Page 13 of Misadventures of a Biker

“I can be.”

“I think we all can be.”

“I’m difficult to be with,” I admitted. “Knowing that about myself prevents me from being in a relationship. Hell, it prevents me from one-night stands. I tell myself I’m an asshole to make myself feel better about being perpetually single.”

“Why are you difficult to be with?”

I had the capacity to be in a relationship with the right woman. Finding that woman had proven impossible in all my years. My sexual preferences weren’t in line with any women I’d ever met. I wondered if there was such a woman.

“Do you want the truth or a lie?” I asked.

Her eyes widened with wonder. She glanced over each shoulder and then leaned forward. “The truth,” she whispered.

Kate was open-minded regarding my criminal history. I hoped she was equally understanding about my sexual shortcomings.

“I’m a sexual misfit,” I said. “To be in a relationship, I need to be with someone open-minded. Open-minded and quite adventurous.” I looked at her sideways. “Really open-minded. Without that person, there’s no sense in me trying.”

She seemed confused. “Can you define what a sexual misfit is?”

“Can I be candid?”

She slapped my bicep. “You big dork.” She glanced around the foyer. “It’s just you and me talking. Yes. Be candid. You’re not going to offend me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Ass slapping, hair pulling, biting, shoving my cock down someone’s throat. Humiliation. Saying degrading things, all of which I don’t necessarily mean. Stuff like that. It’s not a desire, it’s a necessity.”

“Oh. Wow.” She blinked. Repeatedly. “That’s interesting.”

“Is it?”

“It is.” She drifted into deep thought. “I’ll see if I can find you someone,” she said, meeting my gaze. “I’ve got an idea or two.”

The thought of her finding someone was laughable. If she could, I’d entertain a relationship until I was released from the federal government’s clutch.

I chuckled at the thought. “Okay.”

“For clarification’s sake, I’m Miss Missionary.”

“By choice, or by default?”

“Choice,” she replied. “I tried rough sex. Hated it. I like it slow and easy.”

I wasn’t disappointed to hear her sexual preferences. If anything, I was somewhat relieved. It placed her in a category that assured I wouldn’t fuck up what little bit of a friendly relationship we’d developed.

“At least you know what you like,” I said.

She gave me a half-assed grin and an equally unassertive nod. Then, a lightbulb appeared to go off.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” she asked excitedly.

“I was seeing a girl on and off before prison,” I replied. “I think she got married. Why?”

“No. A girlfriend. Like, a girl, and she’s your friend. She’s like your guy friends, only a girl.”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Do you want one?”

I gave her a look. “You?”