TITLE    : My Wife joined a Motorcycle Gang
STORYID  : my-wife-joined-a-motorcycle-gang
SUMMARY  : And became someone else's bitch.
AUTHOR   : Ephesus14@lit
DATE     : 2021-03-26
CATEGORY : loving-wives
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |cheating wife|cheating wives|loving wife|loving wives|


<em>Thank you, Andi. There is no much sex in this story.</em>

<strong>My wife joined a motorcycle gang</strong>... And became someone else's bitch

I lived in a trailer. Not that living in a trailer is bad, but I was used to somewhat better; but that was before the roof fell in.

Marcy and I had been married for two years, lived in a nice apartment and had no investments. We did have some savings, but not much of an immediate financial future; but we were in love so things looked bright.

Marcy worked as a secretary at one of our Elementary Schools. Not a lot of money, but a nice health package. I worked for a company that replaced rain gutters. It wasn't the most glamorous job in the world, but it was honest and it helped pay the bills. I made a little more money than Marcy, but didn't have a health plan. We weren't living paycheck to paycheck, but we had to be careful and I worked two jobs trying to get ahead. Most of my second job money went into our savings. My second job was detailing cars and I did it by appointment. I got the detailing jobs by word of mouth and through my rain gutter job. Our company trucks were always spotless, and people noticed and commented. That's how I got most of my business.

I came home one evening to an almost empty apartment. Most of the furniture was still there, but all of the electronics including TV's, sound system, two computers and anything else of value was gone, including her clothes. I even had a pair of relatively expensive cowboy boots I had only worn three times and they were missing.

I immediately tried calling Marcy. "What do you want?" Asked the gruff male voice who answered her phone.

"Who is this and where is my wife?" I asked.

"You don't have a wife, but I have a new bitch."

"Let me talk to my wife."

"Fuck you." He hung up.

I called again and again, but nobody answered. I called her parents who had no idea what was going on. Marcy had gone by their house the day before and dropped off a lot of her clothes, but gave no explanation as to why.

I called her workplace and was told that she called and resigned. She never even went in to clean out her desk. I also called the police, but they were absolutely no help at all. It seems you have the right to disappear whenever you want, and the fact that a man answered her phone meant nothing.

Two weeks went by without a word from her, and I hadn't given a single thought to finances until the monthly bills started coming in. In two weeks she had almost maxed out two credit cards. I immediately called and took her name off of them. I couldn't cancel them because I needed them for my daily living expenses. Then the bank came to mind. She had taken my computer so I had to physically go to the bank. When I got there I found that our savings balance was zero. I was pissed.

I kept up my daily routine hoping I would hear something, but never did. Another two weeks, and still nothing. I talked to my landlord about the apartment and told him I couldn't afford to keep it on my own, so he let me out of our lease.

I rented a trailer and moved in. It wasn't in the best neighborhood and I was a bit concerned, but I really didn't have the money to afford to go anywhere else.

The first thing I did was buy some cheap lights and cameras and put them around the outside of the trailer.

The neighborhood had plenty of children of all ages. The younger ones all seemed to enjoy playing with each other, and the older ones seemed to all hang out like a gang. I assumed most of them went to school during the day, but I had no way of telling because I was working all day.

It was my first Saturday there and evening was coming on. I guess the kids were going to test me because some of them came into what my landlord called a yard. It must have been one of those drought-resistant yards they talk about... all gravel and no grass. My landlord, Franklin Jenkins, was a very nice man who tried to keep his trailer park clean, inviting and safe. He had other trailer parks in other, nicer parts of the city as well as other pieces of rental properties and businesses like convenience stores and laundromats.

That particular evening started with six or eight of the local youth hanging around my car. I was watching and when one of them leaned on it, I stepped outside and stood on what passed as my front porch. My car was always spotless. I took pride in both the way it ran, and looked, and didn't like people leaning against it, or even touching it.

"My name is Simpson. Michael Simpson." I announced. "I don't know how long I'm going to be living here, but as long as I do, I want all of you to remember a couple of things. First, I don't take shit off anybody and if you think you have safety in numbers, you're badly mistaken. Secondly, that car, this trailer, and what there is of this yard is mine, so stay away unless you want to wash my car, or cut my grass." We all looked around and there was no grass to be found anywhere near my trailer. We all laughed. "Well, anyway, if you want to wash my car." I looked at each individual face. "I have what they call a photographic memory, which means I never forget anything, especially faces." I paused one more time and looked at each of them individually like I was storing their faces in my memory, which was no better or worse than any of theirs. I certainly didn't have a photographic memory. "Stay off my property and away from me and we'll get along fine. Any questions?"

There weren't any and I never had any problems with any individuals or gangs for the time I lived there.

In fact, I became friendly with most of the youths, and groups of them would sit around on borrowed chairs and even on the gravel around my trailer and shoot the shit. My friendship with them started the second weekend I was there when two of them were walking by while I was repairing my porch. I had seen them earlier that afternoon helping another, older, resident put a new battery in his car. Then they sat around talking to the old man.

