Me: The foolish little Cajun girl who likes to run her mouth and never backs down from a fight. Unfortunately for me, I’m not a fighter. I’m on a first name basis with the staffs of several different ERs.
Her: The cocky, tattooed English girl who loves to fight. She has a long fuse, but when she erupts, she likes to hurt…and humiliate…people. For the story we’ll call her Gemma. I think that name Rox! As does her perfect derriere.
Him: We’ll just call him Joe. He’s with me.
That Funny English Guy Carrying A Tray Of Drinks For No Reason: Played by that funny English guy whom I suspect walks around carrying a tray of drinks for no reason, jumpisay1.
The Tray: A small tray carrying unknown drinks…but with the faint aroma of strawberries…
Her Entourage: The mouthy bitches with her. Tend to talk too much in an accent I can’t understand.
The Greek Chorus: Well, not entirely Greek. There’s a couple Australians, a few Americans, some English, and one cute Canadian….(played by The Venerable Boche…our favorite mystery wrapped in an enigma man).
The Setting: A trip to the United Kingdom has us visiting a nightclub called “Club Metropolitan” (Metros) in the city of Cardiff, Wales. The club is large but dimly lit because a band is on stage hammering out a heavy metal riff. The noise inside is staggering, but the atmosphere is electric…as if there is an aura of anticipation heavy in the air.
Act I
(Lets go crazy…lets get nuts)
Joe and I were enjoying our first visit to the United Kingdom and, indeed, our first trip to Europe. We were so excited to finally get over to this side of the Atlantic! Both of us are history buffs, and both have always wanted to spend some time here. The British Isles is such a fascinating place!
While staying in London, we were told that we could hear some of the very best hard rock and heavy metal music in the empire at a club called Metros in Cardiff, Wales. Since we planned to visit Wales anyway, we decided this might be a neat little diversion. We drove up from London early one Friday afternoon and rented a hotel. After a small dinner, we headed for the club.
The scene at the club was intense! The place was packed, and the crowd was loud and boisterous. The music was awesome! It was some of the best metal I’d heard in years! We rocked, danced and partied late into the night. We let ourselves got lost in the hammering bass rhythms until almost closing time! We were both extremely happy we took this little diversion…it may be one of the highlights of our trip…until I saw a face in the crowd that I recognized.
It took me a few minutes of staring to realize where I had seen her. I tugged at Joe’s shirt and when I had his attention, I said, “That’s her!”
“Who?”
“That girl. That’s her!”
“What girl?”
“The one sitting over there with those other girls. The one wearing the black tanktop. That’s her!”
“The one with the tattoos?”
“Yes! That’s her!”
“Okay……who is she?”
“It’s her!”
“Damn, talking to you is like carrying on a conversation with a wall! Who the hell is she, and how do you know her?”
“I don’t know her.”
“Huh? I’m lost….”
I roll my eyes in exasperation and reply, “I know of her. She’s on that website. We chatted about a story I was writing. Then she stole my idea.”
“She stole your idea?
“Yes. She wrote the story before I had the chance to.”
“So sue her.”
“I can’t sue her. It was just an idea. But she stole it.”
“Okay then, she stole it. Let’s go to the hotel room and play.”
“Alright, but give me a minute. I’m gonna introduce myself.” I start walking towards her table.
Joe has seen the look I currently have in my eyes before. And it usually means trouble is stirring. “Sweetheart, let’s just go.”
“Hang on a sec.”
“Please. Let’s go. Don’t start anything.”
I continue walking, “I’m not. I just want to say hi.”
“Fuck!”
“What was that?”
Exasperatedly, “Nothing, honey.”
“Damn right, ‘nothing honey.’”
As I approach her table, it is obvious she and her three friends are oblivious to any pending trouble. I stare at her for a few moments. Finally she senses my glare and looks away from her friends and straight at me. Like two feline predators we look at each other from head to toe until our eyes finally lock. Another moment then she smiles and says in a lilting accent, “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing really. Just wondering what a English street whore might look like. Seems I found one.”
The smile leaves her face but a smirk soon replaces it.. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t know you. I really don’t think you know me. If you did, you’d just turn around and leave.”
“That sounds like good advice, honey.” Joe says as he takes my arm. “Let’s go.”
“Not yet.” Looking at her again I say, “You stole my story.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She gets off her stool and approaches me.
