MODS & ROCKERS - CHAPTER 2
Edward
The stable doors swing open to reveal my two special ladies who are secured by heavy chains to the concrete floor. I pause for a moment to breathe in their luscious scents and feast my eyes on their magnificent bodies before approaching the lady closest to me. I slide my fingertips over her gold and silver curves and recall the day I first laid eyes on her.
'Tara' was purchased on the same day I received my grandfather's legacy. After being informed by grandpa's solicitor that I was unexpectedly wealthy, which was a total but very pleasant surprise, I walked out of his Baker Street office and headed straight to the nearest motorbike showroom on the Marylebone Road. Within the hour I was the proud owner of a new set of leathers plus Tara, a beautiful, shiny, Norton 650SS with a top speed of 115 miles per hour. Tara was the bike I'd yearned for constantly while at university and had been hopelessly and unsuccessfully saving for since starting work as a lawyer.
I recall that night and our first adventure together with a wistful smile. I carefully rode her to the small flat in Earls Court I shared with a university friend so I could discard the suit I'd worn to the solicitor's office and change into my newly purchased leathers. I remember being so excited about what was to come that my hands were shaking uncontrollably as I was getting dressed. I had to make several attempts to zip the jacket up as I couldn't get the two ends of the fastener to lock together and almost had to ask my flatmate to do it for me.
After escaping the all too frequent red lights and nose to tail traffic between Earls Court and Hammersmith, I opened her up on the A40 Western Avenue on the way to the Ace. We nudged the ton on a long stretch of dual carriageway but didn't quite make it before I was forced to drop the speed, knowing I'd need to stop in the next half mile. At the time I was annoyed I couldn't make the ton, but reassured myself as I slowed down there was always the journey home when the roads would be quieter.
I shake my head as I recall that night and admit to myself, not for the first time, I was way too inexperienced to be in control of the almost fifty horses powering Tara's two wheels as I hadn't given her the respect she deserved. After turning right off the A40 at Hanger Lane, I jumped a red light and took the bend onto the Norf way too fast, and only by the grace of God managed to avoid crashing into a lorry travelling in the opposite direction. The driver saw me coming and swerved out the way in the nick of time and I missed his back wheels by inches.
This near-death experience taught me a valuable lesson, and even though speed is my drug of choice, I'm more aware of mine and Tara's limitations by now because I know her as well as I know myself. She is part of my soul and I respect her moods and nuances. I sense when she's out of sorts and I don't push her if she's not happy, even when I'm desperate to take her to her limit.
I affectionately stroke Tara's leather seat but turn towards my other lady who has been waiting patiently for my attention. I'm sure if I had super-human senses I'd be able to hear her purring contentedly, as Sadie is smugly confident she'll be my ride of choice tonight as she has been since the day I picked her up from the auction house just over four weeks ago.
As soon as I heard on the biking grapevine that a 150 mph Vincent Black Lightning might be going up for sale, I was determined to own her whatever the cost. I had to wait almost three months for her to arrive in my life as no amount of bribery could convince the owner to sell her to me privately. Luckily she went for a much lower price at auction than I was prepared to pay, so the owner seriously messed-up financially by not selling her to me directly.
I never thought I'd be lucky enough to own a Black Lightning as Vincent's stopped making this model in 1952, and most of the ones which hadn't already been totalled were owned by collectors or professional racers. Even though the design was now over twelve years old, the Lightning still held the undisputed honour of being the fastest mass-produced bike in the world.
Vincent is a guy's name, but to me she has always been Sadie, or Sexy Sadie which suits her better as this lady turns me on like no woman has ever come close to doing, giving me a thrill and a rush like no other I've ever experienced, especially when we easily hit a hundred miles an hour, or 'the ton', as it's known in the biking vernacular. I've taken her to a hundred and thirty on the M1, which is still twenty miles short of her limit, but I admit I bottled pushing her any faster than that. One day I'll take her to a track and then I'll really let her go and hopefully survive to tell the tale.
