Strange Classy Biker Babe: Un Parfum des Sens et Bois

[Reader Caution:  Local troublemaker Snake is narrating this review.  He’s in rare form, carpet-bombing the F.  I tried to get him to tone it down, but he told me where I could go.  <sigh>  The trouble with autonomous characters is that if you tell them what to do, they die.]



Yeah.  “Snake” Waters here.  Frankly, I didn’t think I’d be back so soon.  After all the trouble I had with Sel and Sage, you’d think that I’d have learned my lesson with these French babes from The Different Company.  Well, some guys never learn.  And I’m proud to be one of those guys.

Yesterday, I was hanging out with my Indian buddy, O.D. Jatt.  “Odie” is a real trip.  He’s got all these great stories about India, and Nepal, and all these funky places he’s been to.  The guy talks about 2000 years ago like he was there or something.  You wouldn’t figure an Indian guy would know so much crap about Europe.  He’s interesting as hell, but he’s kind of a wimp.  That’s why I was definitely not up for any chick-time today.  I thought about giving my best bud Terry Hermez a call, but then I remembered he wanted to go out on the town this weekend.  Scratch that.  And I can only take so much of “Gooch”.  Goochie’s a great guy, but he’s one loud son of a bitch.  Same thing with “Foo” Absinthe.  The guy talks like friggin’ Darth Vader.  He’s a great guy, too, but you gotta be in the right mood to be around him, ya know?

So what happens?  I’m looking for somebody to hang with, and who do I run into?  Osmanthus, that’s who.  No – friggin’ – way.  Sorry, this ain’t happinin’, babe.  Not today.  I’ll be honest – I think she’s awesome as hell, but I was definitely not up for her bag of tricks.  Not on a Thursday.

So – I’m checkin’ out the rest of the gang, and suddenly somebody up and slaps me in the face!  And I’m, like, w.t.f. did I say?  And there’s this weird chick with short hair standing there, and she say’s “Hey!  Let’s hang out!”

Now I’m looking at this chick, and I want to say “Who the hell are you?”, but she’s smiling at me, so I figure that if she slaps me like that when she’s smiling, then there’s no way I want to piss her off.  So I say “OK.  I’m up for a good time.  But I’ve got a question.  Who the hell are you?”

So she says “I’m Woodie!”  And I’m, like, “Woody?”  And she’s, like, “No!  Woodie with an ‘ie’!”  Whatever!  So, I’m like, “OK, Woodie with an ‘ie’.  What’s your story?”

“I’m from The Different Company!”

“You’re one of those French babes?  I don’t remember seeing you on the website.”

“Oh, that.  They had me wearing this girly purple stuff.  Nobody ever wants me.  So I stowed away in the shipment.”

“Those damn web-pimps.  They’re all the same.  I used to blow code for one of those outfits.  They’d  take these totally hot tomboy chicks and make ’em look like friggin’ dolls.”

“Yeah.  No lie.  You wanna go for a ride on my bike?  I got a beamer.”

“You got a beamer?  Holy shit!”



“So what’s this place?”

“It’s where my old man works when he’s over here.  He owns this company.”

“No way!”


“So what are we doin’ here?”

“He keeps a bunch of cash in his desk.  I’m gonna take a few bennies and get lunch.  You wanna?”

“What?  Steal shit?  No way!  I’m on probation.  Man, I can’t afford a screw-up now.  I’ve only got a year to go.”

“He won’t mind.  He knows I take his stuff.  As long as I don’t spend it at McDonald’s or something.  He’d probably get pissed about that.”

“So what in the hell am I gonna tell people I’m doing here?  I look like a fuckin’ beach bum.  This place has security out the wazoo!”

“Watch me.  Just play along.”

“Oh, fuck.”


“Man!  Check out this office!”

“Yeah, pretty sweet digs.  Check out his desk.”

“Holy mackerel!  Is that real leather on the chair?”

“Absolutely!  Ya wanna sit in it?”

“Hell, yes.  But only for a minute.  I might get it dirty or something.”

“Go for it!”

“Fuck.  This desk is big as a goddamn airplane.  Man.  What’s that smell?”

“Open up the drawers.  Here…  Now take a whiff.”

“Oh, man, that’s sweet!”

“Chinese cedar.  The best.  It’s handmade.”

“Man, this place smells like my buddy’s wood shop.  Only finer.  Man, this is good friggin’ wood.”

“Who’s your buddy?”

“Terry Hermez.  The dude’s a wood genius.”

