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ROADMASTERS
Spending the night in Bob Dole’s birthplace of Russell, KS was just one more thing Randy wouldn’t have ever considered as a possibility just months before, but that was before his old company downsized him out of his midlevel executive job. After six months spent interviewing for lower level jobs at less pay than he’d made previously (frequently competing against former colleagues) he decided he was ready for more than just another job, he was ready for a new way of living life. His family and friends thought he was crazy when he sublet his duplex, put virtually all his possessions in storage and headed out to tour the US on his Harley fat boy.Randy had been on many buddy and club rides before but this was his first extended outing solo. Living in larger cities all his 37 years he wasn’t prepared for the battering his body would take from the intense sun and blustering winds on the never ending ribbon of asphalt known as I-40 slicing across the upper portion of Kansas. Seeing the signs for Melba’s Motel on the town outskirts he knew he could ride no more that day and pulled into the small family owned and operated. Though nothing like the luxury hotels to which he was accustomed it was clean, if spartan, but with a good bed and loads of hot water in the shower. Refreshed from the shower and shave he pulled on a clean white tee shirt, jeans and harness boots intent on finding something to eat. Checking with the owners son in the office he found the only close by restaurant was Walt’s Café on the opposite end of the downtown area. Overruling his first thought to walk the few blocks and get a better feel for rural America he fired up the fat boy and headed north. Finding the big sign that announced simply “Walt’s” he pulled into the parking lot and noticed that he must not be the only hungry one in town as the parking lot was full, including three Harley’s parked close to the entrance.
Entering Walt’s inconspicuously was impossible, a big cowbell mounted on the door clanged each time it opened. Scanning the place Randy realized that only one spot was free, that was at the counter directly behind the cash register. Figuring any way to set down and get away from the staring eyes of 30 or more locals he moved towards the single stool.
“Hey, bro!” Hearing the greeting but having no idea for whom it was meant Randy saw three guys seated in a back booth, two of which were motioning at him. Walking towards the three the one seated alone on one side of the booth stood up and extended his hand. The man was huge, at least 6’6” and 300 lbs. or more. “Howdy bro, I’m Hank and these are my buds Bruno and Slug. Sit your ass down and have supper with us; that bar stool you were aiming for is broken. Besides in a place like this we riders need to hang together.” Not knowing quite how to decline politely Randy moved into the booth and Hank retook his outside seat.
Time seemed to fly by and it no time the foursome had finished their food and were talking freely. All three of his new found friends were heavily tattooed with multiple piercings and each had a black bandana wrapped tightly around his skull. Randy assumed it was to protect their heads from their helmets while riding as he two frequently used such a bandana. The one element common to each of their tattoos was some type of crest on the back of their left hands which extended up the hand and formed a wide band around the wrist. Being a dry state nothing stronger than 3.2 beer had been drunk with their food which didn’t upset Randy, anymore he wasn’t much a drinker generally and definitely not when riding.
It was well past the posted eight o’clock closing hour when the four bikers finally left the café. Even the generous tip they left didn’t bring a smile to any of the remaining staff as the door was firmly locked behind them.
“We’re staying at Melba’s too bro, we saw your bike in the lot when we dropped off our stuff earlier before heading out for evening grub. How ‘bout we ride back together and you join us for something stronger than that weak piss beer we’ve been drinking?” With Hank’s arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder Randy felt a bit uncomfortable yet pleasantly relaxed and said “OK, but only a short one for me.” Randy had always been accused of being distant and aloof by the women he’d dated. Such close contact with another man was totally foreign to him. Holding a man as Hank was doing to him now seemed to Randy as being queer, but all it took was one look at any of these three giants to dispel any thought of them being gay.
On the short ride back to Melba’s it occurred to Randy that he actually had been the one who had done the majority of the talking during dinner. Was he this lonely for companionship after a week of riding solo? The three now knew about his past, losing his job, deciding to spend a year traveling the country, etc. All he really knew of them was they were good buds, liked to ride and lived “somewhere” down the road.
Randy, Hank and Bruno entered Hank’s single room while Slug went to fetch some supplies from the room he shared with Bruno. In just minutes he returned with two large plastic containers shaped to fit inside saddle bags and two buckets of ice from the machine. “This here’s a special brew we concoct at our place prior to heading out on road trip, it may not look or smell pretty but I guarantee ya it does the job” said Hank handing Randy a motel plastic glass filled to the rim with ice and liquid. Randy noticed right off the strange smell but Hank’s remark had somewhat prepared him for that. What it hadn’t prepared him for was the kick he got after taking the first drink. This stuff had to be at least 200 proof thought Randy.
