My husband and I had always wanted to go to Disney World. Our parents had never taken us, and we had never been able to afford it. One day, we decided to book the trip. Was it a little weird that we were there without any little ones in tow? Yes! Did we have a blast anyways? Hell yes!
We had driven there. We could have flown, but who doesn't love a good road trip? We got to visit many of the states we had never gone to before. It was fun!
Since we live across the country, we had to stop at motels along the way. On the way back, one of our bookings was at a motel in Wyoming. We arrived for the night a 6 PM.
Wyoming is... rural, to say the least. We were in a small town, and the "town center" was nothing more than a post office, a bar, a liquor store, and a few other small shops.
My husband and I were feeling cramped up from being in the car all day, so we didn't want to just watch TV and fall asleep. We decided to head to the only entertainment in the small town: the bar.
We walked in and the interior was what you would expect. A little run-down.
The only two others in the bar were two men in their 40s, drinking alone and halfheartedly paying attention to the two TV screens displaying one of the local college football games. It wasn't a party atmosphere, but it was way better than being stuffed up in the hotel.
The door opened with a creak and I heard the sound of boots stomping on gravel. I turned around and saw that a group of bikers was walking in. They were dressed in all black with leather jackets. Big and gruff men. Nothing like my husband. After they entered, the scent of the bar changed. I smelled dirt and sweat. An objectively unpleasant smell, but I found myself inhaling deeply through my nose and feeling a strange attraction to it.
They sat down at the bar and ordered a variety of hard alcohol. They started becoming rowdy, talking and laughing loudly with each other. These big tough bikers would sometimes look around the room and fixate on me like hounds. I would try to avoid eye contact, though I did slip up a few times. Each time I looked at one of them, I could almost read their minds. Their eyes were ferocious and shining as they looked at me. I scooted my chair a little closer to my husband, who was politely sipping on his beer. We hadn't talked much since the gang had entered and we found ourselves pretending to watch the football game, but really we were listening to their grotesque musings about riding, fighting, and fucking. I didn't really like sports anyways, so although my eyes were looking at the screen, my ears were all for them. I loved and hated what they were saying. I chalked it up to them being interesting; you didn't see anyone like that in our small town back home. All you saw were men like my husband.
They seemed like they were buddies with the bartender, but not the other two in the bar. At a certain point they got in an argument with one of the two men sitting near them. The man ended up leaving in a hurry. The other man followed him out shortly after, leaving my husband and I alone with the biker gang.
Their conversation turned to talking about prostitutes. I hated the idea of women selling themselves for money but found myself strangely curious as to what they had to say about it.
"You remember that chick Mary?" asked one of them.
"One of a kind," another replied.
"Shame what happened to her," said the original man.
I wondered what had happened to her.
"Still blacks only for you, Tom?" inquired one of them.
"Mhm," said Tom, taking a shot afterwards.
"So you're telling me you wouldn't get with that fine white bitch over there?" he asked. They must have been referencing me... I was the only woman in the bar. My heart fluttered.
Tom looked over.
"I would, but I wouldn't pay," he said. His buddies laughed.
"Well, I would," said the original man.
"How much, ma'am?" he asked, looking at me. I had been pretending to not be paying attention to their conversation but I guess they saw right through me.
"Not interested," my husband piped up. I thought I heard his voice crack. He took a sip from his beer quickly.
"As you say," said the man, and they all laughed, then turned their conversation elsewhere. The bartender looked scared, for some reason. He was polishing the bartop nervously. The bikers continued occasionally looking over at me in lust as their conversation continued and they got more and more drunk.
The gruff biker gang ended up leaving shortly afterwards. As they stomped out with their steel-toed boots, I couldn't help myself from looking at the big men as they did.
They started their motorcycles and the engines roared. As they pulled off, I felt a sensation between my thighs. My husband drove a Prius, which was very economical and safe, but there was something about their bikes that was so raw and masculine. I wondered if we should call the police; these men were clearly not fit to be operating such powerful machines considering their levels of intoxication!
My husband and I left shortly after they did. The bar was only a mile away from our motel, so we had walked. As we exited, I wrapped my arm around him and we walked onwards like a noble couple, trying to forget about the discomfort we had experienced in the bar. There were no streetlights.
We walked for about a half mile until we came to an abandoned lot on our left. There were a group of bikers in the lot, parked, and drinking. Rock music was playing loudly.
As we passed, we tried to ignore them, but they saw us in the darkness.
"Hey! That's that chick from the bar!" one of them said. The music stopped and I heard loud footsteps on gravel. They were approaching us.
"Say, what's your name?" asked one of them.
I told them my name.
