Sexy Biker Dudes

Status
Not open for further replies.

Carol Rose

Basic
Joined
Sep 13, 2014
Location
Indiana, USA
During the Litopia Village Hall this past Saturday (which I didn't get to listen to through the end because my Internet connection went hooey and I couldn't get back in), I shared that I'm writing MC (motorcycle) romance. This isn't something I ever thought I'd write, or even enjoy reading. No clue why. Pre-conceived notions and all that.

But my publisher suggested I try it because it's still selling very well for them, and I already have a decent segment of the same readers that the authors who write and sell MC romance *very* well do, so ...

First thing I needed to do was read some of the books to understand the vernacular and get the particulars down right. Readers would notice if I didn't. And you know what? They're not all about the ride as I thought they'd be. In fact, they're far more about brotherhood and the club itself. Kinda like the Mob. LOL!!

I can write this. I *am* writing it. :)

My dear friend and massively popular Siren-BookStrand author, Tymber Dalton, is helping me out with um... inspiration. LOL!!

I thought I'd share some of the pics she's sent me with you. This is the romance reader's image of a sexy biker dude. :D

naked biker on bike.jpg older sexy biker.jpg younger hot biker.jpg
 
I've been a motorcyclist for 45 years and have literally ridden 1,000,000 miles if I tally up the mileage of all the bikes I've owned. I grew up in a motorcycle town—Stevenage, Hertfordshire—home of the Vincent motorcycle factory, where my uncle worked. Watching these machines tested at 'full chat' of over 10o mph, the rider pressed flat to the petrol tank, on the straight Roman road that ran past my home, is one of my earliest memories.

If you want any practical advice on riding (bikes!) please ask me. I should perhaps mention that I ran with a rough bunch of bikers when I lived in Atlanta, an outlaw gang who were rivals to the Hells Angels. I attempted to become a full-time member, a patch wearer, which meant going through a trial period as a 'prospect'. I did the fetching and carrying, getting the beer in and mopping the floor, then came the day of the initiation test.

I had to bite the head of a live chicken and make love to an ugly old woman, while the gang members watched. I was rather nervous and got confused. It took me ages to chew through the old woman's gristly neck, and as for the chicken, well, the feathers went everywhere! They wouldn't let me join the gang! ;)
 

Attachments

  • Paul Green Goddess.jpeg
    Paul Green Goddess.jpeg
    7.6 KB · Views: 5
Knights on metal horseback...and a code of chivalry. Hmmm. Charming. Did the ugly old woman agree, KNOWING she was the designated 'ugly old woman;' a dragon to be 'slain.' ?
 
Last edited:
Have you seen Marlon Brando in The Wild One? Probably not, and I doubt you're old enough to remember James Dean. Check them out. Sexy men on a motorcycle is not a new idea. And here is some mood music ...
 
I've been a motorcyclist for 45 years and have literally ridden 1,000,000 miles if I tally up the mileage of all the bikes I've owned. I grew up in a motorcycle town—Stevenage, Hertfordshire—home of the Vincent motorcycle factory, where my uncle worked. Watching these machines tested at 'full chat' of over 10o mph, the rider pressed flat to the petrol tank, on the straight Roman road that ran past my home, is one of my earliest memories.

If you want any practical advice on riding (bikes!) please ask me. I should perhaps mention that I ran with a rough bunch of bikers when I lived in Atlanta, an outlaw gang who were rivals to the Hells Angels. I attempted to become a full-time member, a patch wearer, which meant going through a trial period as a 'prospect'. I did the fetching and carrying, getting the beer in and mopping the floor, then came the day of the initiation test.

I had to bite the head of a live chicken and make love to an ugly old woman, while the gang members watched. I was rather nervous and got confused. It took me ages to chew through the old woman's gristly neck, and as for the chicken, well, the feathers went everywhere! They wouldn't let me join the gang! ;)

Thanks, @Paul Whybrow!! :)
 
Have you seen Marlon Brando in The Wild One? Probably not, and I doubt you're old enough to remember James Dean. Check them out. Sexy men on a motorcycle is not a new idea. And here is some mood music ...


