This super hot biker chick (age 30) moved to town about a decade ago and started dating a few bikers. I went out with her a few times, then it was time for her initiation. The bikers in my town have a number of crazy initiation rituals they use for biker chicks. One of them is to fight another woman. Another is to go to a rough area of town and pretend to make a drug deal. I always thought the later ritual was stupid as f*ck but most women didn’t choose it anyway. On this night, the biker chick, whose name was Brooke, decided to impress us with her fake drug-dealing skills. Not knowing the area, she picked a certain area of town that was frequented by girl gang members—many of them in high school. For purposes of this story, all of the girls were eighteen or older.
I begged Brooke not to go to that area of town but to pick another initiation ritual. I told her I had substituted at the school a few times and that the girls were known for their violence. And that there were some very big girls at this school—downright huge. I even told her that one of these behemoths had even knocked a biker chick across a McDonald's parking lot. Brooke just brushed me off with a wave of the hand, “I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m not afraid of any high school girl. I can protect myself. I know Tae Bo.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that from a tough-talking biker chick, only to see the chick pummeled by some street-tough girl. But I was particularly worried about Brooke. She was five-five and maybe one hundred ten or twelve pounds in her jeans and boots. If one of those gang members got ahold of her, she might kill her.
I pleaded with Brooke to that effect. I said, “Those girls have their own initiation rituals. They’ll likely pick one girl to confront you during the sale and it could be someone huge. Brooke just laughed and said,
“The heel of my boot doesn’t discriminate. I’ll gladly kick one of those fat-ass bitches and put her on her ass.
Needless to say, I lost the argument and Brooke drove over to this particular section of town by herself. She chose a certain bar, which happened to be the only place in town that allowed people under twenty-one in. And this particular night was Teen Night—with the bar chockfull of eighteen- and nineteen-year-old girls.
From the best of my recollection, this is how the night went for little blonde Brooke, who later agreed that I was right about the girls. Unfortunately, Brooke spent a week in the hospital because of her confrontation with one of the girl gang members.
“Hey, high school girl,” shouted Brooke, as she approached the eighteen-year-old cheerleader, who had called her a slut as soon as she walked into the bar. Brooke was pissed and ready to fight, clad in her tight indigo Levi’s and knee-high boots. She decided to confront the girl, who was at least five-eight, one hundred thirty-five pounds, after she bought a Corona Light.
Allison, a brunette, who was clad in her cheerleader uniform, turned her head and spotted her. The right side of her lip curled into a snarl as she eyed the woman. “What the hell are you doing here, bitch? This is Teen Night, not Thirty and Over Night.” She glanced at one of her friends and laughed. She then looked back at Brooke.
“I came to talk to you.”
Allison chuckled some more as she exchanged furtive glances with two of her friends. “Oh, yeah. What about?”
“About that horrible gang you call the Fiends.” Brooke was pouring gasoline on the fire, calling the name of the girl gang out. It was something that was largely forbidden among the girl gang. “You also called me a slut.”
Allison eyed her two friends again, then looked back at Brooke. “Never heard of the Fiends, and I didn’t call you anything.” She rolled her eyes. Her friends laughed.
Brooke strolled up to within three feet of Allison and pointed her beer bottle at her. “You’re lying, high school cheerleader, and you know it.”
Allison shook her head. “You’re delusional, bitch, not to mention rude.” She frowned and flicked her right hand at Brooke. “Why don’t you just take a hike.”
“I’m not going anywhere, cheerleader bitch.” Allison gritted her teeth. “You called me a slut when I walked in.”
“I didn’t call you anything because I’ve never seen you before. But judging by the way you’re your dressed, I’d say if the shoe fits . . .”
“Why don’t you call the bouncer over,” one girl said.
“I’ll take care of this myself,”
Allison turned toward Brooke. “I don’t know who you think you are, biker bitch, but I don’t like being called a liar. ”
“You are liar.”
“Brooke,” said Brandy, who was another biker chick who worked at the bar as a cocktail waitress. “Come on.” She grabbed Brooke’s arm. Brooke jerked it away.
Allison looked at Brandy, then glared at Brooke.
“Okay. I’m going to give you five seconds to walk away,” said Allison. “And if you don’t, I’m going to kick your little ass and knock you the f*ck out." Brooke's throat churned as she looked up at the girl. "Is that what you want, to get your ass kicked in front of all these people? You have some nerve showing up here and calling me out.”
“F*ck you, high school girl.”
Brooke, who’d had a couple drinks before she left her apartment, was still a little tipsy—and the beer wasn’t helping matters. She stepped forward and shoved Allison’s shoulder with her left hand. Allison shoved Brooke back. The blonde almost lost her balance. When Brooke stepped toward her again, Allison jerked the bottle out of her hand and grabbed Brooke’s belt buckle. She then yanked on her belt, stuck the neck of the beer bottle down Brooke’s jeans and emptied the contents into her pants.
