Jamie's Desires

This is Part II of my stories about Jamie! As with all my stories, these are true stories describing sexual events in my life. I'll do the best I can to recall these events as accurately as possible.

In the last story "Jamie", I chronicled her desires to play out her "rough sex - rape fantasies." I won't bother to reiterate what was described in that story, it's available here, at this site if you'd like to read it. It's called Jamie's Desires.

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After we'd played out her rough-sex fantasies for a year or so, one day, we were sitting around and she was telling me some of the things they'd been discussing in her abnormal psychology classes. It always amused me. I was a "hard science" major and had to study my ass off. While she was taking these very strange classes and had now moved onto a masters program in abnormal psychology - her thesis was based on abnormal sexual behaviors (honest). She hardly ever had to study anything and would sit down the night before a term paper was due, write it off the top of her head, and get an "A". It wasn't because she was super smart, there just wasn't much expected of her in this curriculum - there were no wrong answers.

Anyway, she was telling me about group sex and peoples different interests in having sex with more than one person. Now, in my earlier years, as I'd mentioned in a previous story, I was a pro-level motorcycle racer and even had a partial sponsorship from the Harley Davidson Factory. It was Grand-National Flat Track racing - fast, hard racing on purpose-built bikes. It was a rough sport .

During that time, as I'd mentioned in "She Wanted It", I lived up a dead-end canyon road. At the bottom of the canyon was a very small little town. Well, town is kind of an over statement. There was a post-office, a gas station, a church, a small market, and a Bar - that was the whole town. The bar was frequented by a motorcycle club; it was their "Home Bar." I'd seen the guys down there from time to time. They were OK guys. This was in the days when a Club wasn't a bunch of accountants and other "Wanna-Be" bikers who bought new Harleys and a "do-rag" and designer leathers and rode around in a group acting like they were tough guys - until they went back to the office on Monday morning, in a shirt and tie.

No, this was the real deal. Lots of people refer to them as gangs but that isn't accurate! A gang is a bunch of punks like Crips or Bloods or who knows what other names there are - who's main interest is selling drugs, prostitution, terrorizing neighborhoods, and killing innocent people while they try to kill each other over turf. A motorcycle club, a real motorcycle club (MC) is certainly a bunch of hard assed guys who don't fit in with society. But, there is much more to it! Their interest is living life they way they want to live, free, without answering to the conformation of society. Yeah, certainly some of them sold drugs and even prostituted out a few girls, but that wasn't the point of the club! Ride hard and party, in a brotherhood of men was and is the point of it! Regardless of the cause or problem, they always had each other's back if something went bad, period. Back your brother, we'll sort out the details later. Too bad more of society doesn't live by a similar creed.

I bothered to tell you all of that because I wound up involved with that club for almost 2 years. I knew that one of the head guys lived up the canyon, but didn't really know any of them. One day I was riding down the canyon on my old Shovelhead and saw a half dozen or so guys down a short dirt road, hanging out in front of a house and big garage. I have no idea why I did it, but I flipped around and rode down to where they were. I pulled up, shut down, and just sat there for a minute looking at everyone. Most of the guys were wearing "Colors" - which are patches identifying their Club. I immediately recognized them as the ones from the bar. I will not (cannot) mention the name of the club or any of the member's names. So, any names I use here will be made up.

The guys looked at me like I didn't belong, which I didn't. I figured "what the hell" I'm here now, so I got off my scoot and as I set my helmet on the bars a couple of them walked up to me. They weren't really confrontational but they weren't all that friendly either. My scoot was nothing fancy, but it was set up right and after asking me a few questions, they could tell I knew bikes. One of the guys finally asked me what the hell I wanted, in a not too friendly way. I was telling him that I lived up the canyon and had seen them around and just wanted to stop by. By then, a couple more guys had come up and I was beginning to think this had been a bad idea.

