Hooters on Scooters

"Do you want to ride my Daddy's hog?"

"I'd rather ride yours, Molly. Isn't your father going to be riding his Harley this weekend?"

"No Sarah, his butt hole hurts too much, so he told me."

"I told you not to do him with your strap-on," I joked.

"Yeah right, like I could really pin that brute down and fuck him in the ass. He had some sort of prostate procedure the other day and can't sit down. So he said we can use his Harley."

My cousin Molly and I stood in her driveway chatting. I hadn't seen her for years until this May when her family moved back to the states. Her father recently retired from the Army, and he had been stationed overseas for most of his military career.

Molly and I had become very close in a couple months.

Very

close. In fact, I had been wondering lately if I was a lesbian instead of bisexual. Molly and her father and brother got me hooked on Harley's at the beginning of the summer. I didn't have one of my own, but they let me ride theirs. I did get take the motorcycle test and get licensed.

"Well Sarah, where do you want to go? It's our last weekend before we both head back to school. Let's end our summer vacation with a bang!"

"Why don't you get online, Molly, and see what motorcycle rallies are going on?"

She did. "Hey, we missed Bikers for Boobies and also Bare Butts Bike Rally, but Hooters on Scooters this weekend in Intercourse sounds interesting."

"Oh, I know where Intercourse is."

"And just where

is

Intercourse?" She giggled.

"It's near Bird-in-Hand, Blue Ball, and Paradise. Seriously. And not far from Phoenixville where that Christian college is that my parents wanted me to attend. Thank the Lord I went to State instead! What does it say about the rally and how much does it cost?"

"The name of the biker club hosting the rally is Poontang Posse."

"What does poontang mean?"

"Dunno. Sounds like some Indian word." Molly read excerpts from the ad. "Biker party. All profits from the party and donations go to Fisher House Foundation, which helps wounded soldiers' families. $25 a person or $40 a couple per day. Bring your sleeping bag because this is going to be an old school party with music, food, drink, vendors, and a drive-in showing some of your favorite biker movies from the 60's. Contests for best scooters and contests for best hooters. Hot babes who ride their own hogs and agree to participate in the wet T-shirt contest are admitted for free."

"I like the 'free' part."

"Me too. Let's go up to my closet and pick out our riding duds. I have some sweet leather stuff. And T-shirts, we need lots of T-shirts. You know, in case the ones we are wearing get wet or something." She giggled again.

"Well, you ride your Daddy's Fatboy and I'll ride your Sportster. His hog is too big for me to handle, and I'm not an experienced biker like you. Besides, it makes too much damn noise. It will take us about five hours to get to Intercourse."

"Five hours to get to Intercourse? Wow, that's a lot of foreplay! I wish I could find a boyfriend who takes fives hours to get to intercourse." She giggled one more time.

* * *

Molly and I both had to work on Friday and left immediately thereafter. We got to the rally around 10:00 p.m.

A half dozen members of the Poontang Posse were manning the gate, collecting admissions, and providing information on the festivities. We pulled up next to the biggest biker among them.

"A couple hardbellies," he greeted. He looked over Molly's hog, and Molly, in admiration. "Hooker headers," he muttered.

"We are not hookers!" I objected.

"He's talking about the exhaust system," Molly corrected. "Named after Gary Hooker."

He inspected Molly's hog even closer after she got off.

Molly elaborated. "1993 custom-built Fatboy. S & S rods and pistons. Edelbrock hand-ported heads. Sifton 141 cam, PM 4-piston real caliper. Lepera bare-bones solo seat with gel pack, Merch performance case, Truett & Osborn flywheels, S & S Super-E with thunderjet, Dyna 2000 ignition and single-fire coils, Pro-1 billet forward controls, and Avon Super Venoms."

"That's a righteous scoot," he admitted. Then he looked at my ride. "I wouldn't be caught dead on a sissy bike like yours."

"Hey, the color is Cherry Red Sunglo and it matches my lipstick and nail polish," I snarled.

"So you girls love dick?" he asked, staring at the lettering on our T-shirts, or our nipples, since neither of us wore bras under the really tight shirts.

"Dude, this is a

football

shirt," I protested. Please note that under 'I Love (heart) Dick' in the big black letters is 'LeBeau' in little gold letters. Dick LeBeau is the Pittsburgh Steelers defensive coordinator."

"Football is for pansies. We'll be playing some games like Balling for Dollars you might like better. My name is Spike, and I'm president of Poontang Posse. Are you an old lady?" he asked me. "You look like an old lady, Red."

