“So Dave, why do you love your wife?” I ask, mindful of my tone, cautious not to piss him off. It’s not every day you find yourself sitting at a bar shooting the shit with a real-life, honest-to-fucking god Hells Angel.
He raises the bottle to his lips and takes a long, hard drink. I can hear his swallows over the jukebox in the corner belting out ZZ Top and Ted Nugent - and also over the laughing, yelling raucous from the colorful cast of rowdy characters partying all around us. He finishes his beer, slams the bottle down on the weathered wooden bar, and then looks at me out of the corner of his eye as he wipes his mouth dry.
“Kid, let me tell you a few things about me 'n Denise. I…”
He pauses mid-sentence and fixes his gaze on something behind me.
I turn around ever so slightly, trying really hard NOT to look too obvious; trying to appear smooth and undercover about it as though I'm turning around to crack my neck or to stretch. I'm way too curious to not know what it is that's caught Dave's attention yet at the same time I don't want to ignite some fucking powderkeg or create a scene. Remember what happened to the cat... Hermes. I don't see anything out of the ordinary except a tired-looking biker bitch decked out in… get this… assless chaps and a black, leather studded bra. She's in the corner booth wrapped all over some 360 lb bald fuck monstrosity covered in tats.
“What… what’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing. I thought that son of a bitch over there was giving me the eye.”
My mind starts racing. I automatically start crunching the numbers... attempting to determine who would win in a knock 'em out, no-holds barred brawl between Dave and the fat fucker in the corner. Possible scenarios, outcomes, advantages and disadvantages, and countless other factors and brutal possibilities flash through my brain.
It’s the way of men, sizing mother-fuckers up.
Dave would have won. I'm quite sure of it. Dave is 6’4” and 290 lbs... possibly even three bills. However, unlike the fat fuck in the corner, Dave is ripped. He’s toned, honed, with balls made of stone... a killing machine. I have no doubt he’s killed, too. I know this because there are certain things a man can sense. Also, certain details he’s been willing to share with me in the past insinuate, and insinuate only, he’s made fuckers disappear. Dave gives off that vibe. Take no shit, take no prisoners.
“Kid, There are five things I give a shit about in this life and in this order: my Harley, my patch, my brothers, my kids, and my old lady. Denise respects that. She shares my… Hey buddy, another couple of beers over here… She loves the club. She loves to ride. She’s a fucking knock out, don’t cha think?”
I pause. What the fuck am I going to say? I’ve seen enough movies to know he COULD be fucking with me… testing me. If I agree he might think I have eyes for his wife. If I disagree, I might completely disrespect him… questioning him. The last thing you do is disrespect an Angel. "Damned if I don't... "
I turn and look him straight in the eye and say with confidence, assertion even... “Dave, I don’t know what I like more, your lovely wife, your bike, or our friendship. It’s like picking a favorite child.”
Dave simply nods.
The barkeep brings two more ice-cold Lowenbrau’s. Dave slides one of the bottles my way and says… “ Drink up kid… this round’s on me.”
45 comments:
I don't really know what else to say except I've met many people like Dave before. I used to work at a pizza place on the lake in Minnesota and Bikers from all around would stop by.
"Dave" would hit on me, a few other waitresses and then he'd be gone. You'd no nothing else about him. But when talking with him he'd intimidate you. He was rough and rugged. Serious. And then he was gone and that's all you knew about him. In his own way he was simply mysterious. No questions asked or left. This piece reminds me of that.
You captured the moment well.
Colonialave. Biker's are a fascinating bunch. For awhile I was obsessed with outlaw motorcycle gangs. This fascination stemmed from meeting my boss's husband... Her name was Denise and his name was Dave...
Yeah, this one's real.
I owned a cruiser then and she'd invite me out to the bar to party with them... she embraced me as a son... this bar they frequented was a complete DIVE bar right outta the movies.
I've got lots of stories.
I have a special place in my heart for dive bars :) There's nothing wrong with a little dive every once in a while.
