Hot Sand Daytona

Daytona. What a cool, magical sounding name for a place. Maybe I feel that way because when I was a little girl I used to sit on my father's lap watching the Daytona 500 on TV with him, and every once in a while they'd even show the motorcycles racing there.

My father rode motorcycles. He had quite a few over the years, his favorite being a Kawasaki KZ900. Dark green, with pinstripes on the gas tank, a chrome front fender, and lots of polish on the in-line four. When I was old enough he used to ride me on the back of it — my early memories of those rides are of blistering speed and thrilling noise and wind. It was only natural that I'd start riding when I grew up, and now, at twenty-three years old, I'm what the nice man at my corner store calls a biker chick. "There's my favorite biker chick," he'll say when I walk in. "Whooo! That new leather? That fits you

nice!

"

He's got the hots for me, and it's cute, but I'm only sorta into guys. I guess I'd do him, in the right circumstances, maybe if the cute girl that works for him asked the two of us for a threeway. Ha! That'd be something, right? I wouldn't be lying if I said I'd rather get with her, one on one, without the dude there. The bummer part is she's only like sixteen or something. It's a crying shame, I'll tell you, how cute some girls get before they're even legal. Whoever made up the rules must have been blind.

My dad's gone now, dead from a stupid disease. If he was here I would have rode with him down to Daytona for my first Bike Week, instead of going on my own. I wonder what he'd think about the way hot girls make my mouth water. If he was with me, walking on the beach with his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, would him and me be checking out the same girls? My Mom's definitely his type — thin and long-legged, like me. I like long legged girls too, so I guess that old saying is true about apples falling from trees and not being far away, or whatever it is. Dad used to love squeezing Mom's ass, and it was always easy for me to understand why. Her ass was killer and it still is, and I guess mine is, too. It's that apples and trees thing again.

So I rode to Daytona in March, out of winter and into summer, and shit, girl, there's a lot of wet t-shirt contests down there during Bike Week! It's like a lesbian's dream, in a way, except for all the buckets of testosterone everywhere you look. But if you're cool with dudes, too, like I sorta am, oh yeah, girl, it's fun. Even out on the street you can yell "Show us your tits!" and you might get a peek at some. I showed mine more than once, right out there on the sidewalk.

So what would my Dad think about it all, in my fantasy dream where he's still alive and he's with me down there? When I was fifteen I caught him watching a wet t-shirt contest on his old computer, so yeah, he liked tits just as much as he liked nice asses, and I like to think he'd be proud of me for putting myself out there; a horse in the race, you might say. A wet filly shaking her booty.

But wait, I just gave away some of the story. I gotta tell you how it started...

So I ride into Daytona and hit a bar that first night. The Nighthawks are playing and the place is fuckin' rocking. I'm drinking and guys are hitting on me—the usual—and then I see this big bulletin board by the door plastered with stuff to do — other bands, pig roasts, shit like that. Tacked up with a thumbtack is a piece of paper written on with a Sharpie, telling about a get-together of female bikers at somebody's house down in Port Orange, just a few miles away. An evening thing with food and beer. "Pay what you want," the paper said. They even had a girl band scheduled to play, a blues trio kind of thing. So yeah, I say. Fuck yeah!

The next day I hit the beach and then I rode south out of town, to Port Orange for the girl party. I gotta say, it was pretty awesome. I met some girls there that I think I'll be friends with for the long haul.

So after we were all lubed up on keg beer I asked them why no wet t-shirt contest, and I got a lot of laughs. Some of them were sorta nervous laughs because most girls can sorta tell that I'm into that side of things. The girl side. It's not that I'm butch or anything, I'm not really at all, it's just that I think maybe they can sorta see it in my eyes. Maybe I look at them the way a horny guy does, especially after a few beers. But anyway, some of them said they'd done the wet t-shirt thing, either because their guy wanted them to, or because they thought Prince Charming might be there, saying, "Yeah, those are the tits I want." It was a pretty funny conversation, actually, so I'm glad I brought the topic up.

One thing about me is I can get sorta glued to an idea. For whatever reason, that week in March I got glued to the idea of a guy pouring cold water over me and then me ripping my shirt off in front of a big crowd. Don't ask me why. It's crazy and my Mom would shit her pants if she knew, but doing it became my goal for my first Bike Week. I wanted to be a wet t-shirt girl. And one of the fun parts is that I talked some of my new friends into doing it with me.

