Rebel Wayfarers MC Character Interview
Today is the
day that I, Erin, get to interview the hot, sexy, tatted men of the Rebel
Wayfarers MC. I am so excited, and I hope that I don’t babble too much. These
men make me drool something fierce and I hope I can keep my wits about me to
get through this. So here we go!
Gunny: Hey,
Erin. Nice to meet you. How’s it hangin’?
Tug, reaching
out to smack the back of Gunny’s head: You don’t ask ladies how’s it hangin’,
dillweed.
Gunny, turning
to glare at Tug: Fuck you, old man. Since when do you get to tell me what to
do?
Mason, standing
and reaching out a hand, gesturing towards the couch nearby: Ignore them,
pretty lady. Come on in, rest a spell.
Erin: * OMG!!!
Mason just called me pretty! I think I my panties just got wet!* I want to
start off with a few easy questions. I would like to give anyone who is not
familiar with you some background info. * thinking to myself that if someone
doesn’t know who these guys are they are living under a rock*. So in the
interest of getting to know you, could you all please tell us what your “job”
within the MC is?
Mason: National
president, kinda like everybody’s favorite uncle some days, and their worst
nightmare the others.
Bear: Um. I…the
bikes are what I do. Build bikes, customize them, work with the fab shops. My
pretties, the guys call ‘em. My sanity is more like it.
Slate: Fucking
liar, Bear. You settle people’s shit when needed, but yeah, you roll that iron
for the club. Truth spoken there, I guess. I’m just a local guy, standing in
the top spot in the Fort, makin’ sure our shit stays tight there.
Jase: Hi Erin,
I don’t think we’ve met before. I manage several businesses in Fort Wayne for
Mason Industries. Not quite the finance guy, but I am responsible for the
profitability of things here in northern Indiana.
Gunny: Job?
Club job? I work for the city. What the fuck you talkin’ about?
Tug: Jesus, Gunny. Can you go for two minutes
without fucking up? So sorry, pretty lady, he’s like the unwashed cousin most
days. I’m retired, you might say. Retired to the Fort, where clearly these
barbarians need lessoning on how to behave.
Gunny: Fuck
you, Tugboat.
Bear: Guys, can
we just…
Mason: Shut it.
Alla y’all.
Erin: Now I know that Mason is basically the
centerpiece of this club *and what a glorious centerpiece he is (cue the
drool)*. What was your first impression of him?
Bear: Yeah.
Well, you see him. He just fills up space. I guess if we were doing a word
association I’d say ‘powerful.’
Slate: Scary as
fuck! Standing behind the bar in Chi-town, the man bowed up at me when I used
Watcher’s name, flat out accused me of spinning tales. He was scary as fuck. Then,
the man set me up, put me against some powerful people there, all so he could
take my back. Fucktard. Love the man like a brother, but he’s a fucktard some
days.
Jase: I’d have
to agree with Slate. My first impression of Mason was fear. Not on his part,
nope, I don’t think he can spell fear. Not that he’s stupid or anything, cuz he
isn’t. Well, not all the time. Did you see the truck he bought for his boy,
Chase? That’s stupidity, for sure. Anyway, my first impression was fear on my
side of things. The team’d gone into Jackson’s after a game and I thought for
sure Daniel, he was the captain of the hockey team in Chicago, I thought he had
lost his mind when he took us to that bar. It belongs to the Rebel Wayfarers,
for God’s sake. Then, I dunno, things just settled out okay. Mason turned out
to be one of the best men I could ever hope to know.
Mason: Y’all
need to shut up this shit. Seriously.
Gunny: I was
afraid of him, too, but not for the pansyassed reasons these bastages have
spouted. I was afraid of him because he saw things, things people didn’t want
seen. Secrets that hurt when pulled to the surface. I was afraid when he would
look at me, scared he could see the fear ball I tried to hide for so long. No,
shut up, Tug. It’s my turn, bastard. So fear, but also…like you wanted him to
be proud of you, so you did better than you thought you could. Does that even
fucking make sense?
