Hog Wild Ch. 01


The author, during a writing symposium at Rutgers University, meets a 45 year old New Jersey mother of three daughters in a local bar. Over a period of three nights she tells him the story of the time she went to visit her sister in Texas, when she was 27. While there her sister suggests a road trip where they cruise some bars to see if they will get lucky. In a small town they run into a motorcycle gang that takes them for a joyride then kidnaps them. For four days Joan and her sister Katie understand what the expression “Hog Wild” means.

It began innocently enough, an early dinner with one of my colleagues. After I asked Frank if he would like to stop at Rocky’s, a local bar where I stopped earlier in the week. Reluctantly he agreed but left after one drink. I talked with the bartender for awhile, hoping some women might come in. Away from home for a long enough period to make my hormones home I was in need of some sensual R&R. Business was slow and it looked like another disappointment in a strange town until the door opened and an attractive brunette walked.

I remember looking at my watch; it was 9:35. She was dressed in mid-length tan shorts and wore a sleeveless dark blue top. At about 5’6,” the woman had a great figure and gorgeous legs that were complimented by her thin strap sandals. As she walked toward me her breasts, which filled her blue top agreeably, bounced a beguiling jiggle; I would say they were 36Cs. As she neared I could see hazel kind that were absolutely clear. But she had a sour look on her face, like she was pissed off. Two stools away from me, she sat down.

The bartender knew her. “Trouble at home?” She nodded. “What can I get for you Joan?”

“Scotch and water,” she said. “Make it a double.”

I couldn’t pass up what I considered to be a prime opportunity. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” I said to her.

She looked at me with disdain. Turning her head to the mirror she took a sip from her glass and mouthed the words, “You son-of-a-bitch.”

I thought she was talking to me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She didn’t respond.

Feeling the need to justify my presence I continued, “I’m attending a writer’s conference at the university. She sipped again, still fixing with her angry eyes. Having struck out completely I ordered another drink, figuring I would make it my last. Rocky brought my drink. When he put it on the bar he rolled his eyes toward the woman. Out of the corner of his mouth he said in a whisper, “This time she’s really pissed.”

“At me?” I whispered back.

“Nope, at her husband, they get into it a lot. She comes here to get away from him. If I were you pal, I’d hang in there. It could work for you.” He went back to chore of organizing the bottles and restocking the bar.

I was thinking about what the woman and her husband might have been arguing about, apparently more deeply than I realized. I almost jumped when I heard, “What kind of stuff do you write?”

“Pardon me?”

“What do you write…stories?” Her demeanor had softened a bit…must have been the scotch. She was on her second one.

“I write poetry, short stories; I’m currently working on a novel.”

She looked around as if she didn’t want the bartender to hear as she said, “I’ve got one for you.”

“A story?”

She nodded, “…a true story that would knock the socks off your readers. Do you want to hear it?”

She slid off the bar stool, picked up her drink and headed toward a booth at the back of the room. I followed. “I was twenty-seven at the time,” she began, “…had been married seven years. I had three daughters, Judy was six, Jacki five; Kristina was three and a half.”

“You had your kids in one quick string, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, that was one of the problems, plus the fact that my husband was being an asshole. Anyway, my mother suggested that I get away…go down to Texas for a couple of weeks and visit my sister Katie. She was twenty-five and still single…had a couple weeks vacation coming up. Mom offered to take the kids for a couple of weeks. I jumped at the opportunity.”

“Katie lived near San Antonio,” she continued. I got there on a Monday night. She took me to see some of the sites. We visited San Antone, went to the Alamo, did all the tourist stuff and went to a couple of bars but were turned off by the prospects—nothing but wimps. She lived in a one bedroom apartment; we shared the bed—we had always slept together as kids. It wasn’t the same though. We needed to find separate beds, somewhere.”

“I got married young,” she said, “had three kids real quick. My marriage got terribly stale; we’d been married for seven years. Katie and I have always talked, at least a couple times a week. Katie told me about the guys she had been dating, two of whom she had been fucking. I was jealous as hell of her freedom. She was doing exciting things. I was raising kids. I told her how much I wished I had what she had.”

Giggling, Katie said, “You just Gaziantep Sınırsız Escort need to find some horny stud that will fuck your brains out.”