Obviously so do I.
another chapter in the bedtime stories of my fantasized USA.
LeeLoreya. Wow, my mom read me the tales of Hans Christian Anderson and Aesop's fables before MY bedtime.
Is this why you're so kooky? ;)
lol, mr thompson is my fairy godmother.
""... all a matter of respect for yourself and everyone in here. I won't see you kids in here again without ID will I?"
I love it.
For some reason this sentence reminds me of the pseudo-intellectual, mangled english of mobsters and wiseguys.
Vex, I'd be intrigued to hear the tale about your return to said Dive Bar several years later.
You've painted Dave really well and I particularly like how you describe your reactions to him - and interesting mix of caution and admiration.
Good read - as ever.
Dave, such a familiar character. You've captured it so well, as always.
Question: How much time (in "real" life) do you actually spend at bars??
Damn, I wish I could think that fast under pressure.
Odd timing...I took my son to a local ice cream place tonight and they were having Harley night. Place was crawling with bikers. Coincidentally, my 11-year-old son was wearing his West Coast Choppers T-Shirt. Then I get home and read your Hell's Angel story. What's with the bike theme today??
I know Dave. I swear - we must run in the same circle, you and I. Cool post.
I'll get back to you soon, Hermes, about that other matter. Soon as Time allows.
You always make my day... Reading your blog makes me unwind. Just didn't have time on updating mine. Keep it up Hon.
That was a really enjoyable posting. I have to catch up on the last couple when I'm not about to fall asleep.
If certain people in my family didn't read my blog, I'd post about my uncle, a notorious drug dealer who is fighting the government to get his private Lear jet back, the one he'd go to an "appointment" in Pakistan with.
Dude's spent time in a both a Turkish prison and prisons in the Caribbean.
Some people are all story, man. I wish I knew more of them, myself.
Yeah, nice read.
The dark side.
Ruksak. Definitely caution... and some admiration. However, anyone who places higher importance on their motorcycle and club membership over their own kids and wife is clearly not all there completely.
G.D. To answer your question... I USED to go out clubbing extensively. A few years ago my boys and I were going out 5 nights a week; we couldn't get enough. However, as of late we've curbed our enthusiasm. I'm lucky if I hit the bar or club twice a month.
Perhaps we're getting old.
Wordwhiz. Bikers are a cool bunch. I've seriously considered going out to Sturgis. I think that would be a fucking blast
Trite. First Joey... and now Dave. I think we might be drinking buddies and we don't even know it.
I understand you've been busy... take your time... and thanks.
Damned Queen. I'm glad you enjoy reading it. I try to keep it entertaining, fun, and thought provoking.
Steff. Maybe you should create another blog and take a "nom de plume?" You could devote this blog strictly to stories. I'd be very interested to read more of your stories. I love 'em.
If you do make sure you send me the link... ;)
"my Harley, my patch, my brothers, my kids and my old lady" is just in perfect order.
Guess Dave didn't need to mention the biker mamas who follow the bikers around like horny little flies.
When the 'old lady' isn't there, one of the 'mamas' is.
during the brief time I knew a bunch of bikers, I found their slavish devotion to the 'brotherhood' fascinating and repellent.... I always wondered how you could be an outsider belonging to a group with such strict codes of conduct.
I've never seen anyone in assless chaps outside of college - you know, crazy drunk guys on halloween. It was all the rage.
I guess that woman had mad confidence or something :)
Sierrabella. Ah, I see you must personally KNOW a few bikers. You have the jingo down and everything... the "mama's" ah yes, I forgot to include them.
I also failed to include the gang-bangs, pill poppin', and Bass lake runs... ;)
Cheesecakey. I've noticed the Biker code is indeed strict. This strictness applies to matters of respect, heirarchy, and financial matters.
However, everything else goes.
Colonialave. I don't think it was so much confidence as it was desperation and drunkedness.
Hermes, another good read, Bro!
Quick question, what makes a man ask a biker like Dave...6' 4" - 290Lbs...why he loves his wife? Why walk to the edge of that cliff? Thrill seeker, eh? :D
Keep 'em coming! Rock ON!
