Cool breeze and warm sun, damn I love it here. Joe thought looking out over the afternoon sun descending towards the bay. Lots of women out today, always nice to look at. He smiled to himself, pausing on his personally customized Softail to watch as some tourists looked at the big man with wide eyes. He seemed out of place, and big Joe didn't give a fuck. He knew some of the women were wondering if he was as big below the belt as his chest was, he saw one in a too small Harley shirt blush and hurry away and grinned openly. He remembered that one, well her pussy anyway, she remembered the answer to that and Joe had to wonder if she was the only married slut that had stopped by a One Percent party and left with a load of Joe in her he had seen that day.
"Hey," Came a calm voice behind him, male, easy sounding. Joe shifted his bulk and looked at the speaker. Guy was tall, maybe six two, with a solid build and close cut brown hair just getting touched with grey, and some weird wrap around dark glasses, almost like shooting glasses. Joe pegged him for military, he'd been around more than a few, most of his old crew had been in once or twice. "Not up on the ins and outs of Harleys, but that looks like a damn fine ride."
Your ride looks damn nice too, thought Joe. Others would have called her fat, Joe saw plump and ready to devour. Like her apparent husband, the woman was a little pale to be native honey brown hair past her shoulders, round cute face, smiling bow red lips, big tits pushing against her t shirt, bit of belly, a phat ass and thick thighs that Joe thought would look great spread for him.
"Don't have to be an expert to know quality. Good eye though, this beauts mine from ground up. Designed and built." Joe responded. One benefit of retirement was you could have conversations with strangers and not feel like you were wasting time.
"Told ya it was custom Softail!" The woman said and her voice made Joe want to hear what she sounded like when she came. The man gestured helplessly and shrugged then gave Joe a nodding half salute.
"Have a great day!" He said and seemed to honestly mean it. The woman's pale blue eyes gave Joe a twice over and he saw her studying his broad arms, still thick and strong despite his years, and felt her gaze slide along his ink, done by some of the best, and worst, artists in the OC. She turned and snuggled herself against him and Joe saw that as she swished her wide hips, her ass was indeed round, spankable, and needed firm hands squeezing it.
They hadn't gone more than ten feet from him when the old biker saw trouble. A pack of six guys, gangers from one of the wannabe MS13 chapters. Not really part of the truly dangerous gangs they wore the clothes, spoke the slang, but they weren't really scary. Unless you were outnumbered six to one. Confirming that the man was military he spun and guided his wife behind him, not running, not backing down but not threatening.either.
"Probably not your best move, homie." The man said evenly. Joe liked the guy more immediately. He knew he shouldn't get involved but Joe was tired of punk ass kids like this, and it had been a bit since he cracked any dumb asses in two.
"Whachu say? Talkin shit homes?" The lead punk said, almost comical in how labored his imitation of how actual gang bangers spoke. "T'ink you got a say in what we do to you or yo fat slu-"
Joe cranked the Softail and revved it, let the pipes and the finely tuned engine roar as he walked the bike closer to the pack of idiots. It worked and the spun to look at him, first in surprise then anger, then the more sensible, and maybe less skezzed out, flinched when Joe pulled a socket handle from a saddle bag and stood, dwarfing their biggest.
"What up wi' you old man? You gotta problem grandpa?" A different idiot said and Joe really wanted to break something on these shrimp dick assholes. Then he saw a flicker of motion from the husband, quietly snapping a baton out, snapping a kick to the back of the knee belonging to the man who had confronted him. Glasses guy sank all the way in, trained, but not pretty, and every bit of both of their weight cracked the lead idiots knee to the ground. The other five looked back and forth, but Joe and Husband guy were already attacking, outnumbered five to two.
It wasn't even close.
Joe was breathing heavy when he walked back to his bike. He'd only taken two down, ten years ago and it would have been three. But Husband guy had moved like a pro, hadn't even cracked skulls, all leg attacks, and he'd gone through those idiots like the soft ass wannabes Joe had pegged them for. The guy caught up to Joe easily, making the big biker hate him just a little bit. He pointed a blue Mercedes gliding down the street.
"Thank you. Name's James." The guy said, his glasses not even out of place. "Stephanie got the car while we took out the trash, I would really like to thank you for stepping in, but we're already going to be on YouTube and what the fuck ever else tomorrow and have to talk to cops, I'd rather not do that here."
"I'm Joe, and fuck no I don't." Joe agreed. Most cops he could take or leave when they weren't after him about some stupid helmet violation or noise complaint. He knew his luck with this, it wouldn't be good.
"Follow us, I have an AirBnB on taxpayer dime. Get a drink, and some dinner, least I can do." James said, still calm and chill.
"This guy's been through some shit! Joe thought but nodded. James seemed cool, and his wife Stephanie looked delicious. At the very least free beer and food along with married eyecandy was nothing a retired bike designer like him would say no to. He nodded and eased into the comfort of his Harley's seat, instantly feeling better.