Biker Author Amy Irene White

The men in our lives don’t worry overly much when Libby and I set out on a hair brained scheme, regardless of where we are heading. They know we take care of each other. Whether we have to fight our way out of a situation or run for our lives, they know we can handle ourselves. We are delta girls. Usually all I have to do is pretend Libby is my ol lady. Quite often when Libby and I travel, this is a cover that we use.. because no matter how politically correct the world pretends to be, if you want to be left alone, pretend to be a carpet muncher. I don’t have a problem with lesbians, or someone thinking I am one. My step daughter is married to a woman and I love them both to death. I just never ate pussy or anything. There was this one chick years ago, I met her about the same time I met ol Bo… 14 years ago or something…Hardcore rough biker chick, belonged to this old crippled biker.. Her name was Spider. She was probly 35 or 40, I was in my mid twenties. She was a little bitty thing, her tits were small and hard, you could see the muscles in her stomach. She was tan and fit and wore blonde dreadlocks.. Had a husky whiskey voice like liquid gravel and honey. I didnt really even like her but i wanted to fuck her and she wanted to fuck me from the minute i met her. I don’t know why I was attracted to this woman, I just was. We hugged too long, kissed a second too long when we said goodbye, you know? I only saw her a couple times a year at rallies.. Our friendship seemed to be borne of a sexual desperation. We were inseparable when we were in the same place. She would ride on the back of my sportster with her legs around my waist and I would remember the feel of the heat of her pussy in leather pants in the small of my back for weeks. This went on for several years. While I lived with Bo, he went somewhere with Horace during the Crawdad Festival.. It was dark and late and Spider had done a line of speed and we both had drank a lot.. I was wearing this long denim dress made like overalls with no shirt or bra. We went in her camper to pee and it was pitch black and we were giggling and them she undid the strap on my dress and touched my nipple and I touched hers. It was strange, such a soft hand on mine, and her tiny hard nipple between my fingers. She smelled like chocolate and pot and whiskey. I woulda ate her pussy.. I woulda fucked her right there. Someone started up a bike, and, just like that, we stopped what we were doing. I wasn’t even sure how her lips wound up on mine, her hands on my body in the first place. When we walked out of the camper she says, “I wish this guy I know was here.. He woulda paid good money to see that!” I was disgusted that I almost fucked a whore. Oh well, drinking one beer does not make you an alcoholic, and Spider cured me of all tendencies to fuck a female, at least up to this point in my life. I am pretty sure I am old enough now to say with assurance that it was but a fling, a test, an experiment. These days I tend to adhere to a strict “You can’t lick it if you can’t stick it” policy. But I DID think about it… once upon a sordid time.