A Wild Wicked Weekend by Layla Wolfe

Author:Layla Wolfe [Wolfe, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Motorcycle
Publisher: Quicksilver Publishing
Published: 2016-07-18T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HAVEN

“Look, I wasn’t all gung-ho about joining a gay club to begin with,” said Twinkletoes. He was mis-named, as many of us were. Sweet Cheeks, Rover, Dust Bunny, White Power, Dipstick—we weren’t these things at all. That was the funny part.

Twinkletoes had some kind of muscle wasting disease—muscular dystrophy, some said. It was difficult for him to walk, much less spin around on the dance floor. But he was one tough nut to crack. His enthusiasm and fire for the club were legendary. It had been a no-brainer to give him his full rocker. So they said, before I joined.

“You’re not…” started Mike Drop.

“Gay? Not at all. And you know the one crowning glory about being in a club full of good-looking fags?” Twinkletoes looked from side to side, as though someone were eavesdropping. Funny thing was, we all leaned forward. We were sitting out in my backyard under my patio table umbrella, the rust orange reflection giving us an otherworldly look. “The women. The sweetbutts.”

Mike Drop leaned back, but didn’t light his bong. “The Zealots have sweetbutts?”

“Of course!” I cried. “It’s a well-known fact that women adore gay men.”

Twinkletoes clarified, “That leaves all the more for those of us who want the women.”

“It’s true,” I said happily. “Twinkletoes here gets laid every night, I’d say. Wouldn’t you? I’m always waking him up in bed with a woman.”

Twinkletoes nodded. “Near about every night, I’d venture to say.”

His wan, gap-toothed face seemed to soothe and convince Mike Drop. Mike had come back to us with his tail between his legs that morning. Apparently the Hellfire Nuts didn’t want him anymore, now that he was tainted with a few days’ worth of gayness. Sounded like they didn’t want him period, what with his tolerance for Kaitlyn Jenner, Obamacare, and Ray Bans instead of Original KDs. Mike was the odd man out, the lemon in his family, and even his brother didn’t want him following in his footsteps.

Mike Drop had grown on me, and when Twinkletoes answered the phone at the clubhouse, back early from Vegas to do some errand, I asked him to come do an intervention. He was the perfect choice for this, having been one of the original founding members, and now our IT man. Twinkletoes’ medical condition meant he got to use pot without guilt, and now Mike Drop handed him the bong.

Twinkletoes’ eyes watered as he held in the smoke. “Not only do you score nonstop with girls, the Zealots aren’t a bad—a bad—” A coughing fit overwhelmed him, so I finished for him.

“A bad club to join. You’ll be a Prospect for a year or so. Go help a brother if he’s broken down. Keep an eye on our scoots in unfamiliar areas.”

“Clean—clean—” choked Twinkletoes.

“Clean the clubhouse,” Mike Drop finished for him, taking an enormous hit off the bong himself. He didn’t cough. “Do I have to clean toilets?”

I said, “Fredericka does that.” That was sad but true. The one transsexual, and not a club member at that, cleaned our toilets.

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