Tug: Yeah, for
once you’re making a fuckton of sense, Gunny. Mason pulls the best out of
everyone he latches onto. Now. Now that he’s found his place, found his role,
his calling. My first impression though? Tough motherfucker. He’d been beat
within an inch of his life, betrayed by someone he trusted, yet he came out of
it with his fucking head high, not held there with pride, but with a sure belief
that he could do any-fucking-thing he needed to. Tough motherfucker.
Erin: I can
really feel the love for you Mason. These men would move mountains for you. Now
Mason, what were your first impressions of your brothers?
Mason: These
men in this room with me today are my inner circle. The most trusted men. Trust
them with my life, have done so, would do so again without question. Tugboat
has known me longest, and I’m proud to call him, and the rest of these rat bastards,
brothers. Tug saw a kid out of his depth and offered me wisdom, telling me that
blood didn’t always mean right. Slate, well, I’ve never met a man with a
greater want to be part of something larger than himself. He makes people
around him better by expecting better. That’s a talent you can’t train, needs
to be gut-deep, and makes him a valuable asset no matter where he sets his ass.
With Bear it
was…pain. That was my first impression, and you know it, brother. Don’t look at
me like that. You know it’s true. You showed me your angels that first day, and
the loss rang through that garage like the lash of a whip. He’s moved out ahead
of it, finally, that wave that kept catching up with him for years. Moved past
the pain, accepting it finally so he could make room for something else in his
life. Glad to see it, proud of you, brother. Jase – this dude is my court
jester, always got a fucking joke to throw into the mix. Helps diffuse things,
but don’t let that fool you. Man is fucking tough. Hockey tough, he likes to
say. I call it Rebel tough.
If Slate had
the market on wanting, then Gunny held it for needing. Man found what he needed
in the Rebels, fucking glad we were there for him, know he’s there for us now.
Any ask we have, he’s stepping up to the plate, ready to knock it home for us.
Love these men, my Rebels.
Erin: *WOW! If I didn’t already love this man,
hearing him talk about his feelings towards his brothers would have just sealed
the deal. I wonder if Willa would be willing to share?* Mason, you have a knack for reading people
and knowing where they will fit. It is almost like you are clairvoyant. What
was the defining moment that you just knew these men would become your family?
Mason: Erin,
didn’t I just go over this? Pay attention, gal, I don’t suffer fools. Each man
holds a different place in the club, and that place evolves with need.
Tug: (not
distinct)
Mason: I hear
you, old man, don’t gotta whisper. I know that was rude. Ya know, Tug says he’s
retired now, but that wasn’t always the case. He was my sounding board for
years, still is. Holds an important place in my life, my brother.
Finding that
person to bounce things off of is critical, because when people hand you power
like this, like the title of national president, it would be far too easy to
get all cocked up and high on yourself. Like I just did with you, and I’m
sorry, gal. That was uncalled for. I need people that I can trust to tell me
when I’m fucking up, not to just suck my cock and tell me what a good job I’m
doing all the time, because I fuck up. A lot. I just have good men in place to
help me deal with the shit that comes from that fuckupism.
Sometimes you
see the need, and then look for the person to fit the role. That was Bear. I
knew what I wanted, a garage that could turn out bikes people wanted, would
beggar themselves to own. A business to support my brothers, and our club in a
way that took some of the money worries away. Then I found Bear, and he was
custom made for the role. Still is, loves his pretties. The man makes some of
the damn finest custom bikes in any of a dozen states around here.
Jase was
different. Captain didn’t come to us so much as we pursued him. Wooed and won
him, and I knew where I needed him, but had to get the shit in place for what I
wanted him doing. I knew we needed him, the man, and found his niche so we
could keep him.
Jase: Awww, you
love me!
Mason,
laughing: Shut the fuck up.
Erin: * I am
going to have a hard time keeping my cool if he keeps talking about getting
sucked off! Simmer down woman!* Guys,
same question. What was that defining moment that you knew that Mason and the Rebel
Wayfarers were your home?
Bear: Well.
Crises make for dramatic stories, right? I was in Des Moines, and had gotten
sideways with a few guys I was investigating for the club.
Slate:
Sideways? That’s a weak fucking description, brother.
Bear: My story,
Slate. Leave it. So I’d gotten sideways and then in the middle of everything,
Mason and Slate and a dozen other brothers sweep in to the rescue just like the
cavalry.