“I laughed, I thought she was joking. She laughed. We both laughed almost ’til we cried. I cried and she hugged me until I had no more tears. She was pretty serious with a guy in town, a guy whom she said she wasn’t fucking. He was a pretty religious guy whom she ended up marrying. He wanted to hang around with us but Katie told him that she and I were going to spend all of our time together…that he would have to find something else to do while I was there. She even told him we might take a little road trip. He was cool with that. He was so clueless.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do Sis,” Katie said. “We’ll pack a few things and hit the road tomorrow. There are a lot of little towns in Texas. We’ll drive for a few hours and start cruising some bars. There’s got to be some horny guys out there that would be willing to sacrifice themselves for your sanity. I’m a bit horny myself and could use a little sex.”

Joan told me how they left on their trip about ten the next morning that her sister just bought a new mustang; painted red with a black racing stripe down the hood. Along the way they stopped at an outlet mall and spent a couple hours shopping and grabbing a bite before getting back on the road. “We drove ’til about four, until we saw a road sign that said Gushing Springs.”

It was a small town, probably about 2000 or so people. There was a grocery store, a drug store, a gas station, a small hardware store and a bar, The Chopper. It had a big old maroon sign hanging over the door that was cut in the shape of a Harley Davidson with chopper handlebars. “Let’s check it out,” Katie said. “If nothing happens pretty quickly, we’ll try the next town.”

“I remember saying,” Joan said, “What do you expect we’ll find here Katie, some cotton farmers?

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed, saying if it was a bust we could tool to the next crossroads. If that didn’t work they could just go to Austin.

“I guess I was getting cold feet so I told her that we were both big city girls that shouldn’t be wasting our time in such a hick place.”

“Don’t be such a snob Joan,” she said, “I’ve told you about the truck driver I met that has stopped at my place on his way through New Braunfels. He’s fantastic.”


It was hot outside, almost 100 degrees. The sight of two very attractive women walking into the bar on the deserted main street of the little Texas town was almost like a advertisement for western wear. Joan, with dark brown shoulder length hair beneath a black Stetson hat, was wearing tight jeans. The nicely shaped pear of her bottom filled the seat of her Wranglers like they had been specifically designed for her ass. They were tucked into her dark brown lizard skin boots. She was wearing a sleeveless lime colored pullover top, which enhanced her nicely shaped 36C breasts. Katie, a little shorter than her sister, wore Calvin Clines which fit her just like Joan’s. They were tucked into plum colored designer boots. A shaped straw cowboy hat was cocked on her head of long, light brown hair. Her plum colored western shirt with white pearl buttons was tied in a knot, showing her smooth bare midriff. The three top buttons were undone, showing the cleavage of her 34B breasts. When they walked into the bar, a bell over the doorway tinkled. The cold, conditioned air made their skin feel clammy.

“Welcome ladies,” the bartender said, taking in the tight fitting jeans and showy blouses, “nice to see new faces for a change.”

Katie asked, “Is it always this quiet on a Thursday night?”

“Usually; Friday night’s better. I’m pretty sure though that you’ll see a bunch of guys moseyin in purty soon.” He cocked his head and laughed, “Those boys seem to have a sense of a spider when a fly lands in there webs. They’ll probably be crusin her here pretty soon. Can I get y’all something to drink?”

“We’ll both have a Shiner,” Katie said. This was her territory and she knew the popular beers.

As the bartender was drawing the beers Joan looked at the memorabilia on the wall. There was a sign with a giant bulldog wearing a spiked collar. It was wearing a leather vest and was holding a sledgehammer. The letters at the top of the sign spelled Wreckers. Just below the sign hung a large picture showing what looked to be about twenty guys, all dressed in leathers and vests. In the middle of the front row were two tall men. One was extremely handsome with piercing eyes. The one next to him was even taller, probably 6’4″ or 5″. He was handsome but looked more rugged, kinda like Hulk Hogan—definitely a body builder. The whole gang, with the exception on one skinny guy, looked fit and muscular. None wore shirts beneath their vests—real beefcake.

Setting the glasses on the bar the bartender said, “Yep, those are the Wreckers alright; this is their place…one’s in the middle are Riff, on the left and Bull, on the right. They’re the leaders.”

Joan looked more closely at the picture. She studied the two men in the middle. As she scanned down the big one’s his body her eye caught the triangular patch of denim beneath his leather pants. No picture could hide such a bulge. Must be a distortion, she thought. No man can be that big.


