by Linda Sienkiewicz
(09/17/03)

The girl's a dazzling pinball machine of lights and bells and Moe's the ricocheting ball as he leans back against the railing in Alvin's Twilight Bar to watch her dance.

She's wearing a short red vinyl skirt, a striped top that's no more than a bra, a denim vest with a fur collar, silver earrings and a dozen jingling bracelets. There's a diamond in the side of her nose and a tattooed snarling tiger crawling down her thigh. The yellow ponytail on top of her head flops across her angular face or sails as she sways, hands on her knees, legs apart, hips bobbing in a near squat, eyes closed.

He wonders what kind of panties she wears, what she smells like. She's sweating, and he imagines her wet. The eyes of every male in Alvin's follow her, but she directs her heavy-lidded gaze at Moe, at the skulking Voodoo Devils biker with the shoulder-length black hair, stubbed beard, and deep-dark-forest eyes that a Little Red could get lost in.

The house band takes a break and she runs to the bathroom to splash her face. She's shaky and wonders how long she's been full tilt on the dance floor. Maybe she needs another drink. Or maybe she downed too many yellowjackets. She blots her armpits then studies her face in the mirror. Her blue eyes are nearly all black. She remembers reading in a three-dollar magazine that your eyes dilate when you have sex and the thought makes her laugh out loud.

Moe walks near the bathroom door, shuffling his heavy boots, stalking her scent, the trail of heat. He hangs his head and rubs his thumb along his bottom lip, imagining her squatting again, this time over the toilet. He straightens the crimp in his cock and waits, a little crazed. When she walks out, he holds up his arm to catch her.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" she snaps. Then she realizes it's him.

"Thinking about doing you," he whispers. His sly grin makes him look quite mad.

"Yeah? What's your name?"

"Moe."

She laughs, thinking of Stooges. "Okay, Moe. Let's dance."

"I don't dance. I'll pretend. What do I call you?" he asks, stroking her feline tattoo. He tries to hold her still, likes the feel of her wriggling in his arms: a little fish trying to slip away. "And where did this lucky cat crawl out from, eh?" He starts to lift her skirt.

"Like you need to know. I'm Naomi." She pulls him to crowded floor as the band slams out "Use Once and Destroy."

Eyebrows up, Moe mockingly mouths "I'm Naomi" as if she's proclaimed "I'm God" and laughs as they move into the crowd. He nods back and forth as she sways close, swinging her hips, hands above her head. The bass makes the wooden floor tremble; the vibrations travel up their spines, the rhythm soaks their pores as they grind. He runs his hands up her waist and strokes the sides of her breasts, opens his nostrils wide, inhales the scent of sex, sweat and hair spray. The band rolls into another song, but he pulls her over to a chair in a dark, smoky corner and holds her on his lap. "Let's sit this one out."

"You're a good dancer for a biker."

"Yeah? You're a liar." He strokes her bare belly and nuzzles the back of her neck. She's so light he could drag her off somewhere like a Neanderthal and do what he pleases.

Naomi's stomach flips. Her skin tingles wherever he touches, her clit already buzzing, ready to ignite at his touch. She reaches back and finds him hard; she whispers in his ear, ‘You like me? You want me?"

He shifts so she can get a better feel. "Is that an invitation?"

She giggles and sticks her tongue in the pink shell of his ear, sends wet whispers that make waves of lust crash in his head, and suddenly he's hustling her toward the back door.

They tumble out of Alvin's into a warm licorice night full of stars over the sooty outer edges of the city. Moe watches her trot in her high-heeled boots and pulls her close. The beer-buzz makes him stagger as they head toward his place. "It's not far," he tells her. "I don't ride my hog to Alvin's. Don't wanna wreck it."

Naomi's giddy on liquor, pills and possibilities. She likes a man who takes what he wants, irritated by "where do you live" and "what do you do" talk. All it really comes down to is one thing anyway. She breaks free and runs ahead, teasing him to chase her. "Hey, bad boy, think you can make me scream your name tonight?" She hops over a grocery bag full of empties and ducks around a telephone pole, stray-dog skinny enough to hide behind it. But Moe turns down a dark alley, slumps into a doorway and waits, licking his lower lip.

"Moe? You there?" she calls, as if her voice might cause an avalanche or shatter windows.

"BWAAAH!" He leaps out like a huge Tsavo lion.

"Oh! I fucking knew you'd do that! Shit! I wet my panties."

"Grrawhrr..." Moe kisses her hard, making her squeal and rise on her toes. His hands run up her thighs and under her skirt to grab at her buttocks. One hand crawls around front, fingers pushing the soaked crotch of her panties aside to wriggle a path into the soft pleats of her body.

She sees him staring at her with barbaric intensity. She moans and throws her head back, pushing her pussy into his fingers, feeling his knuckles mash her soft inner skin.

"You want it now? Right now?" he taunts, pulling her back with him into the doorway as if she were prey.