I almost feel like verbally apologising to Tara as I unleash Sadie from her chains and I mentally promise to take her out for a blat one night next week. After giving Sadie a quick visual check, I flick her stand and roll her onto the cobbles then close the stable door, tugging at it a few times to make absolutely sure the locks are in place.
Being the considerate neighbour I am, (I'm not a complete arsehole when I get my leathers on), I roll Sadie to the end of the street before starting her up. When I touch the throttle, the roar of her engine could waken the dead in the nearby churchyard, or at least give residents with a nervous disposition a heart attack. So when I'm sure I'm out of earshot of my immediate neighbours, I slide my left leg over the seat and get myself into position, which includes ensuring my balls are comfortable against the hard leather seat as there's nothing worse than having to rearrange yourself when you're tanking down the A40 and your nadgers start to throb.
I slide my leg into position and close my eyes before I kick-start her, as I want my hearing to be unimpeded by other senses when I hear Sadie's exquisite contralto voice for the first time. I hold my breath as I depress the kick-lever twice to prime the engine with oil before I turn on the ignition and the fuel valve and then I wait for a few seconds. I put my full-force on the lever and feel Sadie vibrate, massaging my balls delightfully for a fraction of a second, before a sound that could compete against the thundering hooves of a hundred stampeding horses fills the air around me. After a few seconds of unfeminine, deafening growls, (maybe I should have called her Steve or Dave instead), her engine settles to a gentle purr until I touch the throttle again and the tigress re-awakens.
I kick the stand and massage the throttle gently and the bike lurches forward. Even though Sadie and I have been out on the road at least twenty times by now, I'm still cautious when she starts moving as the power I have at my fingertips is staggering. I tentatively approach the High Street and turn Sadie towards Earls Court as I'll be heading in the opposite direction from central London's trendy bars and swinging night clubs tonight. Our destination is a tad more down-market than those hipster joints, but the venue of choice is unique, and probably more famous around the world than The Marquee or Ronnie Scott's.
I speed up gradually, listening carefully to Sadie's growls and purrs while skilfully weaving my way through the practically stationary traffic inching its way through the town. I run a few red lights, but I sense we're not in any danger as the cars waiting to cross the junctions haven't even moved when we flash in front of them. I still can't get Sadie's speed up to over fifty as I'm obliged to stop occasionally, but once we hit the A40 at Hammersmith I know there won't be another set of traffic lights for at least three miles, and that's all the invitation I need to let Sadie do what she was put on this earth for.
I bend over Sadie like a lover, my chin almost touching her glistening handlebars, my chest inches away from the petrol tank, my eyes fixed on the open road ahead and my body coiled like a spring. As Sadie's speed increases, the varied hues of the cars and lorries sharing the road with me blend together like an impressionist painting as I swerve through the narrow gaps between them, all the time watching for any indication that my four-wheeled adversaries are attempting to block my path.
I'm an experienced and instinctive rider by now and my reflexes are tuned to react in a micro-second to the smallest movement. I feel as though I can read the minds of the drivers ahead of me; just a flash of a brake light or the slight turn of a wheel alerts me to danger and I zip into the next lane and continue on at a reckless pace, roaring along at seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour.
I can feel the skin on my face contorting wildly and my fingers gradually becoming numb with cold, even through thick leather gloves, but this doesn't deter me as I push Sadie to go faster. She's screaming blue murder as we reach ninety-five and I know we're going to make it. As we race rapidly towards the outskirts of West London, I yell in triumph as the needle hits the ton and I hold Sadie there for about ten seconds before letting go; allowing her speed to drop gradually to a comfortable eighty in preparation for when we reach the numerous sets of traffic lights in Acton, as I know from experience at least one set will force me to stop.
