AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The next shop was friendlier, and I soon found out why. That guy, older, casual-like, almost too casually, said, “I’ll give you four hundred bucks.”
I heard the number, and everything in me wanted to yell at the guy to take his four hundred bucks and shove it, but then I realized, as I stared into the light blue eyes of the man, that he would not ask for a receipt, and he wouldn’t call the cops to see if the watch was stolen. The amount offered was for no questions asked, so that’s exactly what I did.
With the four one-hundred-dollar bills in my wallet, I felt the world closing in on me. I had that full-chested fear that I’d felt back in the war. The desert sun beating on my head, the smoke choking me, my chest constricting…
But I had to snap out of it, so I composed myself enough to get on my bike and take off, getting back onto the highway in search of a life that had to start with four hundred and ten dollars.
Chapter Two
I’vealwayslovedtoride, ever since building my first dirt bike when I was fifteen. I’ve lived just over twice that, but that was possibly the best time of my life.
I’d found parts in the old salvage yard that was down the road from my best friend, Rudy’s house. It was like a Disney World for mechanics, as there were every model and year of cars, trucks, and motorcycles anyone could need.
The place was spread out over five acres, and I’d walked nearly the entire thing at one time or another. The smell of old metal and grease was an elixir for me. I became creative. I was never one for art of any kind. I could barely draw stick figures, but with a wrench, I was a wizard. It was there that the army sent me after basic training, to work on Hummers, trucks, even a few helos. If it needed fixing, my superiors knew it was me they could come to.
I missed that old bike, but I grew and so did my needs. I got a Sportster two years after I graduated from high school, making it my primary mode of transportation. It was cheap on gas, fun, though I had it a year before trading it in for a Road King.
My leathers were for two reasons, riding motorcycles and the other kind of riding. That which came with the new thing I was learning, kink. Riding to a city for the first time, feeling so good I wanted to add sex to it, I found a bar, but it was no ordinary gay bar. The moment I walked into that first Eagle; I was hooked. The sights and smells of the place, leather and cum. I wanted to live that life.
So, I did.
That was, until the army, but it was amazing what out of the way leather bars I found in the places I was stationed. I’d find them and play when I could, thinking about it when I couldn’t.
Out on the open road again, I let the fear and guilt go, the heavy vibration of the bike under me, the cooler air of the afternoon making me wish I’d have put on my jacket. When I pulled off the road at a diner, I ate a basic burger, one of the cheapest things on the menu, and that was the best food I’d had in years.
Gourmet food, sauces, and pork loin, lamb, veal, all that shit was fine, sure, but I’d craved basic food. Burger, greasy fries, a fountain Coke, that was living.
I got my jacket and chaps out of the saddlebags to resume my journey. Though I thought about getting a motel, I didn’t want to stop riding. After gassing up at a place near the diner, I got back on the road.
I didn’t check my phone; I didn't want to. In fact, I thought it was a good idea to get rid of the thing. I could always get another down the line, taking my contacts off the Cloud if I needed them. I had most numbers memorized, and I knew that made me a bit of an odd duck. No one memorized numbers anymore, but I did.
That day on the open road was a great day for me. I thought my life had finally become mine again, which was amazing. I was no one’s trophy any longer, no one’s maid and the occasional vanilla fuck. In fact, if I could have found a bar that had even one gay man, I’d have fucked for days.
As it was, however, riding so many miles, three hundred by the time I stopped, after not going farther than through a city for years, I was stiff and tired enough to sleep for a week once night hit. I found a cheap motel and parked my bike right up on the sidewalk outside the door, and laughed to myself the minute I saw the place.
Old box TV, bolted to the metal stand, bedspread with three cigarette burns, carpet that was red and stained. It was a haven, and I fell on the bed, laughing out loud.
Oh, I didn’t say it yet, maybe because it’s stupid to bitch about, but I am a right side of the bed sleeper. Had been all my life, even on the twin bed as a kid. I’d huddle on the right side, which was away from the wall. That was maybe when it started, because the wall was cold, being an outer wall.
But with Harvey, I had to sleep on the left side of the bed. He insisted on the right, and thinking it was stupid, I gave into that demand easily. For the first time in years, I rode my bike all day, and I’d get to sleep on the right side of the bed.
I guess I’m easier to please than I thought.
I was hungry, so I ventured out to the vending machine and grabbed a couple bags of Cheetos, then got some ice from the ice maker down the walkway. I drank water and ate Cheetos, feeling like a king.
Sure, I had very little money, even less after paying for gas and the motel, but I felt on top of the world. The money, the fact Harvey would be home right about then to find I’d left, all that was trouble for another day. That night, I was my own man.
When I woke from the best sleep I’d had in ages, I thought about those things. Worry crept into my paradise with the holes in the bedspread and boxy television. Ticking like an old clock, my thoughts filed through money, work, theft, jail…
My mind did that, ran and ran at times, never slowing. Sometimes, just to keep a thought out of my head, I’d do just about anything. That day, there was nothing to do except let them all crowd in.
I had regrets, sure. But I also knew he owed me. I didn’t own a thing in that house, and wasn’t allowed to work, at least work that would make money. I did everything in the house and felt a little owed for that.
I secretly suspected that was bullshit, but I didn’t care. I’d stopped caring about a lot over the last couple of years. Maybe longer.
When I rode into the next state, I was in the mountains, and there was no better place to ride than through the mountains. The cool air, the scenery couldn’t be matched. It kept a person on their toes, with the curves in the sometimes narrow roads, and the slim shoulders that were a challenge even for me on my bike. The grades were a trip to me, and there were times I felt like I was riding straight down, then climbing so steeply that most of my vision was only sky.
The smells were hypnotic, pine and fresh… everything! Soil! I smelled the very soil under those pines, spruce, fir, and aspen. So many cars and other vehicles around me were driving fast, like they had some place to go, and they probably did, but not me. I was riding, letting the road take me where it wanted.
