up enough so they'll let me publish it at Literotica. Mostly, it was just a good time but periodically bad shit happened and I don't need to be connected with that. I can tell you, there was a period when I very, very seriously considered joining. I knew I'd be a shoe-in and I knew my prospecting stint wouldn't be too brutal. But, it's as close to a life-long commitment as anything you can imagine. You don't just join up, then a few years later decide you don't wanna do it anymore. Leaving is a bad scene. And, fortunately, I made the right choice, but it was really close, and believe it or not, to this day there are still times when it pulls at me.

I went on runs (multiple day trips) with the club and when I wasn't on the road racing, I hung out with them on a fairly regular basis. Yeah, there was shit going on that I wasn't always that comfortable with but there was a ton of cool shit too! There's also a brotherhood that you cannot possibly understand unless you've been part of it. Not the same kind of thing as being in combat and depending on other men day and night – but no matter what went down, you always knew someone had your back – no matter what, they'd back you and sort out the details later. Think about it, how often can you say that in your daily life?

The runs were always a good party and you never knew what was going to go down. I couldn't help but feel sorry for some of the chicks. Guys riding hard-tails with a little bitch-pad for the chick to sit on – it had to be miserable. Fortunately, nobody can sit on a raked hard-tail for too long so there were frequent stops. It was a real power trip to pull in somewhere with a couple dozen guys, all wearing colors and looking like the hard-asses they were.

When we'd stop for the night, if a member was packing a chick and she was his Ol' Lady she'd just party with everyone else. But, if the chick was nobody's property, after spending the day hanging onto the back of that bike, sitting on a little pad that was barely bigger than a cell phone – sometimes she'd be claimed as (temporary) property by the guy she'd ridden with. But, more often, she'd find herself being passed around and used as a party favor by the other guys. Most of these chicks only did that once or twice – but there were a few that dug it! It wasn't like they got raped – nothing like that ever happened. But, before they would ever be invited on a run, they would have been hanging around the clubhouse (or the club's local bar) enough to know what they were getting themselves into – if they didn't know what going on a run would entail, they damn sure should have. And there always seemed to be chicks begging to go on a run.

I remember one time, this chick had been hanging around the home bar. She was kinda nasty looking, dressed slutty as hell, but you could tell she was "slumming" and trying to act like something she wasn't. A lot of chicks have these weird fantasies about being with "outlaw bikers" and I guess it turns them on to feel a little dangerous. Anyway, this chick wound up going on a two day run – just riding on the bitch-pad with one of the members. On the trip, she whooped it up and was having the time of her life – pretending she was part of something that she wasn't.

We stopped for the night, set up camp and went into town to party with another club, at their home bar. She'd been around our home bar enough, she'd been grouped and man-handled off and on. But she'd always had a way out when things got a little too real for her. Only this time we were on a run, a couple hundred miles from home, and the party was on.

Eventually she wound up out back with a couple guys – probably smoking a number, and when they got a little forward with her, she kinda freaked – it was all too much for her. It was one thing to hang around and pretend, then go home to her suburban apartment to fantasize. But being in a strange town, out behind a bar, with two hard-assed bikers wanting their cocks sucked was a little more than she bargained for. Eventually, they got her shirt open, got her on her knees and she blew both of them. When they came back in and word got around, a couple more guys were on her. I don't know what she expected, but I guess it wasn't that.

After the first two guys she started doing tequila shots and got pretty wasted. At one point a few guys had her back in the bathroom. Not sure what all went on there, but when they came out she looked like she'd been ridden pretty hard. After a while we all left the bar and went down to where we were camping (on one of the other club members property) and the party continued. Getting her that night got to be kind of a joke – seemed like most of the guys got something off of her. At one point she was pulling a train inside the chase van. I figured I should get my piece of her. But as I watched her in there, on her knees, taking it in both ends and boy did she look ragged and full of cum, fucking everywhere, I sort of lost interest.

Don't get me wrong, she wasn't fighting anybody off. She probably got fucked 20 times that night (could have been twice that, no way of knowing) and I have no idea how many loads of cum she took in her mouth – lots! By the time she got in the van she was pretty high on something. If it would have just been tequila she would have been puking drunk. But she was taking all cummers and they were sure giving it to her – laughing their asses off the whole time. She looked real rough on the ride home the next day and was sick. They wound up putting her on a bus and nobody ever saw her again. By the end of it all, I guess her little fantasy had become a little too real.