The feeling of exhilaration catches in my throat and I sense tears starting in my eyes but they're not from the wind or the cold; they're there due to a combination of relief and gratitude that I've survived a moment of extreme danger again. I fully accept I could have died in those previous few minutes, and that each time I take Sadie or Tara out on the road and drive at excessive speeds I'm risking my life, but I need to do this, as there's absolutely nothing else in my life which gives me the same adrenalin rush, nothing else which thrills me as much as speed, and nothing else which makes me feel so completely alive.
I turn off the A40 at Hanger Lane and speed down the Norf until I catch sight of the first of the three heavy stone and iron railway bridges that span the road, which is my signal to slow right down. I drop Sadie's speed to thirty and prepare to swing off when I reach my destination, and as I travel under the first bridge, the familiar battered façade of the Ace Café comes into view. I pull onto the wide forecourt where about thirty motorbikes are parked in well-ordered lines and after I bring Sadie to a halt amongst a row of lesser models, I give Sadie permission to show her gratitude to me for allowing her to achieve the ton by letting her roar like a wild animal, which also serves as an announcement of my arrival to the Rockers who are already in the Ace.
I can see heads turning in my direction as I slide off Sadie's back, and I know the guys inside the Café are lusting after my ride and the girls are lusting after me. I vainly run my fingers through my hair, pulling a long lock over my forehead for added coolness, then undo my jacket and adjust myself in my jeans before I cockily stroll into the Café as though it's nothing special to be the acknowledged King of the Ace, fuck-hot as far as the girls are concerned, and the lucky bastard who rides the fastest production motorbike in the world.
I see the usual Friday-night crowd sitting around two long Formica tables on the far side of the Café and the guys acknowledge my arrival with manly grunts of welcome and the girls just stare at me and smile. As I cross the floor towards them, while remembering to salute the large group of Hell's Angels gathered in the opposite corner, Tanya gets up from her chair and walks towards me, swaying her leather-covered hips provocatively in time to the rock and roll music being played on the juke box. By the time she's standing so close to me I can feel warmth radiating from her body, my dick is twitching in anticipation of what's obviously on offer. Without asking for permission, she slips her ring-adorned fingers under my t-shirt and runs her warm hands over my ice-cold, rock-hard abs, then slides them behind me and up my back before digging her blood-red talons into my skin.
I raise my eyebrows as if I'm questioning her motives, even though you'd have to be totally dumb not to guess what she's asking for. She gives me a seductive smile and whispers in my ear…
"If sin could take human form, it'd look like you, Eddie Masen."
I pull her towards me and kiss lips that taste of tea, cigarettes and chocolate, then whisper back…
"Yeah? Well, if you're up for it, I'll gladly take you to Hell'n back. You coming?"
Her eyes light up which is all the permission I need to take her to the place where we can indulge in my second favourite pastime. I hear the guys chuckling as I pull her towards the ladies toilet which thankfully is vacant. By now my dick is rock-hard in anticipation of what is most definitely going to go down, so I slam the door shut and push her hard against it to stop any other fucker coming in. My hands grab the hem of her leather skirt, pulling it up roughly around her waist so I can drag her panties to one side. I'm still high from the ride and this is exactly what I need to disperse the adrenalin that's coursing through my veins.
I pull a Johnnie from the stash I keep in the inside pocket of my jacket and tear it open with my teeth. After swiftly sliding it over my throbbing dick using only one hand, (I'm a fucking expert at this by now), I roughly smash my mouth against Tanya's and grab one of her ample tits while moving myself into position. This is going to be fast and furious and I so fucking need it.
"Theresa, Tanya, whatever you fucking call yourself now," I hiss as I push in and start pumping hard. "This is what sin feels like, darlin', so say your prayers, 'coz you're in for the ride of your fucking life!"