One of them, Katty, is a bartender from up in Pennsylvania. It was her first time at Bike Week, too. She said her wet titties won first prize at a biker thing in Scranton, and I believe her, because she's got sweet looking tits and Scranton is, well, Scranton. So yeah, definitely the right girl in the right place for

that

prize money.

Speaking of prize money, there's a bunch of it up for grabs during Bike Week. We heard there was more somewhere, but we picked a place with a $500 top prize, because we liked the place more than the money. Some of the girls had been there in previous years, and they said it got raunchier than some of the other places. Of course I voted for that one, and wouldn't you know, some of the other girls did too, although it might've been all the beer we were drinking that did it.

I guess I should have asked about what they meant by "raunchy." I pictured not just showing our tits, but maybe playing with them, putting our hands on them, waggling them back and forth and stuff like that. Kinda like stripper stuff, from the waist up. I pictured water flinging off of them when we waggled them, and even now the thought of that kind of thing gives me a lady boner.

So anyway, the girls said I should go buy a little white tanktop made of thin cotton, and they said I should cut the neck with scissors to open up the cleavage and make it rip-able. And they said panties were good, especially thin ones that get clingy in the front when they're wet. And I'm thinking, panties? Really? I don't know why I was picturing shorts, or maybe a bikini bottom.

So I've already got a pair of super sexy panties with me, a thong that's halfway see-through, that I save for special nights. It's so frickin' tiny I can carry it on bike trips real easy. And I'm thinking wow, should I wear

that?

Am I really gonna be on stage wearing nothing but

that

almost invisible little thing? And then the idea of it sticks, all gluey in my head, and suddenly I wanna be a stripper girl. I know, Mom shittin' her pants and all that, but damn, being that almost naked, and wet, up there on stage with Katty who I was getting a crush on, it somehow seemed perfect.

So the next day, after hitting up the local Walmart for the cheapest, flimsiest tanktop they sell, I stuffed it in my jacket pocket and I rode with some of the girls to St. Augustine where we pigged out on seafood tacos at a super sweet restaurant out by the beach. All four of us that were gonna be in the tittie contest were on the ride, and five of the girls who wanted to keep their clothes on came with us. I'm not blaming them for not doing the contest — some of them got kids and stuff. I probably would have freaked if my mom had done a wet t-shirt contest, but who knows, maybe she did? She

definitely

had the body for it. She and dad would have rode away with the money every time.

So we get to the bar early, and the guys there were really nice. The band was setting up and they were super nice, too. There was a special stage set up for us girls, so it could get wet, I guess, and a girl who tends bar showed us a backroom where all us contestants would be changing our clothes. We hung out at the bar and drank, and more and more girls showed up that were going to join in, some young, supposedly 21 but I'm guessing fake ID, and some diehard old biker chicks, one or two of them like in their fifties or something. I hope I'm rockin' it like they are when I'm that age, and I totally hope my tits look as good as one of those old girls.

Damn

I kept thinking. She's got a

shot!

The band was rockin' it up with old Zeppelin and Hendrix, and I was getting cozy with Katty, shoulder to shoulder with her at the bar. She rode to Daytona solo, like I did, freezing her ass off and pissed the whole way because her boyfriend is fucking around with some older girl. Like

way

older. Like his

mother's

age. So we downed beers and she kept saying she wanted to hook up with a guy and go a little crazy, but so far no luck. I kept dropping little hints about who needs guys when we're having so much fun on our own, and she really started to get the idea I think. She asked me about my love life, and I skipped the part about me sorta liking guys okay and went right to stories about my past girlfriends. I could tell from her eyes that she found it all sort of fascinating. I finally asked her straight out, "You've never been with a girl?" She said no, and I said, "You don't know what you're missing." It was one of those super hot moments when I just wanted to kiss her and I'm pretty sure she would have liked it.

"So what do you think the girls meant when they said this contest gets raunchy?" I asked her, talking loud because the band was kicking ass. "Like, stripper stuff?"

Katty shrugged and nodded. "Probably," she said.

"You ever been to a strip club?" I asked.

