I lay under a tree, drinking a warm Coke. The service road steamed in the heat as I contemplated the sexy hump of my BMW's racing tank - the one that transmits the bike's throbbing 1200cc power to my leather-covered balls when I'm on the road. Beyond, the highway shimmered in the noon-day heat.

I was heading west from northern Ohio - traveling anywhere away from a broken relationship with my long-time faithless lover who ran away from this USA muscle winner with an Olympian hopeful. I was so pissed that I didn't care much where I landed up as long as these muscles were as far away as possible from those. One evening as I sat on the bike, smoking through a cloud of self-pity, something suddenly hit me between the eyes. "What the hell? Fuck him!" and two days later I hit the road, traversing the country from east to west with nothing to enjoy but my faithful, nut-throbbing bike.

I'd ridden down from Bowling Green that morning and here I was on the edge of Sycamore Park, with every intention of turning west towards the Pacific. Jeez, it was hot! Midwest July humid-hot, hardly conducive to "forgetting all that". And the fuckin' heat and the fuckin' sweat and the fuckin' bugs. And the fuckin' erection in my snug and sweaty leathers that wouldn't forget what my mind denied.

It was repeating this unending, boring, boring tape when a mirage shimmered through the haze on the highway. It began as a distant hum that could only signify many approaching Harleys. A metal, black, blue dazzle in the haze eventually formed itself into a convoy of shining bikes and the glint of black leather.

As this heady mirage got closer I could see it was made of ten or twelve guys - big-bodied guys, with blue head-rags instead of helmets. This miasma of muscular flesh, chromed steel, black leather and sky-blue screamed SEX at me. I leaped to my feet and instinctively waved crazily in its direction. Some saw me and waved back. I took this as an invitation - jumped on the bike, hit it and hauled ass off the service road onto the highway.

They were going at speed and it took me a few determined miles, well over the speed limit, to catch up with them. The leader must have seen me coming in his rear-view mirror. At a gesture from him the phalanx opened and ate me up. As I neared the head of the group it closed up again behind me so, like it or not, I was trapped in their midst.

In front of me were two very built, bare-shouldered dudes. The one on the left had an open leather vest and a right-side studded armband, but it was the one on the right that grabbed my attention. He was bare down to the narrow waist of his leather pants, even bigger shoulders, naked except for a tribal tat on his left bicep, thick lats stretched wide by his riding position, and his black hair, partially controlled by his blue bandana, streaming away in the wind from his monstrous traps.

The guy on my immediate right gave me a grin. As big as the other two, he had an ash-blonde buzzcut under his blue bandana, a gold medallion bouncing on the thick pecs which were minimally hidden under his wife-beater tank, and melon delts as big as the other two if not bigger. His grin was infectious, cheeky and appraising as he took in the growing bulge in my sweaty leathers.

On my left was this taciturn dark guy. After one contemptuous look he gazed straight ahead at the road and never looked at me again. He too was bare-chested except for a torn, cut-off T-shirt pulled back over his head, framing his amazing pecs and setting off the thick arms and delts between them. A leather wrist band on the right and his blue headrag were all he wore beside.

In my mirror I could count another four pairs of built guys hemming me in from behind. There was something about this muscular bike-riding brotherhood that I bonded with already, without knowing a thing about them. I felt comfortably apprehensive being with them and, what the hell else did I have to do but go along? They seemed happy enough to have me. And I was their willing prisoner.

But what was with the blue headrags and bandanas? And where were they going and why? They were clearly not just out for a Sunday-afternoon joy-ride and anyway, it was Tuesday and they should all have been at work. Like me.

A few miles on we pulled off at a rest-stop. The Leader, the guy at the front on the left, gave a circular signal and I found myself surrounded by a circle of musclemen on their bikes, confronted by the Leader, the Buzzcut and Wind-in-my-hair. There was no escape and this was the time for questions and answers. I was ready for them all. But little did I know just how ready that was to be.

Now I could see all their faces, all their physiques as they sat astride their bikes. It was like being surrounded by all the guys in the pump-up room before a contest, having to justify why I thought I was worthy of competing with them. At least, that's what I felt like right then. Yes, I was more than ready.

The Leader spoke.

He asked my name without giving his. Where was I going? Nowhere. Anywhere. Why was I going? None of your business. So why did you wave to us back there? Dunno - guess it was the bikes, the muscle... felt like some kind of group, kinda brotherhood I'd like to ride with. Wanna know where we're going? Sure.