“Terry?  No shit?  I know the guy!”

“No way!  You know him?”

“Hey, you said it.  He’s a wood genius.  My old man’s got some of his art stuff.  I met Terry at the last art festival.”

“Fuckin’ A.  Hey, don’t tell Terry about this, OK?  I mean, not for another year.  I’ll be off pro by then.  The dude can’t lie worth crap.  If my P.O. talks to him, my ass is in a sling.”

“Hey, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks.  You’re a princess, princess.”

“Here it is!  He moved his wad.”

“Fuck!  Maybe he knows you’re dippin’ into it.”

“No, there just wasn’t room in the drawer.  See?  Trust me – if he wanted to hide his cash, he’d do a better job than shoving it in a different drawer.”

“Fuck.  What a roll!  No wonder he doesn’t give a shit.”

“Feel like seafood?”




“So how come a chick like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?  Or two?  Or three?”

“Oh, man.  You don’t wanna know.”

“Hey, I’m just curious.  I mean, it’s not every day that you meet a chick rider with fuckin’ violets painted on her beamer.”

“You don’t like my violets?”

“I didn’t say that.  It’s unique, I’ll give you that.  But you just don’t strike me as the kind of chick who rides alone.”

“Why?  Are you interested?”

“No way!  I’m married.  See?  Ring city.”

“That doesn’t stop most guys.”

“Hey.  My hell-raisin’ days are over.  Besides, my wife’s hot stuff.  I’m not about to screw that up.”

“Mademoiselle?  Crevettes au gingembre.”

“Merci beaucoup!”

“Monsieur?  Pétoncles au poivre noir et elemi.”

“Muchas gracias, amigo.”

“With pleasure.”



“I don’t know.  I just don’t get you chicks.  I mean, if another guy doesn’t want to hang around any more, it’s not that big of a deal.  I mean, there’s usually a reason.  Maybe he gets a wife.  Or maybe you just ain’t interested in the same shit any more.  And it’s usually not something I’m gonna beat myself up over.  Ya know?”

“Yeah, but you guys have friendships with each other so easily.  It’s like, easy come, easy go.  If I lose a friend, it hurts.”

“Yeah, but so what if this Jasmin doesn’t want to hang out?  It’s not the fuckin’ end of the world.  I mean, you said it yourself.  She said all these good things about you.  Heck – if one of my buddies said that much good shit about me, I’d be callin’ the damn paper – even if he never called me again in my friggin’ life.”

“I don’t know.  I just wanted her to love me.  I wanted her to love me the way she loves Sel.”

“Fuck, Woodie.  Everybody loves Sel.  Get over it.  And you know what?  I’m bein’ honest.  Yeah, I think Sel is hot.  But if I had to choose who I wanted to hang out with, I’d pick you any day of the week.  And I mean that.  Any day of the fuckin’ week.”

“Well, I don’t believe you, but thanks for saying it.”

“I’m not kidding.  OK, here it is, straight up.  Woodie – you ain’t a chick chick.  You get it?  You’re a guy chick.  OK.  Tell me – who are most of your friends?  Are they chicks or guys?”

“Guys.  But…”

“See?  I told you.  They’re guys, because you’re a guy chick.  And you can’t do shit about it.  And you know what?  A lot of chick chicks would give their eye teeth to be a guy chick like you.  I mean it.  A lot of chicks would love to spend most of their time hanging out with guys for friends, instead of other chicks.”

“So what are you?”

“I’m a guy guy.  I don’t pal around with chicks that much.  That’s why you’re so interesting.  You’re a guy chick.  You’re like one of the guys.  I can dig that.”

“What about your wife?  What’s she?”

“I don’t know.  I can’t figure her out.  I think that’s why I married her.”


“Hey, I had a good time, Woodie.  Let’s do it again.”

“You wanna go riding sometime?”

“Absolutely.  We should ride to the Gorge.  Maybe Terry and the Foo-Man, too.”

“The Gorge?  Do you climb?”

“Hell yes.  Shit, Woodie.  Don’t tell me you climb, too!”

“God, I love it.  Mostly sport.  Mostly indoor, but I love outdoor.”

“Well, that’s it.  Terry and I’ll get a trip goin’.  We’ll even do some trad.”


“Two weeks.  We always leave on Friday night.  Keep it open.”



“Did you really mean that – about rather being with me than with Sel?”

“Hell yes.”

“That’s cool.”

“Pack your gear, sis.”

“See ya!”






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