The evening in question, two of our local members of "the thin blue line" pulled onto trailer park property and drove right to a group of the boys just down the street from my place. There were two police cruisers and the officers got out and approached the group. They picked out two of the boys and started to handcuff them. I walked over to them and asked what was going on.

"We have a witness who saw these two break in a house earlier today."

I looked at the two boys. "An eyewitness?" I asked.

"Yes sir, and in all honesty, it's none of your business."

"Well, if it concerns these two," I indicated the two they had in custody, "it is certainly my business, because I saw them earlier today helping a gentleman put a battery in his car." The officers looked at each other. "You can easily verify that by talking to the gentleman they helped. His trailer is right over there." I pointed at his trailer.

"What time was that?" One of the officers asked.

"Between two and four. After they finished with the battery, the three of them sat and talked." I smiled at the boys as their handcuffs were being taken off. After that, I could do no wrong with all of the young people in the trailer court.

I was settling into my new neighborhood and trying to find Marcy at the same time. Whenever I drove I looked for her car but never saw it. I looked at every woman I saw hoping it was her, but it never was.

I had been in my trailer park for two months and still had no idea where she was or who the man who answered her phone was.

My boss asked me to detail two of our trucks which had gotten unusually dirty, so he had them brought by the trailer park for me to work on over the weekend. Some of the kids saw me working and asked if they could help, so I told them what I wanted. Both trucks were done in pretty short order and even passed my inspection. I split the money I received with them.

The next week, there were two signs on the street announcing "Cars Detailed While You Wait". The two who had been accused of breaking into the house had started it. Their names were James and Donnie. Sitting in chairs on the curb were five or six of the kids with water hoses, buckets, towels, rags and wax; everything needed to detail cars. The two water hoses were attached to the outside faucet on my trailer. I joined them and we detailed five cars that day. I inspected the work to ensure that they did a job meeting my expectations. Same with the next day. They had school so couldn't work during the week, but the next weekend we were all back on the street detailing cars.

About half way through Saturday, a police cruiser stopped and the officer driving it came up to me assuming I was the leader since I was the oldest. "Do you have a permit?" he asked.

"No, sir," I answered.

"Do you plan on getting one?"

I chuckled. "If we have to, but this is just a bunch of kids trying to stay off the streets and out of trouble. If they make a few honest bucks along the way, what's the harm?"

"No harm, and I applaud them, but the law is the law. I can let it slide until someone complains, but then I might have to close you down."

"I understand. Thank you." The kids had all been listening and there was some grumbling, but I explained that he was only doing his duty and recommended that a couple of us go to city hall and see what was required for a license.

Two days later James, Donnie and I went to City Hall. We went to the permits office, and in a relatively painless exercise, we received a permit to keep working as long as we stayed off the street and did our work on private property. We were pretty happy as we left the office and turned down the hall to leave the building.

I stopped dead when I saw Marcy walking in front of me holding hands with some guy wearing a motorcycle club vest, a chain was hanging from his belt to his knee and back up to his rear pocket where, I assumed, his wallet was safe from pick pockets. His long hair was in a ponytail and his beard had a rubberband holding it together. I saw it when they turned a corner in the hallway. I also saw tattoos from his hands all the way up to his wifebeater shirt.

I ran up to them. "Marcy! Marcy! Wait." They dropped hands, stopped and turned. "Marcy, what's going on? What happened? Where have you been?" The questions wouldn't stop and I was standing in front of her.

The man pushed me and I landed on my ass. "Back off asshole," he said. I watched as they started walking down the hall again. I got up and went after them.

"Marcy, talk to me. Please."

They stopped again. "Go away, Michael and leave me alone," she said.

"But..."

The man shoved me again. "Look dickhead, you heard her, so back off."

Marcy was backing down the hall with her hands in front of her as if fending me off. The man pushed me whenever I moved closer to her. In an instant, I saw stars. When I awakened, I was on a gurney in the same hallway. An EMT was standing over me. I looked around and saw James and Donnie standing along the wall. I also saw Marcy standing with the guy who was apparently her new man. His back was to me and I saw he was handcuffed and being held by a police officer. I looked at the EMT. "What happened?" I asked.

James heard me and he and Donnie came over. "Are you okay, Mr. Simpson?" he asked.

"I think so. What happened?"

"That big asshole sucker punched you and a cop saw him. Then he tried to get away and punched the cop. Apparently he was here to see his probation officer. He's in big trouble."

I looked at Marcy. "Marcy," I called. "Marcy, will you please tell me what's going on?"

"Go home, Michael, and leave me alone."

"Please talk to me."

She didn't say anything. I tried to get up, but the EMT wouldn't let me. "Lie there for a few more minutes."

I watched as the police officer escorted the man down the hall with Marcy following them. I was finally allowed to get up and assured them a trip to the hospital was not necessary. Another police officer appeared and asked me if I wanted to press charges. "Absolutely," I replied. I took James and Donnie back to the trailer park then went to Police Headquarters.

