The Making of Meaghan Ch. 04

CHAPTER 4: Daytona

After a week of rising early and having to give Dave a blowjob, I think he realized I was confused and depressed and that's why he got my motorbike out of storage and reinsured when spring rolled around. I used to love motorcycling. I had a dirt bike as a kid, and graduated through various models over the years. I was drawn to sport bikes, and bought a used Daytona 675, a rocket on two wheels that put a big grin on my face. When I hit hard times, I couldn't afford to insure it anymore, so I stored it in a friend's barn.

Dave loves Harleys and had just traded in his softail for a Heritage Classic. Clearly, he wasn't short of cash like me. It was Saturday morning, and for some reason Dave had given me a day off from blowing him and didn't require me to dress up, so I was in a T shirt and sweats. I was just putting the finishing touches on a breakfast hash when Dave brought out a box and a couple of bags and dumped them in the living room.

"I have something for you," he said.

Dave pointed at the large pile of stuff on the floor. "It's for you, open it."

Confused, I started to open the boxes, which all looked like motorcycle gear for a chick. Shiny black leather riding pants, a pink and black Zeus riding jacket, and an Arai pink and white helmet with black linework of pink butterflies. The Alpenstar Stella boots had pink edging and panels that more or less matched the jacket and gloves.

"Your bike is outside. I reinsured it and hauled it over here in my trailer."

"You what!?" I ran over and looked out the window, and sure enough, there was my beautiful light blue Daytona 675 parked in the driveway with a fresh wash.

"Holy fuck Dave, I haven't ridden that in two years!"

"I know. You couldn't afford the insurance, but like I said, I took care of it."

"Jeez Dave." I so wanted to go for a ride.

"Go upstairs and get yourself dressed and we'll go for a ride. I laid out a few things for you to wear under the riding gear."

"And since this will be your first time out in public, you'll need to do your hair and put on some makeup. Rebecca's makeup stuff is in the drawer on the right side of the sink."

I flushed, my frustration boiling to the surface.

"Jesus Dave, come on. I'm not going to ride my bike as a chick in public. Get real. Why does everything have to feed your kinky fantasies? Why can't we just go for a fucking ride, like a couple of normal guys. And make up? Seriously?"

"Well, suit yourself. Nice day for a ride though. Finish off the breakfast and make me another coffee would ya. I'd like to catch some of the early Raiders game."

I didn't like being bossed around by Dave, but truth is, he pays for everything. I still have my VISA debt and not much cash, but he did pay off my car loan and I haven't been getting into any bigger a financial hole. I can't complain too much I guess.

"You let me know what you want to do. It's a beautiful day and I'm going for a ride, but you can stay in the house all day if you want; and I'll give you the day off, so you don't have to get dressed up if you don't want to."

"You really should get some counseling Dave, you need help."

"You're all the help I need babe."

I looked at Dave, making his way to the TV room, and then at the helmet and bike clothes on the floor.

Shit. I so want to go for a ride.

I finished up the breakfast and served him with a fresh cup of coffee. He didn't even turn my way, just said, 'thanks' and kept watching the game.

Fuck, I really do want to go for a spin, but I can't go out in public dressed as a chick.

I went back to the kitchen and sipped on my coffee for a bit, glancing between the view outside, my bike on the drive and the pile of chick biker shit on the floor.

Finally, I went and picked up the riding gear and went upstairs. Dave didn't look at me or say a word.

I put the riding gear next to the pair of tan nylons, white lace panties and matching bra that were on the bed, the Victoria Secret label sticking out to one side.

Ok, what the fuck, I'll do this.

I hopped in the shower for a full shave and then tucked myself in. I slipped into the panties and bra and pulled the nylons onto my legs and over my ass. Dave had insisted I paint my toenails now, which were a Candy Apple Red under the nylons.

In the bathroom I found Rebecca's makeup. There was a whole kit of stuff, god knows what it's all for. I pulled my shoulder length hair up into a ponytail at the back, a few strands of my bangs hanging down. The only hairbands Rebecca had were all pink, fuck, and I used a thick one to hold back my ponytail.

I started to pull stuff out of her makeup kit and sort it on the counter. Seemed like there were endless jars of this, and sticks of that, but it wasn't obvious what I was supposed to do with all.

