Page 3 of The Biker Alien

And the guy takes a step back and removes his leather jacket.

What the hell? I’m not complaining, but…

2

Alec

It’s rather fun,watching as her eyes widen and her jaw drop as I place my leather jacket on the chair in front of me. I next remove my shirt.

“Sir, please, I do not know what you are doing…”

I turn around to show off what passes as tattoos here on Earth but are merely the designs I have been born with.

I am not an Earthling. I am a Koxian from Vukox.

“My tats, do you think you could use them as inspiration for a design? As for colors, I was thinking black and red.”

“I… Wow. This is really something. Do you mind if I take a few pictures of your tattoo? Just for reference.”

“Of course. I didn’t think I would sit here and model for you as you painted.”

She laughs. “I might not mind the company.”

“I hadn’t thought of it, but I suppose it could be a little lonely. Do you work alone?”

“I do,” she says proudly. “I really love your tattoo. I can’t even begin to describe what it is. Do you mind telling me the inspiration behind it? Not that you have to,” she rushes to add. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You’re allowed to ask, and let’s just say that the design came to me.”

She laughs again. Do you want the design to cover the right side of the bike? The left? All of it?”

“All of it.”

“Okay. There. I have enough photos. You can… ah, put your shirt back on.”

I face her and slowly reach for my shirt. She diverts her gaze way and then sneaks a peek before taking the binder and busying herself with that.

A lot of women stare at me. I’m used to it. She’s trying to be professional, and I respect that almost as much as I admire her artwork.

“You truly have a gift,” I say.

“Thank you. I’ve been working on bikes since I was five. My dad was a mechanic before me, and I would help out with him every chance I got. It was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed myself.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“He always wanted to have his own shop, though. It never happened. When I was sixteen, he died. A motorcycle accident.”

“I am so sorry.”

“It’s all right. I dropped out of school, got my own GED, and worked at the same shop my dad had until five years ago, when I bought this place.” She beams.

“And your mom?”

“Oh, she ditched when I was three. They never married, and she found a new guy who didn’t want kids, so she just left. About two years ago, she contacted me, or at least a woman who claimed to be my mom did. She said she needed money. Turns out that she hadn’t been with that guy all that long because she ended up knocked up, and she put that baby up for adoption but when she got pregnant again, he bounced. She was with a different guy, not sure if there were any in between, but he was a druggie who had stolen her mon, so she was dumping him but needed some funds to get going.”

“Did you give her any?”

“I did. A little bit and told her that if she ever contacted me again… basically to not ever call me again. That it was once and done and now my hands are washed of hers.”

---