“Oooooo,” one girl shouted. “I bet that bald little kitty of yours is cold.”
Brooke stood there with a look of horror on her face as she watched the Corona stain the front of her jeans. “Oh, you f*ckin’ bitch,” shouted Brooke. “I’m going to kick your ass.”
She raised her arm to slap Allison. Just as Brooke arced her swing around, some tall, fat girl grabbed her right wrist and jerked her arm down. She then grabbed Brooke by the neck of her blouse, pulled her toward her and stuck her round face next to the biker chick’s thin oval one. She snarled at the blonde biker chick as she looked down at her.
“Nobody’s kicking anyone’s ass here tonight, especially you.”
“Get off me, you fat cow,” shouted Brooke. She tried to pull her shirt loose from the girl’s viselike grasp but couldn’t. “Let go of me.”
“Fight,” some guy shouted. “Catfight!”
A crowd of high school students started circling around the scene. The fat girl glared at Brooke as she tightened her grip on her shirt, forcing her up onto the toes of her boots. Brooke’s arms hung to each side and she was leaning forward as the girl clenched her fist.
“Smash the bitch, Gretchen,” shouted one of the girls.
“Yeah, break her nose,” said another girl.
At least a dozen young bar patrons pulled their cell phones out and started filming the incident.
Gretchen released her grip on Brooke’s blouse. The blonde staggered backward a couple steps in her boots as the beer suds crept up her vagina and ass crack. Brooke felt miserable and humiliated. Brandy tried to grab her arm again, but Brooke shook her hand away. She then looked up at the tall, hefty girl.
“I’m not afraid of you, fatso.”
“You should be,” said Gretchen. “I’ve got you by at least nine inches and a hundred and eighty pounds.”
“Who cares,” said Brooke. “You’re just some fat high school girl—and I’m not afraid of any stupid high school bitch.”
Brooke stepped forward and tried to shove the girl. Gretchen didn’t budge an inch. She just smirked, grabbed Brooke’s shoulder, leaned forward and socked her in the gut with an upper cut.
“Uhhhhhh!”
The dull thud from the blow caused Brandy to cringe. Brooke’s mouth hung open as she leaned forward and sank to her knees. She then looked up at the girl—mouth still agape. She grabbed her stomach with both hands and started retching. She then leaned forward and vomited on the floor.
A bunch of people started laughing and pointing at Brooke. Gretchen grabbed the back of Brooke’s hair and jerked her head back. Brooke moaned as the girl pulled her hair back even further, bending her backward like doughy pretzel. Her eyes were closed as she bit her lower lip and grimaced in pain—the ass of her jeans planted on the heels of her boots. Puke was caked on her mouth.
“I suggest you get your little tight-jeaned ass the hell out of here right now,” said Gretchen. She yanked on Brooke’s hair again. Brooke screamed. “And if I ever see you in this place again, it’ll be the end of you. You hear me, biker cxnt?”
“Yes,” cried Brooke. “Oh, please let go of my hair. I beg you.”
She released Brooke’s hair. Brooke fell sideways but still landed on her hands and knees. Gretchen placed her foot on the woman’s ass and shoved her forward. She smacked her chin on the floor tile as she collapsed to her stomach. A bouncer walked over and helped Brooke up off the floor.
“Come on, Blondie. It’s time to go. And I better not see you in this place again.”
“Way to go, Gretchen!” shouted Katie, a friend, as the bouncer escorted the vanquished blonde to the front door. Dozens of other kids cheered. The woman held her stomach and stumbled a couple times on her way out of the bar.
Brooke decided to wait around for the cheerleader girl in the parking lot. She wanted to kick her ass for humiliating her in the bar. Like most biker chicks, she did shave her cxnt but didn’t want it broadcasted to the entire world. And she’d be damned if she was going to let some high school girl show her up.
Unfortunately for Brooke, the girl gang had an eye on her that night. And it wasn’t the cheerleader who caught her sitting in her ‘Vette a few minutes past midnight. It was Gretchen.
The huge girl didn’t even knock on Brooke’s window. She opened the car door and said, :Let's go, biker cxnt!" She then pulled Brooke out of her vehicle and dragged her over to her pickup truck. The next thing she knew, as Brooke told me later, she was driven down to a nearby river, taken under a bridge and beaten to a bloody pulp. "I was terrified," she said. "This girl's arms were bigger than my legs. I tried to apologize for my comments earlier but she slammed my head against the concrete and threatened to kill me. Then she pretty much mauled my ass."
"Like I said, you should be afraid of a fat girl like me," said Gretchen, as she finished pummeling Brooke, who hadn't even landed a blow. The girl left this poor biker chick face-down in the dirt and stole five hundred bucks from her jeans. Some city worker woke her up and called a life squad for her. Brooke suffered a broken nose, two broken ribs, multiple lacerations and a number of contusions. She never went to that side of that tracks again.
BMR
(There's more action like this in my books. Write for details if interested.)