Tattooed Brain. With guys like Dave, the phrase "speak softly and carry a big stick" is incredibly fitting. They excude cool, quiet confidence. They deem it unnecessary to posture, if you cross their path, you're quickly disposed of.
I knew you'd dig it.
Vexation. I watched an old episode of "He-Man" the other day and IT didn't live up to my memories of youth either.
Rock-Dog. Dave and his wife were friends of mine. Denise was my manager at a previous job, and I'd kick it with them on occassion. If a listener were to jump in mid-conversation, this piece would be that.
If I hadn't known him previously I wouldn't have even been sitting at a bar with him... believe me.
Thanks for the kind works man! I'm glad you like my stuff.
So real.
It's like I'm there with you.
freakin' good post dude. makes me wonder when i will ever write like you. muaksss! keep it up
Well, well, well, I can finally see you picture. Very nice mouth you got there, hermes! Now I see what all the fuss was about.
Thanks for the compliment. Yeah, I'm in a rut creatively and need to start writing more of that shit. I have actually been considering doing that for awhile now, a secret-secret blog with lots of raunchy sex shit and tales of my past.
Maybe when winter comes and I feel more like staying in to write. A good chance. I'm getting tired of my blog as-is, anyhow. It's boring me. I'm on the verge of spicing up the mix, I just need to work through a few things in the next few weeks first. The ride might be interesting, actually since frustration does interesting things to me.
I'll keep you informed. About time you post an email address, but I'm not emailing you on principle, and you know why. Tee hee.
But yeah, thanks again. Compliments rock.
Snakehead. You mean that wasn't you over on the mechanical bull?
Valarene. I never really considered my writing that good.. to me they're mere observations and thoughts... as I see or read them. Thanks for the kind words.
Rae-ann. Well I take comfort in the fact you were visiting before you could see the pic... that must mean you like the writing? Yes?
Scribe. Raunchy sex shit? Keep me posted. You know my e-mail address now... you better send me that URL
Gabriel. Wow, those are some awesome props. I'm very happy you enjoy coming here and reading my scribblings. It appears I'm in very good company there on your blogroll. Thanks, it's an honor.
Tacit. The Huns! That is awesome. I bet he has some stories, that man. Maybe you should have him start his own blog? Or you could write them?
Jay. Yeah, an openly gay man wouldn't want to be at the dive bar I described in this post. However, I'm glad to you know you venture out now and then.
If I'm ever in London you'd better show me around!
Oh so that was you over at the bar? I thought that soul patch looks familiar.
Actually, I've just gotten word that I'm being considered for a paid position that involves blogging about sex and relationships. Something like $300 a month. Hilarious.
I'll know in a week or so, at which point I'll share. I should tell the story about the time I chipped my tooth.
I'll be posting a first part of a "story" about a guy friend from years past from my "When Friendships Die" series later tonight. It's done, but I'll let my two photos get a little more love before I move onto a new post.
(Yes, the chip was during sex. Long, long story.)
i wish i had the guts to write about fucking a guy rancid and him doing the same to me, but there are just too many people i know who are reading my blog!
sometimes personal stuff can't be publicly displayed. hmmm
i ve never met a hells angel but i definetly was impressed when a friend took me along for a roadtrip on a motorbike and anyone who drove by on a motorbike raised his/her hand. It seemed to me like a silent conspiracy and I was very thrilled. I mean, I was 13 and had an imagination like hell.....
and i definetly can relate to how you described you were weighing your answers and questions in your interaction with him. I have dealt with a lot of queer characters in my life and I am very good at it. Maybe too good.
yes, I love your writing too!
Valarene. Why don't you just create an anonymous blog where you can write about whatever the hell you want?
Steff. Chipped a tooth during the act? Holy shit. Did you fall off the bed and slam your face into the frame?
