Dangerous Love. The Riders Motorcycle Club. Book One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Two.

The dance floor pulsed, as scantily dressed bodies swayed from side to side. Or jumped about, with their drinks held high in the air, the liquid from the glasses spilling over, creating an alcohol infused rain fall, in the dark club. To say I felt weird at first, would be an understatement. I was dressed in an ‘outfit fit for a young lady’, as my mother would say. Yet here, I was not in a debutant ball, more like a den of inequity.

Most of the women in the club were in barely there clothing. Some even in silver bikinis, with high heels, boobs spilling over the cups, shaking their booties the bottom of the cheeks on full display for the world to see.

I have gotten some strange looks from the patrons, however, after two more vodkas, I seem to have forgotten all about my conservative dress, and sensible shoes. I no longer see the eyes that judged me for being in the club, where I clearly did not belong. My inhibitions floated away with each glass of vodka Amy or Kit provided me. I bounced around the dance floor, without a care in the world, when suddenly the urge to wee took hold of me.

“Bathroom!” I cried out to Amy. in desperation, the need becoming increasingly urgent, so much so, I dared not dance another step for fear of a leakage. I kind of giggled at the thought of my mother’s face, if she believed I had wet myself, because of dancing too much. Not quite the lady like behaviour she vehemently required of me.

Amy. pointed toward the long queue of females, and I let out a long, exasperated groan, as I made my way off the dance floor, to stand in line.

“I am busting for a piss,” a random girl in a pair of blue shorts, her bum cheeks hanging out of them, with a brown tasselled sued top that just to say covered her boobs, and a pair of cowboy boots, complete with those leather things that cover the side of her legs, and a hat to match shouted.

“I know, I am going to piss my pants, if this line doesn’t hurry up and move,” her friend beside her dressed in a silver bikini with long bleached hair commented back.

I couldn’t agree with them more. Desperation for relief was now my only thought, as I jiggled from side to side, crossing my legs back and forth, as if I were a kid in primary school, begging the teacher to allow me to go when it wasn’t break time.

We moved forwards, slowly, but finally I made it into the cubical. I stand, almost frozen in shock for a moment, as I took in the facilities. The toilet did not have a seat and was cracked. The bowl a suspect yellow colour, as a small trickle of water fell from the cistern, which is masquerading as an automatic flush. However, beggars cannot be choosers, and desperation trumps hygiene and privacy, so I make the most of the facilities provided. The cubical door didn’t have a lock, so I wiggle out of my panties with my back against the door to secure my privacy, then quickly turn around, the room spinning slightly, and hover over the destroyed toilet, not wanting to sit on the thing. I reach out with my foot, holding it closed with the tips of my toes, in my sensible shoes, hoping nobody pushes against it too hard.

I finish off the longest wee I think I have ever expelled, and go to the large toilet roll container, fiddling with the bottom, only to find the cardboard tube, and nothing else.

“Excuse me, does anybody have any toilet roll?” I shout, losing my natural inhibitions. The thought of my mother seeing me like this, and the horror on her face, causing me to giggle once again. She would be absolutely mortified to think her perfect daughter was asking strangers for toilet roll, whilst holding a door closed with my perfectly polished sensible shoe.

“Here love, you got any bog roll for the lass next to me?” a voice asked.

“No, but I have got some hankies,” another voice answered, then suddenly, a solitary paper handkerchief appeared under the partition of my cubical.

“I just wiggle, then stamp my feet, me like,” another voice said, as laughter ensued. I suppose when there are no other options available, then you do what you must. Thank goodness I only needed a wee.

“Thank you,” I shout to the random stranger who just saved my underwear from smelling disgusting and grab the paper handkerchief.

Finished, I attempted to flush the chain, three times over. But to no avail, and so I leave the cubicle, as another girl clutching between her legs, rushes in, dropping her underwear, not even closing the door, and lets out a long sigh of relief.

I head to the sinks, that everyone else seems to ignore and wash my hands. Well, give them a cold shower as there is no soap in the dispensers, nor any hot water. Before glancing at my reflection in the mirror.

Sweat patches are prominent under my arm pits. Yuck! My perfect hair now has wispy bits flying from the knot left and right. My eyes were bright, but my carefully applied mascara, as expensive as it was, had not withstood the test of ‘clubbing’ and had migrated under my eyes. The rest of my make up I had applied for my party, seemingly has disappeared from my face. I am a hot mess. Suddenly the need for fresh clean air became overwhelming, so as I left the bathrooms, if you can call them that, and I head towards the front doors. I glance over at Kit to motion where I was going, but he was midst passionate embrace with a bikini clad girl, maybe even the one from earlier. I then look over to Amy, to find her equally indisposed, with a smaller man, who looked like all his Christmases had come at once. Not wanting to disturb my cousins, I make my way out the double doors, standing in the area allocated for the smokers. The air was not that ‘fresh’, but the chill of the night helps cool me down, as I stand with my back pressed against the outside wall of the club.

As I breathe in the cool, smoke-filled air, something flashing caught my eye across the road. There, in bright yellow neon, the word TATTOO shines brightly. The shop did not have its shutters down and a low light twinkles in the window. I crossed the road, entranced by the designs. I had always loved art, it was the one subject which I was good at, yet was the one deemed unworthy of my attention, a pointless qualification, not good enough for my mother’s specific requirements, so I had dropped the subject after GCSE level.

My eyes scanned the images, from brightly coloured dragons, werewolves, harps, rainbows, tribal symbols, roses, skulls, skulls with roses coming out of the eye sockets, and pinup girls. As pieces of art, they were amazing. Whoever drew the designs is incredibly talented. Suddenly and idea begins to form in my alcohol fuelled mind.

Something rebellious, that only I would see. Something a ‘good girl’ would never have. I stand, in awe of the images in the widow. Photographs of the artist’s work, skin their canvas of choice.

The idea to get a tattoo, as a permanent reminder of my rebellious night, becomes ever more appealing. I am not even sure what I want, or where it would be hidden on my body, but one thing I do know, is I trust the artist, his or her work speaking to me in such a deep way, I cannot find the words to fully explain.

I take a deep inhale of breath, determination to have the permanent reminder upon my body rising from somewhere deep in my soul or was it from deep within the vodka’s I have been consuming all night? Not sure.

However, this is perfect, my rebellion permanent, but only I would know. Art, that only I would enjoy. I pushed the door, and to my surprise, despite the hour, it opened, a small bell ringing and announce my entrance. The area was empty, but the sound of soft buzzing echoed around my ears. The smell of leather and disinfectant filled the air around me , as I hesitantly take another step forward.

“Take a seat, I will be with you in a minute,” a deep masculine voice, which sends a shiver down my spine, shouts from behind a deep red screen.

I bite my bottom lip, my body trembling slightly, and take a seat on the plush deep burgundy leather chair.

Am I really going to ink my body? Yes. Yes, I am, and nobody would know, just me, and the person behind the curtain, with the deep baritone, and extremely sexy voice.