Page 37 of Baker

FOURTEEN - Baker

I lifted my goggles and inspected the weld. Beside it, along the length of the motorcycle’s fender, the paint was burned off from the many times I’d made the same repair.

“It’s a good-looking weld.” I looked at Cash. “Might hold this time.”

Sitting backward on his Harley Wide-Glide wearing a doubtful look, he glanced at the repaired fender and shook his head. “You said that the last four times you welded it. Needs a buffer between the fender mounts and the fender, if you ask me. Gonna keep breaking over and over. It’s old technology. Come on over to the twenty-first century. Bikes have shocks now.”

I set the goggles aside. “I’ll just keep welding it back together.”

He waved a dismissive hand toward me. “Time to get rid of that piece of shit. MC President with a shitty old bike makes you fit a stereotype. Every MC President has a dilapidated hardtail. It’s not like you to conform to society’s expectation. Get rid of the motherfucker.”

I’d never conform to society’s expectations. The Sportster was different. It was sentimental. I looked it over. It was ugly, but I couldn’t ever see getting rid of it.

I raked my fingertips along the worn gas tank. “I’ve had it forever.”

“Time for a change. Fucker looks like shit. Fucker runs like shit. Fucker sounds like shit. It’s a pile of shit, Baker.” He gestured toward the dozens of motorcycles that the six of us owned collectively. “See anything else that resembles that junkety fucker?”

I didn’t need to look. My Sportster hardtail was one of a kind in all respects, including ugliness. It was the first Harley I’d ever purchased, and the one that ignited my love of riding. I grinned. “Nope.”

“Maybe it’s what’s giving you the headaches. Probably got your spinal cord pinched between a couple of slipped disks. I’m tellin’ ya, get a Dyna or a bagger.” He snapped his fingers. “Headaches will disappear just like that.”

I hadn’t had a headache since I started fucking Andy. I didn’t want to admit it, but it appeared Cash’s belief in whacking off was spot-on. I lifted my leg over my seat and sat down on the vintage bike. “Have you ever fucked a chick that had a pussy that drove you mad?”

“All pussy drives me crazy. What do you mean?”

“Pussy that’s just, I don’t know, better.”

He leaned against his handlebars and swept his hair out of his face. “Thought we were talking about you gettin’ a new bike. What, now we’re on to twat talk?”

“Just asking a question.”

He rubbed his jaw and gave me a serious look. “You know what they say about pussy, don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“All puss is good puss, some’s just better than others.”

“I was trying to ask you a serious question. Never mind.”

A confused look washed over him. “What was the question?”

Cash was an integral part of the club, and my best friend. On the job, he was all business. A true professional. During the day-to-day course of living life, however, he had the attention span of a gnat.

“Focus, Cash.” I snapped my fingers twice in hope of gathering his attention. “Have you ever fucked a chick that had voodoo pussy?”

His eyes narrowed. “Voodoo pussy?”

“It’s the only way I know how to describe it. Little bitch has got the tightest little puss I’ve ever fucked. And, it’s not just tight, it’s…I don’t know. It’s like it casts a spell on my cock. I stay hard forever when I’m fucking her, and when I come it feels like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“She got a narrow little waist and wide hips?”

Andy had a small waist and very wide hips. So far, he was batting a thousand. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Got an ass like an apple?”

“Like an apple?”

He formed his hand into the shape of a ‘C’. “Is it shaped like this if you look at it from the side?”