She nodded. "With my boyfriend."

"Did you ever see two together? Strippers?" I asked.

"They do that?" she said.

"Yeah. It's all good," I said. "Think that's what 'raunchy' is?"

She thought for a little bit, biting her bottom lip real cute, with her eyes all sparkly, and then she said, "Wanna get raunchy with me? We could split the money if one of us wins."

"I like it," I said, smiling at her. "Any rules, or are you an anything goes kind of girl?"

"Let's go for it," she said, and then she got all blushy and turned away from me and ordered two more beers.

Our other two friends were ready to go, too, with some good beer in their bellies and nice smiles on their faces. Some of the other girls from our group showed up to cheer us on, some of them with their guys with them. It made me wonder if they knew what was gonna happen, but, yeah, I'm pretty sure they did.

One of the guys in charge started herding us girls toward the backroom. After the guy left us alone, one of the girls said something about wondering if they had security cameras spying on us back there, but did it really matter? Maybe for the shyer ones it did, but really, we were about to go all stripper on the stage, so a little peeky peeky from a grainy back and white camera didn't bother me much. Most of us were already dressed under our clothes, anyway. Bikini tops were just as popular as various kinds of little shirts. Maybe I shouldn't say 'little' shirts because there were some big girls in the mix.

Maybe it wasn't cool, but I started to think about who was the toughest competition for Katty and me. There were five of us who I probably would have voted for, just based on seeing us all getting ready. I pictured it coming down to who had the sexiest moves, and filed that thought away in the back of my head.

The guy knocked on the door and said, "You ladies ready?" The band was taking their break and I could hear the announcer, and then we were walking all in a line, down the hall and up onto the stage. I thought maybe there'd be bright lights on us making it sorta hard to see the audience, but no, we could see everybody clear as day, all of them whooping it up like a bunch of rowdies. That's when I realized that wearing nothing but my tiny little see-through thong on the bottom of me was kinda crazy and bold. I mean, I knew it in the back room with the other girls, but wow, up on stage like that, with my nips all hard under my flimsy little tank top, it was a new kind of thrill.

Me and Katty were standing next to each other, with our two new friends next to her. I guess there was about a dozen of us girls total, all next to each other in a row, like a rag-tag biker-looking version of the Rockettes. One of the older girls had bluejeans on her legs, though, so that sorta spoiled that illusion.

Some cranked heavy metal music started playing through the big speakers and the next thing you know we were all doing our stripper-dancer moves. Four guys started pouring water down our fronts. It wasn't as cold as ice but it was pretty cold.

Katty looked amazing, with her long legs and her hot body. Slender and perky, she had better posture than any of the other girls, so I fixed mine, arching my back to show off the goods. She was rockin' a tank top and a thong, same as me, but hers weren't as see-through as mine.

The really thrilling part for me was hearing the wild whoops and cheers whenever I did something extra sexy, like bending over to give them a good look at my naked ass cheeks once in a while, twerking it and wiggling it from side to side. Like I said, I got lucky and got my Mom's sweet ass.

There was so much water I couldn't believe it. I think the guys just wanted to stay close to us, so they kept pouring those full beer pitchers of water over us.

I wasn't the first one to rip open her shirt and show her tits, but I was second I think, and the cheers I got gave me a good feeling about how things were going. Even better was the feeling I got when I saw Katty looking at me. She got all shy and blushy when I caught her looking at my tits, so I danced over to her and gave her a stripper wiggle, with my wet titties right up against her. It raised a big cheer from the crowd, and I said to her, "Show me yours."

"You do it," she said, standing there with that nice tits-out posture, with a sorta overwhelmed look on her face.

So yeah, I ripped her shirt open, and I danced my face right down there between her sweet tits. A guy poured water on us, totally wetting my hair, saying, "Let's try and keep it PG, girls."

Yeah, like

that

was gonna happen. I knew raunchy was cool in that place, it was told to me, so I just smiled, gave Katty a little wink, and danced on.

There was voting based on whoops and cheers, and pretty soon there was five of us left for the final round. That old girl in her fifties with those crazy awesome Playboy-sized tits was one of them, and me and Katty made it, and another girl who was totally sexy, and a girl with a leather cowboy hat and little leather short shorts that were unzipped. We were all bare-titted by that point. I felt like I was in one of my gay-girl dreams. I wonder what they all would have thought if they knew how turned on I was by all of them. A nice wet orgy in the backroom would have been fun.