No matter what anybody tells you or how "liberated" our society has become, women are second-class status in an MC. They absolutely cannot become members, period. If a chick is somebody's Ol'Lady (wife, or permanent hyde) she hangs with the club and pretty much has protected status. Occasionally there are disputes over women, but it's discouraged and the higher up her Ol'Man is in the hierarchy of the club, the more protected she is. The rest of the women are essentially toys or property. I won't go into the whole thing, but when a chick comes on a run, or hangs around the club or home bar and isn't clearly tied to a member, they are essentially party favors. Some clubs, like the one I was with, also keep Mamas – but that's a whole different story.

Anyway, about a year into my association with the MC, I was headed to a big pro- TT race (sort of like a flat track with a couple extra turns and a high-speed jump) and the club decided to come and cheer me on. Honestly, I wasn't that hot on the idea. I was a sponsored Pro and working hard to become a top ranked rider. My sponsors weren't going to be very receptive of the idea of a well-known club raising hell, on my behalf, in front of a bunch of fans. Sill, I couldn't tell them not to come – would have been a bad idea.

So, off we went. I won't mention the name of the town because some shit happened and I was never clear on how old these chicks were. But, it's the only Grand National quality dirt track in the NW and is still in operation (though no longer part of The Circuit). You could probably figure out where it is. Anyway, my mechanic and I took off in my van, which was loaded with two motorcycles, tools, and a sleeping area. We didn't have big transporters back then, even at the Grand National level – just a stretched Dodge Van.

I'd elected to follow the club up there and also carried some of their "party provisions". I thought that would be less obvious than if I drove off on my own, then met them there into town. And, honestly, the Prez and the Sargent at Arms leads the club and it would have been seen as disrespectful if I'd have gotten in front of them. At any rate, I don't know how they knew we were coming, but as we rolled into town we were met by a bunch of cops. They stopped everybody – the whole lot of us – while other cops directed citizens in cars around the whole mess.

There was a fairly long conversation, of which I wasn't a part. But, the upshot was: The cops were going to allow the whole group to stay in a local park. They'd cordon it off and everyone could stay there, free of charge and the cops wouldn't hassle us. In exchange we weren't allowed to go into the town and frequent the local bars. The cops didn't want any trouble and this was a "mandatory run", which meant every member and prospect was required to attend – there were a lot of hard-assed bikers. I don't know how many, I never counted them all, but it was a long string of bikes going down the road and citizens in cars would pull over when we rode up on them.

The Prez and the SAA protested, claiming they were just a club coming up to cheer on a friend. There was a lot of arguing, swearing, and threats but in the end, we were escorted down into the park. Cops were posted at the entrance. Citizens weren't allowed inside. Club members could come and go but, they had to stay out of the bars and if they went to the stores the groups were to be kept small. It wasn't a big town and 100 bikers rolling in at the same time would have scared everybody to death. So, that's what happened.

The park was nice. It wasn't set up for camping, but there were nice lawns and clean bathrooms, but no showers. There were bar-b-q's and fire pits and everyone settled in and started partying. My mechanic and I stopped for a short time, then drove up to the track to sign in and walk the track. We'd been there before but a dirt track changes – it's almost a living thing. You have to pick tires, decide how to cut them, select gears and look for little nuances that might give you an edge during the race. I was a serious pro on top-notch equipment with a very good mechanic. This race wasn't a "National" but it was a big regional pro-event. I expected to win. Of course, you always expect to win –if you don't, you're in the wrong business.

I signed in and went out for a few hot-laps. I wound up having to change most of my set-up. There'd been rain, then it dried out and the track was freshly graded and prepped and it was smooth and fast – so my set-up was all wrong. We got that sorted out, did all the usual pre-race stuff and finally went back to the park about an hour before dark. The party was in full swing. There were campfires, stuff was cooking on bar-b-ques (there was always a chase van or two – that carried supplies and some spares and room to haul a bike or two if someone's scoot died). Everyone was having a good time.

I was racing the next day and, of course, was not partying! My mechanic and I were sitting over on a pic-nic table talking to a guy I'll call Big-Mike – that's as close to his name as I can get. I wasn't patched, but over time, because of my friendship with the Prez and SAA, I knew some things that only MC members could know. I didn't know that much and was never allowed in Church – but even all these years later, I'm still very careful about what I say. I've never told anybody the name of the club – even my wife; she knows about what I did, but does not know the name of the MC – and I've only told very few people that I was ever associated with an MC – Though, honestly, if you were to look at me, you probably wouldn't be surprised.

