The Thanksgiving holiday has given me a chance to sift through some of my works and publish them on this site. It's Saturday afternoon and the girlfriend and her daughter have long-since departed and headed back up north to a small town in Ohio. Great gal, super sexy and, of course, blonde -- not to mention half my age. (Yeah, it's just the way it is. The women love those bikes). Anyway, this fight took place outside a fast food Taco joint at night. Cindy, a slim, blonde biker chick who works as a cocktail waitress next door, walked over to the restaurant to eat a late dinner. Little did she know that the Fiends, a brutal high school girl gang, had already targeted her for an initiation fight with one of the girls. Some of these chicks are Catholic school girls who pride themselves on being proper and holier than thou. But that's just a facade for many, especially those who go to Madison High and not the Catholic school nearby. In reality, Catholic school girls are as tough as nails and are known for brutalizing their victims. In catfight terms, they can kick some royal ass. And when the victim is not suspecting an attack, like Cindy, the experience can be terrifying. I now invite you to join the scene where the hapless Cindy first walks into the restaurant. And though young, these girls are all eighteen and nineteen. Hope you enjoy!
Jaye Feldcamp inhaled the smoke from her Lucky Strike, then puffed it through her ring-pierced nostrils. She eyed the slim blonde walking up the grassy hill toward the restaurant, then flicked her ashes on the sidewalk alongside the building. When the woman got within twenty feet, Jaye tossed her cigarette on the cement, texted a brief message, then shoved the cell into the front pocket of her brown uniform pants.
“Hi,” the woman said, as she looked up at the tall, sturdy girl, then brushed a strand of hair from her face with a prissy flick of her left hand.
“What’s up?” said Jaye in a deadpan tone, nodding her head as she leaned against the outside wall, with one shoe cocked up against bricks. She eyed the woman’s braless white T-shirt with the Bronco Dan’s Bar insignia, then scanned her svelte hips and waist, where an inch of skin was showing above her silver belt buckle. The woman’s eyes met Jaye’s for several seconds, then she looked away.
Jaye turned and watched the blonde’s buttocks oscillate in her tight jeans as she reached for the glass door of the Taco Hut. Just as the door eased shut on its pneumatic pump, her cell phone rang.
“Which one is she?” said Sandy, a friend, who was taking her dinner break in the restaurant dining room. She’d been dining with Jaye up until five minutes ago, when Jaye stepped outside for a smoke break.
“The one who just walked in, dumbass. Blonde, skinny, about five-four, tight dark blue jeans.” Sandy looked around as several people made their way to the order counter. The beeper to the fryer went off as pans clanked in the back kitchen sink. Someone shouted, “Shit!” And then the manager started chewing the guy out for cussing.
“Oh, okay, I see her. She’s at the counter now. Westaway’s taking her order.”
“That elephant,” said Jaye.
“Yeah.”
“I thought she was going home.”
“She is,” said Sandy. “But Armstrong’s still counting her drawer down.”
“Old Dicky boy,” said Jaye. “What a f*ck up.”
“Yeah, really. His training must’ve been for shit. The guy’s been here for what— three weeks now?”
“Something like that.”
A girl was mopping the floor near Sandy. She wiped down a few nearby tables. Sandy shoved her tray forward and placed her elbows on the table. She switched her phone to her left ear.
“Feldcamp.”
“Yeah.”
“You think Tracey can take the bitch?” said Sandy, as she watched the immense Delores Westaway hand the blonde her meal tray. She mouthed something to the woman without smiling, then placed her hands on her hips. She snarled in frustration as she watched the dark-haired manager riffle through some dollar bills. Fifteen seconds later, the manager finished counting down her drawer, then they both walked toward the back of the restaurant.
“It’ll be a toss-up—but yeah; I think the girl wants in the Fiends badly enough.”
Cindy Walters shook her head as she walked away from the fat teen who’d just served her. What was it with these high school kids today? They sure as hell had no manners. The girl hadn’t even thanked her for the purchase, as if the privilege had been all hers to get served by the whale.