Slate: Saddle
up, motherfuckers.
Tug: Shut it,
let Bear tell it his way.
Bear: So I’m
layin’ there in my blood listening to Mason’s voice coming from across the
warehouse, and I realize, I would die for this man. For Mason. For the club. I
would die and count it good. Worth the cost. Rebels forever...
All, voices
low, intense: …forever Rebels
Bear: Yeah, so
that’s when I realized it was more than I’d thought. That it was deeper than family.
That there’s a trust and truth behind the connection we have. My brothers. I
knew it went both ways, that if needed, they would step in front of a bullet
for me, too. I’m a fucking Rebel, man. It’s not a label, not a posture of
pride, it’s who I am. Rebel to the core.
Slate: I can’t
do any better than that, man. Tears, brother. Got me wet in me eyes.
Bear: Fuck you.
Slate: Not my
type, man. But, back to the question, I knew on day two, I think. But, I’m a
stubborn fucker, so I held out. Mostly because for so long I’d wanted something
like the brotherhood I found, so looking at it, watching the men…it all seemed
too good to be true. Then the day I patched in, I nearly got fucked in the ass
by someone who didn’t get it, didn’t understand the truth behind the letters on
my vest: L&R, Loyalty and Respect. We settled shit that day, and I knew I’d
found it, that it wasn’t a fluke. This was the real deal, and I was lucky
enough to be inside it.
Jase: I think
the incident that solidified things for me was when the club members rescued
Sharon, my sister. I wasn’t anything other than a hangaround at the time. A
friend of the club, but far from prospect or member. But, without knowing she
was my family, they saved her because she was Rebel. She worked for the club,
so she belonged to them, and they felt a responsibility to her that went bone
deep. So they rescued her. Because it was the right thing to do. Not always the
easy thing, but the right thing. I knew from that moment on that I’d never have
to worry about losing the family I’d built, because they don’t let go…won’t let
go.
Gunny:
Everybody’s fucking longwinded tonight. I lost my Marine brothers, found my
Rebel brothers. Found my place. There, good enough?
Slate: Fucking
poetry, Gunny. I’m wet in the eyes again.
Gunny: Fuck
you.
Tug: Pretty
lady, are you sure you want to deal with these buffoons? I’m a little older,
graybeard status rides easy on my shoulders. Means I’ve seen shit, and dealt
shit, and now just don’t give a shit. But the Rebel Wayfarers is one of the
best-run clubs I’ve ever been privileged to see, much less be part of. How
could you not count them family?
Erin: *There
they go with that “pretty lady” again! Swoon!*
Erin: I am loving the family vibe I am getting off
of all of you. You really are a tight knit group. Now, I would like to get a
little more personal and have a little fun with it. Are you game?
Slate,
motioning to his crotch: How personal we talkin’? *Good Lord, as personal as
you want big man?*
Mason: Jesus,
man. Tie a knot in it. You got Ruby, and she’ll nut you if you don’t watch your
shit.
Slate: Truth.
Nuff’ said.
Erin: How many
tattoos do you have and which one means the most to you?
Mason: Full
sleeves on both arms, rib pieces both sides, club tat on my back. Some tribal
stuff. Couple of smaller ones scattered here and there. I have a memorial tat
on my calf, names of the family I’ve lost. The piece that matters the most is
the phoenix. It reminds me every single day that life comes full circle. You
rise in triumph and glory, and then things wind up in ashes. It’s how you fight
to rise again that can define who you are. Don’t let things shove you around,
make you into whatever circumstances would dictate. Like Jung said, ‘I am not
what happened to me...I am what I choose to become.’ That means you get to choose what your responses are, what your
new life will be. Become what you want, direct your own destiny.
Bear: Um. I
don’t actually…
Slate: Pussy
don’t have no tats.
Bear: I just
never wanted …
Mason:
Sensitive point, Erin. Sorry. He ain’t even got a club tat. Motherfucker.
Bear: I just
don’t like…
Mason: Not even
a club tat. I even hooked him up with my favorite gal, Dagger, and he fucking
stood her up. Made the motherfucker pay for the session anyway. Like I said,
sensitive subject there. Move it along. Who’s next?