In his younger years Randy had been known to pound back a quite a few but he’d never awakened with his head and body aching as it did the next morning. What’s worse he didn’t recall anything after leaving Walt’s including how he’d gotten back to his room to collapse across the bed without undressing. Had the need to piss not been so urgent, Randy probably wouldn’t have attempted any form of movement he hurt so badly, but it was either endure the pain or lie in bed soaked with his own piss. Slowly moving to the basin to wash up after completing what seemed to Randy the longest, and most painful, piss in history Randy glanced in the wall mounted mirror then quickly looked back again. Staring back at him was a man with blue-green hair! “What the fuck!” yelled Randy.
Staring at his god awful blue/green hair was even more painful to Randy then the throbbing in his head and body. He had to grab a long shower and get this damn color off his hair. Stripping off the smelly tee shirt, jeans and boxer shorts he was in for even more of a shock. Not only his well furred chest and full man bush were the same blue-green but so was every fucking hair on his arms, legs and body.
Soaping up every inch of his body and applying an entire bottle of shampoo to his full and somewhat long hair he thought he heard something ringing. Whether is was the bedside phone or in his head he had only one thought, he had to get this shitty color out of his hair. After soaping and showering for over twenty minutes he heard a noise at the door that sounded as if the door were being broken down. With the one mirror so steamed over from his shower, and not being sure what color his hair was at the moment, he wrapped the bath towel around his waist and threw the hand towel over his head as he tried to quiet who ever was pounding on the door.
“Hey bro, when you didn’t answer your phone for so long we thought you might be sick, or worse, seeing hows your bike is still here” said Hank as Randy opened the door just enough to see who was there without revealing himself. Without asking Hank pushed the door open and entered along with Bruno. “Bro, we forgot to mention one thing….oh shit, I see you’ve discovered a problem with our home brew” continued Bruno staring at Randy’s chest. “About one dude in a thousand has a minor reaction to the brew and his body hair changes colors. We’ve all been drinking it so long we’re immune”.
While part of him wanted to scream obscenities at the two new found friends, Randy’s real concern was getting rid of this color. “Warm water only activates more of the chemical reaction bud so the more you shower the brighter in color it’s going to get.” Glancing down at his chest Randy saw it was far brighter than it had been originally; now the hair seemed to have golden tips to the original blue/green color. “Shit bro, let us take care of you and help you get rid of that color. Ride with us today and by nightfall we’ll be at our bunkhouse where there’s an antidote that will knock that color out in less than 24 hours.”
Realizing he had little choice Randy tucked all his hair under a bandana and pulled on a long sleeve shirt to cover most of the rest of his upper body hair. Within an hour the four riders were headed west at top speed with the sun at their back.
Stopping for lunch at a roadside place known to the other three Randy was finding he really enjoyed their company, regardless of what their home brew had done to his hair. As different as they were from any men he’d ever known before, the way they’d adopted him into their group gave Randy a sense of belonging in a way he’d never felt before.
The sun had set a good three hours before the foursome exited the Interstate and started maneuvering their way along a series of state, then county roads before finally turning onto a gravel roadway and riding another ten miles or so. Randy knew he’d never find his way back to the Interstate without their help. Finally pulling into the yard of an apparent well run down farm house Randy was amazed when he entered the house to find it contemporary in every way with the latest electronics and equipment, even if it was designed and furnished to look like a circa 1950’s bunk house/farm. Also it seemed there might be more people living in the house than the three with which he had been riding even though he could neither see or hear another soul.
“Here bro, it’s been one hell of a long ride today and you’ve got to be as tired as are we. Let’s knock back a couple of real brews then call it a night. Tomorrow morning we’ll set to getting you all fixed up” said Hank handing Randy a long neck beer bottle. As much as Randy wanted to be rid of this god awful hair color he had to admit he was half asleep on his feet and gratefully took a long swig from the bottle. It was the last thing he remembered.
Waking up Randy felt the need to take his usual morning piss, he also felt another sensation; his ass felt like it was about to split wide open, something very long and solid was jammed inside his shit shoot. Starting to yell out, Randy realize his ass wasn’t the only thing filled, so was his mouth. He couldn’t get any sound to come out, not matter how he tried. His mouth was being held wide open by some sort of ring that apparently was buckled around his head. He was suspended within some type of frame with wide iron cuffs around both wrists and ankles which were connected by chains to a steel frame. Something equally wide and solid was around his neck preventing him from turning his head in any direction; he could only see to the sides as far as his peripheral vision allowed.
“Hope you’re not too uncomfortable Randy boy” he heard a familiar voice intone. Suddenly standing in front of Randy were Hank, Bruno and Slug, all naked to the waist and all wearing tight leather pants with tall boots laced over. Slug’s pants looked to be more like rubber than leather, fitting
Comments
* ROADMASTERS
23:53 on 2009-05-15
Interesting beginning. Seems as though it is one of those ripped from the headlines concents but with an interesting twist - and perversion.
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