"Dude, I usually get carded in bars," I snapped.

"An 'old lady' is the wife or steady girlfriend of a club member," Molly said, raising an eyebrow. "You better let me do the talking, Sarah."

"Maybe you pull trains?" Spike inquired hopefully.

"With this little bike I'm riding?" I asked seriously.

"Sarah, shut up!" Molly demanded.

Now I was really getting angry. Both of them were looking at me like I was a retard.

"So mama, where's your patch?" he directed at me.

"First of all, I am not a mother. And my patch is between my legs, not that you'll ever see it."

Molly gently spun Spike around and pointed at the 22 patch on the back of Spike's sleeveless vest. "That patch means he has done time in prison. And a 'mama' is a girl available for sex with any and all club members."

"You're a knockout, Blondie," Spike complimented, "and you look real familiar. Did we ever hook up?"

"As if!" I blurted, giving him a look to kill.

"I did a modeling gig in a bikini on a Harley," Molly explained. "My pics are all over the internet. You know, MySpace, biker websites, calendars, and the like."

"Hey, maybe you can do a pic for me on my hog." He groped his crotch and grinned lewdly.

"As if!" I shouted.

"I'm talking about my 1966 FLH with the sidecar sitting right over there, bitch." He pointed at his Harley. "The reason for the sidecar is so that the bimbo riding with me can just lean over and blow me. I mean, how are you gonna get a hummer when the babe is up behind you? You're hot stuff too, Red, but that smart-ass mouth of yours needs stuffed with pork so you shut the fuck up."

"Let's go, Sarah, before you get yourself in big trouble," Molly insisted. "They're showing some movies over there at that drive-in thing they have set up. I love those biker flicks from the 60s."

"You have to pay first," Spike insisted.

"Hey, we read your ad online," I responded snottily. "If we agree to participate in the wet T-shirt contest, we don't have to pay."

"You have to qualify for the wet T-shirt contest," Spike replied with a smirk. "So let's see the merchandise. Free those puppies."

"Free those puppies? We're not with PETA, asshole."

"Sarah, he wants a peek at our boobies. Just lift up the front of your T-shirt like I'm doing."

"Nice hooters, Blondie!" he shouted at her. The other members of the club gaped at the extraordinary mammary display. "Now let's see your starter buttons, Red." I followed Molly's example. "Hot damn, now there are some weapons of mass arousal! Oh yeah, those jugs will do just fine. Not only do you girls get in free, you get free drinks. Here's some tickets. Just give them to the vendors who are cruising the crowds. The wet T-shirt contest starts at midnight. I'll be seeing you two later. Your tits anyway."

We rode off toward the drive-in, parked our bikes, and took our sleeping bags to the viewing area to sit on.

Within minutes a vendor approached us. "What's your poison, foxy ladies?" he asked.

"What kind of beer do you have?" I asked.

"Do you want a Pihl's?"

"No way, that stuff tastes like rat piss. You got Bud Light Lime?"

"Yeah, I got a couple of those. That's what all the babes ask for. Keeping the bod in shape for the wet T-shirt contest, I guess. Nobody wants Pihl's."

"Here, we have free tickets for the beer."

He handed us each a beer. "Do you want Jack?" he inquired.

"I suppose you're Jack," I growled.

"He is talking about Jack Daniels," Molly said, shaking her head at me. "Yeah, give us some shots, dude," she said to the vendor as she gave him more tickets. He poured us each a big shot in a plastic cup.

"I think he wants to get us drunk so we get wild and crazy," I observed matter-of-factly.

"Works for me!" Molly exclaimed, winking. Then she giggled, of course.

We settled with our sleeping bags to watch the movies. Something called

She-Devils on Wheels

was playing.

"This is one weird flick," I critiqued.

"Oh, I love this movie!" Molly declared emphatically. "I mean, an all-female gang called the Maneaters? Now that's funny! I've seen this movie a dozen times, and it always turns me on. Let's take our sleeping bags to way in the back and make out."

We went behind all the people watching the movie and spread out our sleeping bags. Nobody paid us any attention, and it was real dark back there.

"Oh my God, Molly, your hands are so cold!"

"Yeah, from the beer, but they'll be warm soon enough. You want me to run my fingers up your legs. You want me to touch your breasts. You want me to touch you all over. You want me to make love to you. Don't you, Sarah?"

"I want you, Molly, and you want me."

Molly kissed me. So soft but sensuous. Tender but bold. We helped each other off with our clothes as we continued to kiss and pet.