At this point Wind-in-his-hair cleared his throat as if to object. Leader waved him down. He wasn't going to give anything away to me - yet.

"You can see we all have something in common. And we can see you have something in common with us."

There was a lot of involuntary flexing going on as he said this. And I wasn't going to be outdone in this muscle display as I flexed my lats and hardened my bi's and chest.

"But we also have a purpose in traveling together, and maybe you'll eventually find out what that is."

Buzzcut muttered something in his ear and Leader nodded. OK.

"Maybe you could go and take a piss in the rest-stop while the rest of us talk about this, OK?

"OK. Come and get me when you're ready?"

I got off the bike, propped it up where it stood, hiked my leathers up around my all-too aroused packet and went off to piss.

It wasn't long before someone came in. I was mulling all this over at the sink while washing my hands and soaking the bugs off my face when someone slammed into the john.

I heard him flush and thought I heard him leave, when I saw this big guy in the mirror behind me, squatting beside the urinal. He was as well-built as the rest of them, had a five-day growth of blonde beard and moustache, big wide metal band on his left bicep, and a chain across the codpiece of his tight leathers. And bare feet.

For a silent moment he squatted there, lighting up. I stared at him in the mirror as I dried my hands. Then he slowly hoisted his tall self to his feet and walked slowly towards me.

"Think you're pretty cool, don't ya?"

"As cool as I wanna be."

"As cool as the rest of us, mebbe?"

"Wouldn't know."

"Wanna know?"

Now he was very close and I could smell his muscle-aroma. Very heady. His bulging cod-piece gently nudged my leathered crotch. He flexed his pecs to make the two tit-rings jiggle. I sat back on the edge of the basin to get a better look. With no more words he blew smoke in my face.

I retaliated by reaching out and twisting both his tit-rings - hard. I knew how that would feel. I'd had both mine pierced when a huge muscle dude in the gym challenged me to let his boyfriend do it at his piercing parlor. Two moments of startling surgical pain, six weeks of disinfecting the things and I was ringed for life.

It did hurt him. He slapped my face with his cigarette-free hand, grabbed my wrist and shoved it down to his cod-piece.

"Feel how hard that is, boy?"

"Yes, SIR!" I grinned.

"Hard for your ass, boy."

"Well, I can tell you it'll never find - "

But he pressed his lips towards mine -

"Inhale me, boy!"

He took a deep drag and clamped our mouths together, forcing the smoke deep into my lungs. Shit, this was no ordinary Red! My head buzzed and my tongue welcomed his as he forced it down my throat. His hand was still clamped over mine on his cod-piece; somehow both of them ripped the codpiece open and I felt his thick, hard, oozing dick in my hand.

Still clamped together at mouth and crotch, I stood up so his hungry dick pushed between my legs. I clamped my quads together hard and proceeded to roll the muscles about, fucking his dick between them. Now my hands were free to grab him around the butt to force him to fuck my leathers.

He started to groan and it wasn't long before I could feel him spasm between my legs. I spewed the tobacco-favored spit back into his mouth as I pushed him away.

"On y'r knees, fucker, and clean up my leathers!"

He got his head between my legs and slurped up his cum, licking my leathered groin clean while I jacked off on his head and traps.

Laughter and applause at the door where some of the other bikers had gathered to watch this denouement. He'd had to take off his shades for this operation and now he smiled up at me with his baby blue eyes, as blue as the bandana.

"And I thought I was gonna get to fuck you!"

I grabbed him by the balls and the chain hanging over the front of them and yanked him to his feet. "Another time, fucker!" and pushed him towards his mates.

He turned round to them, "He'll do!"

Outside they'd moved all the bikes to face the highway - mine too. Leader put his arm around my shoulders to lead me out.

"If you've got nothing better to do we'd be glad to have you ride along with us. We'd have a chance to get to know each other better and, in a day or so, we could tell you what we're doing out here together and you can decide whether you want to stay with us or split."

I shrugged. "OK by me. Where are you heading?"

"Somewhere to the west of New Mexico - that's all we want to say for the moment. But this ain't no aimless joy-ride. As I said, we do have a purpose - I hope, we all hope, that you'll go along with us when you know what it is. The Shaman here" - he indicated Wind-in-your-Hair - "is our guide. We lost one of our party as we set out, and he feels you might be the right guy to fill in for him. He says we're lucky to have found you."

I shrugged again, and got on my bike. •