LOL!! @Patricia D, I will be 60 years old in a few months. Yes, I've seen The Wild One, and I remember James Dean. :) :) Yes, I know sexy men on a motorcycle isn't anything new. I posted the pics because I think it's cute that Tymber is trying to help me with this. :) Thanks for the YouTube clip! <3
 
Knights on metal horseback...and a code of chivalry. Hmmm. Charming. Did the ugly old woman agree, KNOWING she was the designated 'ugly old woman;' a dragon to be 'slain.' ?

No disrespect was intended in how I worded my joke. Female partners of bikers are commonly referred to as 'old lady'—by others and in how they describe themselves.

051481e8a7ff162139104a283f383356c2e805-wm.jpg
 
How about Motorcycle Boy from Rumble Fish. I think it was Mickey Rourke back in the day when he was hot. James Dean had a bike.
Fonzie was a biker, just sayin.
 
If you want any practical advice on riding (bikes!) please ask me. I should perhaps mention that I ran with a rough bunch of bikers when I lived in Atlanta, an outlaw gang who were rivals to the Hells Angels. I attempted to become a full-time member, a patch wearer, which meant going through a trial period as a 'prospect'. I did the fetching and carrying, getting the beer in and mopping the floor, then came the day of the initiation test.

Wow, Paul. That's not something you hear every day.

I'm constantly in awe of the vast fund of life experience we have access to here. Simply extraordinary.

PS - I interviewed, for an early podcast, a US cop who infiltrated the Hell’s Angels right to the top level. He had to perform a gang killing/assassination in order to win trust. It was faked, but really well done, real human blood & tissue, etc. The whole experience seriously screwed his life up. I liked him.
 
My brother rides a bike. Not in the line of duty...he's a police officer. He bought it with money left to him by my father when he died (we have different fathers.) My father's initials were EJK, and then my brother fell in love with, and bought a bike whose reg plate happens to start EJK... what were the chances of that?

So, not to diss karmic possibilities here, he called the bike Ted, after my father. Edward, known as Ted.
 
My brother rides a bike. Not in the line of duty...he's a police officer. He bought it with money left to him by my father when he died (we have different fathers.) My father's initials were EJK, and then my brother fell in love with, and bought a bike whose reg plate happens to start EJK... what were the chances of that?

So, not to diss karmic possibilities here, he called the bike Ted, after my father. Edward, known as Ted.

I approve the naming of vehicles, as I've always done so—after all, I'm in a relationship with the car or bike.

Examples include:

Moby, a French Mobylette moped.
Tiger, a Triumph Tiger 750 motorcycle.
Cherokee, a Kawasaki GPZr 900 whose colour scheme was Cherokee Blue & Arctic White.
The Green Goddess, a Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic.
Robinson, a Morris Mini estate, which was coloured maroon—suggesting the name, as Robinson Crusoe was also marooned! :p
King Charles, a Vauxhall Cavalier (geddit!)
Metal Gnu, a Yamaha V Max, whose registration included GNV, and which handled like a Gnu that had just been stung by a tsetse fly.
Walter, my current transportation, is a Raleigh bicycle to which I've glued a plastic seagull on the prow of the front mudguard, like a ship's mascot.

Who says, writers are mad?!
 
As a boy, I rode with the meanest of the mean bicycle gangs in Lower Hook. My Raleigh twenty-six inch wheel, three-speed, drop handle machine. was enhanced by a piece of cardboard, held in place by a wooden clothes peg, to create the sound of urban menace as it struck the spokes . We would cruise the streets to the local sweet shop, eat sherbet and sweet cigarettes, until called in for supper at six-thirty by our mothers. And they call today's youth tough, ha!
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top