Apex Predator Diaries: a dirty weekend to remember

Usually my best one-night-stands turn into decent length relationships, so its difficult to think of one which wasn’t one of them.

Best I can do is the 5-day dirty weekend in New England. Chop builder (American) , occasional columnist for a custom bike-building magazine, and photographer at rallies etc., who I met on a forum some time in the very late 90s; owner of three nice bikes in various states of rebuilding. Married (of course) but he invited me to an annual bike show weekend in Massachussets. let’s call him, errrrr, Jerry. I think he was hitting 50 whereas I was only around 36 or 37.

So I told my bosses I was taking a long weekend to go to New Hampshire, booked myself on a flight to Boston and Jerry picked me up at the airport. We shagged our way around New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine and back down to Boston airport.

He really took me on a fantastic touristy drive around the whole of New England, and its the best “date” I’ve ever been on. Highlights included a very cool vintage car museum, an old hotel that looked like a haunted house somewhere near the border of Maine, a stealth visit to his own home where I was allowed to see the bikes (there was a photo of a very nervous-looking me standing in his garage, but I have lost it now), a visit to Laconia (at the wrong time of year for the hill-climb) where we ate amazing huge fresh fried onion rings, and a gorgeous weekend afternoon looking at Triumphs at the rally in Sturbridge — along with a discussion on what the difference was between a unit and pre-unit but I still don’t know, I was too busy taking in what an awesome geezer Jerry was: loads of great stories about his life, bikes, parties, rallies, etc. I was still pretty fresh into bikes at that point, so was kind of green and didn’t know how the bike scene worked.

I was a bit anxious because it was clear I was physically quite a lot bigger than most girls he probably usually connected with. It bothered me more back then, than it does now. But it seemed not to matter so I just gave in and enjoyed the experience.

Jerry was drinking quite heavily but I’m kind of used to that, lived my whole life with boozers, but we caned a lot of Margaritas. Amazingly, not once during the whole time did we do any drugs. Just boozing. I wasn’t really into drugs at that stage anyway, so I wasn’t upset about that. But it was the most drinking I had done for YEARS, due to having just come out of a marriage with a very alcoholic husband … so I really let my hair down.

At one point Jerry (wasted) tried to tell me he had brain cancer and I clearly remember thinking “ha! there’s your get-out clause right there, in case it all goes pear-shaped, I’m not that daft”.

But at the same time he was telling me that, we were drinking heavily in a motel room where I had accidentally put too much bubble bath in the jacuzzi, and it went everywhere, all over the bathroom floor. I suspect somewhere he still has a photo of me laughing my head off naked amongst a fucktonne of bubbles. Jesus, we fucked like bunnies, slippery and laughing and cared not at all about the wet floor, sopping wet towels and sheets that the chambermaid would face the next morning.

On the second to last evening we got absolutely wasted (more than usual) — clearly tequila has that effect on me — and somehow I let him talk me into pissing on his chest. I’d never HEARD of such a thing before, and was soooooooooo embarrassed squatting over him and I felt like some kind of naughty schoolgirl, too shy to let go, then too into-it to stop mid-stream. I thought he was going to have a heart attack when he came. I think he thought he might do, as well — can’t say I’ve done a lot of water sports in the years since (as in, none whatsoever), but it definitely caused me to turn a major corner in terms of sexuality.

Whenever I drink Margaritas, eat Mexican food or listen to Frank Zappa or Warren Zevon, it reminds me of Jerry. What a blast.

Eventually he ghosted me, only to be expected really, and I went on with my life wishing we had been able to stay friends, cos he was a fun guy and I had had such an awesome time. No doubt he wasn’t so much fun to live with, but all I remember of the trip was what a fucking great time I had.

Twenty years later, we reconnected and he admitted he had to blank me because he might have been getting too attached to me. I often seem to have that effect on men.

When I got back to work the following week, I naturally brought American sweets with me, Hershey kisses or some such, and my bosses were like “What? Where did you go?” and when I told them I went to Massachusetts, Maine, Vermont, etc., one of them said “Oh, I thought when you said New Hampshire, that you meant The New Forest or something.”