"Sarah, kissing you is like kissing an angel. Not like kissing a guy at all." She played with my hair, running her fingers through it over and over. "Your hair is so beautiful. I wish I had red hair like yours. "And I just love this little patch of red hair you have down here," Molly murmured sweetly as she teased it with her fingers. "It makes your muffin look so cute."

"Yours is so smooth," I purred back as I felt it. "I'll do you first. You did me first last time."

My head began to descend downward on Molly's body. First those incredible nipples. I could have played with them all night with my tongue and lips. And then her belly button. She pushed me away. "You're tickling me!" she protested, but then she pushed my head lower.

"Oh, so you do want me to eat you," I jibed.

I kissed and nibbled the inside of her thighs until she begged, "Eat me, Sarah! Please eat me!"

I ran my tongue between her inner and out labia on one side, as I held the two together with my lips. I did the other side. Then I fucked her pussy with my tongue. I spread her outer lips with my hand, and with my tongue pointed and stiff, gently flicked here and there. Her clit peeked out. I gave it a quick little suck and then let it go. It got bigger. I softly sucked on her clit, as I flicked my tongue over and around it.

"Harder, Sarah!" she urged. "Faster! I'm getting close!"

Doing it more aggressively, I could tell from previous experience with Molly that this would soon produce an intense orgasm. Her clit throbbed in my mouth. I rolled my tongue into a tube around the shaft of her clit and slid it up and down, making my tongue like a little pussy for her clit to fuck.

"Oh yeah . . . ohhhhh yeah . . . oh fuck . . . ahhhhh," she moaned over and over as she shook her pretty blonde head wildly.

Molly was right on the edge. Her legs shuddered. Then she lost it, squeezing her thighs against the sides of my face as she screamed, "Oh my fucking God!" repeatedly. But I did didn't stop. No, I made her cum twice more. Finally, Molly pulled my head away.

"Thank you, Sarah. That was incredible. Wonderful. Now I'm going to give you a cheap thrill or two or three, like you did me."

Afterwards we cuddled on the sleeping bags, oblivious to everything around us but each other. "I can't believe nobody heard us muffing each other," Molly remarked. "Well, the movie is real loud."

"Molly, are we lesbians?"

"Oh hell no, Sarah. I plan on getting married one day and having babies."

"I think we might be lesbians, Molly."

"We are

not

lesbians!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Hey, I'll prove it to you. Trust me."

"Well, it's midnight—time for the wet T-shirt contest."

"Fuck that. I'm so tired of being portrayed as a sex object. Let's go take a walk and find out what else is going on around this place."

We did. There were all sorts of contests going on, most of which we thought we could win. Then we saw one where we were certain.

"I'm going to enter that blow job contest, Sarah," Molly announced. "The sign says the winner gets some cool sex toys and related items. Look, they are sitting on that table. A strap-on harness, restraint equipment, massage oils, butt plugs, lube, chocolate body sauce, and assorted vibrators. Wow, all that stuff must be worth at least a thousand bucks. Just think of all the fun we'll have with it!"

The referee explained the rules. Every girl was assigned a partner by random drawing. The first girl who could get her man to cum was the winner.

"What's your name, dude?" Molly asked her partner. "I like to know who I'm sucking off."

"They call me Dallas," he answered, lowering his leather pants in anticipation of what was soon to come, mainly him. No underwear, and he already had a big boner.

"I hate the Cowboys!" I shouted belligerently. "Maybe you shouldn't blow him, Molly. That's like sacrilegious or something, a Steeler fan sucking off a Cowboys fan."

"I'm not a Cowboys fan," he corrected, "I'm a Browns fan."

"That's even worse!" I roared, shaking my head in disgust.

"Sarah, would you shut up already?" Molly demanded. "Look, you're making his dick limp. I want to win this contest!"

"Whatever," I muttered in resignation.

"I think Dallas needs a blow job," Molly cooed. "Dallas needs a blow job

real

bad, don't you, honey?"

"Uh . . . yeah . . . I do."

"Would you like me suck your cock, Dallas?"

"I sure would, babe. You got a pretty mouth."

"Molly ran her tongue over her lips to get them good and wet. With her lips firmly wrapped around his big swollen cock head and part of the shaft, she gently flicked the top of his cock with her tongue, fluttering it up and down the tip.

"Ahhhh . . . ohhhhh . . . oh yeah . . . ohhhhh . . ." he began to groan loudly.

I could tell he wasn't going to last long. "Molly doesn't mind premature ejaculation when she's giving head, dude," I said as sarcastically as I could.

