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Breeding, Barely Legal, Virgin, and Bad Boy
Word Count:
6,576
Makeup wasn’t somethin’ I had a lot of opportunity to practice with back home. Livin’ in the middle of farm country meant there weren’t a lot of chances to buy any makeup, and certainly not the kind I really wanted to try. Just the corner store sellin’ a couple sticks of red lipstick, one sort of eyeliner.
So the moment I got my chance to head on to the big city… well, I went a little wild.
I found myself givin’ in to some crazy desires, not just makeup, but clothes too. I bought a whole new outfit right away, and once I’d got myself all dolled up in my new attire, well… I was a little surprised by how well it turned out.
The old me, with the red pigtails and country tan could hardly be seen. Now it was lots of blacks and pale skin from a long winter spent in school and hospital. It was a whole new look for me, for a whole new life.
I knew the term ‘goth’, but for me it was somethin’ only in the abstract. A cool appearance I saw from my brief experiences with watchin’ TV at my grandparents. (Our farm didn’t get TV, we didn’t have the hookups far out where we lived! And only solar power.)
I remember first seein’ it in a show, long ago, and lovin’ it. Something about it really spoke to me. And when I stumbled upon a real dark store in the big city, that sold all kinds of freaky leather and frilly goth clothes, I knew I’d found my style.
I knew my natural red hair looked okay, but it was more faded than I wanted, so I grabbed a bottle of Manic Panic hair dye that was called Vampire’s Kiss, and after I did that, well, I looked like a whole other person. With black eyeliner and my eyebrows all thinned out and partially drawn on, and my dark purple lipstick, it was like I was my true self and also kinda hidin’. Like I was totally anonymous, and bein’ myself, all at once.
I zipped up the leather corset and the short, frilly skirt, fastening the torn fishnets onto my legs, and I felt ready. Confident. Sexy.
Now all was left was to go out and put my new look to work. I’d asked the shop clerk where I could find a party, and though I still musta sounded like a total hick — judgin’ by the way she gave me a sceptical once-over — she told me about a dark club not far from my new apartment. So that’s where I was gonna go.
She couldn’t shake me. I knew I looked good!
The loud thump of the music carried down the street, and there was a flow of people comin’ and going from the club. There was a bit of a lineup, but I guess I must’ve got the look right, or the bouncer just thought I looked good, ‘cause he flagged me down before I even got to the back of the line and invited me on in.
“Go ahead sweet cheeks, no need to wait,” the big fella said, even as others looked on in annoyance at my line-skippin’ abilities.
Though it wasn’t long before that little high was forgotten, as I saw the dark-light club in motion, so many scandalously clad bodies moving.
My knees were quakin’, and I felt so out of place. Or, well, I woulda, if not for my costume. My armour. That made me feel a lot safer as I looked down the stairs towards the club proper. There were some little areas guarded off with some fabric, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was behind them.
But first, I worked my way down the steps, one platformed boot in front of another. I just had to get to the bar, find some safety there. Then I could really drink in the place.
The music was loud, too loud, and it was so hard to hear as that heavy beat rocked through my body, the industrial sounds being remixed into a song I faintly recognized from the radio.
The place was pretty packed, at least by my naive standards, but I was able to elbow my way up to the bar, thanks to the eager shuffling of the many men that watched me approach. Their lips formed into wry little smiles as they nursed their drinks, and right away, before I could even order, one of them offered.
“Can I get you somethin’, hun?” He wasn’t a pretty guy, nor a pleasant sounding one, but his charity was forthcoming.
Yet again, before I could act, another man stepped on in. This one, however, was both big and striking. Broad shouldered, clearly well built in his tight short-sleeved top, he butt in between me and the other fella, looked me over slowly then declared:
“I think this lady is a vodka gal.” He looked to the barkeep, “Cranberry and vodka for the lady. Straight for me. Make it the Russian stuff, from the top shelf.”
And it was as if the world bent to this dark haired man’s whims.
I barely knew what to say, or what my new persona’d say, so I muttered out a, “Thank you,” before I realized he probably couldn’t hear me over the music. I went up on tiptoes, which was pretty hard in my heels, and shouted, “Thanks,
Mister!”
And I immediately regretted it. Mister? Why’d I have to call him Mister? Why not dude or something... hipper?
I might’ve gotten the new costume, but I wasn’t exactly equipped with the life experience to act the role, I feared.
For his part, he gave me a crooked grin, looking amused by me at least. But before anything more could be said or done, the other guy — whom he’d cut in on — grabbed his arm and tried to twist him around. But failed.
Instead the tall man grabbed the fellow’s hand, twisted his thumb until he came around to face him. Though even that display of violence didn’t quite deter the uglier man, who undoubtedly had a few drinks on him already.