Peter: “She told me that she thought she might have been fantasizing, that she had always been a good Catholic girl and never had much to compare with…that she had only seen her husband’s pecker in the flesh.”


“That’s all we need Katie,” Joan said, “to be picked up in a biker bar.

“Maybe we should drink up and get outa here,” Katie said, getting real serious all of a sudden.

No sooner than the words left her mouth a distant rumble could be heard, closing with great speed, growing louder as it neared. A gathering of motorcycles pulled in front of the Chopper, the racket making the walls of the bar shudder. Almost in unison the engines went silent—one backfired.

It took about twenty seconds for the front door of The Chopper to burst open, jangling the bell. A tall skinny guy with a dark brown ponytail came through the door. His face was covered with acne scars. From behind a voice yelled, “Hey, Needle Dick, when are ya gonna get the timing fixed on your machine?” Looking over his shoulder he shouted back, “Whatsamatter asshole, don’t you like my punctuation?” Laughter came from what seemed like a crowd.

The bartender nodded at the girls. “Like I said… like a spider.” He clicked his mouth.

When the thin guy saw the girls sitting at the bar, he said, “Jesus!” Turning around, he yelled, “Hey, there’s strange cooze in here…real nice looking too.”

Neither Joan nor Katie ever heard the word cooze before. But there was no question that it had to do with them. “Jesus, Joan,” Katie said under her breath, “we’d better get the hell out of here…fast.”

But fast is how the bikers filed through the door, one after the other—at least a dozen of them. It happened too fast. Finally, a very tall, very good looking guy came in. Both Joan and Katie recognized that he was the one in the picture that the bartender identified as “Riff.”

“Well whaddaya know,” he said with a leering grin, “we’re in the land of the walking wet.”

All of the guys laughed and hooted (The bartender was already drawing pitchers of beer). The Riff guy came between Joan and Katie draping his arms over both of their shoulders. Looking first at Joan then at Katie he said over his shoulder to his shoulder to his cohorts. “I’m confused guys; I don’t know which one I would rather spend the night with. Maybe they would like to share me.”

Joan looked at Katie who was rolling her eyes and thought what have we gotten ourselves into?


Peter: Joan said to me, “We were in deep doo-doo. Katie was scared shitless. The strange thing is that, even though I was frightened, my pussy felt like it was dripping. It was like the atmosphere in The Chopper was a fog of male hormones. I was scared. And I remember thinking that my sister and I could be in real jeopardy. At the same time I was quivering with excitement.”


“Hold on,” said a guy with a soothing voice. He was about six feet tall, had dark brown hair and soft brown eyes. His hair was neatly cut, swept back in a DA. He wore a pencil thin mustache that made him look like Zorro. Walking to Riff’s side he put one arm over the big man’s shoulders. His left arm rested on Joan’s shoulders. “These ladies (looking first at Katie then Joan) are our guests boys. Let’s not be scarin em .” To Joan: “I’m Concho. This here’s Riff.” indicating the big picture over the bar with his chin, “We’re the Wreckers.” Back over his shoulder he scanned the room and admonished, “Let’s cool it boys.” To Katie he asked, “What’s your name honey?”

“K-K Katie,” she stammered in a little girl voice, fiddling with her hands in her lap.

Turning his head to Joan he asked the same question, but only with his eyes.

Defiantly, she answered, “I’m Joan.”

“Joanie-J,” he quipped. Turning to Katie he said, “and K-K-Katie. Those’ll be your Wreckers names.”

Jutting her chin forward Joan shot, “I’m not in the Wreckers.”

Picking up a pitcher of beer Riff, with a sneer said, “Oh, but you’re gonna be.” He filled his glass. “Once you realize what a great bunch of guys we are you’ll be beggin to join. All the cooze do.” He filled her glass, then Katie’s. Lifting his he proffered a toast, “to Joanie-J and K-K- Katie.”

The Wreckers—there were actually seventeen of them—echoed the toast.


Joan to Peter: “They might as well have been the Musketeers shouting, all for one; one for all. Little did I realize how accurate that statement would have been.”

Peter: “You must have been really scared.” Her eyes looked into the past; her hands were crossed, flat on her chest, like she was feeling her heartbeat.