“You stole my story, bitch. We chatted about it online. You look exactly like you do in your pictures. Same ugly face…same fat ass.”
“Okay, I think you’re drunk. I’m gonna give you a chance to turn around and walk away. I think you better take the opportunity. If you don’t, you may not get another chance…and I may make you watch while I see what’s under handsome over there’s belt.” She glances over at Joe.
Infuriated, I say, “Like you really want to know you fucking dyke!”
The other members of her group all jump up at this and start yelling at me. She just turns to them and smiles. “Calm down, me and Blondie are about to have a little chat. She needs to learn some manners.” She turns back to me with an evil, icy smile and says, “You want to stay in here…or step out through the fire exit over there?”
“Lead the way, bitch.”
She smiles briefly, and then winks at me. She turns and slowly walks toward the fire exit. I fall in step behind her.
Act II
(In my head, in my head. Zombie….Zombie….Zombie….)
As we walk through the crowd, it parts like the Red Sea. Joe tugs at my arm imploring me to just leave. I say no over and over. He finally gives up and follows us out the door into what turns out to be an alley. It is damp, cold and narrow. But it is wide enough for what we have in mind. The only objects in the alley are a filthy dumpster next to the club’s kitchen door, and a truck blocking the only street access to the alleyway. The truck also works as a barrier that keeps up from being seen from the parking lot and the street.
Once outside, a small crowd has circled around us. She stops and turns to me. We find ourselves in the center of the encircling crowd. “Alright you stupid cunt, you had your chance to walk away. You can beg now, and it may help you…but I doubt it.”
“Fuck begging and fuck you!”
“You gonna fight in those shoes?”
She was right. I was wearing a pair of short heels. They matched my cute black leather mini skirt and white “Impetigo” t-shirt perfectly. I slowly reach down , remove them then hand them to Joe. My feet feel clammy on the cold, damp asphalt of the alley. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was how this bitch stole my idea. I looked her over once more and decided she is cute…hell, she’s even hot! Her arms and shoulders are muscular (she obviously goes to the gym). She has an impressive array of tattoos on her arms and chest, and I was wrong when I said she has a ‘fat ass.’ It is actually very nice, indeed. Her short brown hair frames a cute face with full lips and a pert nose. But her brown eyes are striking! They look at you like they can see your very soul! And right now she is looking at me with smirking disdain. She is a little taller than me…maybe 5’3” to my 5’2”. But I’m maybe 5 lbs heavier. She may weigh 110 or 115. If we were being judged on our cleavage, she’d definitely have me beat in that regard. My 32Bs were very outclassed, but I think to myself, “Ha bitch! My legs are better!” She also had the advantage in fighting attire. She was wearing a black tanktop, faded army green cargo pants and black running shoes.
We stare at each other for another second, then she says, “So? You’re not going to beg?”
“Fuck you.”
With that she slaps me in the face.
Act III
(Living after midnight. Rocking to the dawn)
As I’ve said many times before, fighting isn’t one of my better abilities. Unfortunately, neither is running. But I’m pretty good at running my mouth. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work out too well for me most times either.
“Fucking dyke bitch!” I grab both hands full of her short hair and the fight is on. We stand toe to toe and struggle for a moment. Me with my hands wrapped in her hair…her throwing wicked punches to my belly and abdomen. “Damn this hurts!” I pull her in closer so she can’t go for my face. I release one hand and start slapping her in her face, though. She tells me what she thinks of my French-American ancestry, and I tell her what I think of her Anglo-Saxon relatives. The dumb bitch finally sees an opening…and to my deep consternation…she takes it. She drives the heel of her running shoe down hard on the top of my bare foot!
“Aaaaggghhh! You fucking whore!” I throw some wild punches that have a better chance of hitting someone in the crowd than they do my opponent as I push away from her. She is now laughing to herself. (What? Laughing? I just pulled about half of her hair out and she’s laughing? Maybe I am in a bit of trouble here….)
“Surely you can do better than this, babes. I always heard American girls were tough!” She sneers.
Not being able to think of a better comeback, I reply, “My legs are still better, bitch!”
With that, I get slapped again.
Only this time I don’t get a chance to retaliate by grabbing her hair. Instead she grabs mine and forces my head down and directly onto her rising knee. The jarring impact sends my reeling backwards then down onto my butt! I sit glassy eyed and shake my head to try and clear the fog and cobwebs now occupying it. I can see her advancing toward me and voices from the crowd are yelling, “Kick her ass, Gem!”