"Start with some moisturizer," Dave said quietly, suddenly appearing out of nowhere at the bathroom door in his jeans and plaid shirt, and I jumped.

"Jesus, you scared me."

"Just trying to be helpful."

"You've got flawless skin so you don't need any concealer except over your beard area, not that you have much of a beard. Maybe just some light foundation and don't overdo it. You don't want to look like a raccoon that's been thrown in a vat of talcum powder."

"It's that one, next to the mirror. Then maybe some grey-blue or green eye shadow, to pick up on your eye color."

"Jeez, how do you know so much about makeup?" I asked.

"Oh, you know, watching Rebecca all the time I guess. She was very good at it."

I hesitated and then applied some concealer on my freshly shaved face and then a light foundation. About 20 minutes later, with Dave's help, I had a blue green eye shadow applied that wasn't too horrendous, I guess, and a basic foundation that made my face look eerily smooth like those expressionless chicks I used to see at the mall that look like mannequins.

Dave suggested a blush on my cheeks gave some highlight. Why the natural glow of runner's skin is not good enough, I do not know, but hey, there's no money in being naturally healthy I guess. Gotta move product, product, product.

"Isn't this shit expensive?" I asked.

"Yeah, chicks spend a fortune on it and we get to enjoy it, so not much to complain about there hey?"

"Try this," said Dave.

"What is it?"

"Mascara, it's for your eyelashes."

"Oh."

I pulled the thickly coated brush out of the tube and applied it to my eyelashes. Wouldn't you know it. I have naturally long eyelashes which just popped like I was Katy Perry in the Bon Appetit video with this shit on. Dave probably noticed that about me too, I thought, suddenly shivering involuntarily.

"Now the lipstick and gloss to finish off."

I applied it as best I could.

I was expecting to look like Heath Ledger's The Joker when I was done, but when I looked in the mirror, I was truly shocked. It was a like another person, a sister I never knew, was staring out at me intently, a deep compassionate warmth in her eyes. It was unnerving. She was actually quite beautiful.

I blushed and stood awkwardly for a second.

"Just a couple more things," Dave said, reaching into his pocket.

He pulled out two studded diamond earrings, and gave them to me. "That's why I got your ears pierced the other day."

He had offered to make a VISA payment that was due if I got my ears pierced two weeks ago. I had to at least make the minimum payment, so I went along. I figured with the longer hair nobody would notice, and maybe I could just say I was trying to look like Keith Urban or something. I stared at them, and then reluctantly put one stud in each ear.

"These are pretty convincing fake diamonds, where did you get them?"

"They're real actually," he said a sly grin on his face as leaned against the door frame, staring at me in full makeup and lingerie.

I hesitated for a second. "But these would have cost a fortune if they were real. I know that much from being with Heather."

"Well, I don't know about a fortune, but $20K is worth it to see you right now."

"You spent $20,000 dollars on these?" I said, turning to face myself in the mirror again, my blushing shadow-self's eyes bathing me in warm accepting light as I looked at the sparkle in my earlobes.

"I did."

I didn't know what to say.

"Oh, and one more thing, I have this corset to give you a bit more of a figure. Given we are going to be out in public, you should look your best."

Before I could react, he was towering behind me, wrapping a lace corset around my waist, and beginning to cinch at the back. I had lost weight, so was pretty lean already, but the tight corset pulled me in even more, creating an hourglass shape and a tiny waist, the lace and frill on the corset matching the bra and panties I was wearing.

He slipped a couple of breast forms into my bra. "You have to have some tatas or the look isn't going to be quite hot enough."

"Fuck Dave," I muttered.

I stared at myself in the mirror; quite a sexy feminine woman I must say, realizing that Dave was watching me the whole time, like a newlywed watches his wife get dressed for a big night out.

"You look nice," he said.

I was flustered and didn't know what to say.

"Oh, and don't get in an accident," he added, the sound of a small locking clasp clicking at the top of the corset. "They'll have to cut this off you with the Jaws of Life and then you'll have some explaining to do."

"Did you just lock that on to me? Nice to know you have my back Dave, thanks you asshole, but if this is what it takes to get out on my bike, I'll put up with your twisted games."

Nonplussed, Dave just smiled. "Try the riding pants on," he added, with one last cinch that took my breath away.

I went into the bedroom, feeling terribly exposed and vulnerable in lingerie and a tight corset, made up like date night. I began to pull the leather race pants over my nylons, pulling hard to get them over my butt.