Bella
I hand my coat over to the tightly-permed cloakroom attendant, who gives me a numbered ticket and a look of disgust when she hangs my cheap copy next to the genuine leather or suede coats on the rail. I'm used to this by now and I'm not going to say I don't care because I do, but there's absolutely no point getting upset about it. There's no way I'll ever be able to afford a real leather or suede coat anytime soon so I'll have to get by with the imitation leather which still looks smart but isn't very warm.
Alice is still bouncing as she drags me over to the bar, immediately catching the eye of Stan, the middle-aged barman, who I'm sure has the hots for her.
"Rum and Black" she calls out to Stan, then turns to me waving a ten shilling note in my face. "What you havin' Bella; I'm buying tonight."
"No, I'll buy my own," I respond, as I really can't afford to return the favour.
"Don't be silly," she replies as she's guessed what's going on in my head. "Dad gave me a fiver for the weekend, so have a proper drink for a change."
I gulp at that comment because five pounds is more than what I have to live on all week. "I'll just have a coke if that's okay," I say gratefully while mentally thinking that's a shilling I don't have to spend this evening.
Alice looks at me and huffs then rolls her eyes in defeat as we've had this argument before and she's reluctantly accepted that I don't drink alcohol and have no intention of starting.
"A coke as well please, Stan," then she gives him the full-on eyelash-fluttering vamp treatment, knowing full well he'll put a double-rum in her blackcurrant.
"Come on," she squeals when we've got our drinks and drags me across the dance floor to where the boys have congregated in the corner. She sidles up to the boy who gave her a lift and introduces me.
"Hi, Bella," he says in a smooth, almost cultured accent that's definitely not East London or Cockney. "You're Alice's best friend I hear," he adds politely, giving me the opportunity to continue the conversation.
"Um, yes," I reply nervously.
There's something about this boy's light blue eyes that unnerve me, as though he can see right through my top and is making a judgement about my underwear. I shake my head to get that image out of my head and smile at him. "I've never seen you here before," I add. "Do you live around here?"
"No," he replies, returning my smile as though he can read my thoughts and is trying to put me at ease. "I live in central London with my parents, but the clubs up there are pretentious crap compared to this, so I prefer to hang out with real people. Eric and Paul's father works for my father, so when I heard they were into scooters and all things Mod, I asked to be introduced to them. The rest, as you say, is history."
I was expecting an answer like, "No, I'm from Dulwich", or something like that, so Jaz's comprehensive reply was a lot to take in.
"Oh, right," I eloquently reply and take a sip of my coke.
"Are you Jake's girlfriend?" he asks quite innocently, not knowing that Jake is standing right behind him.
"If she plays her cards right, she could be one day," Jake answers confidently and smugly, making Jaz jump.
I stand there with my mouth open as I take in this gem of an offer. Okay, Jake's good looking, and he's the unelected pack leader around here with all the kudos that goes with that title, but his attitude just in that statement pisses me off and I reply with a double-helping of 'sark.'
"Thanks for the ride up here, Jake, but I should've warned you before accepting it that I don't play cards or any other game, so I think I'll pass on your generous invitation, thank you."
I turn my back on Jake and Jaz and waltz away while giving a side-eyed smug-face to Alice, whose mouth has fixed itself into an uncomfortable pout. One of my favourite tunes is playing so I worm my way into the middle of the dance floor and lose myself in the music, at the same time patting myself on the head for standing up for woman-kind for a change. I feel like grabbing a sash from somewhere and marching around The Roxy shouting "Votes for Women!"
I was expecting Alice to join me as she loves dancing, even though she's got absolutely no sense of rhythm, but by the end of the song she hasn't appeared so I look around and spot her at the bar again so I wander over.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" she hisses at me as she picks up her second Rum and Black. "That's Jake you've just turned down. Are you out of your mind?"
"I haven't turned him down," I snap. "I just didn't like the way he presumed in front of Jaz that I'd do anything to go out with him. I'm not that type of girl, Alice, and never will be."
