Alternate Earth Pt. 03

*The first few stories in the Alternate Earth series were originally written as individual, unconnected stories. After about 10 years, I've started merging some of the story lines and using characters across other stories. That's when I got the idea to release episodic stories with a broader plotline that eventually comes out in a few later stories. I really appreciate all of the feedback to help me improve my writing.

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I felt the pulse of the powerful engine between my legs as it roared to life, bringing the other engine between my legs to life as well. Pulling on my helmet and gloves, I felt the vibrations of the bike and could easily feel my own eager anticipation echoed in the machine beneath me. My custom black leathers made me feel confident and sexy as I stood astride my bike while it warmed up.

Tonight was my night. Tonight I was going to prove to everyone that I was the best. I spent all day yesterday tuning my bike to run on the ragged edge and scoping the route in my Camaro. I knew every inch of the route and had been going over it for weeks anticipating my chance to run it. This was my night and I wasn't going to lose.

Tonight's race isn't just any street race. Only the best racers are even told when and where this race is going to happen. You have to prove yourself on some of the most difficult courses in the area before you're even supposed to find out about it. I spent two years trying to get invited once I learned about it and finally, I had been contacted.

The race only happens once a year and never in the same place or with the same route. In order to be invited, you have to win at least fifteen consecutive races and have one of the top ten fastest times on at least three out of the five districts. It's harder than it sounds and I'm only one of six women who have ever been invited. It took me two years and almost a hundred races to qualify. Right now, I'm sitting on 17 consecutive wins with my baby. I have the fastest times ever in two of the five districts, second fastest in the third, and number three in the other two.

My baby is a red custom 2015 Ducati Panigale R with a 197 horsepower specialty tuned, turbocharged engine that cost me the trade in on my 2013 Suzuki GSXR 1000, all of my winnings over the last three years, and about half of my life savings. I dreamed about owning a Duc for so long that, when I could finally afford one, I bought my perfect dream bike.

Since I'm only 5'3" and lack particularly long legs for my size, I can't exactly put both feet down when I'm stopped, but lowering the bike would screw up the engineering so I just deal with it. When I ordered the bike, I got custom Ducati racing leathers and helmet made to match. They're Red and white with "Crimson Angel" stitched in the upper right chest and across the lower back so everyone knows remembers who beat them. I have it on the front left of my helmet too.

Flipping my visor down and checking the electronic heads up display, I put my feet onto the pegs and pulled out of my garage, hitting the button on my left hand controls to close my garage door as I turned onto the street. I could hear the blip in my helmet speakers and see the alert in my visor display as the radar detector hidden on my bike picked up the cop car that hung out near my neighborhood. Since I live near a school, there's always a cop around so it's a good place to check my radar detector whenever I leave the house.

Easing into traffic, I considered the events of the last couple of weeks leading up to this moment. I was in the tattoo shop getting the finishing touches done on my back piece when my cell rang. The number was unregistered and I didn't know the caller. He told me to go to The Dive, a local biker bar in the downtown area, and ask for Joe before hanging up abruptly. I had no idea what this was about but I wasn't one to let someone mess with me so I called the operator of my cell and tried to get them to reconnect me. They told me it was a dead number.

Marty, my tattoo artist, put the finishing touches on my back while I told him about the call. He was obviously worried (since I'm a 5'3" girl with a slim, toned figure and pretty face) and tried to talk me into just forgetting about it. The Dive isn't exactly the best place for a cute girl alone at night. He wouldn't stop bugging me about it until I promised to take some protection.

Slipping on my jacket as I walked out, I decided to call Damien. Damien and his buddies are about the toughest guys I know. All of them are ex-military and met at the local shooting range, where Damien is an instructor. He got them all jobs as instructors and one of them even runs the custom shop. I met them when I went to get my Browning Hi-Power looked at right after I moved to the city. I liked to get it checked at least once every few months. Being a single girl in a big city isn't exactly safe and I've always been taught to protect myself.