I filed the charges and learned the man's name was Keith Krueger, a convicted felon. He spent three years in prison for possession of cocaine with the intention of distributing it, attempted murder, assault and battery, which is what he did to me. In his first assault and battery, he stabbed the husband of the woman he was having sex with.

When he hit me, he violated one of the conditions of his parole which would put him back in prison for at least another three years, plus whatever they gave him for hitting me. All-in-all, a real piece of shit citizen who, by all appearances, was having an affair, or possibly living, with my wife.

At least now I had an idea where Marcy was, and since it appeared that she was with another man, our marriage was definitely over.

That afternoon, I told Donnie and James what was going on.

"He's bad news, Mr. Simpson. His club is the worst in the city for selling drugs. They're just plain mean and don't care who they beat up. If she's with them, she'll be just like the rest of them if she isn't already. My cousin was a member of their club and tried to quit. Krueger and other members of his club robbed my Aunt's and Uncle's store, beat them up and put them in the hospital just to get revenge for my cousin trying to quit. My aunt went insane after being beat up. They finally moved across the country to escape the club. No one was ever arrested for it, either. Your wife will never get away, even if she wants to, and when Krueger gets tired of her, she'll be passed around to the other club members until nobody wants her any more, then they'll just ignore her.

I tried to feel sympathy for her, but couldn't.

The next day, I found an attorney and filed for divorce. The papers were sent to Marcy's parents because I had no idea where else to send them. Her father called me. I told him what I'd seen and what happened to me.

I told my attorney what James and Donnie said about the motorcycle club. "I know," he said. "Everybody knows about them and tries not to cross their paths." He paused and made a phone call. He finished the call and looked at me. "Krueger is out on bail. If he finds where you live you can bet that he'll be coming after you. If you aren't scared, maybe you better be. I've never heard of anyone getting bail for a probation violation. Normally, you go right back to prison."

I felt relatively safe and didn't feel the need to be concerned. After all, Krueger didn't know where I lived.

I went back to my own little world of rain gutters and detailing cars. The owner of the trailer park had no problem with the boys detailing cars on trailer park property. He, like me, figured they, and the neighborhood, were better off. In fact, he came to me and made an offer. He owned several pieces of property around town including a couple of vacant lots. One of those lots was right next door to the trailer park. He offered to rent it to us just for the taxes he paid on it every year. We could put up a couple of portable car ports so we could keep cars we were working on out of the sun. In fact, he had three of them on another piece of property and he would have them brought over.

We settled into a pattern. There were six boys and me who actually took the most interest in the detailing business.

I never heard from Marcy about the divorce papers I sent, so had no idea if she received them or not. That ended with a phone call from her father. He said that Marcy had called them to say hello, and he told her about the paperwork. She and her boyfriend stopped by to pick them up and he wouldn't let her boyfriend in the house. He said Marcy's beautiful raven hair was now bright orange and she was wearing very short shorts and it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. He and her mother told her not to come back to their house.

So now she and Krueger knew where I lived because it was on the paperwork. I called my attorney.

One evening just before our scheduled court appearance for the divorce, I was sitting in a chair in front of my trailer when I heard the roar of motorcycles and three of them pulled off the street and right to my trailer. The riders took their time shutting off their engines and getting off the bikes. I stood as they approached me. I recognized Krueger. They moved to where they stood right in front of me. They were well within arms-reach if they decided to hurt me, which, I assumed, was their intention. "You're the reason I may be going back to jail, asswipe, so I'm going to fuck you up."

I was scared shitless, but didn't move. "Where's my wife?"

"Don't you get it? You don't have a wife anymore." He grabbed his crotch and shook it. "She loves this now." I stood there and didn't say anything, but my knees were shaking. I'd never been beaten up before. He took a step toward me.

"That's a bad idea," I heard someone say. The three bikers and I all looked behind Krueger. There were about a dozen boys half surrounding the bikers. They were all boys from the trailer park who I considered young friends. Most of them were carrying clubs of some sort. "You're fixin' to get fucked up pretty bad yourself." James said as he fearlessly walked up to Krueger and stood toe-to-toe. "Mr. Simpson, you don't need to waste any of your pornographic memory on these guys." I laughed to myself at his use of the word pornographic instead of photographic.

Krueger looked at him. "Be careful boy. You don't know who you're fucking with."

"Oh, I think I do. You're one of the cowards who robbed my cousin's parent's store, then beat them to within an inch of their lives. My Aunt went crazy after you finished with them."

"Then that should teach you a lesson, dumb ass. You cross me and your life is worthless. I remember that. Your fuckin' cousin wanted to quit the club. We robbed the store and I'd do it again, and now I'm going to take that club away from you and ram it up your ass like I did him."

"I don't think so, Krueger." Came the voice over the loudspeaker as several police cruisers raced in off the streets and policemen jumped out with weapons drawn.

The group of boys all stepped back and gave the police officers room. The three bikers were protesting as the handcuffs were put on them. "You got nuthin' on us," sneered Krueger.

"Don't bet on it. We heard you admit to robbery and assault and we also heard you threaten Mr. Simpson. I wouldn't call that 'nuthin'." said the officer with the megaphone. "Good job boys," he said to the boys who were still standing around enjoying being in the middle of the excitement.