About then a big guy wearing just "Cuts" and no shirt walked up. He stuck his hand out and introduced himself as "Digs" - turned out he was the club President (Prez). I told him my name and said that I lived up at the head of the canyon. I guess I would say he was semi-friendly, but obviously suspicious. After we talked a little more he finally said "Hey, you're that guy... you race the circuit for Harley, don't ya?"

Turned out they knew who I was. At the time, I was probably the only guy in that part of the state that was racing an XR Harley and actually winning - XR Harleys are nearly impossible to come by. I wasn't famous or even a top 10 pro, but I was a fast guy; I won races and podiumed and it turned out they'd seen me at a few races. Digs turned to the other guys, told them who I was, and told them that I was a good friend of a couple long-term canyon residents. Suddenly everything was cool!

I had a couple beers with them, we told some stories, and everything was Jake. Turned out that Digs was the Club President - for that local chapter. From that point on, I was OK. I could hang with them at the bar and nobody fucked with me much, because I was Digs' guest. Most people don't realize it but in a real club, there is a very structured hierarchy and process. There are rules and there is code, which are two very different but important parts of the club.

About a week later, I went on a day run with the club and when we got onto a fast, curvy section of road a couple of guys dropped back to where I was and hollered at me "Lets see what ya got, hotshoe." I guessed they'd already cleared this with Digs. Even in my earliest times with the club, I knew, on a run, the Prez and the Sargent at Arms ride at the front - that is the rule. But when they motioned me to follow them, I dropped in behind them and we blew past the front of the pack.

It only took me a few seconds to realize they wanted to test me and test themselves against me. If you're not a decent rider you'll never get patched into a real MC. So, I hung behind them for a few miles, just kinda watching, seeing what kind of lines they chose, their breaking points, stuff like that. Then, I decided to start picking my way through them. I think there were 4 guys, not counting me. I dove under the first one as we entered a big sweeper corner and it turned out to be a double apex turn so I drifted wide, squared the corner and dived under another guy before we exited the turn. I made sure to make nice clean passes, didn't want to elbow anybody and fuzz them up.

In no time I'd passed everyone. I sat in front of them for a mile or so. Every time one of them would kind of make a run at me, I'd gas it up and hold them off. I won't go into details, but my motor and suspension set-up was pretty hot; well, as hot as you could make a Shovel; they certainly aren't sport bikes. Finally, as we came to an end of a short straight-away I looked back over my shoulder, waved my arm like "come on, lets go" and hit it pretty hard as I picked up the pace. They tried hard to keep up with me. Then I hunkered down, turned on the gas, and left them in the dust. I just caught a glimpse of their fastest guy, as he overshot a corner and nearly crashed. Then I was gone. At the end of the mountain section I saw a little gas station. I pulled in and stopped. By the time they caught up to me I had my helmet off and was leaning up against my bike, arms crossed, trying to look bored.

When they pulled up and got stopped up, the guys from the front pack got off their scoots, walked up to me and didn't say a word as they looked over my bike. I thought "ohh, shit, I shouldn't have rubbed their noses in it so bad - they're pissed." Then a couple of them started laughing, saying "what the hell've you got in that thing" and "last time I saw you it was just a dust cloud" - stuff like that. Everyone was laughing and making jokes about almost crashing while trying to keep up with me, and from that point on, I was "OK".

I wound up riding with that club for almost 2 years. I was never "patched-in" and I wasn't a "Prospect", which is a guy who wants to become a member and has to endure a long process of scrutiny and hazing - then they decide if they're going to vote him in or not. I watched a couple guys go through that process and I felt very sorry for them - it was very rough and demeaning, with requirements that I cannot mention - but it was bad and dangerous and sometimes very degrading. A guy had to prove how bad he wanted to be a member, that they could trust him, AND that he would follow the hierarchy, when somebody of stature told him to do something, he did it, without question and it wasn't easy or fun - at all!

The other type of guy that you sometimes see around a club is what's called a "hang-around." Those are guys who hang around a clubhouse or the Home Bar - they're more or less accepted but could just as easily wind up getting their ass kicked if they said or did the wrong thing. They don't really have the stature to be a Prospect (somebody has to sponsor you to become a Prospect) - Hang-Arounds don't usually last too long but they are allowed to be around the club, occasionally one might get invited on a run. They "hang around" for awhile, until something bad happens or they get scared and leave.

