Dream Machine

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Looking back on my life, I find it strange how completely random unplanned events seem to have dictated the course of my destiny more than the ones I worked and prepared for. When they happen, I’m almost always taken by surprise and totally unprepared. This story is about one of those times.

Ever since I was a teen, it was always my dream to own a Harley Davidson motorcycle, not some dirt bike or crotch-rocket, but a custom hog. I can’t remember exactly where this obsession first began but it has persisted throughout my life.

I considered myself different than the trending yuppies that viewed ownership of a Harley Davidson motorcycle as some sort of upper middle-class status symbol. Unlike them, I truly yearned to ride. Yes, I was also the corporate suit and tie type, but I knew if I owned one I wouldn’t just park it in the driveway to impress my neighbors. I couldn’t think of anything on earth that felt more powerful and exciting between my legs than a Harley…except my gorgeous wife, of course.

Problem was, my wife Carol was completely against me owning a motorcycle in any form. I can’t really fault her. She had her reasons and I knew them long before I asked her to marry me. Several years ago, Carol’s uncle was severely injured in a motorcycle accident and was confined to a wheelchair for life. It didn’t matter what I said, she was unbending in her position and there seemed virtually no chance of ever changing her mind.

Then, after our girls Trisha and Anne were born, Carol made it absolutely clear it would be irresponsible for a father of two to take such a selfish risk as to ride a motorcycle. So, for the sake of family harmony, I didn’t push the issue, but my obsession never diminished.

Unknown to Carol, I secretly saved until I finally had enough cash put aside to buy a Harley outright. I knew it was futile to believe she would ever change her mind, but the mere act of saving the money kept my dream alive.

Then, with cash in hand, I mustered up enough courage to approach her one last time. I was prepared to receive the usual rebuff, but to my utter amazement, she agreed to at least discuss it with me. I think actually having saved the money must have enhanced my position somewhat because she knew I was serious. When she agreed to go to the showroom with me, I was speechless. However, I knew the real reason she volunteered to go was to make sure I didn’t actually come home with one.

When Carol’s angry, she does not demonstrate emotion, but usually withdraws and becomes extremely quiet. Thus, our ride to the Harley shop seemed like a funeral procession. Even the children were unusually quiet. However, when we finally arrived, things dramatically changed. I felt like a kid at Disneyland for the first time.

For me, It was biker’s heaven, but for Carol, it was more like purgatory. As we walked around looking at the various models, I learned quickly that this was not the place to take a three and five-year-old. They were climbing on anything and everything in sight.

On the plus side, there were no high-pressure salesmen like at an auto dealership. The workers were courteous and answered any questions we asked. What frustrated me, was that they seemed more interested in flirting with my wife than selling me a motorcycle. Over the years, I became accustomed to men hitting on her, but I still found it annoying. I guess that’s the price I paid for marrying up.

After about a half-hour of looking around and chasing the kids, Carol whispered to me, “David, this is crazy. There are so many other sensible things we could spend this money on. Trish wants piano lessons and the orthodontist says Anne will need braces to correct her overbite.” Then she gave me the look most married guys know well. It is the one where she knows she’s right…and even if I believed I was, I’m not.

I wasn’t going to argue with her, but—as soon as I saw that purple and silver beauty dressed out in shiny chrome, it was love at first sight. A sales representative told me it was his best-selling model. So, I did what any responsible husband would do…I agreed to the braces and piano lessons. But…I negotiated with her to put a motorcycle on a layaway plan.

It would be another eleven long months before my dream machine was parked in my driveway. I was never so proud of any possession in my life. I even carried pictures in my wallet like a new dad. I must have sounded like a Harley salesman to anyone that would listen to me, and I would polish it until there was a chance, I could rub the chrome off.

Problem was, Carol viewed my purchasing the bike as some sort of personal betrayal. I tried everything I could to mend fences with her, but it was tough going. Flowers and gifts had no effect on her. Whenever I attempted to have a conversation with her about anything but the kids, she wouldn’t participate. I was starting to think we’d never have a civil discussion again.