Then he came to me. "Thank you, Mr. Simpson."

"Don't thank me. James, come over here." I took off the microphone they had put on me as James came over in a rush. "Officer, this is James Frazier. It was his Aunt and Uncle who were robbed by this scumbag. James is the one who gave me the idea of talking to you after my attorney warned me that they would come after me the minute they found out where I lived."

"Your attorney was correct, but Krueger is going to jail for a long time so he won't be bothering you and the rest of that gang won't bother you without him to bully them into it." He turned to James. "Son, I remember your family's case. We couldn't get Krueger then, but thanks to you telling Mr. Simpson your story, we have him now. You should be proud of yourself. As a matter of fact, where do you live? I'd like to chat with your parents."

"They're not home," James answered. "They won't be home for another hour or so."

"Well, I'll get to chat with them sooner or later. Thank you again," he shook James' hand. Then he thanked me and shook my hand.

The next day the press showed up, took some pictures of some of the boys, told their story and our detailing business took off and never slowed down.
<hr pg="2" />Court day for my divorce came. Neither Marcy nor her attorney, if she had one, showed. My petition was granted and I was divorced.

"We received notice today that they're calling you as a witness against Krueger at his trial next month. You better watch yourself until then. He's still in jail, but he has friends.

"Thank you. I will."

I was seated in the courtroom when they brought him in. He looked around, saw me, and glared at me then walked to the defense table where he sat by his attorney. Marcy was nowhere in sight.

He was sentenced to 12 years on the robbery charge, five for beating up James's Aunt and Uncle, and another year for communicating a threat to me. James and his family were in the courtroom not far from me. They were able to see their relatives finally get some justice.

James and his family cheered when the verdict was announced.

Two weeks later, my company was putting rain gutters on a convenience store when two motorcycles roared in for gas. Marcy was behind the driver of the first one. I was on a ladder and just watched. She had a loose fitting top and very short shorts. After they filled up, the riders jumped on and took off.

It seemed James was right. The women get handed down through the hierarchy. This might have been Marcy's first rung down the ladder since Krueger was arrested.

Richard Jenkins, the owner of the trailer park and the lot we were detailing on, told me that he had a business deal for me. He had been watching the boys and me and liked what he saw.

"I like money," he told me. "I like it a lot. I see an opportunity for you and me to maybe make some. And in the meantime, we can share a little of it. I don't mind sharing, do you?"

"Not if I have it," I told him.

"Then why don't we make sure you have it?"

"How?"

"I want a business on that lot you and your boys are using, so here's my offer. I loan you the money to build a real car wash there. There's plenty of room to have a detail shop beside it and your older boys will be able to work there full time because they'll be out of school by the time it's built. You can make them partners if you want. Pay them and then give them a small percentage of the profits."

I thought about his offer and after a couple of weeks I accepted. I got my boys together and told them. Everyone thought it was a great idea, especially since I was the one on the hook for the loan.

We met at the bank and the money was transferred. Richard Jenkins, our landlord and the man who loaned me the money, had a contractor he recommended and introduced us. My first meeting with him went very well. He introduced me to his architect, who was also his daughter. His name was Frank Defazio. Hers was Carina Carson. She had designed two other car washes so we looked at her drawings. I chose the second one I looked at. The next day Frank's office submitted the plans to the city and the permit process started. "Approval shouldn't take too long," he said optimistically.

Carina and I spent several hours together going over her plans. She was always a pleasure to be with. Six weeks later we broke ground. My guys and I had to suspend our detailing services because there were piles of dirt and heavy equipment all over the property, but we figured it was worth the wait.

The car wash itself wasn't finished but the piles of dirt and most of the equipment was gone so there was enough space on the lot for us to start detailing again. When we started we found we had many repeat customers who sent us new customers. Four of the original boys including James and Donnie were still with me.

I expended a lot of energy thinking about Marcy and awoke one morning feeling like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders because I realized I no longer cared. We were divorced and it was over. I was on my way to making a new life for myself.

I had lunch that day with Carina to discuss a change she wanted to make in our building. We had met several times before, but seeing her in a social setting was quite an experience. We laughed and talked and the change in the plan wasn't mentioned.

Dinner that night was mentioned, however, because I asked her to have it with me.

"I'm sorry, but I have a date," was her answer.

"Okay. How about next Friday?"

She looked somewhat sheepish. "I'm sorry, Michael, but I'm busy then, as well."

I grinned to myself. It didn't take a brick to fall on my head to understand that I should refrain from further date requests. We finally got around to the change she wanted to make.

I was back on the site the next day and she was changing the plans to reflect what we had discussed the night before. We exchanged greetings and I let her do what she came to do, and then she was gone. I never saw her again for several days. When we had questions of one another, we asked or answered and maintained our business relationship.

The building site was directly next door to the trailer park. All I had to do was make my way through some hedges and I was home. Donnie met me and stopped me.