"They're too small." I was barely able to get the shiny leather over my ass.

"Wow, that is fucking hot," he exclaimed to no one in particular.

I turned and looked in the full length mirror. Yup, I'll admit, that chick is hot. Too bad I don't get to nail a girl that looks that good, I thought.

I pulled on the white t shirt and then the riding jacket. I look like a full on sport bike chick, the hottest kind. We went downstairs and got ready to go for our ride.

Out on the driveway, I fired up the Daytona, the beautiful sound of the race engine kicking into life.

"Here is a VISA card in case you need ID or to buy something," Dave, said, pulling on his riding boots.

"M. Smith?"

"Yeah, Meaghan, or Meg for short. I'll call you that today since we are out. Can't exactly call you Brian." He smiled.

I shook my head, he thinks of everything. Fucker.

"I don't know how you ride those little rice rockets. Just death on wheels babe," he said, checking out my Daytona.

"You call this death on wheels and you won't even wear a helmet cause you're a stupid Harley rider, and would rather get killed than protect your head. You come off of that thing, and your head will explode like a watermelon hitting a wall. That sounds like death on wheels to me."

"Sure babe, but I'm not coming off."

"Fair enough. Besides, I get why guys like you ride Harleys," I said, as Dave swung his leg over the saddle, and fired up his bike, barking and belching black smoke.

"Why's that?"

"No place to put your basketball-sized testicles on a sports bike."

"Now you're speaking my language." He pulled away, brapping the throttle just to hear the sound of pointless manliness waking up the neighbors.

We headed out on 24 then north on the Blue Hills Parkway, a beautiful twisty stretch of road through rolling farmland. After taking a few minutes to confirm no one was pointing at the guy dressed as a chick, I opened up the throttle and left Dave behind, tearing up the miles like I used to do. The bike was flawless, just like I remembered it, and pretty soon I was intent on lining up the apex of curves, laying her down as far as I dared on the inside of the corners.

We eventually dumped onto I29, and I needed gas. I was well ahead of Dave when I pulled into the Chevron, and used the VISA card to fill up my bike.

A group of sport riders pulled up, one at the pump immediately next to me. I could tell the guy was checking me out, which was kinda creepy. Jesus dude, at least try to be subtle about it. I noticed a few of the other guys staring at me, like jackals circling a kill. One of the bikers pulled up blocking my bike and flipped up his visor.

"Hey chickita, that's a sweet little bike you got. Why don't you ride with us for a bit?"

I tried my best to sound feminine and was glad I had my helmet on. "No, but thanks," I said.

"That's too bad, cause you got a cute little ass I'd like to ride sweetheart." He laughed and so did his buds. "I bet you can ride a lot more than that bike." More laughter.

In hindsight, I probably should have stopped and reflected on my situation for a second before I responded, but too late now.

"Go fuck yourself, you little cocksucker."

He got off his bike. "What did you say bitch?"

"I said go fuck yourself, you little cocksucker."

He was about to lunge at me when suddenly Dave roared in on his Classic, put the kickstand down and walked over to the guy.

"What's going on here pal?"

"Mind your own fucking business cowboy," he snarled.

Dave took one look around at the crew of guys and then walked up to a dude on a Ducati of some kind.

"Listen pal, I suggest you call off your girl squad there and get back on your bike and ride away before I put your head through the gas pump."

I could see the guy stiffen and try to get a read on Dave, tensing to take a strike at him.

Dave didn't flinch and just leaned into the guy a bit more. "Yeah, I know you're doing the math. You're left handed and thinking about throwing that hook right about now. You're also looking at your baboons and none of them have taken their helmets off, am I right?"

"It's your call. Get on your bikes and fuck off or throw it. I'll just wait here." Dave looked as calm as could be, like he was buying a quart of milk from the corner store.

The guy stood for a second or two, took one last look at me, and then got back on his back and fired it up. His buds did the same, and they drove off.

"Holy shit Dave, that was fucking dangerous. Those guys could have really messed us up."

"Yup, they could have but they didn't, and I wasn't going to let them treat my girl that way."

Your girl?

"How did you know he was the boss, and what if he had a gun or a knife or something?"

"He was on the Diavel with the biggest tires. Simple, really. And I knew he didn't have a weapon, or at least by the time he got it out of his ass, I would have put him through the pump like I'd promised."