"He wasn't asking you to have sex with him for Christ's sake, Bella. He's an alright guy; Jaz says so."
I look over to where Jake's standing and notice he's staring at me with a shocked expression on his face. I wonder whether he's not used to being turned down flat and has had a stroke or something, but I'm way too embarrassed now to go over to him and apologise for being rude, if that's what I was.
"Ah well, I've missed my golden opportunity," I say philosophically to Alice. "Let's have a dance," I suggest, and drag her this time onto the dance floor. The DJ has managed to pick up some imported Soul samples which are amazing, so he cranks the volume up and I can feel the sprung floor vibrating under my feet from the bass. I close my eyes and dance to Martha and the Vandella's pumping out a song about a Heatwave and the heavy beat and the glitter-ball lights become absorbed into the very core of my being and I love it. I open my eyes and take in the sight of about two hundred teenagers and twenty-somethings being sucked into the heady atmosphere of the club and I feel like screaming with joy.
'The Weekend Starts Here' is the proclamation at the start of Ready Steady Go every Friday night, and as Martha's words 'burn in my heart' like the lyrics of the song, I know that Friday nights are just the best, and life for me, despite the hardships, is good, really really good.
I feel some definitely male arms sliding around my waist while I'm dancing but before I have a chance to turn to see who it is, I recognise Jake's voice speaking in my ear.
I can't make out what he's saying, so I swing round and shout, "What did you just say?"
"I said I'm sorry," he yells, just as the music finishes abruptly and everyone's eyes are suddenly fixed on us.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters angrily then grabs hold of my arm and drags me across the dance floor until we're out of the way of the speakers. I don't have much option but to go with him, even though I'm totally embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," he repeats when we're out of the way of the noise. "I'm an arse for saying that to you. Jaz gave me a right ear-bashing when you walked away. He told me I'd behaved like a complete prick."
I chuckle for a moment and nod my head in agreement. "Jaz is right. You didn't do yourself any favours, Jake. Girls don't like being spoken to like that."
"I know, I'm sorry, Bella. I'm not really a prick. Anyway, can I buy you a drink to make amends?"
"Okay," I respond as there's no harm in him doing that and also there's the added bonus that I would save another shilling.
Jake orders himself a London Pride bitter and I ask for another coke after explaining to Jake that I don't drink alcohol. He doesn't make any comment about this as he carries our drinks to a table at the far end of the dance floor and finds us two chairs so we can sit down.
He takes a long drink of his beer then clears his throat as though he's preparing to make a speech.
"Do you want to go to the pictures with me on Wednesday night, Bella?" he asks quickly.
I choke on my coke as I really wasn't expecting this.
"Are you asking me out on a date?" I ask and I can feel my temperature starting to rise.
"Err, yes. Don't look so shocked. I'm not that awful, am I?"
"No, I mean yes, I mean ….. why are you asking me for a date, Jake? I'm not your usual type."
Jake looks taken aback for a moment by that statement. "What's my usual type, Bella?"
I don't have to think about how to answer this question.
"Definitely pretty…, um rich with all the right gear..., umm ea….". I was going to say 'easy', but stop myself. I don't like judging people and I don't know for certain whether his previous girlfriends had given it up, even though I'd heard some pretty lurid rumours from Alice.
"So you don't think you're pretty, do you?" he replies. "I think you're very pretty, Bella. You're also different to the other girls here. You don't conform and you've got your own style. You make market clothes look like they've come from the West End. You've got beautiful hair which you've refused to cut to be like the other girls. Your eyes are stunning and you don't need to plaster a ton of make-up on as your complexion is translucent. You're a rose in a garden of weeds, Bella. Don't ever think anything different."
I stare at Jake open mouthed as I've never heard a guy speak like he's swallowed a poetry book before, and Jake's the last person I'd have thought would come out with so many compliments, including the word 'translucent'. I look down at my knees as I know I'm blushing and I'm trying to think of something succinct to say.
