Biker

It was the dawn of the eighties. Rock music was prevalent and going from strength to strength. Deep Purple was still being listened to, as was Free, Cream and a host of seventies groups. Status Quo, Queen, Whitesnake and The Who were making their own eighties revivals and newcomers Meatloaf, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard and ZZ Top were either established or just about to be big on the UK rock scene.
Biker style was at its height in fashion, with jeans, boots and leather jackets being worn by bikers for their functionality and worn by fashion victims for the style of 'Rock Chic'.
Tight stretch jeans had just come to the attention of the slim young things which left little to the imagination where the shape of legs and buttocks were concerned, much to the delight of other slim young things and casual observers everywhere. Leather and denim was seen to clad a wide variety of different sized bodies and held an interest for most tastes.
Years before Grunge had even been thought of, 'Grebo' style was widespread. This encompassed the more functional aspects of leather and denim. Worn widely by Punks but mostly by bikers, leather jackets were scuffed and sometimes torn by minor slides down the road. Time-worn and filthy 'Originals' were worn by the more hard-core bikers whose ethos was that no cleaning products would ever touch their jeans or cut-off (a sleeveless denim, worn over the leather jacket). Stiffened and thickened by grime, oil and everyday filth, the denims were worn religiously for all of their bike riding. Whether the idea was that the filthy jeans would give a greater protection or not, they certainly gave a great deal of protection from more fastidious females and so were discarded when out on the pull.
The unisex appeal of the style sometimes gave rise for confusion, especially as the male bikers also wore their hair long, possibly as a snub to authority, a statement of personal freedom or just to emulate their rock star heroes. Some employers still insisted on well-groomed and short back-and-sides hair styles, but that regimen was falling by the wayside rapidly in the brand new decade.

Chapter 1

Bikers

Justin Hardy stood at the bar, his freshly poured pint in front of him. The barman returned with his change and turned away to serve others without time for a word of thanks in either direction.
Sighing, Justin stared into the froth on the top of the beer. He hadn't really wanted to go out at all but he was alone in a small village B&B in the middle of his sales trip and already fed up of the small room he had rented. He had asked the B&B landlady if there was anything to do of an evening and she returned his question with a glum look and the minimal phrase: "There's the Sitwell."
"Pub?" He had asked.
"Yes." And then she had turned away to continue cleaning her small house. Even though she was not much of a conversationalist, her cooking was splendid (better than his mum’s) and the cleanliness of her house was immaculate. Sparse in furniture and home comforts - not even a TV in his room - but the bare floorboards gleamed and the threadbare rug harboured not a single speck of dust. He had no wish to sit in her living room with her, watching the likes of Coronation Street or Emmerdale Farm however, hence the quest for other entertainment.

So Justin had found himself alone in the Tap Room of the Sitwell Arms. He took a quick look around and then moved on to the back of the room, up two steps and then realised that that part of the Tap Room was more spacious than he had first thought. It opened up and more small tables were dotted about.
He spotted a young woman sat at one table facing him. ‘A nice bit of rough, makes a change,’ went through his mind as he mentally prepared himself. If he had been wearing one, he would have adjusted his tie at that point. She wasn’t what he usually went for, but there wasn’t much choice at the moment.
She was dressed in tight denim jeans and had on a leather bike jacket. She had long straight hair, dark blonde in colour, too shiny to be described as mousey. She also had on a tiny vest top that barely covered her small but perfectly formed breasts. Her make-up consisted of a little mascara and eye-liner and shiny pale lip gloss, she was definitely not what he usually went for, he preferred the higher-maintenance type of girl, but she‘d do as a temporary distraction.
She was deep in conversation with the person sitting opposite her, both were leaning on the table, chatting quietly. The other was also dressed similarly, black leather bike jacket, and jeans. Lovely long brunette hair hung almost to the waist and shone in the light from the sunset glinting through the window. There were two half-pint glasses on the table, both empty. He decided to take a chance to liven up his evening.
"Could I buy you two ladies a drink?" he asked, his most suave smile beaming, his eyes on the breasts of the girl who was facing him.
Her eyebrows raised as he lifted his gaze to her face and she returned only a polite smile back at him. Her companion sat up a little, taking time to turn around.
The words "Fuck off" only registered after he realised the mistake he'd just made in the gender of the girl's companion. The lad was younger than himself by perhaps a half-dozen years, he was slim with gorgeous clean, shining hair but his youthful features were very obviously masculine.
"Oh jesus," he muttered. "Sorry mate." As the lad glared at him, he felt his face colour up and he decided against sitting in that part of the Tap Room. He hurried back down the steps to find a vacant table in a corner in which to recover from his embarrassment. He heard the girl laugh as he fled but her companion did not.
"Fuckin’ Trendies." The long haired lad muttered.
"Are you going or staying?" She ignored his annoyance.
"Staying I suppose. Do you want another?" He stood up and took both glasses.
"No, I'm ok. I've had enough coke for now." He nodded and left her glass on the table in front of her.

Justin watched as the long-haired 'hippy type' stood at the bar waiting to be served. He moved his resentful glare between the lad’s back and the girl as he ordered his drink. Justin thought to himself as he watched: ‘The tight-fisted bastard didn't even get his girlfriend one and they were only drinking halves, probably in order to make his dole money last to the next gyro cheque’. He was smug in the knowledge that at twenty four he had a reasonable job with better than average pay nailed down. ‘What did that girl see in him, the greasy yobbo?’.

