Most women like the bad boys. Sure, the evolved woman says that she wants a sensitive, caring and gentle man. However, the female of the species, just like the males, are ruled by primitive instincts. They want a dominant buck when it comes time to fuck. Maybe, that same animal desire explains why some dudes, me included, appreciate nasty chicks, as you see on Bike Babes.
I’ll never be a motorcycle-riding stud, like the site’s main star, Hunter. We all know putting a dweeb like me on a hog wouldn’t turn me into a mean, lean biker man. I’d just seem like a geek on wheels. Therefore, I to live vicariously through this dangerous-looking fellow as he goes on the prowl for pussy, picking up sluts as cruises the bad side of town on his badass Harley.
The ladies are the trashy sort. It’s all bad bleach job blondes, brunettes with tattoos and piercings, bitches in shades wearing bandanas. They’re the cheap tarts you’d expect to see in a trailer park. Nothing is sexier than is a babe pulled fresh from the tin can she’s living in, down in the hood precariously placed in the middle of some tornado alley somewhere.
If you think such reality-based smut exists only in the make-believe-world of porn, think twice. There are real harlots on Harleys of the Kiwi-variety, down in New Zealand, exuding massive amounts of sex appeal with a zeal for riding topless, no less. According to Ian Stewart, reporting on the website Stuff.co.nz (03/02/07), a parade of motorbikes with bare-breasted babes filled the streets of Christchurch.
The event promoted the opening of the Erotica Lifestyles Expo down at the Christchurch Convention Centre. Nine sets of tits circled through the inner city, accompanied by four greased up musclemen, on Harley Davidson bikes. The watching crowd’s response varied, but mostly men were attracted to the action.
Mr. Stewart found a few women responded negatively, while the males appreciated the scene. One dude named, Kliff Tappin proclaimed, “People say sex and perversion are wrong but look at it - when it’s free to the public, half the city comes out.”
Meanwhile, the judgment call made by Ms. Roberta Hannah and an anonymous gal pal lunching at an outside cafe along the route, was considerably less supportive, “Overrated, totally and utterly tacky. I can think of better things to do with my lunch hour.”
I hate to sound cynical, but poor Roberta seems to think it’s better to use her lunchtime to whine about sour grapes. I only wish that my dinnertime today was going to come with such a hot, free, live show, instead of just, its probable cold backdrop of mounds of snow.
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