As she gets closer, I can see she still has that toothy fucking smile! She looks down at me, holds one hand teasingly in front of her mouth in feigned surprise then in a sickly sweet voice asks, “Aw…what’s the matter, honey? Did I hurt you?” I shake my head and open my mouth to try and stop the ringing in my ears. She continues, “I’ll give you one more chance to walk away. You’re too hot to hurt any farther. Do you concede?”
I reply by driving my bare heel into her shin.
“You goddam little bitch!!!” She screams! “I tried to give you a chance but you’re too damn stupid to take it!”
With that, I get kicked in the right ear.
“Uuuugggghhh!” I fall onto my side, but I can’t roll away fast enough. She is on my like an angry bolt of lightening…raining slaps and punches into my face and neck. I try to push her away, but she straddles my chest and pins my arms under her knees. I writhe and squirm under her weight trying to make her lose her balance…and hopefully make her stop hitting me! Damn this hurts! But she is enraged! After a few punches leave me semi-conscious, she stands up and surveys the carnage. My nose is bleeding a little and my face is red and puffy from her punches, but other than that, I feel pretty good (damn, I hurt…). She reaches down and pulls me to my feet by my hair. She forces me to walk backwards until my back is hard against the wall. She drops one hand and drives a savage punch deep into my belly. I try to fall, but one of her hands is still clasping my hair. She pushes me back against the wall, and says, “Babes, you’re gonna wish you’d stayed wherever it is your stupid ass came from.” Stunned by her punches, but too dumb to realize I wasn’t going to win, I lift my extended middle finger up to her face then choke out a laugh and say, “Fuck you, cunt.”
That earns me yet another slap.
Then another.
And another.
Then a punch or two.
Or three maybe.
Then I’m lying facedown on the ground getting kicked in the ribs.
For all intents and purposes, the fight (or massacre…whichever you prefer) is over. But remember how I said Gemma has a long fuse, but when lit, she’ll eventually explode and hurt and humiliate people? Well now she’s glowing like a Roman candle.
Act IV
(This is the end….beautiful friend, the end)
I lay face down on the cold damp asphalt and I can only pray that this bitch is finished. But I’ve pissed her off beyond belief. Well, at least I’ll get to meet a new hospital ER staff. I’ve guess that’s a plus. (Damn I huuuuuurrrrrrrtttttt!)
I feel strong hands grab my shirt and roll me onto my back. I have my eyes closed tight trying to stop the pain, but when I open them I see her face about a foot from mine. She smiles, and says, “Hey babes! I thought you’d left us for awhile.”
I realize that she’s straddling my chest and she has my arms pinned. I’m basically immobile. I’m also basically in trouble. I start writhing and bucking trying to dislodge her, but she stops this nonsense by grabbing my hair and bouncing my head off the ground a time or two. Now I’m a little more compliant. She even says that. “Now that you’re a little more compliant, lets see if we can have some fun!”
I was nearly out of it. But not out of it enough to not see her boobs slowly descending towards my face! I am soon engulfed by her tattooed cleavage and I can’t breathe because I have a mouth full of boob! My eyes are stinging…either from welling tears or boob sweat…but they are starting to burn like hell! Someone in the crowd yells, “smother that bitch out, Gem!” I’ll swear to my dying day that it was Joe. But that can’t be right, we don’t know her name yet! Maybe I should have listened to Joe. Leaving would have made sense. But so did confronting this bitch…at the time. Maybe someday I’ll learn. Most likely though, I won’t. I should probably invest in karate or kickboxing lessons. Or let the 6th graders who live on our block teach me how to fight. Oh well. I guess I’m gonna have to suffer for awhile with her boobs in my mouth. Or maybe I won’t.
“Holy Sheeettt! The fucking BITCH just bit me!” Gemma exclaims as she rises up with me still attached to her right breast!
That earns me yet another slap.
“You fucking little whore! I’ll make you really pay for that!” And Gemma commences to make me really pay for biting her.
My head bounces off the ground a few more times and I lose a few more strands of platinum hair. My face gets bruised a little more and my cheeks are made a little puffier. More blood is now seeping from my nose. When she is done, she stands up, bends over, and yanks my head up into the air. She says, “I’m gonna give you one more chance to save your worthless fucking life. Clean my fucking feet, and I won’t break your fucking neck.”