I wasn't a Hang Around either. I'd become Digs sort of "special guest". I had a sort of protected status. I was always a big guy (not the greatest thing for my racing career) and strong, so people generally didn't fuck with me anyway. I could show up at the Club House whenever I wanted and was always welcomed in. I went on occasional runs (multi-day trips) with the club and off and on and, for a brief time I strongly considered joining the MC, seriously! But I knew that was essentially a life-long commitment. You don't get patched in, become a full member, learn all of the Club's business, then just decide you wanna go do something else. You know their secrets and it is NOT easy to leave once you've been inside the Church. So, I never went down that road.

I guess, before I get back to the point of this story, I should fill ya in on the women of an MC. There were other clubs that we associated with - and it didn't matter where you were, the place of the women was always the same. At the top of the social structure was an "Ol' Lady." That is roughly equivalent of a wife or long term girlfriend of a full member. More importantly, she was essentially "the Property" of that member. It was not uncommon to see a Tat on a chick that said "Property of ..." whoever they guy was. She was protected and not subject to the things other women had to endure. Sometimes there were fights and some guy would make a move on another's Ol'Lady, but it was discouraged, and I only saw it happen once. A woman cannot be a member of an MC - period, no exceptions, ever! But, as someone's Ol' Lady, they had a certain stature, generally went on runs (never riding their own bike) and partied like hell, just like everyone else.

There were other chicks that would come and go. They were usually the guest of a member and were sort of protected from too many advances. But, if the guy wasn't overly attached to the chick, and making it very clear she was off limits, things would often happen. Sorry to say it ladies, but women in an MC are 2nd class citizens, at best. A woman that just sort of tagged along with others (maybe they'd been bar hoping and wound up with a group where somebody was a Club Member and brought them all back to the Clubhouse), they were in for a big surprise. Or, if they'd been down that road before, they knew what they were in for.

Unprotected women were fair game. They were hit on, groped, and frequently made to perform sexual acts. If the chick didn't like it, she needed to get out or sure as hell she was going to wind up off to the side somewhere, on her knees, blowing some dude or in a cluster of guys. If she was lucky, a member might sort of adopt her for the evening and she generally didn't have to do too much when other guys hit on her. But if a member was really hot on a chick, he'd generally only offer limited protection, she wasn't his Ol' Lady and protocol was that an unattached chick was pretty much fair game. So, if he wanted her for himself, he had to actively protect his property. It was common for a member to bring along some chick, just for the fun of it.

I'm not saying that if/when some unprotected chick was brought to a Clubhouse she would be raped -that wasn't the deal. But, she would be hit on, at a level far beyond what was acceptable in a bar where citizens went. She had to make a choice, if she wanted to stay she needed to try to hook up with a guy who'd watch out for her, and then expect to put out for him later. Or, if she was kind of a sleeze she could have a great adventure with a bunch of hard assed, often kinky bikers. Or, she could leave, which is what she needed to do if she did not want the advances. If she got pissed over the attention or threw a fit, she was thrown out, period. So, basically, be with somebody or put up with the attention and groping or split.

As a night wore on, it was common to see other chicks off on one of the couches - (every Clubhouse I was ever in had a portion, away from the bar, where there were a couple old couches and big chairs, where people could just hang) - making out, getting grouped and sometimes getting passed from one guy to another, handing out blowjobs or getting double teamed and occasionally some chick would wind up in the bathroom or out in a side room or a dark corner with a few guys! Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like the Clubhouse of an MC was some orgy - nothing even close. Plain and simple, it was a man's world and a man's club and women were either attached to someone or they were basically party favors. Just the way it was and as far as I know, the way it still is - though I've heard that some MC's will allow a chick to ride her own scoot now. But, during my time, absolutely not allowed.