She found a table that had just been cleared by some middle-aged woman, but taco sauce was still smeared on one side of it. The site of the slimy shit about turned her stomach.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman, who was busy wiping another table down. “Can you clean my table here? It’s all messy.”
“I’ll get someone else to do it,” she said. “I’m off the clock now.”
Unbelievable, thought Cindy, as the woman walked away. It wouldn’t have taken her twenty seconds to wipe her table down. Cindy shook her head. She sat down at the table next to it, unwrapped the chicken fajita package and took her first bite.
She scanned the other tables in the restaurant as she chewed her food. There were only about ten other people in the joint. She sipped her Diet Coke through the straw and was just ready to take another bite of the fajita, when she spotted a dark-haired girl in the far corner. She was staring at her.
The girl obviously worked there as she wore the beige and white-striped shirt and brown pants like the girl outside. The girl looked about seventeen. She had an athletic build but wasn’t as tall and solid as the girl outside, who was at least six feet. The girl eyed her for several more seconds, then looked away.
Just then, a wave of anxiety speared through Cindy’s gut. She knew Perryville had the reputation of being a tough town, where even the girls fought a lot. And she knew about the girl’s gang called the Fiends, who were feared by many of the teachers at the local middle and high schools. One of the women at the bar where she worked had told her the maniac founder of the Fiends, a hulking girl named Alice Holmes from Madison High, had killed some women about eleven years ago. She was trying to throw a female teacher off a cliff near the old park, but ended up plunging to her death instead.
The thought of the murders sent shivers through Cindy’s spine. But the air conditioning was a bit cool, which was also causing her shudders. She took another bite of her fajita, then looked over at the young girl’s table. She was no longer sitting there.
It was Wednesday, August 10, just after ten p.m., and Cindy was on her dinner break. She had to work until two a.m., when the bar closed. Several other women had gone on their dinner breaks before her. She was only working at the joint part-time as she finished up her accounting degree at Ohio State, so she was low woman on the totem pole. That meant she had to take her breaks after everyone else. She didn’t get a dinner break unless she worked at least five hours.
Cindy hadn’t started college until she was twenty-three, five years ago, and was getting ready to graduate after the summer semester. She’d only been working at the bar for three months, trying to earn enough to pay for her share of the apartment and bills. Then she could finally say adios to this crappy town, where she’d lived with two other girls the past four years. After she graduated, she planned to move to Dallas.
Cindy finished her meal. She took the last sip of her Diet Coke, stood up and shoved her wrappers and paper cup into the trash bin. The receptacle was stuffed to the hilt with refuse—remnants from a late night rush that had transpired before she got there. The woman had been in too much of a rush to even clear the trash.
Cindy set her tray on top of the trash bin. She pushed the legs of her snug Levi’s down, then zipped her fanny pack up, which she’d forgotten to do after the fat girl handed her meal to her. Five seconds later, she headed for the ladies restroom.
Cindy flushed the toilet and zipped up her jeans after she finished peeing. She then walked over to the sink to wash her hands. There was barely enough soap left in the dispenser to clean her hands, but she was able to squirt a coin’s worth of pink liquid into her palm after pounding the tip of the dispenser a half dozen times.
She rinsed her hands off and dried them with the hand dryer on the opposite wall. She then walked back over to the sink and peered into the mirror, noticing her eye makeup had faded a bit. It was no wonder with the 85-degree temperature outside. But the bar was just as hot. Even though the coolness of the restaurant had chilled her, it had at least relieved her from the heat. She wished she’d worn shorts instead of jeans, like some of the other girls.
Cindy had just finished applying some eye makeup and run some lipstick over her lips, when she heard someone pound twice on the door.
“Someone’s in here,” she shouted. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
A couple minutes later, she unlatched the lock and pushed on the door, but it didn’t open. She then shoved the door with both hands and tried to force it open. Nothing.
“Hey,” she shouted. “Is somebody out there? I’m stuck in here.”
She waited for a response, but nobody said anything. And there were no more knocks.
Cindy took a step back, leaned forward and rammed the door, putting all one hundred eight pounds of herself into the effort. But the door didn’t budge. She smacked it with both hands in frustration.
