A Bar Night

C’mon Billy, it’ll be fun,” Jenny urged me.

“I’m not sure,” I shrugged, “It sounds cool and everything but…”

“Not scared are you?!”

“No!”

“Then come on then! Come ooon!” Jenny whined, grabbing my arm, “I hate going there alone, it sucks. I can’t go with that twat of a boyfriend anymore ‘cos he’s not my boyfriend anymore since he met that fucking cunt he’s now banging.”

“So you’re dragging me there so you don’t look like a sad recently-dumped singelton,” I grinned.

“You motherfucker,” sniggered Jenny, giving me a playful punch on the arm.

We were in the living room of our parent’s suburban home. It was early Saturday evening and our mum and dad were away for the weekend. My sister Jenny and me both lived at home, although Jenny had previously spent a year living with her “twat” of an ex-boyfriend, but he’d dumped her for another woman last month and she was living back at home, something that frustrated her somewhat.

Jenny was twenty-years-old, a couple of years older than me. She was a hardcore punk. She’d been a grunge-chick in her early teens, then gone to goth, then emo, and now, for the last couple of years, was a punk bitch through and through. As she stood before me, urging me to accompany her to her favourite punk bar downtown, she was dressed up in her going-out-gear; knee-high black leather boots, black fishnet stockings, a very very tight pair of red hotpants with black trim and a skin tight short-sleeved red top that had been crudely cropped under the breasts. In other words, Jenny had crudely ripped the bottom half off so that although it covered her boobs it left her flat midriff bare. She also had on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. Much to our parent’s shock, Jenny had gotten herself tattooed too. She had a dragon encircling her pierced naval, a broad celtic symbol across her lower back, a big black and red rose between her shoulder blades, another rose on her right bicep, a skull encircled by a ribbon with her name “Jenny” written on it on her left bicep, a cartoon devil on her right-forearm and, finally, the Playboy bunny on her right bum-cheek.

I knew about the bum-cheek tattoo because she’d showed it off last year when she got it. I’d been sitting at the computer trying to do my homework when Jenny had sauntered up to me, turned around, lifted up her mini-skirt (she’d been wearing a pink thong) and wiggled her bum at me, complete with her new Playboy bunny stamped on her right cheek.

“D’ya like it?” she’d asked.

“Very nice,” I’d told her, before I’d playfully smacked her tattooed bum-cheek and told her to fuck off and leave me alone. We loved each other really though!

It’s probably fair to conclude a description of my punky big sister with a mention of her hair. It was bright pink and stuck up straight in a mohawk. Normally it just hung loose but as she was planning on going out she now stood before me with her hair carefully gelled up and standing in a mohawk, eight bright pink spikes of hair, each almost a foot in height, running down the centre of her head. It was funny, she was only five-foot-three, a full ten-inches shorter than me, but including a spikey mohican she seemed to actually be taller than me. Plus, of course, her high-heeled black leather boots boosted her up by a further three-inches.

Jenny was undoubtedly pretty, and though our parents weren’t ones to complain too much, they did grumble that Jenny somehow “ruined” her looks. Jenny disagreed. She felt that having her nose pierced, her tongue pierced and both eyebrows pierced with gold hoops, plus five dangly ear-rings in each ear-lobe, not to mention her wild pink hair, all enhanced her prettiness. Mum and dad did not quite agree, but they knew their daughter was a big girl who was going through a rebellious stage – albeit a very prolonged one – and they left her alone. Currently Jenny wore pink eye-shadow that matched her hair, red blush and thick purple lipstick. She still looked pretty, but she also looked like a damn punk slut. Which was her intention, and, indeed, why mum and dad despaired.

Right now she was trying to get me to come along with her to her favourite punk bar in town.

“Come on Billy, you’ll like it,” Jenny said to me, “Don’t be boring.”

“I don’t look the part,” I complained. I was tall, slim, no tattoos, no piercings and fairly short and neat black hair. I looked rather sensible compared to my pink-haired tattooed sister as she stood there in her fishnet stockings, hotpants and cropped top, mohawk spikes coming close to reaching to the ceiling.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jenny said, “Just go as you are, in those jeans and black T-shirt. Most guys there dress up a bit, most have tattoos, but there’s no fuckin’ dress code or any shit like that. It’s not like you look like a nerd for fuck’s sake. Just come along y’boring motherfucker.”

“Ah, sweet talk,” I said. I wasn’t really into punk music. Too amateurish for my taste. I was into a lot of metal as well as some old grunge. Still, some punk wasn’t too bad, and I had to admit, sitting around the house for the evening would be a bit boring.