A short time later, Justin had got up to check out the tunes on the jukebox. He was getting more dismayed as he flipped each card over. He had already put his money in and he’d not found any of the tracks that weren’t rock of some kind or another. He settled for a selection of Meatloaf tracks and went back to sit down.
While he had been busy at the jukebox, more bikers had arrived. They had not taken over the table where his drink was sitting almost finished, but they had surrounded it. He picked the glass up and moved to another table, very aware that it looked like he was intimidated.
When one particular group walked in, the girl he had tried to chat up went over to greet one of them. She kissed him and he went to the bar to get them both drinks. The first lad followed her down and sat with the new arrivals.
Suddenly Justin had bikers on all sides again, so he stood up and went into the Lounge area. He left his empty glass on the table and as he went, he heard the girl tell her boyfriend that he'd mistaken Staffy for a bird. Resentment flared again as they laughed and instead of another pint, he started on vodka & coke when he got to the bar on the other side.
Once during the evening he had gone to the toilets and dropped a tab of speed - not because he needed to - he wanted to. He wanted to get a better buzz on than the downer he was on at that minute. It was all due to that Hippy getting obnoxious. Who the fuck could tell which were boys and which were girls if they all dressed alike?
He could see them all through the serving area which connected the two separate bars for ease of serving and he allowed his smouldering embarrassment to fester.
A few drinks later, he had begun speaking to some of the locals and one old boy in particular was chatting away quite happily, more due to the fact that Justin was generous in getting in the rounds than any other reason he supposed. He stood up and made his way to the bar again, hesitating when he got to his feet to prevent the drunken wobble he could feel beginning to slip itself into his gait. Through the bar staff's domain between the bars, he again spotted the long haired lad - Staffy she had called him. They were all still in the lower area, crowded in and being quite lively in their banter, well they had to shout over the noise that was coming from the jukebox he supposed. They seemed to be enjoying his choice of music.
Yet more yobs had joined the initial group. She was no longer talking to the first yob, nor the second, there was a little group of girls chatting in the corner, she was with them. Staffy had taken off his jacket and sat with his back to the group of girls at another table. His hands were hanging between his knees - no wait, he was playing on one of those table-top space invader type games.
Again resentment flared in Justin’s intoxicated mind. The yob had a gorgeous and sexy girl with him (he refused to acknowledge the fact that she wasn't his girlfriend) but not only wouldn't he buy her a drink, he was ignoring her for a space invader game too.
Justin was seriously thinking about whether he should go back in there and try his chances again but thought better of it, Hippy's yobbo mates were with them and they'd only cause a scene.
The old boy had strong feelings about the 'long haired youth of today' and they swapped opinions on what was going wrong with society and eventually the rep forgot about the girl in the other room and her ungrateful yob boyfriend.

When the landlord called 'time' he finished the drink that was sitting in front of him untouched and said goodnight to the old boy he'd swapped stories with all evening. When he stood, he realised that first he was quite drunk and second he really needed to piss. The toilets were at the front of the pub so he staggered there on his way out. As luck would have it, the hippy was standing at a urinal too. Justin stood right next to him and unzipped. As his flow was just starting, the lad was just finishing and the rep moved his dick slightly to create splashback. He thought that the lad wouldn't notice he'd just been pissed on, but he did.
"You fucking twat! You're pissing on me!" Staffy said as he moved out of range with an agility that spoke volumes of the amount of drink he'd not consumed.
"So fucking what? You need a wash anyway, fucking hippy." The rep slurred, his lips curling back in a sneer. He swayed slightly but he thought he’d caught himself in time and the yob wouldn’t notice.
The lad looked at him for a long moment and decided not to make an issue of it. He washed his hands quickly under the tap and grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser on his way out. The rep took his swift exit as a sign of cowardice and followed, not bothering to wash his own hands.
He caught up with the lad just outside the front door to the pub. The car park was deserted and the lad was walking away. He grabbed hold of the lad's leather jacket and pulled hard on his shoulder. He caught a few wisps of hair as he did so and the lad's head jerked as some strands of his hair was pulled out.
As Staffy's fist caught him under his eye, the drunken and stoned rep realised a number of things.
The lad was not drunk because he was driving.
He was not a coward just because he had not retaliated to the piss on his jeans, he was actually quite handy but had realised that the rep was drunk and had left it.
The girl was not his girlfriend, she was with that other bloke. Both were watching the start of the brawl.
All of those things were realised but not taken in immediately because of the alcohol and chemical mixture Justin had consumed. Another punch to his nose had the rep’s eyes watering and the last one had him staggering backwards but the lad took hold of his coat and held him upright and close.
"You fucking Trendies think you're better than us because you spend all your money on clothes and vodka." He paused and took a look into the glazed eyes of the rep. "And speed, you waster. You're off your fucking face, mate." He let go of the coat with a slight shove away from him and watched as Justin’s legs folded under him and he hit the floor in a slow but graceless ballet.
Without a backwards glance, Staffy went over to his bike and picked up his helmet where he'd left it as he realised he'd never make it home without a pit-stop and had gone back inside to use the toilet. He muttered "See you tomorrow Kev. Later, Rach."
Rach got onto the back of Kev's bike and both engines roared into life. None of them gave the rep a second glance as they left the car park.

A few minutes later the old boy that had been accepting drinks from Justin all evening came out of the pub and saw his drinking buddy just getting up. As the old boy passed the rep, he said, "Bloody bikers hey?" and left the rep struggling to get up.