One
Here I am, minding my melanated business, sitting in the sperm donor's lair. The place Gunner, my sperm donor, and his club congregate, live, and party. Looking around, I take in the atmosphere. Through research, I discovered that the building they call their clubhouse sits smack dab in the middle of their ten-acre compound. It used to be a mill that was left abandoned in the ’60s. As most stories go with motorcycle clubs, the founders, which includes my sperm donor's father, purchased the property after getting out of the service and looking for a place to call home and like-minded men to call family. The compound has been dubbed LSMC’s domain ever since.
The colossal brick structure is a sight, with its imposing red brick walls. It sits like a castle on a hill, minus the hill. Built-in a U-formation, like those fancy hotels or estates with circular drives. There is parking on either side of the main building. I noticed the inconspicuous garage doors leading to their underground parking structure. The addition is missing from their original blueprints on file with the city. I hmm to myself at the memory of noticing it. I wonder what they keep down there? Over the years, they’ve updated and upgraded. Sleuthing allowed my team to discover their hidden secrets. Something I’m sure the club wouldn’t like someone outside of their ranks knowing. I have my suspicions about why they haven’t declared the structural changes. They have plenty to hide, even if they claim to be going legit. They are also wise to have this place shored up like Fort Knox–to protect their assets and club family.
On either side of the main clubhouse, there are two connecting structures where members of the club and their families live if they choose to call the clubhouse their home. Like the ranking of their MC, the buildings are built to accommodate the members. There are apartments where some brothers live with their families and rooms where single and low-ranking members live. I noticed that for each cluster of windows, there was a decent-sized balcony. However, the top floor is different because it has an outdoor space that covers half the roof. At least, that is what the blueprints say.
The mixed brick and chain-linked fencing stood menacingly when I pulled into the compound. Its purpose is to keep the clubhouse and surrounding grounds secure and deter unwelcome outsiders from becoming too comfortable or thinking the occupants are welcoming–they’re not. At least not most of the time. They attempt to keep in the community's good graces, allowing them to get the experience of being a part of their world by having open club nights–like tonight–where everyone is welcome. There is one thing I found interesting when I arrived that I’ve never seen before. The club had the Prospects do a quick once over, scanned my fake ID, and took a few pics of my ride. If I were anyone else, my ID would have been flagged for being fake, but I’m not, so they welcomed me with open arms. Of course, I was in their system the second I parked, deleting any trace I was ever here–even if I used a fake ID. Having my face in their system was not ideal.
The security measures they have in place are decent. Cameras are on every corner, and they use their Prospects to survey the perimeter and man their main gate. They seem to be pretty damn sound in their protection of the compound. Until Sin does her thing, we won’t know if it is all for show and the real deal. Sin is an integral part of my team and is good at what she does. She has many talents, and for this job, she will attempt and likely breach their compound locating the weak spots. Even the most secure places have them. And even if she goes unnoticed, it doesn’t mean they are shit at protecting themselves. It just means we can help them do it better.
What impressed me the most was the beauty. Who would’ve thought that a bunch of bikers cared about landscaping? They have beautiful redwoods darted around the expanse of the gravel drive. The trees are strategically placed to give the illusion of a welcoming atmosphere. But as I said before, they are far from welcoming outside of nights like tonight. It’s more likely because the club also includes women and children. Nothing like pretty trees to make a kid see this place as a welcome sight and not a place filled with drugs, guns, and debauchery.
When I walked into what they call the main room, a bar that seemed to span the entire lower level of the building, I immediately made a beeline for the bar. The bar is the highlight of the space as it runs along the right side of the main room. My intention for tonight is to people-watch.
Taking in their main room. It has an engaging, semi-typical bar atmosphere. A smile makes its way to my lips while watching everyone as they have a good time. Some are having a really good time, if you know what I mean. Wink. Wink. As I continue to take in the space and the people in it, they have some of the typical bar staples. Dartboards line the wall across from the four pool tables on either side of the double doors leading to the back entrance. In the corner, there are several casino-type card tables set up. That is where most of the debauchery is happening. And by debauchery, I mean sex and gambling. The lights in the room are dim. There are typical bars, booze, and babes neon signs lit throughout the room. The loud music bounces from 80's rock, RB, and hip-hop. Taking in the overall décor, I notice couches and tables are in strategically placed groupings, which are not typical for biker clubhouses. That much I know from my experience with clubs. Usually, shit is mismatched and a hot ass mess and smelly as fuck. But not this main room and not this club. I get a high-class bar vibe from the décor.
Although it's still gritty and dark, a woman must have designed this space, filled with dangerous one-percenter bikers. A reminder of who this place belongs to, and you’ll never forget it by looking around, no matter how put together it is.