I learned the ways of the world when I was in college. My roommate freshman year came from a rough family life and had to struggle just to stay in school. About half way through the semester, I found out that she was dancing to make enough money to pay for school. Once I found out, she offered to get me an interview as a waitress or hostess because she knew my hang-ups about people seeing my body... as well as the reason for them.

See, I'm not exactly a normal girl. I look, sound, act and even think like a normal girl but I have a condition that makes me very much not normal. I'm 5'3" with a toned but curvaceous figure and I've been told that my large, bright, almond shaped green eyes are my best feature (though I have been told this while being stared in the chest a few times). My face is very feminine and delicate, making me appear much younger than my 26 years. I have red, wavy hair that I usually wear down or in a pony tail, although when I really want to look like jailbait, I put it up in pigtails (and combining that with a naughty schoolgirl outfit always gets me my best tips but I'm not allowed to do that often since one of the dancers does a schoolgirl thing). I work hard to stay in good shape and I love showing off the abs I work so hard for.

Of course, after describing the way I look, someone might wonder what I mean when I say I'm not a normal girl. The one thing that keeps me from being a normal, if unusually pretty, girl is that I have a penis. It's strange for me to be so open about it since I've mostly hidden that fact for as far back as I can remember. I don't understand the whole medical side of things but I was raised as a boy from the time I was born until I hit puberty. Being an only child, I had no idea what was going on and my parents kind of freaked out when they found out. They didn't respond well and I turned out to be the way I am. I've never had a boyfriend and I've been pretty violently rejected by a couple of guys when they found out. Of the five girls I've told, three accepted it, including my roommate (who I was really glad I told) so I've stuck with girls, even though the other two haven't spoken to me since.

I've thought about having the surgery but for some strange reason, I really don't want to give up that part of myself. I'm worried that it will make things worse, not better. For now, I just try to hide that part of my body as thoroughly as possible and live as a woman. Most of the time, it's not a problem (except when I'm horny... which is all the time) but there have been a few difficult situations and very close calls. Obviously, that was the biggest hang up to working with my roommate, which is why she suggested being a waitress or a hostess.

Since I could use the extra money (though waitressing didn't pay near as good as I thought it would) I reluctantly took her up on it. After graduating with an undergrad in business without the means to afford an MBA (and a LOT of debt), I moved back here to LA and decided to keep working at gentlemen's clubs when I couldn't find anything that paid better. Now, two years later, I'm a bartender at the nicest gentlemen's club in the city and make plenty of money since most of the men think they can tip their way into my pants. I'm almost done with my MBA and am shooting to become the manager and, eventually, buy out the owner because the industry is lucrative and, let's face it, men will always be horny. I'm still friends with my old roommate but she's gone on to bigger and better things. Last I heard she was engaged and doing some modeling.

At the club, tips are great because I'm one of the hottest women there. The owner is constantly trying to get me to dance but, with my condition, I have to turn him down without letting him know why. It's not as easy as it sounds. Wearing short skirts and tiny tops, I can do but if he knew what I kept so well hidden under my skirt, he'd flip out.

Anyway, back to the boys at the gun shop... Damien's friend Jimmy was an immediate and enthusiastic fan of my choice of pistol when I brought it in for him to look at it (he ran the custom shop). He introduced me to Damien and I've been hanging out with them since. Sometimes, they come see me at the club and I introduce them to the girls. It makes me jealous as hell when the guys end up sleeping with any of the girls but it's not like I can claim any of them for myself (though I constantly fantasize about getting my ass pounded by each one of them and would love an opportunity to make that a reality without losing them as friends).

I've never been as good at shooting as any of them but I've gotten pretty good with their help. They even helped me get my concealed carry permit (which is apparently really difficult to get) because Randy and Mitch have some connections. My boss loves it because the girls feel safer knowing I'm always carrying and none of the bouncers have been able to get one yet. Technically, I'm not allowed to have it in a bar but since I work there and am not allowed to drink (even though I do sometimes when a cute guy offers to buy me a shot) I can get away with a technicality if I lock it up in the dressing room and only wear it to and from work. My boss even ordered and installed a special safe for it when I told him about my permit.