To make things worse, her chilly demeanor followed us into Haramidere Escort the bedroom also. At one point, I thought I might never get laid again. It was like a cruel punishment to lay next to my voluptuous wife night after night and be put off time and time again. No one could possibly have that many headaches.

I loved the bike, but I loved my wife more and considered on many occasions selling it. However, for some unexplained reason, I held out hope things would improve, and they did… very slowly. I never did ride my bike to work as originally planned. I usually confined my outings to weekends while Carol was either shopping or running errands.

~oOo~

After several months of receiving flyers from the local Harley club, I decided to check out one of their meetings. They called themselves the Hell Cats, but the name didn’t fit their looks. The club consisted mostly of middle-aged and older guys who were living out their mid-life fantasies. Even though the wives and girlfriends were invited to attend the meetings, I didn’t even bother to ask Carol. With things improving on the home front, I didn’t want to upset the cart.

When she saw the club mailer that had a group picture on the front, her reaction was predictable. She laughed and said, “You all look ridiculous with your sagging bellies and thinning hair.”

When I decided to grow a beard, she rubbed my face and told me, “You look like some homeless bum. You’re not intending on going to work looking like that, are you?”

As expected, Carol’s family totally backed her concerning my motorcycle, especially her mom. My mother-in-law never did like me, even though I went out of my way to please her.

Purchasing a motorcycle just reinforced her opinion that her precious daughter married below her station. They always hoped she’d marry into money and status. It made little difference that I was a well-respected investor and could support our family in a comfortable lifestyle.

When I decided to join the club, Carol totally surprised me by agreeing to go to my initiation meeting. I considered that a reconciliatory gesture from her to mend bridges. Whereas I was happy she was going, I was apprehensive of her reaction to the group.

From the time we walked in the banquet hall, all eyes were on Carol. Not just the men, but women too. It always fascinated me the way women seem to size up their competition. As soon as Carol got a glimpse of the other women in the club wearing tight biker outfits, she whispered to me, “I’d look better than any them in leather.”

Of course, she was correct, but I played to her vanity and said, “Prove it!”

Carol looked at me defiantly and took my comment as a challenge. She replied, “You do know I’ll be using your credit card?”

The very next day she went on a shopping spree purchasing several new outfits and some other miscellaneous items. Seeing Carol for the first time in leathers took my breath away. She looked beyond sexy, almost pornographic. For a thirty-four-year-old mother of two, she was incredible. The outfit had a zipper down the front, and she unzipped it enough to show a generous amount of cleavage. It seemed to fit her like a second skin. I was speechless.

At the next meeting, her outfit didn’t go unnoticed. I can’t explain it, but it was actually fun seeing the attention she attracted from the other men as well as the looks of jealousy from their wives. I felt a surge of pride when other men told me what a lucky guy I was.

The compliments seemed to bolster her confidence in herself. Carol was approaching thirty-five and determined to chase her youth. She became obsessed with diet and exercise. Admittedly, her plan to fend off aging was paying off as her body was nearing perfection.

When I’d compliment her, she would reply, “You’re required to say that. You’re my husband.”

It seemed praise from strangers held greater credibility than a husband. I noticed her wardrobe was getting more revealing and that she moved with increasing confidence. She slowly began to change. Nothing big, just lots of little things.

When she finally agreed to ride with me on the back of my bike, I was ecstatic. Once we were on the road, the amount of attention we received was a bit overwhelming. The cat-calls were endless. It took some getting used to, seeing my wife as an object of others sexual fascination.

~oOo~

All the club members were married except for Rich, the club president, who was very recently divorced. I wasn’t sure of his age, but I knew he was older than I was. Rich was obviously the alpha male of this fledgling club. Physically, he was a tall, imposing man in terrific shape for his age, with his barrel chest and bulging biceps. Usually, he wore tight t-shirts and jeans with well-worn biker boots, but I saw him once in an expensive tailored suit. That made me believe he was a professional of some sort.

Rich flirted with all the wives, but nothing that seemed too Haramidere Escort Bayan overt or offensive at first. However, as time passed, I felt he was a bit too touchy-feely around my wife. Whenever they talked, he didn’t try to hide his interest in her and she seemed to welcome the attention. I remained silent, trusting her to set the boundaries.