"That's very kind of you," I mutter while wondering whether to return the compliment by saying, "you're not bad looking either," but decide silence is the best policy.
"So … will you let me take you to the pictures on Wednesday?
"Um, yes Jake, thanks," I reply, wondering what Alice's reaction's going to be.
"Great, I'll pick you up at seven. Can I have your phone number, just in case there's a problem?"
"I don't have … I mean, we don't have a phone. I use the box on the corner,"
"Ah, right. Okay. Not to worry. I'll definitely pick you up at seven then."
I'm totally embarrassed as Jake must think I live in a hovel. Dad has always said we don't need a phone, but since he became a Trades Union Shop Steward he's beginning to think differently as his members sometimes need to get hold of him urgently, so I'm hoping he'll think again and we'll get one installed soon.
Jake stands up and takes hold of my hand then leads me onto the dance floor as the DJ is playing Up on the Roof, by The Drifters, which is another club favourite. As he slips his arms around me and starts swaying in time to the music, I can feel a hundred pairs of eyes boring into my back, as every girl who hasn't been asked for a slow dance is staring daggers at me. As Jake buries his face in my hair and sings some of the lyrics in my ear, my only thought is whether I'll be in any danger if I need to go to the loo. I might get ambushed and my head stuck down the toilet if I go on my own so decide to take Alice or Angela with me, just in case.
I must admit though I'm enjoying being the centre of attention for once. Jake is very handsome and to be honest I have fancied him for quite a while, but have never, ever, considered being part of his circle as girls like me don't belong in the spotlight. As the music comes to an end I go to break away, but Jake cups my chin in his hand and looks me in the eyes and I know he's asking permission to kiss me. I nod my head and he gently places his lips on mine then pulls away smiling.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks, then without waiting for a reply he launches himself on my mouth and gives me a full-on sensuous kiss which makes me tingle all over.
"Okay?" he whispers in my ear when he pulls away and I nod my head vigorously.
"Practice makes perfect," he whispers and kisses me again, this time gently pushing his tongue into my mouth. I know from Alice this is called a 'French Kiss', which is a totally new experience for me, but I like it and inadvertently let out a little moan, then I suddenly remember this is all happening in front of an audience. I panic when I realise I've stopped breathing and quickly pull away.
"Sorry," I mutter, thinking Jake will immediately dump me for being a useless kisser.
"That's okay, Bella," he smoothly reassures me. "We've got plenty of time to learn, haven't we?"
He leads me from the dance floor with his arm nonchalantly slung over my shoulders and I can see Alice hopping up and down with glee.
She sprints up to me and whispers in my ear. "Didn't I say tonight would be amazing?"
I grin widely as Jake pulls me into his side. "Yes, you did, Alice," I reply. "Come to think of it, instead of training to be a beautician, why don't you become a friggin' clairvoyant?"
So, Edward is with Tanya and Bella is with Jake (for the moment). How are Edward and Bella's very different worlds going to collide? You'll find out in the next chapter.
FYI:
The Norf, is the Rockers' name for the A406 North Circular Road, which was/is still a very busy dual carriageway that goes around the top of London. (There is also a South Circular Road). In 1964, Hanger Lane was just a busy crossroads of the Norf and the Western Avenue. Now it's a massive roundabout called 'The Gyratory System'. In the 60's there was no barrier between the lanes on the Norf and the bend by Norbeck Parade, and that stretch of road was infamous for serious accidents, which is where Edward nearly hit the lorry.
The Ace Cafe on the NCR is now a world-famous meeting place for bike enthusiasts. It has its own website, so please do check it out as there's some great information there including a history of the time I'm writing about. I lived about half a mile away from it when I was growing up and remember hearing packs of Rockers roaring past my house at night.
Johnnies are obviously condoms. The pictures is obviously the Cinema.
Do let me know if there is anything else that needs explaining.
Joan x