"Sarah, shut the fuck up!" Molly snapped. She quickly pulled her "I Love Dick" T-shirt over her head and off. "This does

not

mean that I don't love dick. Dallas honey, would you like to cum in my mouth? Would you like to shoot a big load down my throat and all over my face and tits?"

"Oh yeah, baby, you got that right."

Dallas pulled Molly's head down on him, as she deep-throated him while she pulled his ass cheeks to her. "I want your cum, Dallas, give it to me," she paused momentarily to urge. Then she put one finger in his asshole and caressed his balls as she went back to deep-throating him enthusiastically.

Suddenly Dallas screamed and shuddered as he blew a huge load down Molly's throat. She swallowed as much as she could, and then pulled him out and let his still spitting cock finish on her face, lips, and tongue. It dripped down on her breasts.

Molly stood and looked around. Every other girl was still on her knees and still had a dick in her mouth. Molly went up to the table and grabbed up the sex toys. "Let's blow this place," she said with a self-satisfied smirk, and then she giggled uncontrollably. When she composed herself she exclaimed, "See, I'm not a lesbian!"

"Just because you sucked some dude's dick doesn't prove you're not a lesbian," I protested.

"It doesn't? Well, just what do I have to do to convince you?"

"Let's see you fuck some dude, and like it."

"I can do that. But I have to get stoned first."

"Stoned? You're already drunk."

"Me? You're not exactly sober, Sarah. And why don't you go fuck some dude and like it? You're the one who is suffering from high anxiety about being a lesbian."

"I just might do exactly that. But first, I have to get

really

stoned."

"See that guy over there with the guitar who looks like a hippie from the 60s? I bet he has some good weed."

We approached the Jimi Hendrix wannabe, and Molly negotiated a deal. "See these tickets?" she said as she stuck them in his face. "We get free weed with these, according to Spike, the president of Poontang Posse."

"Well, I'm a member of Poontang Posse, and if Spike said it, it must be true," our soon- to-be favorite drug dealer responded. "Here's a couple of big fat joints for each of you."

I grabbed them from him. "She just had a big fat joint," I snarled, pointing at Molly. "These are mine!"

But I shared them with Molly after we found a secluded spot in a wooded area where we could smoke them in peace.

Just as we finished smoking ourselves into nirvana, and started groping one another, a really strange-looking individual interrupted us. Actually, he looked like Jesus, and he was carrying a Bible.

He approached us and began to read aloud from the Bible. I recognized the verses as being from the last part of the first chapter of Romans. "For the women exchanged the natural function for that which is unnatural, and in the same way also the men abandoned the natural function of the women and burned in their desire toward one another."

"What is a preacher doing at a biker rally?" I questioned.

"This is where the sinners are. I'm the chaplain for Poontang Posse. Repent you harlots! Lesbianism! Lesbianism caused men to turn to one another for sexual gratification. Repent!"

"You are the chaplain for Poontang Posse?" I asked incredulously. "I never would have figured them for religious types."

"I sure am. Why, I baptized them all over there in the creek. I baptized them naked. They didn't want to get their leather all wet."

"So preacher, tell me this, do you know all about the Rapture?" Molly inquired, becoming very interested in this guy.

"Of course I do."

"Well, why don't you and I take a walk down to the creek," she suggested. "You can baptize me naked and then we'll see if you can bring about a rapture."

"Well, I'm up for doing whatever I can for a lost soul," he replied, as the expression on his face turned from one of piety to lust.

"Sarah, I'm going to fuck this preacher silly," Molly whispered to me. "I'll show him, and you, I'm not a lesbian. While I'm busy bone dancing with him, why don't you go get us more tickets for freebies from Spike. We're all out."

I nodded, and walked away to find the president of Poontang Posse.

Soon I found Spike. He was presiding over the Balling for Dollars game he had mentioned. The action had yet to begin, and he was waving around two handfuls of hundred dollar bills.

"Hey Red, you wanna play?" he called out to me, as he pushed away the throng of bare-breasted babes who grabbed at the cash he was holding.

"Oh hell," I muttered mostly to myself, "I might as well make some money for proving I'm not a lesbian."

"You'd look good with all this green," he said matter-of-factly. "I got more if this isn't enough. I'll pay whatever you want for shagging your hot ass."

"Yeah, I guess so. I need to make some bread so I can buy my own Harley. The one I'm riding belongs to Molly, the girl who is with me. She is riding her father's bike."

"I have just the Harley for you, Red! See that Softail over there?" He pointed. "I just finished reconditioning it. It's a girl's bike too, but not as sissy as a Sportster. Did you ever take it up the back door before?"