The rider was much closer now, less than ten feet away standing beside the parked Hayabusa. While the face was still hidden beneath a black helmet, it was clear that the body beneath the distressed, well-worn leather pants and black wife-beater tank top was curvy, unquestionably feminine. Every inch of visible, caramel-colored skin was covered in tattoos, all intricate, Aztec designs. Serpents and jaguars and skeletons. Women in elaborate feathered headdresses welding leaf-shaped obsidian knives. Arcane symbols. Most were rendered in only black ink but the large, anatomically realistic heart in the left side of her chest was in lurid color, all lush red and purple, surrounded by golden flames. Like a gunslinger in classic Western, she wore a low-slung, elaborately rolled black-and-silver gun-belt with a holster on each hip. The nose of each holster was bound to one of her thick, muscular thighs wirh a leather strap. She was also wearing heavy, masculine boots and tight, wrist-lengrh black leather gloves. She was not wearing a bra. (Christa Faust, Coyote Kiss.)