Grady's last ride...

 Grady's heading for the woman's place for a night of fun...he thinks... 

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The midnight sky glistened with stars and only a hint of a moon as the Mercedes C class zipped down The 14, as silver and sleek and silent as death. Well, silent relative to Grady's Hog. He was having all sorts of fun playing tag with the car. Rushing ahead on the straight, narrow road. Pulling in front. Letting the car whip around him, the woman laughing as she flipped him off. They were joyous, together.

More than once, he would draw parallel to the driver’s door. And she would beckon him closer, smiling. And he would edge to within an inch of the speeding car. And she would reach over to caress his inner thigh...and tickle his crotch.

He almost lost control of the bike the first time, he was laughing so hard from the surprise of it. Hot DAMN, he wished he hadn't worn briefs. They kept his package from being as impressive as he thought it could be under a woman's touch. Instead, he'd shoot ahead, doing a wheelie in excitement...and they'd do it, again.

Until in the middle of another wheelie, she laughed and hit her brakes, then did a sliding turn to rush through a gate and race down a gravel road.

Grady realized, slammed the Hog into a skidding turn and raced back to the gate, snarling, "Shit, shit," at least a dozen times. He chased after her, roaring far too fast over dirt and rocks as he fought to catch up to the billowing dust. He could just make out the red glow of the Mercedes’ taillights through the muck...until they went bright and vanished.

A moment later, he drew up to an isolated house that looked as if it were hiding from the world. Beaten, dark, surrounded by nothing but scrub, even in the shadows you could tell it hadn't been painted in a good thirty years.

The Mercedes was parked by the front door, the woman leaning against it, watching him glide up. He stopped behind the car and got off the bike. Dust now covered his front, from head to toe. He beat most of it away, pulled off his helmet and removed his goggles to look around, not at all impressed.

"Didn’t know anybody lived in this shack," he said.

"It’s nicer inside," the woman said as she pushed away from the car and started for the door.

"Oh, fancy? Should I hose-off, first?"

She looked at him, seeming to chuckle. Even in the pale starlight her smile was lovely. "You could wash your face. Use some mouthwash, too. Or would you prefer another beer?"

"Shit. You gotta ask?"

She linked a finger in his belt and pulled him in through the side door. He giggled.

Inside, the furnishings were cheap-ass everything. Not even on the level of Ikea; more like 50s retro bargain basement. She led Grady in, and he grabbed at her, as best he could, pulling her close for a kiss. She broke away, saying. "Let me get those beers. You can use the kitchen sink, for your face. Wash your hands, too."

"What for? I wore gloves."

"Even more reason."

He giggled.

She backed into a kitchen. He yanked off his jacket, dropped it on the floor and followed her in.

The kitchen was as old and beat-up as everything else, including the linoleum floor. Reminded him of his grandmother's place, in Lytle, outside San Antonio. About to crumble into dust. He turned on the faucet. It grumbled and groaned but clean water soon poured out.

She pulled a couple of Dos Equis from the ancient fridge.

He grinned. "How'd you know?"

"Told you, Mexican beer's good."

"What’s your real name?" Grady asked as he ran soap up his arms.

"Call me Stasi," she said.

"Hmph. Knew another chick by that name. Bitch was crazy."

The woman grew still. "Aren't we all?"

He used a dishcloth to dry himself as she offered him an open beer. He took it, and barely held onto it. Gave her an embarrassed shrug then guzzled some.

"So...what do I call you?" she asked. "Asshole?"

He backed her against the counter and pressed against her, one hand groping a breast, saying, "Grady. Mmm..."

She chuckled. "Oooooh...Grady’s hungry."

"Been a long time since I ain’t had to pay for it."

He tried to kiss her, but she put her own bottle to her lips, teasing him. "Oh, it’s gonna cost you," she murmured. "Just not money." Then she set her beer down, reached around and grabbed his ass to purr. "Oooohhh...nice. Big. Round."

He giggled and almost got a kiss in before she leaned back, ran her hands up his sides and grabbed the throat of his shirt.

Now he gasped. "Careful, this is my saint shirt."

"Saint shirt?"

He giggled as he said, "All holey."

She laughed and tore it open to reveal an elaborate tattoo of geometric designs covered his chest.

"Oh, my," she whispered. She ran her fingers over it, tracing some the design before pinching at his tits.

He gasped, deep and shocked. "Oh, shit, shit, girls do that to guys?"

"Depends on the guy. Have you had a dude do this, to you?"

"Fuck no. I mean, one tried, but..."

"Don't you like it?" She twisted his nipples, soft. Almost erotic.

Every sensation he could think of rammed through every part of his body. "Fuck...love it...when you do it."

"Cool. Any more tatts to play with?"

He pulled her close. "Stasi sees...real soon."

She licked her lips and dribbled beer down her front. He gasped and dove down to lick it up. Which led to him nuzzling her breasts. Rubbing his nose in her cleavage. "Oh, fuck," was all he seemed able to say. "You in a corset?"

She nodded. "Adds to the moment, don't you think? I've got high-heeled boots, too...if you're up for that."

She ran a hand up the inside of his thigh to emphasize her intention, groping him, in full.

Oh, was he ever. He leaned back, a little and let out a long slow sigh of the deepest pleasure before guzzling more beer.

She unbuckled his belt. Undid the button on his jeans. Shifted them to his hips. Then she pinched his tits, again. Toyed with the hair on his chest. On his poochie little belly. Up his arms. He pulled her tight and ground against her, about ready to pop out of his briefs and...

He grunted, confused. He leaned on her, trying to keep his balance. His heart was going a mile a minute and his head spinning and nothing was making sense.

She pulled away from him, fake concern on face. "Oh, Grady...too much too soon?"

"Just feel weird," he muttered, "and...and...what the fuck? That beer..."

"Wow, Grady, have roofies been used on you, before?"

He stumbled back, just beginning to understand. "Roofies? Me?" He was able to make out she was grinning at him. Just standing there. He grabbed the kitchen counter and tried to move to the door. "Fuckin’ bitch...what you...what you doin’?"

She tripped him.

He collapsed to the cracked linoleum. Smacked his head, hard. Tried to talk but his words dribbled into nothingness. He rolled onto his back to see...

She towered over him. She pulled off her hair.

Grady gasped. Oh, fuck, it was a blond wig. She’s brunette.

Then she undid her shirt and opened it to reveal a bustier was pushing her breasts up. It also accentuated her curves. She shrugged it off. Now wore only jeans. She let out a long, slow sigh of relief as she stretched. She was still lovely, but now looked almost completely different.

She smiled down at Grady...and it was one of the scariest smiles he had ever seen...as he drifted closer and closer to some weird unfocused darkness...and the last words he heard were, "Now I’m naming names," before he passed out.