"There's some woman sitting on your porch waiting for you. She looks like she needs a fix. I told her you didn't sell drugs, but she wouldn't leave."

"Okay, Donnie. Thanks." I went through the hedges and straight to my trailer. Sitting on my little porch was Marcy. We looked at each other. "What do you want, Marcy?"

"May we talk?"

She was a mess. She was wearing tight leather shorts, a sleeveless blouse, but at least she was wearing a bra. Her hair was still bright orange

"Let's go inside." I unlocked and opened the door. She entered in front of me. She was wearing a vest and there were three patches sewn on the back. The top patch said "Property". The center patch said "of". And the bottom patch said "Mouse."

Inside she looked around. "It's nice Michael. Do you have a girlfriend?"

I ignored her question and asked one of my own. "What does property of mouse mean?" I asked her.

"It means that I belong to him. It's a form of protection for me and tells everybody not to fuck with me or Mouse and the rest of the club will come after you."

"Did you wear one when you were the property of Krueger?"

"Yes."

"Did it say Property of Krueger?"

"No. his name is Honcho."

"What happens when Mouse gets tired of you? Whose property do you become then?" She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. I shook my head. "You wanted to talk, so go ahead."

"About a year ago I was at the Mall and there was a huge gathering of motorcycles. I was always fascinated by them so I stopped to look. None of the riders were there when I started looking but they all seemed to come out at the same time. They seemed so happy. Laughing and joking. All the guys looked rugged and tough and all the girls were sexy and wore tight pants or shorts and none of them wore bras. I thought the whole scene was just fucking hot."

That was the second time she had said fuck. I'd never heard her say it before. Ever.

"I was standing by what looked like the biggest bike there and this guy walked up and started talking to me. God, he was tough looking. Long hair, beard, wife beater shirt with huge muscles. He was fucking hot. We talked for a while before he told me to hop on and we'd go for a ride. I hesitated, at first, but he basically told me to get my ass on the bike, and I started to."

She paused before continuing. "I started to get on, and he said the club had a rule. Any female who rode on any bike had to fuck the owner of the bike. I asked him if he was joking and he said absolutely not. 'You ride, you fuck' he said. I told him I couldn't do that so they all loaded up and rode off. I could feel the vibration as they all roared away and my pussy tingled."

Pussy was another word she had never used, not even during the passion of sex.

"About a week went by and I remembered the name of the club because I saw it on his denim vest. It took a few days for me to find out where they hung out and one evening I went over there. It was a bar so I ordered a drink. The same guy I had talked to at the Mall came over to me. I remembered his almost ordering me to get on his bike and I felt my nipples get hard.

"Are you ready for a ride?"

"I told him, no, but I didn't leave either. I spent several hours with them and talked to some of the ladies. Nobody had anything but good to say about the club and Honcho. I did learn that Honcho was looking for a bitch to ride with him and they tried to talk me into it. I thought they were joking and laughed.

"I went back the next week and the week after. I went to the bar many times over the next couple of months. Both during the day and evening. I took time off from work to go in the afternoons. I knew everybody by then and felt comfortable with them, but mostly, we had fun. There were lots of sexual innuendoes all the time and after a while they started zeroing in on Honcho and me.

"After going there and being with them for several months, I went back one evening, and I knew that time that I was going to ride on Honcho's bike. I figured he would give me a ride, then fuck me and it would be out of my system, but it didn't work out that way. The whole club as at the bar when I got there. I went up to Honcho and told him I was ready for my ride. We went outside to the cheering of everybody in the bar because they knew Honcho was going to fuck me. During the ride, my pussy never stopped tingling and my nipples stayed hard. Back in the bar, we went in the back room and he fucked me. The next week he gave me my vest with my 'Property of Honcho' patch, and I knew I was staying with him."

"Where was I during all those visits to that bar?"

"The daytime ones were when I was supposed to be working but I took time off. You called me several times while I was at the bar and I thought sure you heard the noise in the background. Actually, one time, you did, but I convinced you it was some of the students being rowdy. In the evenings, I lied about where I was going when I went out. Sometimes I told you it was a meeting, other times shopping, or going to visit my parents. You never questioned me."

"So when did you decide to walk out on me?"

"About a month after I rode with Honcho the first time. I thought it was the lifestyle I wanted."

"Is it still?"

"No. But I can't get out of it. They won't let me. I told mouse I needed to talk to you about our divorce settlement so he brought me over here. If he finds out I lied, he will beat the shit out of me and give me to someone else."

"Do you have to go to someone else?"

"Yes. Those are the rules."

"And the other women never gave you any indication of things like that when you were first talking to them?"

"No. Most of them like it like that. A couple, like me, are too frightened to speak up."

"It's a tough life, you've chosen. What do your parents think about it?"

"No one in my family will talk to me."

"Why did you come here?"

"To tell you why I left you." She paused. "No. That's not the truth. I came to ask you to help me get out of the club."

I stood and walked around the small livingroom area thinking as I walked. I stopped walking and stood in front of her. "Why should I do that after what you did to me? To us?"

"There's no earthly reason you should. But I'm hoping you will. I'll beg if it will help."