Her heart started pounding. She then heard someone giggle on the other side of the door.
“Is someone there?” Cindy pounded on the door. “Hey, I’m stuck in here . . . Can you help me get out?”
Everything went silent for several minutes as Cindy listened. She heard a couple girls mumbling.
“I need to go, right now.”
“If you want to join the Fiends, you’ll do as I say.”
Cindy could only make out every other word, but when the girl said “Fiends,” a throe of anxiety speared through her. Her throat churned. She waited. Then she tried the door again. It didn’t open.
“Let me out of here,” she shouted. She pounded on the door. “Come on.”
She tried the door again five minutes later. It still wouldn’t budge. “Is anyone out there? . . . Come on, this isn’t funny? Open the damn door?” Silence.
Cindy turned and starting pacing the small floor of the grimy rest room. She thought about kicking the door. She could probably bust through it with the heel of her cowboy boot, because it didn’t look that sturdy. But she didn’t want a vandalism charge on her record a few weeks before she graduated. Finally, ten minutes later and nearly thirty minutes after she’d entered the restroom to take a piss, the door opened.
Cindy slowly pushed the door forward. She had only moved it a foot, when she struck something. The door ricocheted back, then the pneumatic pump eased it closed. She pushed it open again. This time, the door opened all the way. She walked into the hallway. She didn’t bother looking to her left to see what she’d hit with the door. She just kept moving because she was late getting back to the bar. She had just walked five feet up the narrow hallway toward the exit, when someone grabbed her left arm.
“Not so fast, blondie,” said some girl, as she pulled her toward her. When Cindy turned her head, she saw the huge fat girl who had waited on her earlier—the rude one. The teen scowled at Cindy, her hooded eyes glaring down at her. Cindy’s throat churned.
“Get your hand off me,” Cindy shouted. She tried to jerk her arm away, but the girl tightened her grip.
“It was you,” said Cindy. “You were holding the door closed.”
“You’re pretty bright for a cocktail waitress,” the girl said.
“I’m not just a cocktail waitress. I’ll be graduating with an accounting degree soon.”
“Is that so?” said the teen. She tightened her grip. Cindy jerked her arm back but couldn’t free it.
“Let me go.” She winced as the girl pulled her closer and grabbed her other arm—just above the elbow.
“You’re a feisty little bitch,” said the teen, still staring down with her moon-size face, “but we’re going to put an end to that real quick.”
Cindy jerked her arms as hard as she could, but the high school girl won the struggle and pulled her toward massive chest and belly. The maneuver wrenched her neck. The girl flipped her around and grabbed both of her arms from behind. Cindy threw her head back and grimaced from the pain. The girl slapped the back of her head.
“You see that door up on the right?” said the girl.
“Uh-huh,” said Cindy, moaning from the pressure the girl exerted on her thin arms. Pain now lanced through her neck and traps.
“We’re going to walk toward it and go in. You got that?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” said Cindy.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I haven’t done anything to you. I didn’t even say anything when you were rude to me as you served my meal.”
“Awwww. That’s a shame. Sorry I hurt your feelings.”
Cindy felt the girl’s hot breath on her neck. “You were rude—rude as hell.”
“Look, you skinny little cxnt. I’ve got my orders to take you through that door. Now move it!”
The girl squeezed Cindy’s thin arms harder as she shoved her forward. The blonde winced in agony, certain she'd have a pair of bruises on her arms later that night.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Too bad. Keep going.”
When they reached the door, the girl knocked on it. Seconds later, she punched-in a numerical code, turned the small lever and opened it. The fat girl released her grip and gave Cindy a shove with her knee, which rammed into the bottom of her buttocks. She chuckled as Cindy stumbled forward, then she pulled the door shut.
“A little clumsy, aren’t we?”
Cindy ignored the fat bruiser f*ck. She was getting tired of being pushed around by her. She didn’t see anyone as she walked behind the counter near the register. The overhead lights were dimmed and none of the workers was around. Cindy found it strange because, from experience, it usually took multiple people to close a restaurant. And the place wasn’t supposed to close for another couple hours.