Jesus. "How did you know he was left handed? And what was the deal with the other guys not taking off their helmets?"

"I could tell he was left handed by the way he was flexing his fingers. And if they were really going to fight, they would have had their helmets off, so the dude knew he wasn't going to get any backup, or at least not before I'd smashed him up pretty good."

"Holy fuck, where did you learn all this shit?"

He turned to me, a goofy grin on this face. "Boy Scouts and John Wayne movies of course."

In other words, don't ask any more questions. Dave smiled. "Let's go."

I rode behind Dave all the way into Mervis, to the Cactus Bar that Dave likes with an outdoor patio by the river. Lots of bikers were there, and as soon as we pulled up, I could see heads turning to check us out. I suddenly felt nervous as hell. They are all going to know I am a guy.

I flipped up my visor as I pulled up next to Dave. "We can't stop here; they'll know I'm a guy as soon as I take my helmet off."

"You're fine, don't worry about it. You look great, very cute in fact. I can tell from here that they are dying to check out your ass as soon as you get off the bike. I brought a ball cap and sunglasses for you as well."

"Pull your hairband off and give your hair a good shake and then put these on," he said, handing me a pink Patriots ball cap and oversized Raybans with gold trim. He thinks of everything, the bastard.

"Just reach inside and be the babe you saw in the mirror this morning. Own it, and just walk over there like the hot chick you are."

"And remember, keep your elbows closer to your body than your hands, and don't try too hard to be a girl or swish your ass all around like a drag queen. That'll give you up for sure," he added, walking away from me toward the patio before I could say anything.

I swear my face was burning up and my heart rate was running at 200 as I took my helmet off, pulled the hairband off and put the ball cap and glasses on. As I turned to walk to the patio, I could see Dave at a table, mercifully not too far away, ignoring me and looking at a menu.

Jesus, if he's my guy, why couldn't he at least wait for me!

I glanced sideways at the patio through my mirrored sunglasses. It was like every fucking guy in the place was staring at me. As I took the first few steps, I just held the image of the girl in the mirror this morning in my mind and tried to block everything else out. Come on, we can do this sis.

At first, I wasn't sure if they would all burst out laughing and somebody would yell: 'That's a fucking dude!.' It didn't take more than a few steps to realize that was not what they were thinking, but the alternative was equally sickening. These fuckers are all looking at me like I'm a piece of meat. These fat smelly slobs all just want to fuck me. God, that's just so nasty.

I sat down next to Dave, so thankful that he was there.

"Jesus, Dave. If you're supposed to be my guy, why'd you make me run the gauntlet like that on my own?"

"So, you're saying I'm your guy? Nice, I'm happy about that," he replied, not looking up from his menu.

"Fuck Dave, that's not what I meant!"

He grinned. "They're just not used to seeing a hot chick on a sport bike with a dude on a Harley. Just never happens right," he said matter of factly. "I not sure whether to have a steak sandwich or a burrito."

"There are a lot of things happening right now that should not be happening Dave," I replied, looking down at a menu to avoid seeing the stares.

"They'd fuck a goat if it was wearing lipstick," I added.

"Probably true," Dave said, scanning the lunch specials, "but you should see yourself in those leathers. It's a thing of beauty."

"Fuck you Dave," I replied, not looking up, trying to decide between the garden salad or a Ceasar. I really wanted a burger and fries, but I didn't think I could hold it down with this damn corset on. He's even got me eating like a chick now, I thought.

Dave ordered a beer for himself and a girly drink for me. I wanted a beer but there was no way I was going to say a word here and give myself away.

Hiding behind my sunglasses in my chick biker get up, my heart racing, I watched the whole scene. It was incredible to see the guys checking me out from every angle possible, some more subtle than others, like a pack of drooling jackals. So this is what it feels like to be creeped on by guys all the time. Nasty. It's not like any of these guys were even remotely attractive, even if I was gay, or a girl, or whatever. Good thing I had Dave here.

While having lunch, we observed the scene, taking in the cast of characters on the patio.

"See that guy just getting up over there. He's going to have some serious swagger. He'll do that slightly bowl-legged walk tough guys do, to show everyone his balls are too big to walk normally and he has to give them space to swing back and forth in his jeans." Sure enough, he did.