Taken by Bikers

By: Meg Jackson

“You could’ve at least dressed for the part, Sara,” Brian said while turning down another strange, dusty street. I wasn’t sure how he knew where he was going; he said he’d never been to this place before, but he wasn’t even using his GPS to find it. I wondered, not for the first time, what sorts of things Brian kept from me. Too often I’d caught him lying about something that he didn’t need to be lying about.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a wardrobe option for ‘seedy biker bar’, you know. Unless you want to take me shopping and pay for it,” I snapped back. I was in a bad mood. I had told Brian time and again that I didn’t want to go. If he wanted to go out drinking, there were plenty of college bars with loose ID-checking policies we could have been going to, but no. He wanted to do something daring and “cool”, like go to the biker bar outside of town.

I hoped he would keep his drinking to a minimum, because I did not want to be driven home by my drunk, temperamental boyfriend down these windy country roads. Who would put a bar this far out in the sticks, anyway? People who didn’t want the cops to come, that’s who, because they’re criminals! At least, that was my reasoning at the time.

“Well, still, you look like a goddam prep school princess,” Brian said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he had that part right, but so what? I was a prep school princess. I looked down at my bubblegum pink t-shirt and denim skirt. This was what my whole closet looked like! “Cute but conservative,” is what my mother would always say when we went shopping.

“You’ve never complained about the way I look before,” I said, pouting. I was hoping if I kept up my innocent, good girl act, he would feel bad and stop bothering me. And it wasn’t that much of an act; I was an innocent good girl.

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t say it, but you could show off your body a little more. It’s so sexy, Sara, I just don’t know why you want to hide it,” Brian said, making another seemingly random turn. I rolled my eyes. Brian was always talking about how sexy I was, especially when he was trying to get me to put out.

That was probably what the whole trip was about, I thought. Get me a little drunk, maybe defend my honor from some punk, and voila! Off go the panties, in come the penis. As if. He would be lucky to get to feel me up over my sport bra, after the way he’d been treating me lately.

As I sat there fuming, I softened a little bit. I knew that it was hard for Brian to date me. I didn’t think I was prudish, but I knew that other girls were willing to go a lot farther than I was. I was willing to let Brian touch my breasts and I was generous with hand jobs, and even a blow job if he really went out of his way to make me feel special, but that was it. I wanted to wait until marriage before giving up my virginity.

And I knew it was especially hard for him because I did have a sexy body. I didn’t know much about sex, but you can’t really live in America these days without knowing what “sexy” looked like. With my perky, 32C tits and long legs, I knew I fit the bill. I have bright green eyes and red hair, just a few freckles, giving me a perfect, adorable Irish face. My body is trim and toned from years of playing soccer. I’m a catch, and I didn’t have to watch a porno to know it. So of course Brian would get upset about me not giving it up. Who wouldn’t? Still, that didn’t excuse the way he treated me sometimes.

We finally pulled into the parking lot of the bar. There was no discernable sign saying the bar’s name, just some neon beer advertisements in the windows. As Brian parked and we unbuckled and stepped out of the car, I noticed the line of bikes parked along the side of the building. Shiny, new motorcycles and old, battered-looking ones alike were the only vehicles in the lot besides Brian’s SUV.

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