It was in the 70s in Colorado. My buddy, Bob, a biker with a bitchin' old panhead chopper, was on friendly terms with his "connection," a local dealer, Eduardo. That made Bob popular with his crowd of biker friends who were always looking to score.
Bob and I built stained glass pieces, and he had a contract to build a large, oval shaped stained glass scene to hang over the bar of a local club. That night we were working on laying out the lead caming that joined the pieces of glass for the thing. An occasional toke a nice joint or a line or a beer, kept us tuned up. About eight o'clock, we heard the unmistakeable rumbling of a Harley pulling into the yard.
Turned out to be one of Bob's biker-bar acquaintances and the dude's old lady. Now, "old lady" wasn't really an apt description for this delicious creature. Long golden hair fell straight around her pixie-like face, nearly down to her bell-shaped bottom, which sloped away from a fine narrow waist. A pretty face she had, too: high cheekbones, pert nose, wide mouth, smooth complexion without makeup, some sexy freckles scattered under her eyes, and bushy blonde eyebrows that made me think she was natural. She wore a baby-blue pullover sweater that had soft fuzz all over. It was hiding small, perky breasts, my favorite kind. Snug fitting saddle-butt jeans completed her stylish, sexy appearance. As she walked to the kitchen and I scoped those jeans from the rear, my mouth watered.
After some weird hand greetings and introductory bullshit, friend-dude detailed to Bob what he was lookin' for. Bob nodded, then turned to me to say he didn't have on hand what dude wanted and they'd be taking a trip to the "farm" to pick it up. Said they'd be gone about thirty, forty minutes, which I knew would be an hour or more 'cause Bob could never resist stopping at Showdown's on the way to say hi to the gang and soak up a couple brews, or six. As a by-the-way, he says the blonde can't go with them cause at the farm, they don't like it when unnecessary unknown folks come 'round when there's business afoot. So it's just Bob and friend-dude this time. I knew that, of course, but Bob explained for the benefit of Blondie. So she'd be staying here with me, he tells her, and she should help herself to the beers in the fridge and just relax.
Dude gave Blondie a perfunctory wave goodbye, and then he and Bob mounted their bikes and roared off toward the farm about ten miles out of town. I resumed putzing around with the caming and the glass. Blondie walked around the big layout table watching me, checking things out, pulling on a beer now and then, making small talk about what the glass project would look like when it was done, how it would be framed, where it would hang, stuff like that.