Slate: Oh, me,
me. Do me next! I have a fuckton of
tats! Got an angel with bowed head, naked upheld sword and his chromed 9mm
pointed down, with the phrase “My Brother’s Keeper” on my left shoulder, then
“the journey is the reward” on my left-hand ribs. Wanna see? No, okay.
Check it, on my
right forearm I’ve got “we live with the scars we choose.” That’s the one that
matters most, we’ll circle back around, yeah? Custom dragon on my chest, it’s a
big fucker, took a bunch of chair time, his wings stretch from shoulder to
shoulder and his tail drops down to tickle my dick. * what I wouldn’t give to
see that!* Then I’ve got “the past is practice” in a tribal band on my left
bicep, and the ever-ominous, “three can keep a secret if two are dead” on my
right-hand ribs.
Told you I had
a bunch!
Left wrist and
forearm, “never let your fear decide your fate” and then alongside that an
accompanying black line drawing of a compass that kinda looks like a dream
catcher, feather tied to the southward-pointing vane. This one on my right
shoulder is a blackbird. Sweet cheeks, I see you’re overwhelmed at the sheer
number. But there’s a story for each of them, yano? You got the time, or if
you’re buyin’ the beer, I’ll story you for each of them one day. But another
day, yeah?
On my back,
reserved for the club, is my club tat, complete with rockers. Full color, that motherfucker
hurt like a bitch. Finally, I’ve got “bleed with me and you will forever be my
brother” low on my back, down below my club tat.
The one that
matters most is easy, like I said. The tat I got for Estavez’ daughter, Mela,
to celebrate her ease in finding herself after a hard fucking start in life.
Like Mason said, you can let what happens to you define you, or you can slough
that shit off and take the lesson that matters most, live with the scars that
are important. Choose to allow things to change you, live with those choices,
make yourself a better person. “We live with the scars we choose.” Profound
shit, man. Pro-fuckin’-found.
Erin: WOW
Slate! I must say I am a little speechless after that, but would definitely
take you up on the beer and tat stories!
Jase: I’ve got
a bunch, too. Most of them unimportant. This one, the one on my right shoulder?
Each date means something. The top one is the day I met DeeDee, my ole lady.
Second is the day I patched into the club. Third is the day I retired from
hockey. That fourth date is when she married my ass, made me the happiest man
in the world. The final one is the day we lost a close friend. I got long arms,
though, I can make room for lots more significant days. Just don’t want any
more like that last one. I’d rather have good days than bad, but it’s important
to remember both.
Gunny: Pass.
Slate: The fuck
you mean, ‘pass.’ You don’t get a pass, motherfucker.
Gunny: Pass.
Slate: Gunny,
you can’t—
Mason, with a
scowl: Drop it.
Tug, pulling his shirt over his head,
showing the tattoo on his back of a soldier carrying a fallen comrade in a
fireman’s hold, with block-lettered words below, ‘Some gave all’: My back
piece. It’s for my son.
Mason, reaching out to grip Tug’s
shoulder, silently.
Erin: Tug, that
is beautiful,
Erin: What is your favorite part of a woman? *holy
hell where did that come from?*
Mason, barked
laughter: Titties. Love to watch them pretty titties bounce. Soft pillows to
lay my head, handfuls to play with, mouthfuls to suck on. Titties all day long,
baby. Don’t give a fuck if they can pass the pencil test, or hold up a bottle
of beer, or any of the other useless tests you women put yourselves through to
see if your titties are pretty. Love any titties. Big, small, soft, firm,
titties on a woman make me hard, every single fucking time.
Bear: Lips. I
love Eddie’s lips. She can communicate entire conversations without speaking,
just with the way she holds her mouth.
Slate: Hair
does it for me. Love to get both hands wound up in my Ruby’s hair, using that
grip to tug her. Pulling her head back and forth, working—
Jase: I like
the whole package, but if I had to narrow it down to a single part—
Slate: Did you
just interrupt me?
Jase: No, it
was my turn.
Slate: It was
not. I wasn’t done talking about the blowjob.
Jase: We
weren’t talking about favorite sex act, Slate.