"Why so desperate all of a sudden?"

"It isn't 'all of a sudden'. I've been seriously thinking about it since Honcho went to prison. I just didn't know who to ask for help."

"So if Honcho were still free, you would stay?"

"No. No. No. I started thinking of leaving as a possibility before he went to jail."

"Is that why you weren't at his trial?"

"Yes."

I was on the verge of telling her I would help her just as we heard Mouse's motorcycle roar down the street. It reminded me of her decision to leave me because the roar of motorcycle engines made her pussy tingle. That engine roar made my mind up for me. "I'm sorry, but after what you did to me, I won't help you."

She looked at me as we heard Mouse's engine shut off. Her eyes immediately got red and wet. "I understand." She started out the door, but turned back. "I'm sorry, Michael."

"That's a little late in coming, don't you think?" I asked her.

"Yes. I guess it is."

Mouse had gotten off his bike and she jumped on the rear seat. "Come on, Mouse. Let's go." Mouse grinned at me and got back on his bike and started it. He walked it back and when he had enough space to drive forward, put it in gear and roared off.

The next morning, I walked over to the car wash site. I said good morning and went into the construction trailer for a cup of coffee. All my life, whenever I saw a construction trailer, I could almost smell the perfect coffee I always thought was brewing there. The coffee on our site was bad and was never even close to how I imagined it should be.

I opened the door to pour my coffee out and heard Carina's voice.

"I've wanted him to, but he hasn't."

"Maybe you should ask him," her father said.

"I can't do that, Dad. I've never asked a man for a date.

"Has there ever been one you wanted to?"

"Not until now."

"Then ask him."

"I'll think about it."

I stepped out of the trailer and poured my coffee on the ground. Carina looked at her father, then me, and walked away. Frank came to me. "Have you talked to Carina?" he asked.

"Not recently. Why?"

"She wants to move your office to right behind the cashier's counter."

"Isn't it a little late for that?" I asked.

"Not if you want to spend the money, but she thinks it will give you more space for the detail cars. That's where a lot of your money is going to be made and she thinks it's a wise move." He looked at me. "She didn't discuss this with you?"

"She hasn't discussed anything with me in a couple of weeks."

"That isn't like her. I'll have a chat with her."

"Don't bother. It'll be finished soon and she and I won't have to talk at all."

"Apparently, you're not anyway. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I have to go check on my guys."

"Whoa, now. Don't say nothing's wrong. What is it?"

"She and I had lunch one day and seemed to enjoy each other's company, so I asked her to dinner, but she was busy. I asked her about the following week and she was busy then, as well. I figured the handwriting was on the wall, so we stopped talking unless it was business."

"So she had a couple of dates. No big deal. Guys ask her out all the time. Sometimes she accepts, sometimes she doesn't."

"I recognize that, but since I asked her twice and was told no both times and I wasn't offered an alternative or invitation to ask about some other time, I figure I'm one of the guys she doesn't accept from. No big deal."

"It is a big deal if you like her."

"I don't know that I like her because the only social time we've had is one lunch."

"Michael, I'd suggest you try again."

"I don't think so. Besides, I heard you talking. Let her go ask the guy you were talking about to go out with her." He wanted to say something else, but chose not to.

That evening Mouse and two of his friends paid me a visit. They wanted to know where Mouse's property was.

"How should I know? If you can't keep track of your own stuff why would you expect me to keep track of it for you?"

"Tell the bitch to come out."

"What are you talking about?"

"My bitch. Tell her to come out."

"God, you're dense. What part of 'I don't know what you're talking about' don't you understand?"

"Bullshit. She disappeared right after talking to you, so I know you helped her, but that's okay. She's just another bitch, and not a very good one at that. Bitches like her are a dime a dozen. But you have to pay for Honcho."

"Jesus Christ. You're talking in circles. First it's your bitch, now it's your son-of-a-bitch. I don't understand you, so if you're finished, you can leave."

"He was doing good until he ran into you."

"I'm tired of your silly fucking games. Either talk sense or get out of here."

He started to say something, but changed his mind. "You'll be sorry, motherfucker." He said as he and his friends jumped on their bikes and roared off.

So Marcy left the club. Good for her. I wondered who she got to help her and where she went, but only until I realized I didn't care.

It was just before dawn that I smelled the smoke. I jumped out of bed to see flames outside my bedroom window. I grabbed my clothes and shoes and got outside in a hurry. I called 911 before I put my pants on, but it didn't do any good. The trailer was nothing but a smoldering frame and four burned out tires by the time the fire department arrived. The police arrived shortly after. It was obviously arson and the police wanted to know if I had any idea who had done it. I described Mouse and his buddies to them and told them of their visit the day before. There was nothing left of the cameras or recording equipment I installed when I first moved in so any evidence of his involvement would have to come from elsewhere. The fire destroyed everything.

The landlord, Richard Jenkins, offered me another furnished trailer in the same park and I accepted. The fire department with their flashing lights were still onsite when the construction crew at the car wash site showed up for work. It didn't take long for the word to get around that it was my trailer that burned to the ground.

