:PI begged a slim blonde I was dating a few years back not to accept a fight with some eighteen-year-old high school girl. For one thing, the girls, who were part of the gang, didn’t always play fair. That meant my five-four one-hundred-eight-pound girlfriend could end up facing some huge fat girl in the school that could knock her head off and think nothing of it. But Olivia just said, “I’m a biker chick—and biker chicks don’t back down from fights.” I just shrugged and said, “Don’t come crying to me when you get your ass handed to you.” Olivia just stormed off and went to the bar where she worked. Later, a couple gang members grabbed her in the parking lot after work, kept her all night in some gang member’s basement, then marched her to the railyard in the middle of nowhere to fight. Here’s how things went down from there.
Ten of the girl gang members met at the old railroad grounds in Perryville on Thursday night. They parked their cars in a circle near the tracks and kept their headlights on. The fat gang leader Gretchen (age 18) showed up at ten o’clock with the slim, blonde biker chick. She had kept her handcuffed in her basement all day with a cloth stuck in her mouth but had fed her two meals. She wanted the biker chick to keep her strength up for tonight’s big occasion. The woman had a canvass bag covering her head as the fat girl escorted her to the center of the circle—with all the headlights beaming at her.
“Hey, bitch,” said Allison, a high school cheerleader (also 18), as Gretchen walked the blonde past her. “Ready to get your skinny ass kicked?”
Gretchen unlocked the handcuffs around the woman’s wrists, then removed the bag from her head. She then ripped off the gag.
Olivia gasped for breath as the gag was removed. She then touched her lacerated lips, which were now stinging. Gretchen had caught her trying to escape last night and took it out on her face.
“Screaming will do you no good out here,” said Gretchen, “because we’re miles from any homes.”
“What do you want with me?” cried Olivia, as she looked at all the girls surrounding her. Most were glaring at her. Some were sneering. “I haven’t done anything to any of you girls.”
“It’s just who you are, Sweet Cheeks,” said Gretchen, “and that’s a stupid, tight-jeaned biker cxnt.”
“But I agree to fight some blonde cheerleader, not you.”
Gretchen laughed. “You’re not fighting me. I’d kill you or knock your head off like I almost did last night.”
Gretchen paused a couple seconds as she looked at the skinny biker chick, who was clad in tight jeans and a red plaid shirt. She pulled the woman’s license out of her shorts. She shone her cell phone flashlight at it. “Okay, everyone, this is Olivia Prescott. She’s twenty-eight years old and weighs one hundred eight pounds.”
“Wow,” said Julie Federman, some eighteen-year-old bruiser. “I haven’t weighed less than one-ten since I was eight or nine years old.” Several of the girls laughed. Olivia eyed the girls who had just started forming a circle around her. Her heart was pounding.
“Katie Tisdale, step forward,” said Gretchen.
The small cheerleader walked into the circle and eyed the biker chick. She then looked at Gretchen.
“We all wanted to wish you a happy eighteenth birthday today.” The girls cheered. “And for this special occasion, we’re about ready to make you an official member of our gang. All you have to do is knock this biker chick out.”
Katie smiled. She had a knot in her throat. She was both frightened and excited. Julie saw the fear in the girl’s eyes and pulled her outside of the circle between two cars.
“You’ve got this bitch,” said Julie. “She’s about the same size as you—even a bit smaller.”
“I know but I’ve never been in a fight before.”
“You think that biker chick has been in any fights? Look at her. She’s got arms the size of pipe stems, small tits and no muscle to speak of. All she’s got going for her is a nice ass in tight jeans. You’re a cheerleader, girl, which means you’re athletic and fit. I’ll bet you twenty bucks this bitch comes out slapping instead of punching. All you’ve got to do is punch her in the chin, jaw or nose and she’ll go down. Trust me.”
“Okay,” said Katie.
“After that, just jump on top of her and let your instincts take over. Kick her if you have to. Just knock her the f*ck out and you’re a Fiend.”
Katie nodded.
“We about ready over there?” said Gretchen.
“She’s ready,” said Julie.