Gunny: Legs.
No, I like a woman’s arms.
Jase: Make up your
mind.
Slate:
Blowjobs, love ‘em.
Gunny: Ass.
Definitely ass. Love ass. Full on, fukerton. Look it up, man. Ass, definitely.
Mmhmm. Love that ass on Sharon.
Jase: SISTER.
Gunny: Woman. Mine.
Tug: Hips and
legs, I’m an ass man, too, but not the way Gunny means. I love the roundness
and softness, the way a woman gives when I push. Soft and sweet, love to wrap
my hands around her hips, pulling her back—
Bear: Shut up.
That’s my mother you’re talking about.
Mason: MILF,
man. Own that shit.
Bear: Shut the
fuck up.
Erin: Is it
getting hot in here, or is it just me? Just me. Okay then, moving on. What is
your favorite thing to do in your down time? *I can think of a few things I
could do with these men!*
Mason: Spend
time with my brothers and family. I don’t know what ‘down time’ is, because I’m
always ‘on’ but that’s okay, because I love my family. Can’t think of anything
I’d rather do.
Bear: I’m back
playing guitar and doing little shows at Marie’s. You should come by sometime,
me and Slate’s brother play almost every weekend. Benny, he’s the lead singer
for Occupy Yourself, you might have
heard of them? Writing lyrics has been a release for me, and I am enjoying
putting those thoughts to music.
Slate: Have you
seen my babies? Damn, woman, you got ovaries? If there are babies in the house,
you need to see them! Love my little ones so fuckin’ hard. Love makin’ ‘em
more. Mmmm, yeah. My Ruby, she fucks like a--
*Lord I love a man that talks about his babies!*
Jase: The
Foundation, definitely.
Slate: You did
it again.
Jase, ignoring
Slate’s frown: When I’m not playing chauffer to the tribe, I’m on the ice with
the kiddos. Being able to bring hockey to kids who would never experience it
otherwise means a lot to me. Some of the kids got skills, too. I see them going
far, like Jonny and Kane. Tyler, too. Skills, man. They got ‘em!
Gunny: Garage.
Tug: What is
this ‘down time’ of which you speak? My life is the club, making the club
better. I’m with Mason, there’s no defining time without including the club’s
needs.
Erin: Where is
the one place that you would like to take your woman for a getaway? You know
sometimes we all need a little alone time, just to get away and focus on our
relationships. I will even make this easy. I would go to The Keys. I am a big
ocean lover. There is just something about that crystal clear water that makes
my whole being relax. *cue babbling. Pull yourself together. This interview is
not about you!*
Mason, looking
down, smiling: West coast, sittin’ our asses in the hot sand, watching the
waves roll in. Sea breeze bringing salt; lickable sweat coating her throat.
Fuck yeah, there you go. Sand, sea, willing woman. Paradise.
Bear: Eddie and
I have been talking about a cruise, but I dunno. It sounds like a lot of
eating, and if we wanted to get busy we’d have to stay in the room, and then
what’s the point. I’ll just keep her in my bedroom for a week, have the kids
leave food on trays in the hallway. I can keep her busy that way, for sure.
Slate: Loved
takin’ my woman to that island Mason rented us. So fucking remote, we had to
take a fucking boat to get there. Had to put my scoot in storage for a week.
Fucking worth it, seeing her runnin’ bare through the waves. Tackled her a
couple times, gentle though, she was huge with our baby.
Jase: Babies,
man, as in two of ‘em.
Slate: Fuck
you, I know how many kids I got.
Jase: But you
didn’t know. That’s the point. She was preggers with twins and you were
clueless.
Slate: She
didn’t tell me. All I wanted to know was if everything was okay, if they were
healthy. And they were. So there. But, yeah, vacation, right? Critical lesson.
On that beach, man, I found out fast sand and snatch don’t mix. But the sun
kissing her body brown, no tan lines anywhere? I could keep that woman naked
all the time and be happy. Fucking Indiana and snow six months a fucking year.
Jase: Home. I’d
take her home anytime. My home is wherever she is, so that makes it easy. Home
in our house, home in the clubhouse, home in Canada or the USA. My special
place is wherever DeeDee is. Don’t tell her, though. I think she’s got her
heart set on Mexico. I don’t speak the lingo, though. Hey, that rhymes. Lingo,
though. Ha. So sounds like most of us like the sea and sand.
