Page 19 of S is for SEX

TWENTY-NINE

Tegan

Riding in formation with forty motorcycles was an experience. The comradery, professionalism, and skill of the riders was second to none. Riding with the men of Filthy Fuckers MC along the Pacific Coastal Highway was akin to being in a synchronized swim team.

Side-by-side, the motorcycles started, turned, sped up, slowed down, and stopped. Their placement in the formation was assigned, and no one broke out of the formation during the entire trip.

Whether I truly was or not, I felt like I was a part of something big.

Crip led us along Palm Canyon Road, on a breathtaking journey through the mountains, and eventually we came to a stop in a large parking area filled with other motorcyclists. I quickly noticed various MC’s patches were being worn by people attending, many of which were well-known 1% clubs.

Maintaining our formation, we rode to a vacant spot and parked side-by-side, one at a time.

Simply seeing the men maneuver into their parking spots was jaw-dropping.

The roar in the distance from motorcycles that hadn’t arrived yet – combined with the constant rumble of the riders surrounding us that had yet to park – was overwhelming. I gazed out at the sea of motorcycles.

“Holy crap,” I gasped.

Brad shut off the motorcycle and looked around. “Amazing, huh?”

I gawked in every direction. “I can’t even…”

“This is what it’s all about.”

“There’s Hells Angels over there,” I whispered. “I saw one of them.”

He nodded and motioned toward the countless motorcycles. “There’ll be a bunch of them here.”

I swallowed heavily. “It’s okay? I mean, do you get along with them?”

“They’re just like you and me. You’ll be surprised. And yeah, we get along with everyone here.”

Brad hadn’t shaved in a few days and had a slight growth of facial hair. Seeing him with it while wearing his kutte, jeans, and boots was a huge turn-on.

If I made it through the entire day without jumping his bones, it would be a miracle. I had no idea what the protocol was for affectionate behavior during such an event, but I was afraid before the day ended, I was going to find out.

As I was ogling him, Peyton got off Crip’s motorcycle and walked up to us. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

I tore my eyes from Brad and looked at her. “I do.”

“C’mon,” she said, gesturing toward the long row of bathrooms in the distance.

I shot her a worried look. “Doesn’t someone need to go with us?”

“Believe me,” she said. “No one will mess with you here.”

I glanced at Brad. He nodded. “You’ll be fine.”

Peyton looked like she was about my age, and was petite and beautiful. Dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, she looked like most of the girls I went to college with.

Through the crowd of bikes and the throngs of people, we made our way toward the Porta-Potties.

“So, what do you do?” I asked.

She shuffled between two motorcycles, being careful not to touch them. “For work?”

I did exactly as she did, being double careful. “Yeah.”

---