All around me, there are hotties. And I mean hotties. Even the old dudes are fine as fuck. I can honestly say I was unprepared for this level of sexy when I came to take a gander. And I’ve been around plenty of bikers. But these men, these men are damn fine. I’m trying my damnedest to keep from drooling all over myself. Sheesh. When I tell you that these men are the kind of fine that makes your panties wet. So drool-worthy, you would scream Yes, Daddy, to whatever they ask of you. I mean it. They are fine as fuck and come in every shape, size, and color. And I may or may not need to change some thangs after leaving here tonight, because the amount of spank bank material has me feeling blessed and flooded.
One man, in particular, has caught my eye more than I care to admit. Every time I catch a glimpse of him, my body does things it has no business doing. But oh wee... The things I would do to that bald head. I suddenly find myself a little too hot. I fan myself, trying to cool my ass down from what this man existing is doing to me. When his chocolate brown eyes lock on mine, taking me in, I catch a hint of amusement and something else. I try to ignore the panty-melting looks he sends me. But it’s damn hard because every time our eyes lock, he has this innate ability to hold me captive. I can’t seem to look away until he does, which is some bullshit in itself. I’ve scolded myself every time. I’m too much of a bad bitch to be one of those girls. You know, those that fall on their knees for a pretty face. Instead of taking the chance of falling into the trap because I am such a bad bitch. I avoid his little corner of the room. As I said, I’m a bad bitch, and yes, that is my story, and I’m sticking to it. And if you don’t believe me, you can fuck right off because my pussy does not rule me. That feels like a bold face ass lie.
What the actual fuck is this? I don’t like losing control of any part of me, and that man has the ability no other has or should.
The sexy beast of a man sends me a wink when he catches my eye yet a-fucking-gain. Damn it, I suck at this avoidance thing. Like a schoolgirl, my face blushes, and my body heats. All I have to say is thank fuck for melanin. Otherwise, everyone would know what those beautiful brown eyes, bald head, and chiseled jawline are doing to my lady bits. And again, I can’t look away from him until he does, and as soon as he does, I quickly shift my eyes away from him and chastise myself. I’m not here for that. By that, I mean him eating me like I’m his last meal, lickety lickey of the lady bits. I shiver as my thoughts go to a vision of my hands holding his smooth bald head as sweat drips down both of our bodies, and he...
Nope, Nuh-uh.
I. Am. Not. Here. For. That.
It’s hard damn work keeping my eyes from straying back to him, especially when I feel the heat of his stare. So, instead, I zone in on the scantily clad women floating around the room. And my eyes get caught on an uninhibited live porno playing out in front of me between three men and one woman. And when I tell you, she is getting it. I mean, she is gettingit. Ol’ girl is being filled in every hole and crevice. And she seems to love every filthy orgasm-inducing second of it. Hot damn. I take my eyes off the show and continue scanning the room, careful not to stray in his direction again. The way my body responded to a simple look is not shit I’m trying to unpack. No sir, no ma'am, no to they or them. I cannot think about anything other than what I came to do. Nope, nothing. Not Mister Sexy or his full, luscious lips I want to see wrapped around my hardened nipples.
“Damn it.” I let out a harsh breath and shook my head toward my dirty-ass mind.
Some of the shit these men do to these women would make even my mother blush. And I like it. I'm sure my mother would lose her mind at the filthy thoughts in my head and how unfocused I am. My mother isn’t stuck up or a prude, but she's far more capable of keeping her focus than I am in this situation. Despite her efforts to control our crazy growing up, Blaze, my twin, and I have always been a little wild. And add being good-looking, and shit can get a little out of hand because we’ve used our looks to help us out a time or two.
As far as sexual proclivities and activities, being honest. I’m far less open to sharing my private bits than my brother. And yes, when I say no sharing, I mean precisely that. At twenty-three, no man has thoroughly enjoyed or worshiped my lady tunnel. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some pretty amazing and heated sessions with the opposite sex, but to give it up. To go to happy land without a care in the world is not my thing. I’m far too selective about that, among other more virtuous reasons. All I’m saying is that with my brother and me, there is a difference between knowing that our looks can get shit done and how we follow through. Everyone knows Blaze is a grade-A man whore, including our mother. So, I don't get why she gets on me about my mildly inappropriate thoughts and comments about the opposite sex. Technically, I’m still a proud owner of my V-card. Yes, I have already acknowledged using my looks and sexuality for work, but it’s for work. And thoughts are just that, thoughts. So again, I don’t get why my mother gets bent out of shape. I feel like it’s a double standard because Blaze is way worse than I could ever be. I mean, there was one time when he…
I’m brought out of my random and not even remotely important thoughts when I hear a bored-sounding, high-pitched voice from the bartender who has been avoiding serving me since I sat down.
