My legs were spread WIDE open, hanging out of the passenger door of his ’95 Bronco. We were parked on Broadway.
It was midnight.
“When did this become a Penske?” I asked with his head between my legs.
He was too busy sucking on my pussy and slurping on my clit. Poor thing would starve without me.
He ate me out for over half an hour, with my stilettos in the air for all of Oakland to see- except this was before the Town was gentrified. We were in front of Geo Kay’s but it was a ghost town back then.
“This definitely used to be a U-Haul,” I huffed, breathlessly.
His entire face was glistening with my cum. It looked so pretty in the moonlight.
“Do you still have my thong?”
“Ahh shit. Think I lost it,” he said looking at me with those PIERCING eyes.
It didn’t matter.
I couldn’t believe we just did that. I mean I could… it was us, but to have my pussy spread open like that in public was a fucking THRILL!
“Imagine the security footage!” we laughed, as he combed his ’50’s greaser hair.
Just moments earlier we were fucking right at the bar. No one even knew!
It was one of those rare nights we weren’t on his motorcycle, so I got to wear a flowy black dress instead of a mini skirt and fishnets.
We each ordered a PBR and a shot of tequila. I draped my dress over his lap. He whipped his hard dick out underneath it as I slowly scooched over and slid it inside me. I was wet as fuck.
It was so easy to do and no one could see a thing.
It looked like I was innocently sitting on his lap having a conversation but I was pretending to laugh so I could bounce on it.
I’d sway back and forth unsuspectingly.
When we were still, my pussy would squeeze his cock really hard over and over again until he’d eventually bust! He buried his face in my long hair to hide the moaning.
I sipped my beer with a devilish grin, gripping that cum further inside of me with my wet convulsing pussy.
No one suspected a thing.
When we left he wanted to return the favor. He ALWAYS opened the car door for me but this time he grabbed my legs, spun me around, shoved me on my back, spread me wide open and licked me into oblivion! He fingered me good and hard.
I came.
I squirted.
His cum squirted out of me too, all over the sidewalk! Like I said, I really want that security footage.
I was K-O’ed.
He wasn’t.
“Let’s go to Baggy’s”
“Ok!”
There were cops everywhere. Something was going down! A big cluster of them were right in front of the bar we were going to. He parked across the street and what does he do?
“I’m fucking you again,” he said, while he opened his car door. He hoisted me onto his seat and started fucking me right there in front of all the cops. This time we were facing the public. Our bodies were red and blue from the lights flashing.
It was so fucking hot.
He was completely unhinged. We were a match made in Hell.
He was like a cross between Danzig and Robert Deniro. The most violent man I ever dated too.
I was faithful to him for three years.
We rode everywhere together. Only bike I ever rode bitch on. He rode so fast and crazy my legs and ribs were sore for days holding on for dear life.
He was bartending the night we met.
He got my number but I rarely ever texted him back. At first, I thought he was just another generic Harley riding douche bag. Cute for sure, but I wasn’t sold.
The President of the East Bay Rats owned the bar I worked at in downtown Oakland. That was more my scene. I needed Rock n Roll. I liked mischief and excitement. I was in four of my own riding clubs previously. I had no time for loner wannabe mobster guys.
He kept pursuing me, however. He swung by Ruby Room a bunch of times, pretending to not know I was working. One day he came in wearing a prospect vest.
“Since when d’you start prospecting?”
“Couple months ago.”
We were inseparable.
I loved the East Bay Rats. They liked to drink, fight, fuck and ride.
Their parties were insane. I DJ’ed a bunch of them.
They had a boxing ring and hosted fight nights. It drove me nuts I wasn’t allowed in it. Girlfriends weren’t allowed to fight. I would still walk over to the speed bag in my 5″ heels and just RIP on it.
They lit everything on fire! Guys were doing burnouts and wheelies right in the street of San Pablo. Someone built a ramp to jump off of but they set that on fire too! They had a never ending supply of fireworks. It. was. BEAUTIFUL! (See YouTube documentaries).
For the most part the cops left them alone. I don’t know how or why because the fire department was CONSTANTLY putting out fires outside their Clubhouse. But then after they did, it was party time again!
That was old Oakland for ya.
They stuck together too. If one of them needed back up, they’d all go. There were turf wars, bar fights, you name it.
One time, I rode on the back of my guys’ bike topless from their Clubhouse to Merchants, a dive bar in Jack London. Other times, me and the other Ol’ ladies would get dressed up and meet everyone out. But every time, my guy loved to get into a brawl.
He had someone in a chokehold every time we went out.
Every weekend I would hear, “You can either leave now or I can put you to sleep.” Bars were never short of idiots.
Only ONE time did a guy respond with, “just put me to sleep.” This dude was HUGE. He was harassing the bartender. It was awful to watch. But! My boyfriend did just that – squeezed him like a snake.
Dude fell like a sack of potatoes. It took three men to drag the unconscious giant out of the bar and plop him next to the gutter.
There was always some girl outside smoking who would start squawking, “What’re you doing to him!” horrified at the scene, but they never questioned what they did to deserve it.
All these rejects deserved it. They were the lowest of the low and my boyfriend thrived off of it. He never threw a punch either. He walked like Bane, grabbed their wrist, whipped them around and choked them out.
Every. Weekend.
I’ve held a gun to a mans face before without him even flinching. Men are not scared of women no matter what, but if they knew my boyfriend was within a half mile, they would shit themselves.
I was the safest woman in Oakland.
I swear sometimes I felt like bait. A man so much as looked at me and he’d be bleeding on the floor.
If a week went by and he didn’t get his fix of violence, I’d have to fuck it out of him.
Our PDA was ridiculous. We were like some fucked up Morticia and Gomez Addams.
Every photobooth from San Francisco to Richmond had pictures of my tits out, his dick in my mouth, and his tongue down my throat.
On one of our first dates he bent me over a tree in an alley way, lifted up my dress, ripped a hole in my fishnets and shoved his cock in. At least three people walked by us fucking, but it was dark as hell out and they were mostly tweakers. Oakland tends to mind its’ own business anyway.
Our initials are still carved in that tree to this day.
Fucking, riding, fighting, bar hopping, partying… I was LIVING!
We drank practically for free everywhere.
Unfortunately though, we fought as much as we fucked.
If we were in a tiff or broken up, NOT ONE bartender wanted me in his bar. They didn’t want the smoke. They didn’t want any knowledge of me being hit-on or seen with another dude for fear of it somehow coming back to them.
“Listen. I don’t wanna have to deal with him. If he finds out you’re here…”
I always thought that was crazy.
A bunch of the East Bay Rats got me a bartending job on the other side of town. I loved it.
I soon became their Halloween DJ. Motorcycles, records, pinball, and bartending! Life was good back then.
I miss those guys and their parties.
To this day I still get asked why my ex and I are not together.
Well, have you ever seen a biker or mobster movie?
The beginning is always incredible, the middle will be the greatest feeling of your life, but then it just all goes to shit from there. Power, violence and chaos just aren’t sustainable.
Plus, one too many holes in my dry wall.
He’s actually one of the reasons I became a Dominatrix. Although I loved being tossed around and fucked like a rag doll everywhere, public or not, there was more to my perversion that he was NOT willing to participate in.
I grew bored of the uterus pounding missionary style drunk sex at 3am. We fought so much that the public spontaneity died as well. There’s only so much ‘make up sex’ two people can have before one finally throws in the towel.
I tried to remain friends with him but it was impossible.
How do you stay friends with the Devil?
And I don’t mean him 😉