She does. That he wants her too is the best part, wants her so bad he'll fuck her in the alley. Her hands fumble with his stained jeans, the unwilling button, the resistant zipper. Breathing in bursts, she pulls his pants down just enough to work his stiff prick out and gasp at his size. "Holy shit!"

He yanks her panty crotch aside, bends his knees, rises and spears her against the wall. It's awkward and clumsy: he can't fully enter her and the brick scrapes her back, but their lust forgives them their impatience.

They hear a shout: "Hey, what's this?" Somebody else hollers, "Gang bang!" followed by laughter and whistled hoots.

Naomi stifles a scream. Moe shoves his dick in his pants and turns. His fists make anvils. He snarls, "Fuck off or you'll get your fuckin' heads banged."

"Oh shit." "Hey man, sorry...." The boys' cocky grins drop when they recognize the Devils jacket and they disappear like cockroaches. Naomi exhales the gulp of air she's been holding and falls back against the wall. There's nothing worse than being passed from man to man.

"Fucking bastards," Moe mutters, the lustful flame in his eyes extinguished. He holds her tightly as they walk the half-mile to his trailer.

By the time they reach it, they're both feeling loose again. Inside, he lumbers to the fridge, grabs two beers, kicks it shut, and motions with his head to a ramshackle add-on. "In there."

She ducks under a black trash-bag drape into a windowless room with a corrugated tin ceiling. A soup-green couch and lumpy mattress with two flattened pillows are crammed inside. A pile of clothes slouches in a corner. The walls are littered with posters of Harleys, naked women and obscene graffiti.

"Well, well, a guy with interesting hobbies," she jokes. Not much shocks Naomi. The place looks better than some of the garbage bins she's seen: places and men she tries hard to forget. She unties her hair and it falls to her shoulders in thick, wild strands. She takes off her bracelets and lets them bounce one at a time, ping ping ping, onto the bare floor.

Moe pops the beers and sets them down. He watches her bracelets roll, amused. "And what are your fucking hobbies, eh? Magazines and TV?" He grabs her and gives her a sharp upward hug as if she's a package he needs a better grip on.

"Ah, you like to play rough?" She thinks: Catch me, bad boy, I'm falling through life.

"I haven't decided how I want to play with you yet," he growls.

"Oh, I think you have."

They stare at each other as if surprised to see a real human being looking back. A train roars past the trailer park. The horn shocks the silence, the rumbling vibration matching their hammering hearts, and suddenly they're tearing at each other, kissing and pulling: all hands and mouths, soldiers of love with bruised lips and battered hearts.

Naomi, stripped to her boots, falls to her knees in front of him, marveling at his chiseled body. It's covered with an odd mix of tattoos, from the black skull on his ankle to the spattering of spiders on his upper arm. She strokes his hips and buttocks and the two dark plums between his muscled thighs, then teases his partially erect dick with her tongue. She licks all around then takes the head into her mouth, encouraging him. "That's it...mmm, you like this."

His hands clench, his erection hardens, his head drops. She opens her throat and swallows his length. She pumps him, her lips tight. He hardens even more in her mouth, making her heart beat like crazy between her legs. She moves to a squat with her knees apart, feeling the cool air hit the wet heat of her pussy. She rocks her hips.

Moe looks at her squatting, in her boots no less, and groans. He's been thinking about her red lips around his meat since they first kissed. She's a sucking machine, furious, nonstop, her hands squeezing his legs and buttocks, probing his asshole. He laces his fingers in her hair as she works him, then his buttocks tighten and he pulls her hair. She garbles "No!" with his cock in her mouth, but he pumps until he shoots a hot, thick stream into her mouth.

She pushes him away, turns her head, coughing and hacking. "Shit!" She grabs the closest thing, which is his shirt, spits into it and wipes her mouth. She gulps at a beer, swishing her mouth.

"Is that my shirt?" He looks shocked that she's actually chucking in it.

"You know, you could've warned me. I don't swallow."

He has to laugh: she's going to be trouble. He pushes her back onto the mattress and starts tugging at her boots. She swats his hand away. He sees a jackknife drop from inside one boot and snatches it before she can.

"Ah, what's this? Protection from baddies... like me?" His eyes glimmer in the dim light as he flicks the knife open. Maybe it's time for a little fun. He scrapes the knife across her belly.

"Do I need it?" Only her eyes move, following the glint of the blade. She feels like Alice, her head growing small then large then small again. She wonders just how perverted he is. Biker gangs are high on the psycho scale. Their stunts have a way of turning deadly, but this is precisely what gets her off: the danger of being devoured. It's what she needs: she's a hard come. Sex is something to pack into a box and hammer at until the sides break.

Moe likes toying with her. He traces her tattoo with the knife, then flicks the blade inside the handle. He opens her pussy with one hand and with the other, pushes the handle inside her.

It's cold and hard. She bolts up with a shriek, thinking he's slipped the blade inside her. He cackles and holds the closed knife up.