So back to the story... when I called Damien and told him about the weird call, he immediately offered to go with me and promised to bring at least two other guys. I heard Jimmy and Randy both volunteer without knowing what they were volunteering for. Since it was me, they were in. I really love my boys.

It really sucks that I haven't slept with any of them. They're all pretty damn gorgeous and I'd give just about anything to get hot and sweaty with any one of them but there is no way I'm risking great friendships by telling them about my secret. I've been burned really badly in the past and these guys are way too awesome for me to screw it up. Of course, it's not like they don't try but let's just say I'm almost certain I'm not really their type.

Damien is obviously of Italian descent. He is 6'1" and muscular, with a dark, olive skin tone, black wavy hair and dark brown eyes. He's pretty much the definition of "tall, dark, and handsome." His hair is a little longer than shoulder length and he usually keeps it tied in a low pony tail, accenting his strong, masculine features. His body is insane, telling me he's always been an athlete and goes to the gym regularly. He's easily the strongest of the group but not built like a body builder. He's more like a heavyweight UFC fighter but a little bigger. He's only got a few tattoos, mostly on his arms and chest, and there are some strange scars on his arms and shoulders. I once asked about them and he just said that they were from another life. Damien is generally the strong, silent type. He's the kind of guy who has a powerful, quiet confidence that really makes me feel safe and protected when he's around.

Jimmy, in contrast, is the shortest of the group, standing only 5'8" and probably the loudest and most outspoken. Like the rest of the group, he's also in amazing shape. He has managed to pack a lot of muscle tightly onto his frame. When I asked him about it, he said it was from gymnastics, which kind of surprised me. He has a very Irish look to him, with strawberry blonde hair, piercing pale blue eyes and fair skin. He has full sleeves on both of his arms and a full beard with a slightly redder tint than his wavy, shoulder length hair, which he usually keeps combed back loosely and tucked behind his ears along with a thin braid at his left temple. He calls it his warrior lock and apparently was one of the reasons he got the nickname: "Celt." Being of Irish descent myself, I can't help feeling somewhat of a kinship with him since we're both so in touch with our roots. Since he keeps his beard so neat, his full, thick lips are a prominent feature in his face and have tempted me since I've known him. I've always wondered what it would be like to kiss him since I've never kissed a man, especially one with a beard, and it feels so soft and smooth when I hug him. Oddly, of all the members of the group, he is the only one with no visible scars. Of course, they might be hidden under his tattoos but he hasn't told me and I've never had the guts to bring it up. He is the most light-hearted, fun person I know and the most outgoing in the group. Though he has a true, fiery Irish temper, the object of that temper has usually earned it. Most of the time, he has a genuinely nice, carefree attitude that I just love being around.

Even though all of the men in this group are mouth-wateringly gorgeous, Randy is definitely the hottest in the group and can only be described as beautiful. He stands at 6'2" and has light brown hair with big, beautiful hazel/green eyes. His bone structure is about as close to perfect as any man can hope for and his lips are shaped into a perfect cupid's bow that beg to be kissed. He keeps his hair cropped fairly short but long enough to play with, usually sticking up in a careless, disheveled look. When he smiles, he has the sexiest dimples and his eyes almost sparkle. Below the neck, he has the body of a Greek god. He's chiseled all over with long, lean muscle that he works very hard to maintain. He told me once that he boxed and played rugby in college and has been lucky enough through his entire life that his face has never been marred. Strangely, he's the most heavily scarred of the group and, let me tell you, he's got a few. Most of the worst scars are on his arms but he has a couple of puckered scars on his right shoulder and another, similar one on this left thigh. Like Damien and Jimmy, he doesn't talk about them but none of his impressive tattoos on his back, chest and shoulders even touch them and I get the feeling that they have special meaning to him (especially since he won't talk about them so I'm almost certain he's not showing them off). Randy is definitely the ladies' man of the group. He's just as outgoing as Jimmy but in a manner that could only be described as smooth and charming. He's the kind of guy women could imagine that would easily sweep them off their feet and into an exciting fantasy.

