Page 61 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 49

Den sprang from the bed and jumped the biker. He
wrapped his arms tight around the big muscled man.
“Then it’s a deal, brother,” Chuck said as they tumbled
down in a spill of denim and leather and boots across the
bunk.
Hard-muscled grip met hard-muscled grip. Their arms
strained in athletic embrace. Den’s knee dropped a slightly
pulled kick into Chuck’s enlarging groin. Chuck fell back
on the bunk. Den took the advantage. He straddled Chuck’s
tight belly and reached down to the base of the pinioned
man’s neck. Branches of veins strained from under Chuck’s
strong chin down to the neck of his T-shirt. A shock of black
chest hair tufted over the lip of the shirt. Den reached to the
spot. He took a hard handful of the cotton material and in
one savage motion shredded Chuck’s shirt from his body.
The man on the bottom grunted as the material broke at
the base of his throat. Den tossed the white rag of shirt to
the floor. Chuck lay back with his eyes closed. His thick
chest rose and fell from the exertion of their struggle. Red-
black hair defined his huge pecs. Den judged it the perfect
marking. The hair, coarse and tight, stopped just below the
nipple line. Each tit stood up hard, pink, expectant. The
belly was strong, rippled, and hairless. Three inches above
the navel, belly hair corkscrewed over the man’s low-slung
black-leather belt. Den felt beads of sweat under his own
arms begin running down the inside traces of his biceps. His
own T-shirt clung in widening sweat circles high up both his
sides. It was the wet cotton smell of clean cotton T-shirts and
fresh washed jocks breaking into ripe new sweat. His shirt
clung wet to the flesh and muscle of his spreading lats.
In sudden turnabout, Chuck reached up to Den who was
straddling him like a hot bike. In a motion equal to Denny’s
own, his strong right hand, each fingernail of it crescented
with irremovable grease moons, ripped down Denny’s shirt,
open neck to navel. A halfbreed ring of quartz and copper

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