Piranha. The most satisfying part about riding is the little 2 fingered wave upon passing another rider. It's a brotherhood. Harley guys will waive to sport bikers and vice versa. One of the many reasons why I love to ride.
RaeAnn. Sweet. I'm glad you like what you "see." ;)
Based on your reply, I'd be a dead man.
Jodster. It's all in the delivery my man.
Sar. Hey stranger. True, a lot of bikers are softies... don't let the rough demeanor fool you. I'm sure there are lots of bikers out there who tear-up whenever they sit down and watch "Lion King" with their kids... just don't let them know you know this.
Especially an Angel. Or else you might need to get sized for a pine box.
So after I read this I was on the lookout for some bikers this weekend. I don't know if I found a genuine authentic down and dirty biker that lived exclusively on the road . . . but I found a bar tender who was telling me how he used to be in that scene. He had a great bike everything - until he drank too much one night, swerved infront of a car, totally flipped his bike, collapsed into a ditch, ruined his bike, his life and the lives of the two passangers in the car he hit. Since then he's been sober and lived the quiet life.
I found it interesting that he was a bartender though . . .
Coloniallave. There are MANY bikers. Owning a bike does not a biker one make. Some yuppie asshole on his 25 thousand dollar fully dressed Harley and funny looking matching leather's who only rides on the weekends isn't a biker.
Real bikers, commonly referred to as "one percenters" are the beer guzzling, hard partying road warriors. And then out of the one percenter's you'll find the "filthy few." The real nasty, repugnant motherfuckers.
Wow - I had no idea biking held such a deep culture. I honestly know very little about it all - except the mild encounters I've had with some here and there while serving them at a resteraunt.
I hope I didn't offend you by my naivety on the subject. I was just curious. He had some interesting points of views on things.
Colonialave. LOL, of course not! Soph, why would that offend me?
I just thought you'd be interested in learning about the different biker "subcultures" as I find them truly fascinating. A study in human behavior and societal groupings. I just got carried away with my enthusiasm and didn't really address YOUR comment. Apologies.
I believe you too. I laid down my bike once, it's VERY scary. It spooks you, ya know? The shit this guy must have seen would probably drive almost any man sober... being responsible for a death.
Herm - its all good. I'd like to learn more about the whole different world these people live in. You have a lot to teach me but you have definately sparked an interest - I went out this weekend almost searching for "Dave" . . . That doesn't happen very often.
The guy was rugged and mean looking. I almost couldn't order a drink from him. He was huge. Built like a brick shithouse. But he had no words. It was really hard to talk to him, but I squeezed out some information eventually and left feeling curious as to learn more.
Colonialave. Men like Dave definitely have stories. They just require a little coaxing and a LOT of Beer.
"I went out this weekend almost searching for 'Dave'"
Be careful girl. Did you have a chaperone? ;)
I was there with a whole crowd of friends. They were scattered around the bar. Some were playing darts, some sitting in another section of the bar. I had seen that bartender for a while and he recognized me, he calls me "sweetheart" or "Honey" but we've never talked before. After reading your blog I was curious. . . . so I sat at the bar by myself and had a small conversation with him.
i love your storytelling. great writing. i especially like how you referred to selecting what you like most as "It’s like picking a favorite child.”
thanks for visiting my blog. i will definitely be visiting here more often.
Uh, no, it was body-on-body, basically.
Like I said, long story, and one I'm scheming to launch my new filthy site with.
Suffice to say it involved some binds and props.
I'm sure you have an active imagination. It'll be more fun to withhold the details for a spell.
I've always been a tease.
Colonialave. I'm tickled my blog inspired you to place yourself in mortal physical and sexual danger. ;)
Atoep. Dive Bars are my Walden.
Jay. Well, buy me enough drinks and/or feed me enough pills and...
Lorena. Thanks for swinging by. I'm glad you like what you read. Likewise, I'll be swinging by your place often.
Tacit. Holy shit. Wouldn't that make your dad an accessory to murder?
By the way, I know NOTHING.
Steff. Binds and props? Huh... what? Don't leave me in suspense sister.
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