Cindy scanned the dining room where all the lights remained on. But nobody was in there.
“The dining room’s closed now, so nobody’s going to help you in there.”
“Where’s the manager?”
“He had to drive down to another Taco Hut to get some meat.”
The girl grabbed Cindy’s right arm. “Come on. We’re going to the back.”
Cindy didn’t struggle this time. The girl was huge and she didn’t want to end up in the hospital fighting her. Anxiety consumed her as she wondered where the girl was taking her. She kept walking, past a couple fryers and around the corner past the check-in clock. The girl gave her left shoulder a nudge and pushed her to the right, and they headed down a short hallway. A brown metal door with an attached alarm system stood at the other end.
The girl released Cindy’s arm before they reached the door. When she turned around, she noticed that the girl’s hips nearly filled the hallway, so there was no way to run around her. Cindy glanced to each side, then looked up at the girl.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said the girl, “because I’ll put you through one of these walls. And I wouldn’t break a bead of sweat doing it.”
“What’s going on here?” said Cindy.
“Just turn your little ass around and walk through the door. Jaye asked me to walk you back here. That’s all I know.”
“Bullshit,” said Cindy. “You know what’s going on.” The girl glared at her, then deepened her voice.
“Open the door and walk through it now, or I’ll toss you through it.”
Cindy looked back and snarled at the girl, then turned back around.
“Woooooo,” said the girl. “I’m scared, little biker cxnt . . . Now, move your ass!”
Cindy half-expected to get clobbered from behind, but the girl just stood there. Seconds later, Cindy pushed the door open and stepped into the back parking lot.
As soon as Cindy stepped into parking lot, she noticed that most of the cars were gone. And though the drive-thru was still open, no cars were streaming through it.
To her left, a group of guys was staring at her. And though her view was partially blocked by some shrubs surrounding the drive-thru lane, she saw another group of guys on the far right side of the back parking lot. Both groups of young men surrounded a large group of girls, who had formed a circle directly in front of her. Her throat churned; her mouth grew dry. A wave of panic enveloped her.
She stared at the girls as her lungs tightened. She felt as if she were hyperventilating. Some of the girls nearest her turned around and started taunting her.
“You’re dead, you little bitch,” one of them shouted.
“Yeah, Tracey’s going to kick your ass.”
Cindy glanced to her left, searching for a spot to run around the group of guys. She didn’t think she’d get very far with the limited space, so she turned around to go back inside, hoping the fat girl had left. Just as she reached for the door, someone else grabbed her arm.
She looked up and saw the girl she’d seen when she entered the restaurant. She froze.
“You’re not going anywhere but right here. And don’t you dare try to run because I’ll catch you and rip you to shreds.”
“What is this?” said Cindy. Her voice quivered. Her legs were shaking.
“You’ve been chosen to participate in an annual ritual.”
“What kind of ritual?”
“An initiation.”
“But I’m not in your gang, nor do I want to be.”
The girl chuckled as she looked down at the blonde. “Nor would we want you in our gang, bitch. You’re too scrawny and weak—not to mention too f*cking old. But you’re going to be our guinea pig tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going to fight Tracey Johanson.”
“Who’s that?” Cindy swallowed but couldn’t produce any saliva.
“A skinny little chick, like you, who’s ready to pass her final test getting into the Fiends.”
Cindy’s heart hammered harder. She could barely breathe at all now. She’d never been in a fight in her life. But she had a feeling something like this was up, as she’d heard one of the girls—probably the bruiser now squeezing her arm—say something to the fat girl about it outside the restroom.
“Look, I’m going to walk back through this door, into the restaurant and out the side door.”
“Not with Delores Westaway in your path. She'll squash your little tight-jeaned ass like a gnat. Besides, the side door is already locked.”
“You mean the fat girl?” Cindy's throat churned at the thought of dealing with that whale again.
“That’s right.”
“She left.”
“No, she didn’t,” said the tall girl. “She’s standing in the kitchen waiting to smash you if you dare go back inside. So either way, you lose, bitch.”
