Cowboys and Bikers

The ideas for this story were given to me by a sweet young slut who asked me to make it into a story. It gets kind of gross in spots and is not what I normally write but I hope some of you like it. She said she did.
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It was a very pleasant late spring evening in northern New Mexico in the mid 1960’s. The sun had set long enough ago that it had gotten dark. That Friday evening two late fifties pick-up trucks sat in front of ‘Hank’s Honky Tonk’ and an old ’51 Chevy four door sat behind the bar. The bar was located between two small ranching towns and was never very busy. It was an old wooden building and the name sign was hand painted and hung crooked over the front door, lighted by three fixtures, one of which had a burned out bulb. Inside was a bar with six stools and three tables with four chairs each. There was a jukebox and a pool table.

Inside, sitting at the bar, were three young ranch hands from a couple of the nearby cattle ranches. They were each tall and thin and about twenty. They had on their weekend cowboy clothes consisting of new looking, tight fitting jeans with large belt buckles, plaid cowboy shirts, boots and cowboy hats. One of them had a bolo tie and one a neckerchief tied around his neck. At first look, if it were not for the different color shirts and hats, you might think you were looking at the same person in a couple of mirrors. Next to the one with the bolo tie sat his eighteen-year-old girlfriend, Donna. One of the other guys was her older brother. She was dressed much like the guys. She was also tall and slim but not as tall as the guys. Her medium length blond hair hung below her hat. Behind the bar stood Hank, the forty five-year-old bar owner. They talked and listened to western music as they sipped their beers.

About a half hour later, six loud motorcycles pulled into the parking lot and were lined up side by side before they were shut down. All six were driven by men, in their late twenties who were wearing black leather jackets that, on the back, said ‘Road Raptors’. They all looked the stereotype of biker gang members. On the backs of three of the bikes were three women dressed much like their men.

The leader of the group opened the bar door with a slam and the nine entered. They sat around two tables and called for the bar keeper to bring them a round of beers. When he brought them, he said that the cost was fourteen fifty. Duke, the leader of the bikers stuck the point of his switch bland into the top of the table, looked at the bar tender and smiled. “I understand that the first one is on the house. Right?” Hank thought for a couple seconds and then not wanting trouble, quietly said that he was correct.

It only took a couple minutes for the first rounds of beers to be gone. “Another round!” When it arrived, the biker said, “This one is on our cowboy friends at the bar. Right guys?” One of them started to get up but his friend held him down on the stool. “Ya, Hank, this one is on us.” Hank took the round of beers to the tables.

The song on the jukebox ended and there were no more scheduled to play. One of the bikers walked over to it and put in his quarter, selected three of the few rock songs that were on it and pushed play. He then walked over to the bar, took the young girl by the arm and pulled her off of her stool. “Come dance with me, pretty lady.” Her boyfriend got off of his stool and said, “She does not want to dance with you. Leave her alone.” He was promptly punched in the face and knocked to the floor. The three cowboys and the six bikers then came to blows.

The barroom brawl was somewhat lopsided as the ranch hands were out numbered two to one. The bar owner stepped out from behind the bar. In his hand he had what appeared to be a baseball bat with the large half cut off. One of the biker babes stepped in front of him and when he hesitated, she promptly gave him a hard kick between the legs. He fell to the floor like a sack of flour being dropped.