I needed toothbrush, razor, clothes and things like that because I had literally nothing left. Not even a pair of socks other than the pair I was wearing. My renter's insurance agent was there before the fire equipment left and cut me an initial check so I could immediately start replacing things I needed.

I spent the better part of the morning collecting those bare essentials and putting them in my new trailer. It was mid-afternoon when a Detective called and asked if he could chat. I told him the number of my new trailer and he came out. Actually, there were two of them. It had taken them less than three hours to confirm that Mouse, whose real name was Reginald Sawyer, was one of the three who burned my trailer. All they had to do was go two blocks down the street to a convenience store and watch on their video as the three parked their motorcycles, bought a five gallon can, filled it with gas, and walked toward the trailer park. Two other videos on private homes followed them to the park where a third private camera caught them pouring gas on the bedroom end and two sides of my trailer and Mouse striking the match that set the fire. Nobody said they were smart.

They were in jail even as we spoke. The Detectives were still there chatting when there came pounding on my door. I opened it and Carina was there. "Are you okay?" she asked seemingly very concerned.

"I'm fine." I said.

The Detectives decided it was time for them to leave, so they excused themselves.

"Are you sure?" She looked me over as if making sure I was in one piece and not burned to a crisp. She even touched my face with her hand then put both hands on my arms and ran her hands up and down as if reassuring herself I was there and safe. Getting her attention certainly felt nice.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"My ex-wife's lover tried to kill me." I paused as we looked at each other. "It's nice that you thought about me."

"Why wouldn't I think about you?" There was a very slight pause before she continued. "You're a client." She looked around the trailer, then at me, and hurriedly changed the subject. "It's pretty bare in here."

"I just moved in and I'm wearing everything I own except for a new pair of jeans and a new shirt that are in that bag." I pointed to a plastic bag on the sofa. I don't even have a wash cloth or towel for when I take my shower."

"What can I do to help?" her hand touched my arm again.

"Nothing. I'll make it. It's just going to take a few days to get organized."
<hr pg="3" />"I have lots of extra towels, and linens. You're welcome to come over and take your pick."

"I'll manage, thank you."

She walked around looking in the empty cabinets and refrigerator. "Well, you can't manage without food. Come to my place, I'll fix dinner and you can pick out some linens and towels, and don't worry it's not all girly stuff." She smiled. It was a nice smile. She took my arm. "Come to my place and get something to eat. It won't take long."

At her place, we had sandwiches and chips. She also gave me linens, towels, washcloths, dishrags, and tea towels.

I spent more time there than I thought I might because we really enjoyed each other's company. She invited me back for the next night and I accepted.

It was a really good evening. After dinner we were sitting on her sofa, relaxing. Relaxing was easy around her. "May I ask you something?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Why haven't you asked me out?"

I sat up and looked at her. "I did. Twice. And you said no both times."

"When? When did you do that?"

"The first and only time we had lunch. I asked you to dinner the following night, but you had a date. Then I asked about the next week and you were busy then, as well. So I figured I wouldn't ask any more. After all, I didn't want to make a pest of myself or embarrass you."

"God, Michael, I remember now. I'm sorry. That whole month was busy for me. One night was a date, but he turned out to be a dud, and the other was an Association Dinner and I had to give a speech." We looked at each other. "Why don't you try it again?" I opened my mouth to ask, but she stopped me. "Wait. I have another idea." She paused before she spoke. "Michael, would you have dinner with me?"

I smiled. "Are YOU asking ME out on a date?"

"Yes, I am."

"I would love to have dinner with you. When?" We decided on the following evening, and that was just the start. She arrived at the job site before lunch the next day. She got out of her car and walked directly to me. "Would you have lunch with me?" she asked.

I didn't have to think twice. "I'd love to."

It was like our first lunch together. Lots of laughs and good conversation. Lunch that day took two hours and would have taken longer had her assistant not reminded her of an appointment. Dinner later that day consisted mostly of us sharing our tales of romantic woe and she learned all about Marcy and her motorcycle gang.

On Friday, Carina and I had dinner again. We repeated it the next day. Sunday she came to my trailer and organized the kitchen before making Lasagna for dinner. We kissed for the first time as I poured our second glass of wine. It seemed natural as I leaned down to pour her wine, to turn my head and kiss her. She didn't object, so I kissed her again. That time she kissed me back.

We were sitting at the table just having finished our lasagna and were sipping our wine when came a knock on my door. I opened it to see Marcy standing there. I had no idea what to do so invited her in and introduced her to Carina and offered her a glass of wine. Her hair was no longer orange. It was her original raven and looked nice.

"I understand you left the club. Congratulations." I told her.

"Thank you. It feels good, but I'm scared."

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize. You had no reason to help me after the way I treated you and I shouldn't have asked."

"Wait a minute," interjected Carina. "Are you telling me that she asked you for help getting out of that club and you refused her?"

"That's right," Marcy and I said at the same time.

"How could you do that?" she asked.