I met them over at Jimmy's place and showed them my finished tattoo before we climbed into Jimmy's black 1986 Jeep CJ-7. It would have been a tight fit if it wasn't such a nice night that he had the top and doors off. The guys commented on my tattoo as we drove and I was flattered by most of the comments. The tattoo that I had just finished covered my entire back and was, in Jimmy's words "Fuckin' hot as hell!" It was an elegantly drawn sword with a set of black wings that went from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. It was done almost completely in shades of black and dark gray with silver and gold Celtic knotting that accentuated rubies and emeralds set in the hilt of the sword and similar black knotting in the gleaming silver blade. Damien said it was my best tattoo yet, which means a lot since I have quite a few and he's seen all of them.

I have a full sleeve on my right arm with a Celtic motif prominently featuring a beautiful Celtic cross with lots of Celtic knotting and Psalm 23 in stylized Latin written into the design of the cross. On my upper left arm, I have a fully colored naked fairy with beautiful butterfly wings in mid flight and a band of knotting around my left wrist. The fairy is censored by the position she's in so I don't have to worry about children seeing her. I have another fairy done by the same artist on my left breast that looks kind of like she's sitting on my cleavage, also naked but censored by her position. Guys are always staring at that one when they comment on my ink. Right below my hip bone on my right side, I have a Celtic knot symbol for the Goddess. In the same spot below my left hip bone, I have the Celtic knot symbol for motherhood. Finally, I have an intricate thorny vine that starts wrapped around my left ankle and weaves up around my left leg to sprout roses about half way up my thigh.

In addition to tattoos, I have more than a few piercings. Of course, my ears are pierced. I have three in my lower left earlobe and two in my lower right with a hoop in my upper left earlobe and a bar piercing two places in my upper right. My left eyebrow is pierced and my tongue is pierced with two barbells. Both of my nipples are pierced and my belly button is pierced. I have some more interesting piercings but I'll get to those later.

Knowing that we were going to a biker bar in a bad part of town, I decided to dress conservatively. Of course, since my back was healing, I couldn't exactly wear a bra so I decided to wear a black tee shirt under one of my more basic leather motorcycle jackets with a pair of old, ripped jeans that looked cool but didn't really show off my body. I wore a ball cap with my hair pulled back in a pony tail and a pair of platform boots to give me a little more height but not so much that I couldn't run in them. Based on the nod of approval I got from Damien, the outfit was a smart choice.

We rolled up to The Dive at about nine and I guessed by the rows of bikes outside that it was pretty busy. A few of them were choppers, most of them were Harleys, almost all of them were obvious customs and not one was a crotch rocket. They all looked like they'd been ridden hard but well taken care of and I knew by the way some were separated from the rest that at least one biker gang called this place home. The fact that the only other vehicles in the parking lot were two beat up old trucks, three obvious beaters and Jimmy's Jeep told me that this was not the kind of place I would want to come often, if ever again.

Damien looked around and told Jimmy to hide outside to keep an eye on the Jeep. It wouldn't be a good idea to leave it unprotected but it wouldn't be a good idea to sit in it either. This parking lot looked like carjack heaven. The rest of us got out and went into the bar.

Inside, it was as bad as you would imagine. The second I walked in, every eye was on me and I could tell my lack of makeup, loose, grungy clothes, and ball cap didn't keep every man in the place from checking me out and the few women from immediately hating me. The two men with me discouraged them from moving in on me, for which I was eternally grateful. We walked up to the bar and, without missing a beat, I asked to see Joe. The bartender, a gruff old man with a long, scruffy gray beard with matching long gray hair pulled back in a pony tail gave each of us a long, careful look before turning away and apparently ignoring us. I felt Damien shift and looked up to see him looking off into the corner. There were two oriental men sitting at the table studying us intently. I had no idea how Damien knew to look there but then wasn't the time to question it.

Damien walked over to them and we followed. There was one open seat at the table and the boys let me take it, nodding at me before going off a short distance to sit discreetly out of earshot. Of course, our little drama couldn't have escaped the other patrons at the bar but they had enough sense to go back to what they were doing and pretend to ignore us.