“Then let’s get it on.” Katie squared off against the blonde. The one-hundred-fifteen-pound blonde balled her fists and watched as the biker woman swiped her hands against her jeans and got set to fight. Their eyes met. The blonde’s throat churned. She then started stepping forward and backward in an awkward manner, panting with anxiety as she waited for the cheerleader to make her move.
Katie recalled how Allison had circled the blonde she’d beaten for her initiation last month. She did the same with her adversary, taking a few steps to her right, then moving back to her left. The woman raised her arms up further and followed the girl’s movement. She then stepped forward and tried to slap Katie with her right hand.
Katie blocked the blow and punched the woman in the mouth, feeling the biker chick’s lower jaw shift under her knuckles.
“That’s it,” shouted Julie.
The woman stumbled backward in her boots—eyes widened. Katie lunged forward and hit her in the mouth again, then drove her foot into her midsection.
“Uhhhhh!”
The woman grabbed her stomach and leaned forward. Katie swung her right leg up and kicked the biker chick in the face, knocking her on her back. She landed on the dirt with a thud.
“There you go!” shouted Julie.
“Kick her ass, Katie,” said Allison. “That biker chick’s got nothing.”
The blonde held her broken nose with both hands as she writhed on the grass in agony. Katie kicked her in the cxnt between her outstretched legs. The blonde lifted her head off the ground and started moaning as blood gushed from her nose and mouth and dripped to her neck and shirt.
“Go get her,” shouted Allison. “Be ruthless, girl.”
Katie jumped on top of the woman. She then straddled the blonde’s midsection and delivered a brutal flurry of punches to her face. The biker chick flailed her arms out several times, attempting to block the blows. But Katie’s punches continued thudding off the woman’s face, evoking the disturbing sound of fist pounding flesh.
Katie continued beating the woman even after her head rolled to the side and her arms dropped to the ground.
Gretchen hustled over and pulled Katie off the hapless blonde. She raised the cheerleader’s arm.
“Our winner by knockout, Miss Katie Tisdale.”
Katie beamed as the girls cheered. She then looked down at the biker chick whose face was covered with blood—arms and legs splayed, head canted right. She was surprised how easily she’d beaten the woman.
“And I do believe the knockout came in record time.”
“One minute and sixteen seconds,” said Julie, “according to my timer.”
“Amazing,” said Gretchen. “Now, go get yourself a souvenir.” Gretchen held up a pair of scissors.
“What do you mean?”
“Take the scissors and cut something off?”
“Like what?” said Katie. She suddenly looked worried. She knew these girls were brutal, but this was vicious.
“Hair, finger or piece of clothing,” said Gretchen. “Anything you want. It’s your birthday.”
“Cut the crotch out of her f*ckin’ jeans,” said Allison. “Let’s see that bald little pussy of hers.” The girls howled. “That’s right, you all. Biker chicks and strippers usually shave their cxnts.” More laughter. “And they don’t wear panties under those tight jeans.”
Katie stood there for several minutes. She finally walked over and cut a lock of the biker chick’s blonde hair.
“Here’s a plastic bag for you,” said Gretchen. She handed it to Katie. The girl placed the hair inside the bag, sealed it and stuck it in the left pocket of her shorts.
“You all get out of here now,” said Gretchen.
Katie walked over to Allison. “What’s going to happen to that woman?”
“That’s for our heartless leader to decide.”
“You mean Gretchen?”
“No. The girl who actually runs things. The one that none of us has seen.”
“Is she going to kill her?”
“She’ll be dealt for sure, but what do you care? You just f*cked up a biker chick. You should be proud.”
“I am,” said Katie, as a wave of nausea overcame her. She leaned to her left and vomited.
“We need a Coke or something here,” said Allison. “Anyone have a soft drink?”
“I’ve got one in my car,” said Bella Chambers.
Olivia avoided me for three days after the beating. She showed up at my house one weekend night after work as I was getting ready for bed. I felt sorry for her when I opened the front door and saw her bruised and swollen face.
“You were right,” she said, as she walked inside my house. She then started crying. Like a sucker, though I was mad as hell that she’d risked her life fighting a girl gang member, I spent the next couple hours comforting her. When then had sex after she talked about the beating she’d sustained at the hands of a small blonde cheerleader, which was more than a bit erotic for a huge catfight fan.