Marcy, to her credit, jumped in and explained what she had done and, and she admitted doing it without thinking of my feelings at all. "I was just a selfish bitch and I left him for no reason other than I wanted to try something different. When I asked him to help, I took for granted that he would because he's that kind of a man. I was surprised when he turned me down, but I wouldn't have helped me either."

"Who did help you?" I asked.

"My dad. I borrowed a phone and called him. We were both scared shitless, but we did it."

Carina was not shy about asking Marcy about life in the club and Marcy was not shy about talking about it. Carina hung on every word especially the sex stuff and who was the property of whom. When Marcy slowed down, Carina asked her how many sex partners she had while in the club.

I interrupted at that point. "Whoa, hold on. I don't need to hear this." I walked outside and sat on my little porch. Listening to my ex-wife's sexual adventures was not on my bucket list. I didn't listen, but Carina made it a point to make sure she told me about it.

"Honestly, Michael," said Carina. "I can't believe what she told me. She had five men while she was there. Five. When a member didn't have a bitch, a member with a bitch would loan his to the member without. She was loaned out five times to three different members. Those three plus Honcho and Mouse make five."

"What was that like? I asked her." Said Carina.

"Looking back on it, I regret it, but while it was happening, I didn't mind at all. After all, I chose to involve myself in that lifestyle. It cost me dearly in the form of a perfectly good marriage to probably the best man, other than my father, that I ever knew and I knew that going in, but the draw was so strong, I couldn't deny it." Marcy explained.

"Then why would you ever believe you're out of it for good? And if fucking five guys was not so bad, why would you not want to go back to it?"

"It might be hard to explain. Have you ever wanted to do something like take a cruise or go on a Safari? You save for it and look forward to it for maybe years, and then it happens. You had fun, and it was worth the wait and the cost, but when you got home, you thought, well, it was fine, but I don't need to do it again. That's the way the club was for me. I enjoyed parts of it, but parts of it were downright scary and they are scary people. Frankly, I liked the sex and the freedom of riding the bikes, but being treated like a piece of property sucked."

"I can understand part of what you're saying, and can identify the part about the trips and coming home to the feeling that you don't need to do that again, but when you left to go on your 'trip' you left a husband knowing he wouldn't be there when your trip was over. How could you do that?" asked Carina.

"I suppose I never expected my trip to end. My head was so high in the clouds I obviously wasn't thinking clearly. It was the biggest mistake of my life and now I'm having to pick up the pieces."

"You saw the way others in your club were treated. Didn't that frighten you?"

"No, because I thought it would never happen to me."

"But your own lover, what's his name?"

"Mouse." Marcy told her.

"Yeah, Mouse. Your own lover tried to kill you a few days ago. He thought you were in that trailer he set on fire. That has to be frightening."

"Yes, it is and it would be even more frightening if he weren't in jail."

It was about then that Marcy had to leave. I was still on the porch when she came out. Carina came out with her. She told us she was going home. She had lived with her parents since her father helped her escape.

"Wow," said Carina. As Marcy drove away. "She is either the gutsiest woman I've ever met, or the dumbest... or both. Either way, I wouldn't want to be in her shoes."

After Marcy left, Carina and I talked for hours about how and why someone could do what Marcy did, and we ended up with more questions than answers. Chief among the questions was what is she going to do with her life now? It's going to be almost impossible to get a job. No two ways about it, she's going to have a rough life.

That was the last time I saw Marcy.

It was about then that Carina and I had sex for the first time. We were in my trailer and had just finished dinner. "I guess I'd better leave," she said as she stood.

I stood, went to her, and put my arms around her. "Why don't you stick around for a few minutes? We might find something interesting to talk about."

"Like what?" she asked laughing.

"Like what my gang name would be. Surely we can come up with an appropriate one."

She laughed again, then kissed me softly. "I think it's about time we did something other than think of names or talk, don't you?"

"What would you suggest?"

She started unbuttoning my shirt. "Oh, I think we can come up with something we can both enjoy."

She practically moved into the trailer with me after that night and sex was a regular thing.

Finally, the carwash was ready to open. Four of my young friends were still with me. James and Donnie became two of my managers. James took care of everything before the cars actually went in the carwash to get washed and waxed, and Donnie supervised the actual washing, waxing and everything else. Lenny and Nate ran the detailing side of the business. Not only were all four of them on salary, but a bonus system as well.

Less than a week after we opened, Carina was wearing a new denim vest. When she turned around to model it, I saw "Property of Michael" on the back. I laughed.

"Or would you rather have your motorcycle gang name there?" she asked.

"What would my gang name be? Any suggestions?" I asked her.

"I'm not sure. 'Property of Sweetie Pie' wouldn't work too well as a gang name."

A year after the carwash opened, Carina and I married.

Three years later, she was asked to join one of the biggest and best architectural firms in the south. We decided it would be a great move for us, so we moved.

James and Donnie became partners with Mr. Jenkins and they bought my share of the carwash.

Carina and I moved to Alabama. Her new boss had a house on a lake and suggested we buy one as well, and we did. We're going to see what living on a lake will be like.




