Sex between them was nonexistent. No longer did they take pleasure in each other. No longer did he thrill to her touch. No longer did her cunt juices flow for his cock. Their marriage dissolved into barren bitterness, and he hated her! He hated the way she had made him feel, unmanly, impotent. But it hadn't always been that way. And who would have thought from the way it began, that that's the way it would have ended.
Hank and his wife had met in college. She was a Texas girl. Not from Dallas or Houston or San Antonio, or anywhere nationally known like that. She was from a little town outside of Abilene. But, as Hank was soon to learn, the little town she was from was famous, more famous in its own way than all of the other Texas towns put together.
Hank found out about it on their first date, the night after the big game when he spotted her standing apart from the other autograph hounds. He watched her. She was beautiful, but pretty aloof. That intrigued Hank, and he approached her. Sparks flew that first moment when their eyes met.
All the while Hank was showering and changing, he knew one thing for sure. It was going to be a hot and heavy night! It was, too, but not in the way he had expected. Even after all these years, with all of their ensuing bitterness, looking back, Hank wouldn't have changed one second of that night for anything else… not one second of it.
They were pretty heavy into petting that evening. It was a very private grope session punctuated by a lot of panting, hot breaths and sighs. Hank was pushing hard for penetration. She was resisting. It made him angry because he was used to having his way with women. He didn't like this business of feeling frustrated in the least little bit.
He persisted. She resisted. Finally, when he was ready to dump her out of the car onto the roadside and speed away, burning rubber for at least two miles, she began to soften. She began to back off a bit from her untenable (at least that's how Hank considered it) position.
"Look, honey," she said quite frankly, "I can't let you in."
"Why not?" young Hank screamed for what seemed like the ten-thousandth time.
"Because it's against my principles, that's why." Cathy explained with the same candor. "It may sound funny in this day and age, but you have to remember I'm from a little bitty town in Texas. And a girl's brought up there to believe she should enter her marriage bed as a virgin."
"What the hell kind of dumb thing is that?" Hank yelled in anguish. He'd had a lot of lines pulled on him, but they were almost always to get his cock out of his pants, not to keep it there.
"Now honey, I know how you must feel, but this doesn't mean we can't have sex."
Hank's ears perked up.
"However," she continued, "it may not be exactly what you had in mind. But, honey, I can assure you, you won't regret it."
"What are you talking about?" Hank asked, suspicious of some kind of sickie sex act looming on the horizon.
She sensed his suspicion and was quick to lay his suspicious mind to rest. "Why, darling, it's nothing bad. It's the Easy Rider, that's all. I'd be willing to give you the Easy Rider if you wanted me to."
"What the hell is the Easy Rider?" Hank asked, thinking to get angry again. He wanted to get fucked and she wanted to play cowboy games!
Without further explanation, Cathy showed him what the Easy Rider was. It turned out to be the most fantastic blow job Hank had ever had. He didn't even know things like that existed. When it was all over, and he lay there boneless in the car seat, he finally managed to ask a question.
"WWWhat did you say that was?"
While he regained his strength, the beautiful sloe-eyed wench with the wicked mouth and tongue, told him the history of the Easy Rider.
In Texas' early gold and oil rush days, every lusty brawling town had its dance halls, saloons, and just plain brothels, catering to the wild lone men who left all behind them to forge into new territories and grab what was theirs, or someone else's, and make it theirs.
Of the girls that populated these pleasure shacks, for often that's what they were, just plain shacks, one slip of a girl outshone all the others. It wasn't too long before her name became a legend in the West.
She was only eighteen. Some said it was a trick, but most everyone close to her, especially the other girls, swore it was just some kind of talent she was born with.
She could give a blow job to end all blow jobs. The oil wildcatters were the ones to name it. They called it the Easy Rider. The name stuck. Men came halfway across the country just to have an Easy Rider. Some say old men would drag themselves half-dead to her doorway just so they could cross to the Pearly Gates on an Easy Rider. And she was most accommodating.
Well, needless to say, the girl grew rich. But as soon as the land in Texas was staked, the pioneer women moved in, in short order. The shacks turned into houses over night, and the houses formed towns. Now when this happened, the girl of the Easy Rider fell on hard times. There wasn't a woman alive who felt safe or sure of her husband with this wicked hussy anywhere within a hundred miles of them. They drove her from town to town, until she realized that that was the way it would always be from then on.
Did she give up? Hell, no. Instead, she located about 500 acres of land in a deserted patch outside of what is now known as Abilene. She staked out the territory, laid claim to it, built a magnificent house and stocked it with beautiful women of every race, color, creed, and type she could find. One of each.
Then she did the unbelievable. She taught them to do the Easy Rider.
Well, as soon as word got out as to where she was and what she was doing, the men beat a pathway to her door from the four corners of the nation. In fact, they really did beat paths, and it used to be a joke that her house was situated on a crossroads, a joke that was true.
Anyway, the men came and went. Then some of them stayed and built houses nearby. Some fell in love with the girls and went off to settle down with them, but always near the main house. Before long, the girl's brothel was the center of a thriving community.
The women of the community didn't mind that her house was at its center. After all, they all knew how to give the Easy Rider, because they were all ex-girls from the house, and no outside women were allowed to settle in the 500 acres the young girl had staked out.
As a result, they say the town produced the happiest men and most sought after women in the entire state of Texas. Now as time went by, the town grew. But it became ashamed of its beginnings, so it changed its name from Easy Rider to something more usual.
Although some of the old ways are long forgotten, and even the town's name is changed, there is one thing that remains the same. Every woman and female child over a certain age, learns every move of the Easy Rider. And that's true to this very day.
When Cathy finished her remarkable tale, of which Hank had proof, he asked her when she had learned about it.
"When I was thirteen," she answered. "In fact our group of girls used to have run-offs using cucumbers, of course, to see who had the best technique. In our group," she said a bit modestly, "I was the best."
After the blow job Hank had just experienced, he was willing to give her a certificate to attest to it… a marriage certificate. And many years later, a divorce certificate to match.
Hank looked up and down the beach. The sun was dipping low, causing long shadows to form around the thinning group of bathers.
Somewhere, out there, there has to be a girl who thinks I'm great, he told himself. Somewhere among those broads there has got to be just one beauty who needs a good lay; who recognizes a good prick when she sees it.
Someone who will give me a sign, a word, anything to let me know that she thinks I'm a man… a real MAN!
He lay back and closed his eyes with a sigh. And if it's not asking too much, Christ…! If only she knew how to give the Easy Rider!