She sits down on my chest again then takes off her shoes. She lays back and rubs her her barefeet all over my face! “Whenever you’re ready, cunt, she growls!”
It is all I can do to keep from crying now. See where my temper has gotten me? I’m lying on my back in an alley in Cardiff, Wales licking another woman’s feet. But what else can I do? I let my mouth run away from my brain more often than not. My tongue slips between her toes (she has cute black toenail polish….damn I need to learn to fight…) then down her bare sole. Across her heal then over to the top of her foot then back to the toes. I repeat the process with each foot. When she is satisfied with my work, she stops me and slips her shoes back on. As I sit up, I think about curling up and crying. Joe has just seen another woman completely toy with then destroy me. How can I look him in the face now? I decide to go ahead and curl up and cry, but before I do, a swift right fist sends me to dream land.
( I heard about all this later)
As I’m lying unconscious on the ground, Gemma parades around shaking hands with her friends and accepting congratulations from the crowd. But she spies a funny little English guy carrying a tray with small red colored drinks. She asks the funny little English guy what they are. He replies that they’re “strawberry jelly shots.” She decides to have a little more fun. She looks around at the crowd and says, “We should toast out sleeping little friend, shouldn’t we!”
The crowd readily agrees.
She takes a drink from the tray, raises it in a toast over my body, sips it, pulls out my white t-shirt at the neck then dumps the rest of the drink down the front of it. Members of the crowd do the same as she holds my shirt open. (Later that night, I wonder why Joe has a red stain on his upper lip and the odor of strawberries and vodka on his breathe) When they are finished, she laughingly starts to walk away.
But she stops short again. She thinks for a minute, then looks at the crowd and asks for a pencil and some paper. A handsome guy wearing an “I (Heart) Canada” shirt hands her a pen and a sheet of paper. She scribbles something on the note, folds it into a small square then returns the pen to its owner. She walks back over to me, straddles me once again, forces my mouth open by cupping her hand on my chin and cheeks, kisses me hard on the mouth then shoves the folded piece of paper in my mouth and closes it. She stands back up, but before she walks away, she delivers one final vicious kick to my exposed ribs.
Act V
(So I got a question….do you want to have a slumber party in my basement?)
I wake up in a hospital ER a little while later. (Imagine that!) I’m covered in grit and grime from the alley, blood from my nose, and some yet unknown to me sticky strawberry smelling goo. I look like death warmed over. I’ve got the start of a nice black eye and possibly one, or more, broken ribs (me and my damn mouth!). Joe is there, but he is refusing to talk to me. Instead, he answers all my questions by sticking his tongue out and making a “bzzzp” noise.
“Joe, I’m sorry.”
“Bzzzp”
“No. I really mean it.”
“Bzzzp”
“You know how I am. I’m dumb.”
“Bzzzp”
“What is this piece of paper by the bed? It looks wet.”
“Bzzzp”
But the ER nurse heard my question and she answers for Joe, “That was wedged in your mouth when you were brought in.”
“My mouth?”
“Do you have trouble hearing, or are you just dumb?”
“Bzzzp”
When the nurse left, I unfolded the piece of paper and I saw that it was a small note apparently made out to me. Or at least I think it was…..
Dear Stupid Bitch,
I enjoyed kicking your ass so much, that I’d love to get another chance to do it again. But if not, maybe we can use our imaginations and think of other things to do. That would be fun too! If you’re ever in Cardiff again, you can call me at this number….
(listed phone number)
Or you can come by this address.
(listed address)
Get up your nerve and come by sometime, babes. We can either fight or fuck. I don’t care which.
Hope I broke your fucking ribs, honey!
Luv,
Gemma
x G x
How could I possible turn down an invitation like that? (Ugh…) “Joe, get me the fuck out of this country.”
“Bzzzp”
Later that month, while we were in Germany, I decided I would go back to Wales. I hate that fucking woman....
Author's Note:
What would Socrates say about my first try at Greek Tragedy?
Would he....
A) Tell me nice job and invite me over to meet Plato?
B) Tell me nice try but Zeus would be displeased?
C) Condemn me and turn me over the that hot Spartan King?
D) Sit and drink gin and hemlock shooters with me?
E) Laugh and challenge Gemma to an oil wrestling match?
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
J
xoxo
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