“F*ck you,” said Cindy, as she jerked her arm away from the girl. The other girl she’d seen inside the restaurant walked up and grabbed the shoulder of Cindy's T-shirt.
“Come on, bitch. It’s show time.”
Sandy pulled Cindy toward the center of the circle, where at least two dozen girls started chanting, “Fight . . . Fight . . . Fight.” Cindy’s throat churned and her face reddened when she looked at some of the teen guys on her left. Some had their cell phones out, preparing to record her fight with the young girl. She felt mortified, even though nothing had happened, yet she knew she’d probably end up on YouTube and Facebook tonight, win or lose.
“Fight . . . Fight . . . Fight . . . Fight,” the girls continued chanting. Most of the guys were now chiming in. Sandy and Cindy approached the circle. A couple girls moved aside so the two could enter it. Sandy shoved Cindy forward.
“Walk to the center, bitch, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”
Cindy ambled to the center of the circle, her shoulders hunched, cowboy boots clopping across the pavement.
“That’s good right there.”
“Blonde bitch is going down,” some girl said. Cindy turned and scanned some of the girls on her right. They were all just blank faces because of the darkness. She looked down and studied her elongated shadow, which the street light produced behind her.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a real pussy bashing,” said another. Cindy was shaking.
Seconds later, a small blonde girl about her size appeared through a section of the circle to her left. Another girl walked behind her and toward Cindy.
The blonde girl looked frightened but had a glare of determination in her eyes. The intensity of her stare intimidated Cindy as the girl moved to within six feet of her. Cindy felt a hand touch the middle of her back. It was the girl who’d walked her to the circle. Another gang member stood behind the young girl, Tracey Johanson, as if she were trying to prevent her from running.
“It’s anything goes here tonight ladies,” said the tall girl, as she approached Cindy and Tracey. “Face punching, crotch kicks, head-butting. And you, barmaid lady, take off your fanny pack.”
“No,” said Cindy, as she glared at the girl.
“You don’t want to tangle with me ‘cause I’ll murder ya,” said the girl. “Now, take that pack off your skinny waist or I’ll rip it off.”
Cindy removed the fanny pack and handed it to the girl.
“It’s probably the last I’ll see of it,” said Cindy.
“That’s right, cxnt.” Cindy lowered her head. “Ladies, get in your positions.”
“We good,” said the dark-haired girl Sandy. She now had her hand on the woman’s right shoulder. She sort of felt sorry for the blonde because she’d seen others in the same situation—most of whom were beaten senseless by the girls who wanted in the gang. It brought a certain adrenaline rush to the pledges that the women couldn’t match, especially when they were scared shitless to begin with. Her pity waned, then all she was interested in was the impending violence—and the ensuing cuts, blood and bruises.
Jaye Feldcamp, the tall girl, got on her phone. “Okay, we’re clear. A cop passed by a few minutes ago, then sped off.” She chuckled. Cindy’s heart dropped. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Put up your dukes, bitches."
The young blonde Tracey raised her fists and started circling Cindy, as Sandy and the two other girls backed away.
“Kick her ass, Tracey,” some girl shouted.
“You got this, girl,” said another. "This f*cking biker bitch is nothing."
“Fight . . . Fight . . . Fight . . . Fight.”
Cindy swiped her sweaty palms across the sides of her jeans, then raised her fists in front of her. She didn’t know what she was doing but wanted to intimidate the girl, as the girl was doing to her. But it didn’t seem to be working. Though the girl was thin like her -- and still clad in her Catholic school girl uniform -- Cindy didn’t have much confidence that she’d be able to take her. And neither did the crowd as they took bets—most of whom went with the high school girl.
The girl charged Cindy, which took her by surprise. The two clasped hands and wrestled each other while remaining upright, as both tried to gain the upper hand. The girl then shoved Cindy’s hands away and sent her stumbling backward—boot heels tangled. And just as Cindy regained her balance, the girl charged her, ducked down, wrapped her arms around Cindy’s legs and lifted her off her boots.