Gunny: Had
enough fucking sand to last a lifetime. I bought a cabin on a lake over in
Ohio, want to take Sharon there, find our quiet spot and just stay there for a
while.
Slate: What the
fuck, man. I didn’t know you bought a cabin.
Gunny: Well,
you don’t know everything about me, fucker.
Slate: I
should. I’m your chapter president. I should know everything about you,
motherfucker.
Gunny: Did you
know I’m about tired of your stupid shit, Slate? You want to push and pull at
me all fucking day, you need to be ready to accept the beatdown that comes at
the end of that fucking day.
Slate: Easy,
Mountain Man. Bought a fucking cabin and didn’t tell a brother. Fukerton, my
ass.
Gunny: I ain’t
after your ass, brother.
Slate: Thank
God.
Tug; Easy one
for me. Vail when the snow flies. I want to see Maggie there, in the mountains
where the air is crisp and clean. Vail, or its like. Or Cabo. I could do sun
and sea, too.
Erin: Now I am
going to get serious for a few minutes. Mason, you have had quite a few bad
experiences in your life. I am interested to know how you think those
experiences have defined your life and helped make you the man you are today.
Tug: Mason, be
nice.
Mason: Brother,
it feels like I’m fucking repeating myself.
Tug: No, this
is different, man. She’s asking about how you came to be, not what tenets you
live by.
Mason: Yeah, so
different. Sorry, again, Erin. To become a man, I think there’s a recipe that
can be followed. Good or bad, we all walk the same path at the beginning. Fear,
loss, even rage, these are all emotions that all men feel. How you deal with
them, that’s what can define you. See the patch on Slate’s vest, the one he
pointed out earlier, L&R? Earned, freely given, loyalty and respect can go
a long way to making a man who he needs to be. But, to find a space where that
L&R can be tested, so you can find your mettle, be it strong or weak,
that’s a gift. Deacon—
Tug: Brother…
Mason: No, it’s
true. What Deacon did to me was a gift, because he showed me with every action,
told me with every word, illustrated with every betrayal that what he
was…wasn’t what I wanted to be. Without that clear, brutal example, I might
have drifted for years longer before finding my way. My lodestone. The club. A
gift, because it wasn’t anything I wanted. My daddy bein’ what he was. Ma gone.
Deacon was the clearest picture I could grab hold of. Then I found you, old
man, showing me that lightness has a place, too. It’s all good, Erin. Every
single fucking thing that’s happened to me, around me, because of me—has a
reason. It’s up to us to find out what that reason is.
Erin: Mason,
where you see your club in 5 years, 10 years? And how do these men here with
you today help you get there?
Mason: Tall
order, asking me to tell the future, baby. But these men are the ones I trust
to keep the club on the straight and narrow, to keep us moving the direction we
need. I’ve been approached by international interests, taken a few trips across
the pond, as they say. So far, I’m keeping us national. There’s something to be
said for America, and I’m proud to be a citizen of this nation. So in five
years, or ten, I hope that the brotherhood we’ve built stands true and strong,
continuing to support the brothers and their families in ways that matter. I
hope that the brothers we have now will bring on other worthy brothers,
enriching our family in ways we cannot even conceive of today.
I want to thank
you from the bottom of my heart for agreeing to this interview. I was nervous
coming in here today but you all made me feel right at home. You have the
luckiest women in the world by your sides and I am so jealous! I can’t wait to
get back and get this posted to the blog! I am a devoted fan and hope this
interview gets you quite a few more! *stands to shake hands with everyone and
gets surprised with hugs instead! Holy hell these men smell good! They are like
walking pheromones! And all that muscle to squeeze on! I am pretty sure I need
a clean, dry pair of panties!*
Mason: None of
that hand shakin’, Erin. We’re friends now, yeah? You stay safe, doll baby. You
need us, you call us. I’ll say it now, and these men are my witness. You need
us, Rebels will roll. Yeah? Shiny side up, babe.
*Yep.
Definitely need dry panties!*