Joan: “Frightened? Yes, I was frightened. I told you that I grew up a good Catholic girl. My sister was almost in a panic. She’s adventurous as I am, just not as confident. The energy in that room was electric.” Her nostrils flared. “Though they weren’t unkempt they definitely smelled like males. It wasn’t oppressive but…it was the first time I considered male perspiration primal. Two of them, the best looking of the bunch were standing close, almost crowding us. I’ve often wondered if a blind man would have fingered the goose bumps on my arms and legs, what he might have read.”


Concho was definitely a soothing factor. He asked whose Mustang was outside, asked Katie where she lived. When she told him San Antonio he said his family was from San Antonio. He was surprised that Joan came all the way from New Jersey. He said how amazed he was that two beautiful women were in The Chopper at the same time. “Most of the women who come here are biker broads, very durable looking.”

Joan, who had either been imagining or actually feeling Riff’s breaths wafting from his nostrils onto the back of her neck, took offense that Concho didn’t consider her “durable.” She turned her head and looked up at him. “I can hold my own with any woman. Who’s the leader here?”

“I am,” Riff said, pushing his chest into her back. His closeness sent a thrill surging through her body.

“What about Bull?”

“Aha,” he said, looking around at the group. “Joanie-J here has been doing her homework.” He squeezed his hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer. “I’m the field general; Bull’s the chief. I don’t think he would suit you though little lady. The durable types are more his style.

Joan was affronted. But, when she looked up at the picture and re-inspected the bulge of Bull’s package she thought, maybe durable’s the right word. Just the same, she felt her pussy oozing enough lubricant to help ease the entry of that big thing.

They emptied the pitchers and ordered more. Katie had loosened up and Joan was feeling a slight buzz. There was a lot of laughter and loud talk. The Wreckers seemed less threatening. They could have been a softball team after a game; they smelt like it. They had interesting names like: Riff, Concho, Flapper, Curveball, Ski jump, Side Car, Road Kill, Lightning, Turtle Neck. Then there was Cruit, Cauliflower, Eyeballs, Skank, Fudge, One nut, Crip and Needle Dick.

Needle Dick asked, “Have ya ever ridden a Harley, Joanie-J?”

“I’ve never ridden any motorcycle, much less a Harley. Have you Sis?”

Katie who with the effect of the beer appeared much more at ease, shook her head no.

“Then, maybe you ladies would like to feel a hog between your legs.”

Joan, feeling her alcohol, turned to Katie and said loudly enough for everybody to hear, “I don’t think I would like that cork-screwy thing between my legs.” What in the world made me say that? She rarely really used double entendres. Katie’s eyes widened and she blushed. Both had been embarrassed once when they went to the county fair when they were young girls, seeing one of the hogs trying to hump a sow. The hog’s corkscrew pecker looked disgusting.

“Did ya hear that?” Needle Dick said, “These girls have been around.”

Riff, as if he were corralling his cows put his arms over both girls shoulders. “They musta been thinking about you, Needle Dick.”

The gang erupted in hoots.

Needle Dick just said, “Shit!”

“So, whatayathink, Joanie-J,” Riff said, “ya wanta go for a ride on a real bike?”

“Like how far,” she asked.

“Just a few miles so you can get the feel of it.”

She had always wondered what it would be like. “What do you think…K-K Katie,” she joked, “would you like to go for a ride?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“It sounds like fun to me,” Joan retorted. “Don’t be a weenie, Sis.”

When it came to mischief she always had a strong effect on her younger sister. Not giving her time to think she slid off her stool and hooked her arm through Riff’s. At the same time she grabbed Katie’s arm. “Let’s go sweetie, there’s no time like the present to have ourselves a thrill.”

They trooped outside into the dusk. Riff threw his leg over his dark red Harley, kick-starting it as he patted the seat for Joan to get on behind him. Katie walked out with Concho, his arm around her waist. He mounted his pearlized emerald green Hog, and started it. She climbed on behind. All seventeen bikes were rumbling. Together and apart they revved the patented Harley Davidson sound. Riff pulled out first, followed by Concho. Needle Dick was last in line.

Wrapping her arms under Riff’s arms, he twisted the accelerator full, snapping her head back, almost causing her to lose her partial grip. Her feet came off the foot rests and her legs raised about six inches. She felt unsure of her stability; the road seemed so close. It was scary. But, as the wind rushed past her face, blowing her hair, she felt her nipples tingle. She was thrilled.

She had never experienced such a feeling of speed, never felt so controlled by man. She felt vulnerable, accessible… had the urge to wrap her legs around his waist and hump her pussy into his tight buns.