Dick Fitswell at the Biker Bar
by Jack Corbett

Being meek in a biker bar with all those Harley Davidson's and bikers just doesn't get it and being too cocky can get a man killed. I ordered everyone in the place a drink----including the bartender. Especially the bartender. One guy, a gruff long haired freak with a beard who appeared to be the leader immediately asked me right after sipping his beer-----"This stuff tastes funny. I don't know if I want to drink it."

"It should taste funny," I told the man. "It's Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat. Brought my own stock in." which I later found was a mistake to tell him. But at the time I was supremely confident. I had just poisoned everyone in the place. It had been easy to pull off since the owner was an independent kind of guy much like his clientele most of whom rode Harleys to the bar.  I had come in earlier with several cases of Samuel Adams and told the owner that I had friends coming in and I wanted to make a special occasion of that evening for my friends. Whole thing went like duck soup. I had removed the cap off each bottle and put fresh caps back on using a special tool I often used while brewing my own. But first I dumped just the right amount of chloral hydrate in each bottle-----enough to put to sleep four German shepherds.

What's good enough for German Shepherds is good enough for bikers the way I've got it figured. Make their tattoos stand out as they go down under. And make no mistake....Samuel Adams is damn good stuff. Every biker in the place took some. Their women too so I soon had the object of my hard on just where I wanted her. Within an hour everyone in the place had either fallen asleep or wasn't worth a shit----walking around like zombies in search of their names. Even the bartender passed out. "Good work, Fitswell," I told myself. "You are a flipping genius.

I found the blonde passed out on a bar stool and scooped her up in my arms. I heard a voice of protest from one of the bikers who had not passed out. "Shut up, Mother fucker," I told the man. Stumbling up to me, his mind turned to jello by the chloral hydrate, he took a swing which I easily ducked because I'm Dick Fitswell the man who's always got the plan. I decided to put him out of his misery and shot a right cross to his chin. "Curtains brother," I taunted him as he crashed to the floor. "Dream of sheep."

And speaking of sheep, it was time to get laid. I took the blonde out to my Corvette and laid her in the passenger seat. Then I clicked the radar detector on and drove home at over 100 miles per hour. She was still asleep when I carried her into my bedroom, laid her on my bed, and took her clothes off. She was snoring when I crunched on top of her, spread her legs wide open with my hands, and plunged my dick into her.

She woke up right after my twentieth thrust. Smiling at me out of limbo land, she said....."Thanks for rescuing me. You are really a gentleman." That got me laughing so hard--I immediately lost my erection. But I'm Fitswell the man up to any occasion so I jumped off of her and kneeled over her with my knees just outside her shapely legs.

"Get me hard, " I ordered as I stuck my hot rod into her mouth. I didn't have to tell her twice. Like a cowed dog she took the whole thing into her mouth and started sucking. "That's enough, " I told her. Turn over while I fuck you from the rear." Still dopey from the choral hydrate she turned over onto her belly as I rammed my shaft deep inside her. But I think I outsmarted myself. Because she sure was loose. Must be that choral hydrate ", I told myself. "Relaxes the muscles too much and one just can't get a tight fit anymore. I've had ten year old work boots that fit tighter than that even after my size tens ballooned up to twelve's'.

Disgusted after I came I called a cab because she sure wasn't fun enough to fuck her in the car while driving her home.  I fell asleep ten minutes after I heard her walk outside. Would have taken her to the door but she's a biker girl and biker girls don't respect gentlemen.

I got up early the next morning, made myself a pot of coffee, lit a cigarette, then went outside to admire my new Vette---------my chariot to many future orgasms. But it was gone. Vanished. The Vette was nowhere to be seen. I went out to where I had parked it hoping that somehow it would reappear.  Instead I found a little red tricycle . On the seat I found a note which read--"Have fun on your future dates. Your friends from last night."

I had underestimated the blonde. Damn bitch had snitched on me. "Me. Dick Fitswell."  Now how could she do something like that after everything I had done for her? She had obviously carefully noted my address and car as she cabbed it home. "One can never trust a woman. I need a vacation. Been getting into a rut. Next week I'm going skiing."