And then the music got louder. At least I think it did. I'm not sure because my mind sorta went one-track. The cowboy-hat girl had taken off her leather shorts and she was full naked, so I took off my little thong and tossed it, and I became a total exhibitionist slut. If you wanna know the truth, I fuckin' loved it. I've never danced much to heavy metal, but it was crazy fun. I was down on all fours with my ass and pussy aimed right at the big crowd, fake fucking like a stripper while a guy poured water right down the crack of my ass, the force of it tickling my little asshole like crazy. I swear to God, it just about gave me an orgasm. I got tingly and shaky and, yup, that's what it was, a nice little orgasm.

Katty was my next target, with my one-track mind focusing out everything but her. I danced up against her and coaxed her out of her thong. Once she was naked she got a fun look in her eyes, and then we danced for everybody, the two of us sort of like a team. The crowd was going nuts. The way Katty was turned on was right there in her eyes. Her nips showed it too, of course, super hard and sexy, the way mine were. The music was crazy wild, screaming guitars and throbbing, pounding drums. I lost track of everything but Katty, got her back against the wall at the back of the stage, scissored our legs together, kissed her real deep and fucked her, right there against the wall.

I have no idea how much time went by. Five seconds? Ten seconds? More? Fucking a girl all naked in a bar in front of a crowd is nothing I thought I'd ever do. I wish I could remember it better, but it's a totally awesome blur. "

We gotta cool these girls down

," I think the announcer said, and water was soaking us again. Katty was looking right into my eyes when we stopped, her face all amazed.

It turned out to be the end of the contest. I got the $500 prize, Katty got $250, and that awesome fifty-something girl with the killer tits got $100. She never got out of her shorts, but yeah, those tits are

money

.

The three of us stood there for our applause, like real theater people or something. "Is it okay, what I did?" I asked Katty, talking near her ear, just to her.

"Yeah," she said.

"You sure? That was pretty intense."

She nodded. Her eyes looked happy but it was hard to read her. Her answers were more guy-like than girl-like, but we were, after all, standing naked in front of a cheering crowd of rowdies. I guess it wasn't the place for a deep conversation. And maybe Katty wanted it that way. She was overwhelmed, maybe, or deep in the Zen of first-time public nudity, or maybe just plain confused by her first sexual experience with another girl. Deep in the Zen of first-time public nudity was where my own mind was at, by the way. As I stood there, holding Katty's hand, with my hair and body dripping with cold water but somehow not shivering, I felt like I was dreaming. The crowd was cheering, lots of them with their arms and beers in the air, and the announcer was going on and on about who knows what. His voice was like a blurry echo in another language. I suppose I could have focused on it and been more in-the-moment, but instead I stayed in my trippy dream, the one where I scanned all the eyes in the room and found many of them looking at me, my tits, and my pussy. Only a few of them looked at my eyes and my smile. I know I was smiling, but I wonder what kind of a smile it was. I know it got bigger when the guy came to me and raised my arm high in the air. The rowdy crowd cheered even louder. I watched the eyes in the crowd looking at me and I was lost in my dream again. Strangely calm. Feeling good about things, good about my nudity. Sort of Zen, like I said.

So we all head back to the backroom to dry off and get dressed, and the bass player from the band is in the back hallway, watching all us wet-titted girls go by. Quite a few minutes later, when we came out, he was still there, smoking a cigarette by the back door. "Are you guys staying? Wanna party with us after the show?" he asked Katty and me.

"Sorry, we're leaving," I said. "I'm taking her to my place." Katty looked real happy about my idea, but she didn't say anything. And then I thought, she really needs a cock to get her mind off her shitty boyfriend, so I asked the bass player guy, "Wanna come over when you're done? Just you alone, we don't want a big party or anything."

The bass player, a cute blond named Stevie, said, "Yeah."

Me and Katty rode to my motel, way up north of town, on Route 1. It's an old-fashioned place, one of the those long, low, one-story flat-roofed motels that looks like it's left over from the 1950s. Us bikers are in most of the rooms, but there's a few cars, too.