Alex sat on her front porch. Feet resting on top of the railing. Her black boots shining in the morning sun. She took a long drink from the bottle of Coors she was holding. She smiled as she watched the young next-door neighbor trying to start her new Vespa that had been delivered just a couple of hours ago. The girl would crank the starter, mumble something that made her sound frustrated. Walk around the little yellow toy as if that might help. And then she would try the starter again. No luck.
Now Alex, being an avid biker with a preference for Harleys. Was well aware of the girl's problem. In fact, the only problem she had was not listening to the two men who had delivered it. Alex, of course, setting less than fifteen feet away, had heard everything the men had told her.
She could and would help the pretty young thing, but for now, she was getting too much enjoyment watching the slender nineteen-year-old walk around and bend over in her tight lime green shorts and tightfitting red tee-shirt. The girl started to pull off the battery cover, not that she knew what it was. "Don't do that." Alex called to her.
The girl looked up. "It won't start." She said.
"Obviously." Alex stood up. She was quite tall, nearly six-one. Her black jeans fit her tight and a black wife-beater top was tight against her lean figure. Her nipples pressed against the fabric. The leather straps around her boots were decorated with silver and turquoise and they made a distinctive clinking sound as she made her way off of the porch.
The girl just watched. She was clearly intimidated by the appearance of the twentysomething woman next door and had never made any attempt to interact with her for that reason. She stepped back as Alex approached her and her new scooter.
"I don't know." The girl started.
Alex raised a hand in the air. "I will fix your little toy but first, I want something." It was the first time the girl had seen Alex up close. The fact that both of her arms were decorated with tattoos were not helping her relax.
"What?" The girl asked.
"Did you not understand me or are you asking me what I want?" Alex replied.
"Yes." The girl said. "What?"
Alex shook her head. "What's your name?" She said.
"Trish." The girl said.
"I could have guessed that one." Alex said.
"Hey." Trish said. "What's that mean."
"Feisty." Alex grinned. She took a drink of her beer. "I'm Alex. Alexa actually but who the fuck wants to be called that, right?"
"Here, hold this." She handed the girl her beer. "Alright, look here, Trish." She pulled at a latch at the back of the scooter and lifted the seat. She looked over at Trish. "The engine."
Trish nodded.
"Can you see that small red lever?" She pointed down beside the engine. Trish looked in the compartment and nodded again.
"Good." Alex said. "Reach in there and turn it until it is horizontal, not up and down."
Trish looked at Alex. "Why?"
Alex grinned. She leaned over until her face was so close to Trish's that Trish leaned away. "Give me my beer." Trish handed it to her, hesitated and then reached down and turned to valve. "Why did I do that?"
"Because you want your scooter to start." Alex took another long drink. "Start it up."
Trish, still hesitant, sat on the seat and pressed the start switch. The little tin-tin-tin sounding motor puffed once and started.
Trish looked back at Alex. A broad smile on her face.
Alex nodded. "Fuel shut-off. Up when you stop, down when you're ready to play road-warrior." She smiled and handed her beer to Trish. "Have a drink."
"Oh, I don't drink. But thanks. Thanks a lot." Trish said.
"Hey, you are never going to be a biker chick if you don't drink beer?" Alex just gave her a wave and headed back to her own porch. She dropped her empty in a bucket and fished another cold one out of a cooler beside her chair. When she sat down, sweet little Trish was warily guiding her 150-c.c. bike out of her driveway and toward downtown.
Alex put her feet back on the railing and whispered. "What could have been."
The following Saturday, Alex was in her own driveway. She was shining the extensive chrome on her custom cycle. The frame was a 1990 Harley Springer. The engine was a 2000 Excelsior-Henderson. 1400 c.c. The headers were straight unmuffled pipes with a few wads of steel wool inserted in the exhaust tips in an effort to ward off the excessive-noise tickets. Her rear tire was an 18" Fat Boy Metzeler. It also had Magnum Brembo Disc Brakes. What wasn't chrome was flat black. Lean. Clean, and deadly fast.
She heard Trish speaking from somewhere behind her. "Wow." Trish said. "No wonder you made fun of my little scooter."
Alex looked at her. "I did not make fun of your ride."
"My ride?" Trish asked.
"Fine." Alex said. "Your scooter."
"Well, you didn't seem very impressed with it." Trish offered.
Alex straightened, wiping her hands on a shop rag. She pointed to her bike. "Why don't you let me take you for a ride on this?"
"Oh, I don't think so. Is it really safe?" Trish asked.
"No." Alex said. "In fact, we are likely to die in a horrific, fiery crash."
"That's not funny." Trish said.
"No." Alex said. "It's not." She smiled at Trish. "Go get changed. I promise I'll be careful and bring you back safe and sound."
"Hey, what's wrong with how I'm dressed?" Trish asked.
"Those." Alex pointed. "Are shorts and those, she pointed to the bike, are very hot pipes. You need jeans." She looked at Trish's sneakers. "You should wear boots." She grinned when she eyed Trish's tight Tee shirt. "The shirt can stay."
"Gee, anything else?" Trish said.
"Yea." Alex added. "Tie your hair up some way and hurry the fuck up. I'm leaving in ten minutes."
Trish turned and seemed to hurry off. Alex watched her. The girl had an amazing little ass.