“Okay, I’ll come along,” I finally relented. Jenny was a fairly wild young lady but she’d apparantly only ever gone to various punk bars either with friends or her ex-boyfriend. She really wasn’t keen on going off on her own. I decided I’d do her a favour and, in any case, maybe I’d enjoy it. Maybe I’d pick up a girl! I didn’t really want to bother with a girlfriend, I just wanted a good fuck, and from what I’d heard punk bitches could be pretty slutty!

“That’s the spirit,” Jenny grinned, and she gave me a peck on the cheek. “Oops, lipstick,” she giggled. I glanced in the mirror above the fireplace. There was indeed a big purple lipstick mark on my cheek where Jenny had kissed me.

“I can’t go out like this,” I tutted, mildly amused.

“I’ll get it off, c’mere,” Jenny said, “I’ll spit into a hanky and rub it off, like mum used to do when you were little.”

“You haven’t got a hanky,” I pointed out.

“True,” Jenny shrugged, and then abruptly just spat lightly on my cheek then rubbed it with the tips of her fingers.

“Eew,” I complained.

“Stop moaning little boy,” Jenny giggled, wiping the traces of her lipstick from my face.

“Cheers sis, I guess.”

“Right, seriously, let’s get going. I wanna get good and drunk. It’s almost eight o’clock already for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, let’s get going.”



We got cash and things then stepped out into the night.

We lived in a pleasant suburban road but fortunately it was only a mile to the city centre so we could walk to and from the bar. It was a cold and clear night, the full moon hanging in the air. The road was quite but down one end it was possible to see the high-rises of the city centre looming in the distance, dark monoliths glittering with lights and the promise of a wild nightlife to cater for all tastes.

I locked the door whilst Jenny lit up a cigarette.

“I thought you quit” I commented as we then walked down the garden path.

“I quit quitting,” Jenny shrugged, blowing smoke from her pierced nose “Want one?”

“Erm…sure, fuck it.”

“That’s the spirit Billy. Here.”

She gave me a cigarette and lit it for me. We strolled up the road, aiming roughly for the city centre.



The punk bar, Jenny’s favourite, was stuck away down a backstreet, flanked by a massage parlour (“The most beautiful ladies in town!” promised the neon sign above the non-descript door) and a fairly busy kebab shop. Jenny and me approached, me feeling slightly apprehensive but my sister quite confident.

I didn’t see a name for the bar, it didn’t seem to need one. A massive bouncer stood on the door in a big leather jacket. There were a couple of guys just leaving the place, drunk and merry, and against the wall a couple dressed all in denim were snogging and groping each other.

“Here we are,” Jenny chirped. She strolled up to the doorway, me in tow.

“Hiya Jen,” the bouncer greeted her.

“Hey Dave,” Jenny replied.

“New boyfriend?”

“Nah, this is my brother.”

“Hi mate,” the bouncer nodded at me. I was six-foot-one but he looked at least half-a-foot taller than me.

“Hi,” I greeted, cheerfully.

I followed Jenny into the bar. There was a small red-lit hallway straight inside with a desk in the corner next to the doorway into the main club. On the desk was an ancient cash register, and sitting at it was a young woman idly filing her nails and wearing an iPod. Jenny paid the five quid for both of us to the woman and lead me into the bar.



There was currently a live-act on the stage, a wild punk band. The singer, wearing just jeans and boots and with a torso plastered in tattoos, was shouting out some barely comprehensible lyrics. A sizable crowd of a couple of dozen people before the stage started headbanging and dancing away.

The bar was a lot larger than you would have thought from the outside and there were around a hundred people there; mostly punk types with spikey hair and mohawks but a few black-haired goths and some shaven-headed people thrown in as well. It seemed to primarily be a punk-bar but otherwise there was a good mix of people of various sub-cultures, all thrown together here far from the brightly lit bars of the city centre.

The raised stage was at the far end of the room with a big dance area before it, and the rest of the place was filled with chairs and tables and booths. There was a long bar with plenty of stools before it. There were two barman, both big burly guys, and a barmaid, who looked about forty and was even bigger and burlier than the barmen, and had a leather top on that barely concealed her huge swinging tits.

I felt a big nervous but despite the rather scary looking people that filled the place, and the rather aggressive music, it seemed friendly enough.

“C’mon, I’ll get you a drink Billy,” Jenny said, and she sauntered towards the bar.

I followed close behind.

“Two beers please,” Jenny shouted at the barmaid above the noisy live music.

The barmaid grabbed two bottles of beer, opened them, then planted them on the bar. Jenny handed over the cash, said “keep the change” and the big busty barmaid thanked her then went off to serve other customers.

Jenny handed me one of the beers and we went over and sat at an empty table near the dance floor.

