“You’ve never been on a motorcycle?” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation. Roommate started laughing. He knew where this was going. “Fuck you,” I snipped.
Carlos threw open the closet, fished through the box his ex-girlfriend left when she moved out in the middle of the night, and tossed the pint-sized brain bucket at unsuspecting me. I had no intention of getting on a motorcycle.
“Fuck you,” and I threw it back to him. Roommate nearly fell on the floor laughing. “Fuck you,” I said as I glared at him.
“You’ve got a big ass dirty mouth for such a tiny little bitch.” Carlos was gleaming. Carlos towered over me. Compared to him, I was tiny. Compared to most people I was. At just over one hundred pounds, Carlos’ two-eighty dwarfed me and everyone in his presence. It was his size that kept him from racing professionally. Though he was quick, light, and more adept that most other riders, sponsors looked at him and decided he was a liability without ever watching him ride.
“Watch who you’re calling bitch, bitch,” I said.
“You’re my bitch, bitch,” and he threw the helmet back to me, along with a pair of jeans. “Go change.”
“Today’s the day you no longer say you’ve never been on a bike.”
I had no intention of getting on a motorcycle. But I changed into the jeans anyway. They were Gap, my size, and the perfect color. I intended to keep them. His ex-girlfriend wasn’t coming back for them, and Carlos wasn’t going to dress any new girlfriend in his ex’s clothes. Unlike Rich, Carlos wasn’t the type to dress a woman. Whatever she wore, she wore, and it mattered nothing to him so long as it came off easy at the end of the day.
Carlos had his helmet under his arm, keys in his hand. “Ready?”
“No,” I said and I walked to the kitchen. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped down on the couch. Roommate took the beer out of my hand before I could take the sweet taste of the first sip.
“What the fuck?”
“Go with Carlos. He won’t kill you,” Roommate said, drinking the beer I had intended to drink.
“Maybe not, but I’m going to kill you,” I said. “No way in fucking hell I am getting on a motorcycle.”
“Shut your bitch mouth up and go,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
“Said everyone right before doing something they come to regret, asshole.” I remained on the couch, stubborn.
“Just go,” said Roommate. “You’ve driven a car over one-hundred miles-per-hour. No way you’re scared to get on a bike.” I just stared at him. Carlos was still standing with this helmet under his arm and his keys in his hand.
“I’m not scared, fuckwad. I’m smart.”
“Go,” said Roommate. “And then come back and tell me how wet your pussy is.” I just sat there. I was beginning to have the intention of getting on a motorcycle, if for nothing else than to shut him the hell up.
I stood up.
“Finally,” said Roommate and Carlos together.
I walked into the kitchen and grabbed another beer out of the fridge. But when I set it on the counter to get the bottle opener, Carlos grabbed me sack-of-potatoes style. Roommate opened the front door and followed us down the sidewalk with the small helmet in his hand. Carlos set me down next to his bike and Roommate handed me the helmet. I put it on. Carlos took it back off.
“What the fuck?” I said.
“I’m going to get on,” Carlos said. “And then you are going to get on behind me.”
“Ok,” I said, confused.
“Slide forward so your tits are tight on my back,” he continued.
“Fuck you,” I said.
“Listen,” he said, “or you’ll do something that will kill us both.” I listened.
“Hold on to me, and not the bike,” he continued. “Bikes don’t turn, they lean. Don’t fight it. If I lean, you lean.”
“Ok,” I said, still confused.
“We’ll take it easy this first time,” he assured me.
Thirty minutes later we returned.
“How fast did you take her,” Roommate asked Carlos.
“One hundred and ten,” he said.
“And I need new panties,” I said.