"You shit!" She pounds at his chest. "You scared me. Why do men always fuck around like this with me?

"Because you like it. It's all over your face. You like it, don't you, baby?"

Her eyes narrow and take on a glassy hardness. It makes his heart beat faster, like when you hang your toes over the edge of the high dive; he was never one to hesitate. "You want to bleed, baby?" he asks as he forces her down onto the mattress with his muscular body.

Her stomach butterflies as he shoves his tongue down her throat as if he's fucking her with it. He mouths her face, her chin. He takes to her breast like a suction cup, making her cry out. The entire time, he's working her with the knife handle, pushing inside, rubbing her clit. She arches her back to its unforgiving hardness, intensely aroused by the danger. He attacks her other breast with a viciousness she's never felt before. It's wonderful, it's way too much, the pulse between her legs pounds harder and harder, but she balks, afraid of giving in.

"Wait," she says. "Slow it down."

Moe glares. She's such a sexy bitch with her wild hair, rosy-nippled tits, long legs and creamy center. He remembers how she asked, think you can make me scream, as if she didn't think he could.

"You dirty cunt. I don't wait for you, you wait for me." He bends her knees up, spreading her open, wiggles a finger inside and strokes, watching her eyelids flutter. Then he shoves his fingers in and digs, gouging her clit with this thumb, his other hand kneading her breasts. She grinds her hips, pushing, arching. He feels her body tense and begin to shake, nearing orgasm, and he takes his hands away and tells her, "No -- not till I say."

She curses. He waits, then he spreads her pussy lips painfully wide to make her clit pop up for him to lick and suck, slow, deliberate. She's numb everywhere except for right where his mouth is: there, it's all heat and sparks, his beard sanding her open body, his tongue hitting like a flame. She trembles, grabs at the mattress, moans, "Yes, yes, almost there."...but he pulls away again.

"Oh please...." She's found a man who can work her to a throbbing frenzy but then won't let her come.

He stands, leaving her a puddled mess on the mattress. "I need a break. Keep your legs open. Knees apart. I want to think how I'm gonna turn you inside out." He leans back on the couch, smokes a cigarette and sips his beer while his eyes roam over her.

"Moe, don't," she begs, pinching back tears, twisting her nipples with her own hands, aching for his prick to burn her.

"Aw, hard for you to wait? I thought that's what you wanted." With a smirk, he kneels back down between her spread knees. The moment he touches her she's writhing, gasping. She slams her heels into the mattress, raising her hips.

He spanks her swollen pussy. "No. Not yet."

She's about to boil over. "Moe... I can't.... Moe, please."

He crawls over her. "Say my name and I'll fuck you good. But don't you dare come." He growls. He drives his red-hot poker into her hole and thrusts so hard he pushes her along the mattress until her head hits the wall and she has to throw her hands back to brace herself. He looks down to see her eyes squeezed tight, her face in a twisted grimace.

"Now, baby. Let go," he says.

Yes... Yes! She screams his name over and over, tossing her head side to side as an orgasm seizes her like a dog shakes a rag doll. She gushes, soaking him and dripping onto the mattress. She pants, "God, God..." then falls limp. He rolls her over, lifts her hips and slams into her from behind, growling, pumping as if to fuck her until he comes out the other side.

He's like a pressure cooker when he bursts inside her.

After a few final strokes, he slips out and lies back, gasping, "Oh shit...that was...damn good."

Naomi curls up next to him, still breathing hard, still amazed at his ferocity.

He's so good it frightens her. A domestic scene -- of sorts -- plays in her head: he waits every night while she works at her crummy job, then she comes running home and they fuck each other into blithering madness while the rest of the seedy world fades away. She could move out of her sister's flat, the sister who grouses at her to get her act together...then kicks herself for even thinking it.

She drifts off and awakens to find him gone. She panics because she misses him already. This no fucking good. She scrambles for her clothes, ready to run, always running.

Then Moe walks in, still gorgeously naked, bringing a blanket, startling her. "What's up? You going someplace?" He's suddenly hurt and angry, as if a stranger were about to claim the stray pup that was licking his face. "Shit, is someone gonna come looking for you now... or me?" It'd be his luck.

She feels as if she's been caught stealing jewelry, shiny things, love. She's good at sex but bad at love, a racecar driver who crashes the family van a mile from his front door. She risks the truth and answers, "No, uh... I took out a restraining order against my ex two months ago. I'll stay... if you want me to."

Moe doesn't bother to answer. He pulls her body to his. He doesn't want to need anyone or want anyone needing him -- it's always messy and he hates messy, but her skin is warm and soft against his. He feels as if a truck is barreling up behind him on the highway, forcing him to swerve. You have to watch out.

Naomi looks away, unsure.

"Fuck it," he says, and decides for the both of them. He pulls her down onto the mattress and covers them both with the blanket. She rests her head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of her head.

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