Bikers, motorcycle clubs and the whole female submission thing is something that I have come across off and on for years. It has always fascinated me, but at the same time the open sexism, occasional misogyny and even criminality has tempered my erotic curiosity somewhat.
Now it is important to stress that not all bikers (or even most) are sexist, misogynistic criminals. Nor do I believe do most motorcycle clubs endorse such lifestyles. Most countryside cafés (in the UK anyway) are overladen with often overweight bearded gentlemen and their fair ladies who are just weekend bikers with taxpaying jobs.
But these gentlefolks, (sorry guys) are not the ones that interest most people.
In 1947 the American Motorcyclist Association described 99 per cent of all bikers as being law-abiding citizens. Hence implying that one per cent of them were not and ever since some clubs on the fringes of society have often described themselves as ‘One Percenters.’
During my youth in the semi-rural English Home Counties (the populated rich bit that surrounds London) I had the fascinating if dubious honour of working with a biker from one of the more ‘adventurous’ chapters of a famous US-based motorcycle club. He had been given the choice of ‘get or job or go to gaol.’
Now these guys were often in prison a lot and not just for not paying their speeding fines.
They tended to colonise certain country pubs, the kind your Dad did not turn a blind eye to you visiting, but which were perfectly safe if you watched your Ps and Qs. Safer in fact than many town pubs full of Muppets looking for a fight.
I stumbled across my work mate in a Cider House on the Straight Mile. He was surrounded by big hairy blokes all at least 10 years older than me and all with at least two presentable girls each – if you overlooked the tattoos.
These were ‘maybe don’t look and definitely don’t touch sort’ of lassies. So we didn’t.
He acknowledged me with the sort cool nod that came right out of the movies and then made it clear that I shouldn’t join him by looking away. So I didn’t.
But I did have tacit approval to hang in the ‘club house’ rather than the ‘civilian’ lounge bar and check out the bikers without (much) fear of provoking an unwelcome response.
This was not quite Sons of Anarchy territory (not quite), but the clubs usual boss was serving at Her Majesty’s pleasure for murdering a rival club member. So it was probably more dangerous than I then realised.
‘My friend’ had already told me that during ‘meets’ girls were queuing up to be selected as temporary or second girlfriends for the guys. These were Gothic-haired creatures with jeans cut down to thongs and all curves, the kind of lady who turns a 17-year-old’s brain to mush.
I had been given some biker magazines that read more like porn than mechanics. They were full of letters and short stories that featured submissive women who got spanked. I mean more than one reference per magazine and more than one magazine.
I had trolled dozens of men’s magazines for just one spanking story before then.
I came across a girl who told a story about being ‘Owned and Operated’ by her man. It was the heading on a long letter where she expressed her ‘pride’ at having a man who knew how to handle her and admitted that she was spanked, belted and sometimes whipped by him. She even said that her and other biker’s girls traded stories and compared welts. Taking pride in how had the sorest behind.
The woman in the story had had ‘owned and operated’ tattooed down the crack of her arse ending at her anus with arrows pointing the way.
Whilst in this pub I saw a woman (maybe 30-years-old) who had this legend tattooed down her thigh. Of course all sorts of things were ignited in my brain; these were real girls. I had to ask.
The next day at work the biker told me that it was a term used by wives and permanent girlfriends. No other girl would dare have it with being entitled, so of course it was a source of pride.
I asked about the punishments. I was a bit coy about the S-word back then. After that there was some tension and I thought I had overstepped the mark somewhat. Then he realised I wasn’t interested in club activities as such.
“You mean when they get their arses tanned?” He thought I might mean something else more sinister.
He laughed and said that was just par for the course and all girls got that when they needed it.
I wish I could say that I was invited to a biker party where all the girls were spanked, but shortly afterwards he was sacked and I sussed that there were better places to hang out.
But some years later I was watching a late night documentary about American bikers and they interviewed a woman who had an Owned and Operated tattoo on her belly extended down and out of sight. She obliged the camera by showing most of it and then explained to the journalist what it meant.
She too used the word pride and explained that her home life was no different to nay one else’s. She talked about the virtues of domestic discipline and spanking as a tool for a happy life.
“And it can be sexy too sometimes,” she grinned.
I have no idea to this day whether this is a genuine universal custom or a random coincidence that plays upon the general preconceptions and prejudices around motorcycle clubs. But since then I have heard other stories about legal clubs and spanking, with initiations for girls and hints of spanking discipline. Sadly I have no further insight on this.
Incidentally the pictures above are genuine period biker pictures that display the defiant nature and alternative lifestyles of some bikers. You will note the tread marks and bruises on the bottom of the girl in the second photograph.