Anyway, we were talking to Big Mike, who was a big, hard-assed lifer, but a pretty decent guy – I liked him a lot. He worked at a bike shop as a mechanic and rode a sano, tricked out scoot. There was another member hanging out too. We were just talking about nothing in particular. It was a nice summer evening and we were sort of off a little away from the main party. Then, from out of nowhere, three chicks came walking up.

They certainly weren't with us. One of them, a small, petite girl, was wearing shorts and kind of a halter-top looking thing. She was small, like 5'1" or maybe 5'2", probably 100lbs with damn little in the way of tits. She had mousey blonde hair that hung half way down her back. Her top wasn't what you'd call see-through. It was white cotton but the material was real thin and it clung tightly to her. She wasn't wearing a bra. Almost nothing was left to the imagination. She was almost flat, but there was something there and somehow she made it look damn hot. She looked pretty young, but I later confirmed that she was 18.

The other two were relatively small too, and they all just looked like normal high-school girls. They were trying to look tough and a little slutty and they probably were, considering where they lived. They were dressed in tight jeans and both had button or snap front shirts on – you know, the sleeveless kind and tied at their waists - just average looking girls out looking for a good time. But they were small town girls and had not experienced much in life yet. I guess you could say they were relatively innocent but wished they weren't. It's always seemed to me that country girls learn about sex sooner than city girls. I don't have much to base that on, since I've always lived in the country. But, in the country there aren't as many other "activities" to get involved in, so you learn how to entertain yourselves.

They were all cute and had obviously been drinking or partying. They'd just sort of appeared out of nowhere. Mike asked them "Where the hell did you guys come from?" He was a big, intimidating guy and I knew he was just giving them shit, but it scared them. I expected them to turn and run away, giggling, because they'd snuck in to see the "Bikers."

But they didn't run. One of the long-pants chicks said "we heard you were down here – hell, the whole town knows you're down here – and we decided to come down and party with you guys – so we snuck past the cops, it really wasn't that hard." They were obviously pretty proud of themselves and thought they were pretty hot stuff. I'm sure they were hot items to the local farm boys.

We all kinda laughed at them. Mike said "Well, I don't think you girls should be down here. How old are you anyway?"

They all looked at each other and the little chick said "we all just graduated, so were old enough and we like to have fun and party."

Mike said "Look, this isn't a good place for you. Why don't you just go back the way you came and find some local boys to party with."

But the girls were insistent and the little chick said "The guys around here are boring. All they want to do is hunt and fish and drive their damn tractors."

One of the other girls said something like "yeah, and take us to park and drink beer, and try to fuck us in the front of their pickups." The other girl said something like "Yeah, or take us catfishing on Saturday night, get us stoned and try to fuck us out there – BORING" I remember her saying that like she was some valley girl or something. Then she said "we want to have some fun – we're tired of this place and these boring guys in their pickups."

Like I said, Mike was a hard ass. He was a good guy, but he was crude and lewd and didn't take any shit from anybody, ever! Still, he was a decent guy too. He looked at these chicks and said "Look, I'm serious, you need to get the fuck outta here, right the fuck now, before something bad happens to you. Now go on, get the fuck outta here before some of the other guys see you – you have no fucking idea what you're getting yourselves into." Then he pretty much yelled at them "Now Get! – Go on, GO HOME!"

I expected them to turn tail and run, but they didn't. The little chick kinda glared at Mike and said something like "We came down here to have fun and YOU can't make us go if we want to stay." Another one said "yeah, we're old enough and it isn't like we haven't been around" – I don't remember exactly what they said, but they were being defiant (like fucking teenage girls usually are) and were ready for an adventure. I'm sure they had no idea what was in store for them, but they wanted to do what they wanted to do.

The good side of Mike, which wasn't nearly as big as the bad side of Mike, knew these chicks were in over their heads and he was actually trying to protect them. He got mad when the little chick defied him and said "Look Bitch! I'm not going to tell you again, get the fuck outta here. You stay down here and party with these guys and you're going to think that sitting in the truck while some local boys get you drunk and fuck you in back of some damn pickup is a day at church – now get the fuck outta here!" He stood up, threw his big arms at them like he was shooing away a stray dog and said "GO! "

He scared them a little and they were looking at each other, trying to decide what to do. But just then the SAA and another MC member came walking up. The SAA, I'll call him Mac looked at Mike and said "Where the fuck did these chicks come from?"