In her past, Carol was not flirtatious by nature, but I was becoming concerned about her behavior. Admittedly, I liked her blossoming self-confidence, but I also wished she had been more decisive in repelling Rich’s advances.

As time passed, our social life grew also. We were constantly being asked to parties hosted by the other club members as well as business functions. It seemed having a vivacious wife meant we were on everyone’s invitation list. I was becoming more of a voyeur than participant in groups, content to watch. Carol was a popular dance partner, especially after she had a few drinks. More than once I had to steady her as we left to go home. Things were changing.

I knew I should have been alarmed about my wife’s exhibitionist behavior, but I wasn’t. I was either confident in her faithfulness or foolish. I always considered her out of my league socially, and it seemed to show now more than ever. Why else would other men overtly proposition my wife right in front of me?

Then, something completely unexpected happened while we were on our Pacific Coast Highway ride. Something that would profoundly change the course of our lives forever.

The PCH was a favorite place for the club to ride. While we were getting dressed to meet them at the rally point, Carol put on one of the skimpiest, jaw dropping bikinis I’d ever seen. Her butt seemed totally bare in the thong-style bottom. I felt this was going too far. I wasn’t about to have her exposed like that, so I insisted she wear leathers instead. Carol made it clear she didn’t like being told what to do.

We argued but she eventually did as I asked. She loudly said, “Where do you get off thinking you can order me around?”

“I’m not ordering you around. It’s all about safety, hun. Do you have a clue what could happen if you fell off the bike wearing that bikini? You’d be scarred for life.”

I knew she was angry with me because she gave me her silent treatment. I knew better than to push the issue. I figured she would eventually calm down, but she remained aloof for the first half of the ride. Then, at the midway point of our ride, Carol informed me she would be riding back with Rich.

I was shocked to say the least because for a woman to ride with a man on his bike, it was considered almost an intimate gesture. I said nothing, not wanting to cause a scene, but I did notice a little smirk from Rich when she slipped in behind him. For the first time, I felt a strong twinge of jealousy knowing my wife’s pert breasts were going to be pressed against his back. In retrospect, it’s a good thing she did ride with him on that particular day.

I took the lead bike position for the first time ever. I gunned the throttle and off we went. Rich and Carol were a couple bikes behind. It was a beautiful day on the California coastline, and I was proud to lead the pack for the first time as we roared down the twisting coastal highway two-by-two.

~oOo~

A strange voice came to me like out of dream, saying, “Mr. Grayson. Mr. Grayson, can you hear me?”

With great effort, I cracked my eyes open and the light stabbed my brain like a spike. Then, incredible pain coursed throughout my body. I hurt everywhere at once. Slowly, images appeared before me like in a kaleidoscope of color. I was confused. Where was I? Carol’s blurry image started to appear in front of me as my eyes began to focus. I tried to speak but couldn’t. I was able to only slightly turn my head.

Her voice seemed like out of an echo chamber when she spoke. “Hun, can you hear me?”

I nodded my head, unable to utter a sound.

“Welcome back. You’re in the hospital.”

As my mind started to clear somewhat, I was confused. It was hard to pinpoint my pain. I hurt literally everywhere, and it was relentless. After I was conscious enough to realize I was in a hospital bed, a nurse began removing the tube from my throat. I attempted to speak, but my voice was but a whisper.

“Wh…what happened?” I asked, hoarsely.

A deep, unfamiliar voice said, “I’m Doctor Copeland and you’re in St. John’s Hospital.”

All I could ask was, “Why?”

“You were in a motorcycle accident and have been unconscious in a coma for three weeks. Can you recall anything that happened?”

“No—Nothing—how bad am I?”

“You were in critical condition when they brought you in. You suffered a severe concussion, several compound fractures, a punctured lung, and lacerated liver. However, after surgery, you were upgraded from critical to stable. Given time and therapy, I am hopeful for your recovery. You are a very lucky man.”

I Escort Haramidere didn’t feel lucky. Carol’s normally pretty face was red and swollen from crying or lack of sleep or both. Our kids, Trisha and Anne were standing by the bed in tears. All I could think of was what the hell happened? Do I have a permanent disability?

