Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.The following Patreon Preview is for a $5 tier story rewa

Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.

The following Patreon Preview is for a $5 tier story reward. If you would like to see this and other story content,please visit my Patreon and pledge. On top of the story that goes with this tier, you also will have access to my Patreon Discord, where you can meet with other Patrons to discuss stories, talk with me as the author, and even make suggestions for future stories that I can write in the coming months for your entertainment.

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Chrome (A Patreon Preview)

I’ve always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I’m no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There’s just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.

I want to be that guy.

To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there’s a biker.

There’s a biker….

A biker that wouldn’t care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.

To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.

And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won’t have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They’ll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They’ll leave their old lives behind. They’ll sail on their monstrous machines.

And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.

And they will be.