I gulped down a load of beer and surveyed the place. It was jolly noisy and smokey, with a big collection of interesting looking people around; drinking, smoking, moshing on the dance floor and copping off with each other. I spied two people dressed all in leather snogging in a nearby booth. the guy with long black hair, the woman with a shaved head.

“Like it?” Jenny asked me, having to shout above the loud punk music. She’d looked odd earlier, standing in our living room with her spikey pink hair and punk outfit, but now she looked completely in her place in this smokey bar full of wild looking people.

“It’s cool,” I said, and sipped my beer.

“You’re nervous,” Jenny grinned leaning forwards.

“I’m not.”

“You are, your leg is shaking.”

I looked down. My right leg was indeed jiggling a bit.

“That always happens when you’re nervous,” Jenny giggled, and she clapped her hand to my leg to still it. “Just relax!”

“Okay,” I smiled, feeling a bit silly at being all nervous. It was just because it was a strange new place and I felt like the odd-one-out, what with being dressed reasonably sensibly.

“Have a cig,” Jenny said, offering me one. We both lit up and took a big pull on our beers.

“Hey Jen,” said a passing guy. He was short, fat and had a big mohawk just like Jenny’s, although his was bright green.

“Hi Rob,” Jenny greeted him, “Not with Claire tonight?”

“Nah, she’s ill. Got the flu.” He turned to me and said “Hi mate.”

“Hi,” I nodded.

“New boyfriend,” the guy asked my sister.

“Nah, my brother,” Jenny smirked, “I’m babysitting him.” She and the guy laughed.

“Hey, I’m babysitting you!” I told Jenny, “You were the one who didn’t want to come here alone.”

The guy laughed once more, bid us farewell, then headed over to the bar.

“Relax,” my sister once again implored me, “Everyone’s dead friendly round here.”

I complied and had another drink of beer. It was almost empty, so to prove my confidence I volunteered to get the next drinks in. I was served at the bar by one of the barman. I soon returned to the table where Jenny was chatting to a woman standing next to her. The woman was tall and pale, dressed in skin-tight black leather trousers and a Union Jack emblazoned boob-tube. She had bright pink hair in wild bunches at either side of her head, tied up with black silk ribbons, and every inch of her arms wascovered in all sorts of weird tattoos.

I sat down at the table and the pink-haired newcomer smiled at me.

“Hey handsome,” she smiled, having to raise her voice above the music, “Are you Jenny’s new boyfriend?”

“Nah,” I replied, then cheekily waved at Jenny and added, “I wouldn’t go out with that ugly bitch.”

“Oi!” Jenny gasped in mock horror, then giggled. “He’s my brother,” she said to her friend, “My cheeky little brother.”

“Hi there,” I nodded to the woman.

“I’m Kaylee,” she said.

“I’m Billy. Erm…nice tattoos.”

“Thanks,” she smiled.

“Be gentle with him,” Jenny said, “My poor wikkle brother is all nervous about being in a scary punk bar.”

“I’m not nervous,” I said, “Look, my leg has stopped jiggling.”

Jenny and her friend laughed.

“Well,” Kaylee smirked, “there’s no need to worry honey, we’re all friendly here.” Abruptly she leaned down and planted her lips – which were slathered in blood-red lipstick – to mine and lewdly snogged me. For a good ten-seconds she frenched me, unashamedly, whilst I sat there somewhat surprised at this! Then she took her lips from mine and stood up. “See?” she declared, “We’re all friends here.”

“I…see,” I said, and grinned.

“Catch you later Jen,” Kaylee said, and she slapped Jen playfully on the back and sauntered away.

“You look shocked,” Jenny said to me.

“I’m as cool as a cucumber,” I bragged, and I sat back and drank my beer. I was a bit taken aback by the woman just snogging me out of the blue like that, but I had to admit, it had relaxed me a bit.

Jenny swigged her beer and we both looked at the live act. The singer finished his song and soon started another one. There were a few people moshing on the dance floor in front of the stage but not so many that we couldn’t see the singers.

My sister and I continued having a drink and watching the band. I felt more and more relaxed. Jenny soon got up to get us a third drink, then I got us a fourth. Before long we were quite merry.

The band eventually changed. Wild applause and drunken hooting greeted the new band. This featured a line up of four male musicians and a female vocalist. She was very tall, especially in her high-heeled red leather boots, and very slim. In addition to the red boots she wore pink fishnet stocking held up with a black garter belt. I could see all this because she wasn’t wearing any trousers or a skirt or anything; she was just in her boots, stockings, garter belt, a red thong and a matching red bra. Oh, and elbow-length red gloves. She also had bright blue hair that hung down to her waist.

The singer merrily asked the people in the bar if they were “having some fuckin’ fun”, and when appropriately greeted with lots of wild calls to the affirmative (including from Jenny and me) the singer and her band started to play.