The next several months were nothing but a blur of pain drugs and therapy. They kept me fairly heavily sedated, so my sense of time was skewed. The casts came off at seven weeks and that’s when the real battle began to reclaim my life.

My therapist, Mindy, was a small woman of Asian descent who had the body of a model, the face of an angel and the personality of a hard-ass Marine drill instructor. Mindy was merciless in her training, pushing me like no one ever had before in my life. I spent almost all day everyday with her in therapy. The progress was slow but steady. She was as unrelenting as the pain was. Weeks turned into months.

Despite her strict professionalism, we eventually became very good friends over time. It was inevitable that we shared our lives with one another and that created a special bond between us. I got stronger day by day through her efforts. About five months into my recovery, I was showing enough improvement that I knew they would soon discharge me to return home. That was bittersweet to me. I should have been elated to go home to my wife and children but the thought of losing Mindy saddened me. I had become dependent on her.

None of this went by unnoticed by Carol. She treated Mindy like a leper. Suddenly, my flirtatious wife was acting jealous of me. After one of my routines was finished and I was wheeled back to my room, Carol blindsided me by saying, “Just so you know, if you touch her boney ass, I’ll cut your dick off.”

“You mean like when Rich has his hands all over your ass? Mindy is my therapist and nothing more.”

“Bullshit! I’m not blind. And…Rich is that way with all the wives. You know that.”

In an attempt to change the subject, I said, “Well, you finally got your wish. No more motorcycle and no more club. I should have listened to you.”

“Why do we need to quit the club?” she asked.

“The way I see it, with no motorcycle, why do I need a motorcycle club?”

“You can buy another one.”

“Says the woman that hated motorcycles. Did it escape you that I almost died on one, and if you were riding with me instead of your boyfriend, you surely would have? By the way, why are we even discussing this?”

“He’s not my boyfriend and you never once said anything to stop him.”

“You’re my wife. I trust you, but I don’t trust him. What is it you want from me? What’s done is done.”

She paused before giving me a kiss and answered, “I just want you to be happy.”

~oOo~

When the time came for me to graduate my therapy and go home, it was with mixed emotions. At the end of my last therapy session, Mindy rewarded me with a huge hug and a genuine kiss on the lips—a kiss that perhaps lingered a bit too long. She gave me her private number and suggested I call her if I needed private home therapy or just wanted to talk to someone. The staff lined up in the hallway. They were all applauding and cheering as I was wheeled out.

When I finally entered our home using a cane, it was a momentous occasion. I was greeted by our family and friends almost like I was some sort of conquering hero. The house was decorated with welcome home banners. Carol almost immediately took me to the garage to show me the remains of my Harley. It was nothing but twisted steel with my dried blood stains still coating the chrome. The crushed helmet rested on top the wreckage. I suddenly was thankful for my lack of memory.

“Why is this here?” I asked.

“Your attorney said we needed to keep it for the lawsuit,” Carol replied.

“What attorney? What lawsuit? Am I being sued?”

“Heaven, no! We are suing the driver. He was a driving a Lamborghini drunk, crossed over the line and hit you on a curve. We all saw it happen. If you hadn’t swerved at the last moment you would have been killed for sure. We are suing him for thirty million plus legal costs.”

“What the hell? How come I’m just now finding this out?”

“The doctor said we should wait to tell you and not interfere with your therapy.”

“What else have you kept from me?” I asked with a frown.

“Dave, I wanted to tell you about the lawsuit, but the doctor told us wait to see how much memory you recovered. He also told us that forcing you to regain lost memory too quickly might result in traumatic psychological damage. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Come inside, I’m sure everyone wants to talk with you.”

I sat in my recliner and talked with my friends, but all I did was answer the same questions over and over. I had absolutely no recall of what happened. It was frustrating at best. All I wanted was quiet solitude.

What didn’t slip by me unnoticed was the amount of attention Rich was paying to my wife. They touched almost intimately and flirted openly with each other. Around nine o’clock when the crowd began to thin, Carol went up to tuck the kids in while I said goodbye to the remaining visitors. Finally, it was just Rich and me. He seemed extremely nervous.

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