Cindy crashed to the pavement on her ass and back. The girl grabbed her T-shirt, ripping it at the neck. She then pulled herself up and jumped on top of the 28-year-old woman. The crowd roared with approval.
The first punch struck Cindy’s right cheek, then the girl grabbed the shoulders of her shirt, picked her up and slammed her against the pavement.
“Ummmphhh!” Cindy smacked the back of her head. A flurry of punches then struck her face; she turned her head and flailed her arms out, trying to stop the onslaught.
The two got to their feet moments later and circled each other. Cindy panted as she hunched over and tried to catch her breath. Her head spun. The girl had yet to break a sweat, and didn’t seem the least bit winded.
Cindy crouched down and stared at the teen, noticing the fiery glare in her eyes. She looked as if she were ready to kill her. Seconds later, the girl lunged forward, punched Cindy in the stomach and doubled her over.
“Wooooooo,” a girl shouted.
Cindy’s legs wobbled. She staggered forward and then sideways as she tried to stay on her feet. She retched. She bit her lower lip and held her stomach to fight the pain.
“Please stop,” said Cindy, throwing her hands up in act of surrender. “I give. You win.”
“No way, bitch. I’m not stopping until I beat you up and become an active Fiend.”
Another flurry of punches rained down on Cindy’s arms, sides and face amid the shouts and jeers of the teens. She turned her back to the girl. Several shots rocked the back of her head. Her arms flew out to each side and she arched her back as the girl landed some kidney shots.
Cindy turned around and threw her arms up to block the girls flying fists. But she was too slow reacting to the girl’s impressive agility. A blow to the gut dropped her to her knees.
“You have to knock her out,” shouted Jaye. “Come on, Tracey. F*ck her up.”
The girls were shouting and clapping, and then the guys moved in with their phone cameras.
“Finish her off!” someone shouted.
Cindy moaned as the girl grabbed ahold of her long blonde hair and pulled her to her feet. She grimaced and threw her arms up in desperation to try and pull the girls hands off her hair, but couldn’t. The girl released her grip seconds later. She then grabbed the front collar of the biker chick's shirt and ripped it down the middle. As Cindy's body lurched forward, the girl ripped the shirt completely off.
The crowd cheered. Flashes of light pierced the night air as dozens of horny guys -- and some girls, too -- caught the humilating moment on their cameras.
Cindy stood their with her small tits exposed. Her legs wobbled—arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her lower jaw sagged as she looked at the girl, blood now dripping from her left eyebrow, nose and mouth. The knockout blow came crashing in across her jaw. It lifted her off her boots and spun her around. She landed splayed out on her stomach, mouth against the pavement, boot heels cocked outward.
The crowd cheered as Tracey raised her hands in victory. She then reached down, grabbed the woman’s blonde mane and lifted her bloody face for the crowd to see. More cheers ensued as a couple guys got close-up shots of the blonde's bloody face and tits with their cell cameras. The girl then dropped the woman’s head back to the pavement.
The excitement continued for another ten minutes, as everyone congratulated Tracey on her victory and acceptance into the Fiends. Then the crowd started dispersing so they wouldn’t attract passersby or the police. The entire fight had lasted less than four minutes, as the woman’s body lay face down on the restaurant’s back parking lot. A couple girls shoved her ass with their gym shoes as they walked passed the blonde. Jaye checked her back pockets for money. She found sixty bucks.
“You little shit,” said Jaye. “You had this coming. You got everything that was coming to you, biker cxnt.” Jaye held the woman's ripped T-shirt. She threw it on top of her thin back.
The girls dragged Cindy into a a van, then took her down to the lake behind the high school. That's where Tracey slammed her to her back, chained her up and tried to smother her. It was just an intimidation move to discourage the women from ever showing up at their school and selling drugs. But the intimidation was so scary, the biker chicks often quit their jobs and left town, knowing the sinister story behind the Fiends and Madison High.
Next up (as depicted in second picture), a barrel racer friend of Cindy's heads to Madison High to confront the girls who set her up for the beating. Not usually a good idea because the women never know who they're going to end up fighting. Stay tuned.