“What can I get you?” she says with a huff.
I turn on my stool and smile while giving her my full, undivided attention. She tries to hide the sneer on her overly made-up face. But I see it. The busty bleach blonde pops her gum and wipes down the already wiped-down bar top. How she looks at me says she’s bothered and would rather be anywhere else than here doing her job. Her half-scowl and half-smile don't match. Like, girl, calm your tits. You're the one who asked to be in your position. Heffa. Side note, I hate people who apply for a job, get the job, and then are assholes while on the job? Don’t be mad at me because you made a shitty life decision.
I stare at big boob Betty. That's not her name, but we'll go with it for now. I stare at her longer than necessary, taking in the layers of makeup caked on her face. Makeup that hides the beauty she could be, but that’s not my business. This chick is a sight to see, not a good one, let me tell you. Her version of a Smokey eye looks like someone punched the mess out of her eyelids and only her eyelids. And her lashes, good lawd, like two giant centipedes, crawled on her face and decided it would be their home. Her lashes give me the heeby jeebies. And her clothes, why? Just why? She’s going for the club girl chic attire, a halter top ten sizes too small, and a pair of Daisy Dukes that are essentially underwear. And her fake tits are unbelievable, yikes! Those things are begging to be returned to sender; they are too round, too big, and look like boulders sitting too high on her chest. She is short, that I can tell. I can’t see her shoes, but I can tell she’s tiny, even if she’s wearing heels. Small waist and wide hips that I’m sure have been surgically enhanced. Her whole thing doesn’t match.
Ok... ok, I know.
Women are supposed to be kind and support one another and all that flowery bullshit. But listen, she started it with her attitude, just saying.
My annoyance doesn’t show on my face, which remains neutral. I’m not here to start shit or get into it with the club girls, which she is. Even though this woman is making it evident that she’s trying to show me who the boss is between us. Her stank face is on full display now and makes that clear. And it takes a lot of energy not to roll my eyes.
“Whiskey neat, top shelf,” I say, sounding bored.
When words leave my lips, her eyes narrow into a glare. Which makes me smile. She looks as if I told her to eat shit. I try damn hard not to say some smart shit at the look on her face. She continues to give me a stank face look, and I give her a fuck you smile. Tiring of the little staring game, my brow raises, finally showing her my annoyance. Rolling my neck in only the way a woman of color can. All the while saying without saying with my eyes that I’m not the one or the two, so she’d better save herself the trouble and get my drink. She scowls when I don’t back down and sucks on her teeth. This isn't my first rodeo. This chick is not the first, nor will she be the last to test me. But I’m not afraid to go off and handle a bitch. She’ll back down before it gets to that point. She’s that type. I've worked with an MC or two in my life. And their bitches are territorial as fuck. And this chick seems to be the type. But she needs to calm her ass down. And stow that scowl for someone who won’t molly-wop it off her face.
Listen, I won't lie.
One thing about me is that I get in, get off, and get out. A lot of these women, club girls, club whores, or whatever, are looking for forever. So they try to run off anyone they deem a threat to their status or station within the club. Which is why I end up having to deal with stank-face bitches like Caterpillar Lash Betty. She doesn’t know me or that I’m not looking, but she doesn’t care, and that has me letting out a hard sigh.
Hennyways…
Whenever I’m in a situation like now and can engage with the opposite sex, I wouldn’t be opposed to finding my forever. But I'm not actively seeking it. My mother tried that. And her forever fairytale resulted in what our lives are now, with me sitting in my sperm donors club. Watching, waiting, leaning, and dealing with stank-face bitches.
I'm a good-looking woman, and I don't hide it. I embrace the reality that is my mixed heritage. Don’t get it twisted; I’m Black, BLACK! No matter the percentage. I got the good stuff from both of my parents. I don't have to work for it. So, it's not a stretch to understand that being pretty in the presence of the I have to work damn hard and be faker than a Barbie to look this good crowd has them getting testy. Like Petty Betty, they always give me an instant attitude. I don't take offense unless they get out of hand or become disrespectful cunts. I do what I need to when bitches want to test me. I will indeed leap when chicks get froggy. I don’t play like that, and disrespect is not something I will ever ignore.
Big Boob Barbie is still staring at me like I asked her to tell me the secrets of life or a cure for all the world's illnesses. I roll my eyes and repeat my order. She blinks a few times, looks behind me, and her overly made-up eyes widen. Whatever she sees has her turning away quickly and shuffling away. Interesting.
Soon I discovered why she scurried off like her ass was on fire.