As the night would wear on, things got looser and usually wilder and an unattached chick had to assess the situation and make decisions. She should probably make that decision before she found herself in a dark corner with a member; these women had no stature, they were toys and entertainment. To my knowledge, nobody ever got raped - just wasn't the way a real MC operated. I'm not saying they were gentlemen, far from it, but there were unwritten rules and codes and one of the big ones was that you didn't do anything to bring heat down on the MC. Besides, for whatever reason, there were always plenty of ready and willing women who didn't have to be forced - now, a little coercion or strong suggestion... it was time to put out or get out.

There were basically two other types of women that'd hang around a club. One was what was referred to as "Mama's." A Mama is a chick who could have been somebody's Ol'Lady or a few guys Ol' Lady - passed from one guy to another over the years - but that was pretty uncommon. Or she was a chick that came in as a guest, liked it, never had the stature of being an Ol' Lady, but she just hung around. Regardless of how she got there, she more or less became the property of the MC. When she was on the street, it was known that she was protected by the MC and nobody in the neighborhood wanted to get crossways with them. In turn, a Mama was expected to do whatever she was told to do, whenever any member or guest told her to do something. There were few limits as to what they could be told to do - and they were expected to do what they were told, period. It could range from running errands to cleaning the Clubhouse to blowing a guest or putting on a show with other Mamas.

Mamas had no stature what so ever. They were servants and amusement and if they didn't perform, no matter what the hell they were told to do, they were out on the street, and that was worse than having no protection at all. Because they'd once been protected and they could get away with things - if they lost that protected status, people were free to collect on any grudge they may have against that chick. It wasn't a good scene for them. So they generally stayed and did what was expected. Which was anything and everything - or, if they left or were told to leave, they left town because there was no going back to the MC and town was no longer a, umm, "good-place" for them.

I remember being at the Clubhouse of another MC one night - of course I was with "my Club". This Club was lower level, kind of trying to find their place, involved in petty crime, sort of the lower rung a wanna-be MC, somewhere below that of the Clubs you've heard of or know. They were OK, but lacked class; they were often new clubs, trying to make a name or they were made up of guys who'd washed out as prospects for better clubs. Very occasionally one of these of these clubs might flourish, for awhile. Usually one of two things happened with an upstart club. They'd either prove their metal, make alliances, and eventually patch-over to an established club - or, they'd get run outta town. About the worst possible thing you can do is start up your own MC, sew on patches, and put the name of your town on the bottom rocker. That means you're claiming that town as your turf! You'll find out how bad an idea that is in a big hurry!

Anyway, this was one of those clubs that dissolved after a year or two. A few of them patched over and the rest were run outta town or became free riders, meaning they had no club affiliation. But, at the time we were there, they were a wanna-be, no-name club that had been temporarily befriended by the MC I was with. They were trying way too hard to impress and show us what a bunch of tough bad-asses they were. Anyway, what this has to do with Mamas is this: Not all clubs keep Mamas. They can be a hassle and occasionally bring heat on the club, sometimes a few guys will haveta go clean up some mess the Mama has gotten herself into - they're nearly always druggies, drunks, and/or prostitutes.

They can be a pain in the ass, which is why some clubs don't keep them. And, for those that do, the Mamas have to make sure the hassle is worth it. But, I have to admit, they were a lot of fun and provided great entertainment - Imagine a total slut, sex-slave, with absolutely no limits, that follows instructions, cleans up the clubhouse, polishes you bike or puts on shows for members and guests - no matter WHAT they're told to do and you have a Mama.

So, suddenly the "Prez" of the upstart club hollers at a couple of Mamas who were sitting at the end of the bar. "Hey, get your asses down her, I want you to meet someone!" The Prez of the other club, I guess, was trying to show off a little for our club - show the control he had over his Mamas. He had been talking to a guy that I'd gathered was his guest or maybe a prospect (but he wasn't wearing a vest or cuts with the lower rocker, so I don't know what his association really was). He introduced them to the dude. The Mamas rarely used real names, mostly they used street names. I can't remember their names and it isn't really important.