"Badlands"

As usual, it was goddamned hot. If he were in Canada, where he heard that people still lived in igloos, they would have said it was forty degrees. He'd give anything for it to be forty degrees. Eighty, even.

As usual, it was also quiet. No one had been around for days, save for the snakes and the armadillos. The sun beat down silently on the currogated aluminum roof, where he and his grandfather had knelt together in old clothes, sharing cans of bright red paint so long ago. The roof was dusty, battered, and a shade of pale pink now, faded like most of his other childhood memories. Sitting in the shade under the awning, he reached for the crushed box rolled up in his sleeve. He lit another Marlboro and rested his boots on the stack of tires. He dozed. A gentle breeze blew by.

Only the snakes and armadillos noticed the growing cloud of dust in the distance, and at least the snakes were wise enough to seek shelter. He didn't notice a thing until the faint grumble coaxed him away from the pair of soft arms and hard kisses he had been enjoying in his slumber. His cigarette had joined the pile of broken butts in the sand, smoldering.

Bikers, he realized. Probably the Angels, or if trouble was coming, from the Outlaws or Bandidos out to scope something out. They'll want beer, he knew.

"Fuck," he thought to himself. He only had four left, and planned on enjoying those out back when it got dark and he could roast his dinner over the fire. Looks like he'd have to drive all the way into town after all. Bikers.

He heard the engine roar behind him as he stood up and opened the glass door on the old Coke machine. No Coke salesman had been around for months, which was just as well, since the cans would never fit in this thing anyway. Reaching inside, his fingers grasped around two ice-cold bottles as he listened behind him. He popped the caps.

No V-twin engine there, he realized, and knew immediately that he shouldn't have opened the bottles. That's a riceburner, and only one. Not an Angel, that's for sure. He could have kept his beers after all. Closing the cooler, he looked over his shoulder. Yup. One fucking guy on a Honda. No colors. Dammit. Too late.

No point in being inhospitable though.

"Hey," he said, walking toward the bike. The guy was removing his helmet, his short blonde hair getting tugged by the foam. A dripping bottle in each hand, he strolled behind the rider and stepped over the kickstand as he past the guy.

"Dos Equii?" he asked, extending the bottle forward. "Too damn hot, huh? Bad day to be out."

He blinked.


"Bad day to be drinking this while riding too," she replied as she raised the bottle to her lips. Another long pull and the bottle was half drained. "But I'll manage. Thanks."

He had barely swallowed his own small mouthful when he realized that he was standing there with his jaw open. She noticed, and grinned.

"Fill it, willya?" She jabbed the cap with her key and unscrewed it open. "I'll be back."

"Uh, yeah, sure," he stammered. He forced himself to focus as she lifted her leg away from the saddle, obviously straining to stand for a moment before walking inside.

Swallowing down another sip, he rested the bottle in the sand as he reached for the gas nozzle, watching her walk. He couldn't help but notice how well she fit into her chaps, and how the dusty black leather harnessed her strong behind. The denim was faded there, accentuating each line and countour of muscle. Looking upward, he saw the patches of sweat on her back and under her arms, where the faint darkness he could see through the material revealed that this was no woman prone to worrying about what her underarms looked like. In the shadow beside her as she walked away, her breasts swayed freely with a gentle firmness. He needed another sip.

He slipped the nozzle into the canister and squeezed. As the gas poured, echoing in the near-empty tank, he watched her stroll around in the store. She still held the bottle in her hand as she peeked along the magazine rack, and he realized that she was watching him too. Was that a smile?

Capping the tank, he forget all about his bottle in the sand as he walked toward the store, toward her. She leaned against the door jamb with a welcoming grin, and motioned her head toward his arm, requesting.

He smiled and unrolled the pack from his shoulder. Lighting a cigarette, he handed it to her. Her eyes met his as she leaned foward a little and took it in her fingers.

Her persperation smelled sweet and heady, mixed with some exotic oil that made his pulse quicken. Her breasts bounced very slightly as she leaned and returned her shoulder to the door jamb. He tried not to stare. She sized him up through the haze of smoke. He thought she was looking at his boots, but if she was, her grin seemed misplaced.

"That'll be, uh..."

"Got a sink here? I wanna splash my face."

He swallowed. "Uh, sure, over there, near the car stuff." He gestured.

Following his gaze, she made her way down an aisle toward a large utility sink. And old hose lay coiled on the stained wooden floor, and their boots clacked and echoed in the small store. At one point, she stopped suddenly to reach for a can of something on the shelf, resulting in having him stumble slightly. He had bumped into her, making contact with her waist. He thought he head her giggle as she moved on.

He felt himself begin to get thicker, knowing that she had just pressed herself against him. He stopped mid-aisle, awestruck. He knew for absolute certain that there wasn't another soul, save for snakes and armadillos, for miles, but that didn't stop him from looking around.

She had bent herself into the large porcelain sink and was pouring water over her head. She cupped handfuls and pressed them onto her face and along her arms. She sighed and cooed, and hissed as the coldness slithered along her neckline and down her back. He saw the faint outline of a tattoo. She turned around.

Soaked now, shivering slightly in the contrasting temperature, he could easily and plainly see how exquisite she was. Her nipples extended beautifully from her Tshirt, and he could clearly each nuance of her build. She short hair was slicked back now, revealing a marvelously sculpted face with piercing blue eyes and a seditious smile. She leaned against the edge of the sink, resting her thumbs into the belt on her chaps, a boot kicked back. She tilted her head in invitation.

He swallowed, approached her, and slowly snaked an arm around her waist. His kiss was tentative, unsure, amazed, but her passionate response gave him all the confidence he needed and uncertainty found itself cast aside. He pressed her against his chest and held her waist firmly. She reached for his shirt and stripped it off him, soon leaving him standing before her clad in jeans and boots. A palm found itself pressed against his crotch, shamelessly exploring him, gripping him, fingers coiling around the girth and length of him, sizing him up yet again. He twitched under her touch, and her kisses pressed all the harder. A second had caressed his chest, slithered across his ribs, and clutched his ass firmly, gripping, pulling him closer.

She began to pull him downward, setting him to his knees. He looked up and saw her smile as she began to unbuckle the belt of her chaps, then the buttons on her jeans. Still dressed, she turned around and bent over the sink. He held her thighs is disbelief, only to find his hands being reached for as placed to the hems of both chaps and denim, as if he were being told to finish the job of pulling them downward. He obeyed.

She began to fill her hands with water again, splashing her face as she felt herself become exposed to his touch, his kisses, his mouth. She cooled herself casually, parting her legs as far as bundled leather and denim around her boots would allow, and thrust herself backwards to give him easier access. She felt the faint stubble on his cheek against her own, and soon the soft, hungry, darting, probing warmth to follow.

Outside, only the snakes and armadillos outside caught notice of her cries that afternoon.


© 2005