DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #1- seattle is crazy, seattle is party

أكتوبر 1992

فيكتوريا.

I stare at the clock on my bedside table, to see that it's 8:35 pm. I am still buck naked, my hair is still damp, but my makeup is on point... and it's going to be a miracle, if I'll manage to get ready within the half an hour that's left before we have to leave our shared apartment. I don't think so, I've got a knack for always running late for stuff... but nevermind, I'm always down for a challenge.

Bessie, also known as Elizabeth, or aka the blonde bombshell, is all glammed up, slipping into a very tight miniskirt that embraces and enhances her curves just about fine. She's beautiful, and she knows it because the guys literally sing her praises all the time and line up to have a piece of her. And she could never say no to a guy she likes. Especially if they can play an instrument. She loves men, and men love her. It's mutual, and I think it's beautiful.
She gets her miniskirt to run all the way up to her hips, and she grins at her reflection in the mirror like she knows it's about to fall to the floor sooner or later tonight. Maybe more than just once. Maybe more than just for one guy. I know it too, I know she's gonna get some meat and devour it, and I can't wait to hear the details when it's tomorrow morning and we share a coffee around the kitchen table. And I tell her I haven't fucked anyone. But I've flirted with someone by insulting them. Again.

I turn to the other side, to see Chrissie, aka Christine, or aka miss gorgeous saucy curls, leaving the restroom with an air diffuser in hand. The one we share, 'cause we're both curly haired and kinda broke. And nevermind, I'll dry my hair tomorrow. 'Cause if I started now, I'd get my hairdo over with in two hours of time. And we've got no time to waste here. This means that the fiery red mane of hair I'm the owner of will get slightly fuzzy tonight, but again... nevermind. Give me a drink, give me a few good tunes to dance too, and my hair will look nothing like it looked before I left my apartment. No matter how perfectly scrunched and hairsprayed it was. It will always be a mess by the end of the night.

Chrissie is wearing an outfit that would make my head turn and my meat go feral if I were a man. That's pretty much the effect he has on guys. All of them... they're always around her because she's real damn alluring. Thick brows, flawless hair, big breasts and all. I am literally the only small titted person in this room... and feel like I'm suffocating. Suffocating between my best friends' DDD cups. Someone save me from my C cup and hand me a napkin 'cause I'm crying. Or water me, 'cause I'm green with envy. Or both. Or get me laid, at some point tonight.

My besties are not only fairly gifted in the tit department, and I ain't, but they're also ready to go ... while I ain't. I stand up from my seat, and I can hear Chrissie letting out a disappointed grunt when I walk too close to her while wearing nothing but my skin, my makeup and my tattoos. She should be used to it, we've been living together for a while now, and I'm constantly walking around the house buck naked while she's clad head to toe... but it seems as though as she still flinches at the sight of me lacking clothes. I mean... I get her reasons. Nothing too special going on with me anyways.

I stand in front of my wardrobe, only to find a mess of the clothes I've thrown away after each and every one of my partying nights of the last few weeks. And I've partied a bit too much lately, because here in Seattle everyday is party day. Partying, screwing, going to concerts, getting drunk and high on stuff ... that's all mandatory. Even more mandatory, when you're an exchange student like me, who's lived all her life in a foreign small town with no subculture going on. My life in my hometown was hard, while life in Seattle is fun, easy as hell, and downright golden. Even if the accent is confusing, sometimes. And says it someone who shares a flat with two chicks born and raised in Seattle. For as long as I stick around here, I'm gonna have fun. Lots of it. That's the only rule I've given myself for the entire length of my stay in Seattle. Have fun, Victoria. Until you pass out drunk, overdose, crash your bike and die ... or, more unlikely, catch a STD. Because you might as well catch me in the backstage of a concert, in a tour bus or at a band party, but l'm more interested in men offering me drinks and singing my praises than I'll ever be interested in receiving their infected down boys. I'm unbothered, I'm living my best single life and I like the concept of not having any strings attached with any man... but not so deep down, I'm looking for my all American, clean from STD musician guy who can take me by the heart. Or from my neck, according to the setting. I need to get laid, and I really do need a Green Card too. The order is irrelevant.

I put on a pair of fishnet tights, and a pair of leopard print, vinyl shorts that belong to the last decade. Or to the stale fashion industry of a country near mine, I just wouldn't be able to tell. But I kinda like them, nonetheless. Then I go for a very basic, sleeveless crop top that leaves all of my tattoos on display. The amount of ink on my skin makes up for my lack of breast tissue, and men actually like it. Jackpot, Tori. Men won't look at your tits, but they will look at your tattoos. You're a fucking genius. And you gotta look good tonight.
Bessie told us there's gonna be a few men at the party we're attending tonight. Fine looking ones too. Musicians, all of them. Ideal. The host is a guy she's done a few times already, and he plays in a kinda established rock band, of course. l've seen him a few times, I think he's ugly as hunger, but judging from Bessie's account... he's hung like a horse and he always delivers the goods. And man, it must be true 'cause Bessie never bigs anyone up.

Chrissie said there's gonna be a few of her friends as well, there. And it looks as though as not only l'm the only one who's got small tits in this room... but I'm also the only one who hasn't got any connections with guys who play in bands. I mean, I do, but I burn their numbers after I fuck them once and realise that they weren't my cup of tea. I only keep the girls' numbers, and I have more girlfriends who play in bands than I've got boyfriends. But we'll get back to this later on. It is of no importance now. Not now that I'm looking at my reflection in the mirror, trying to pull a confident and thinking whether I'll find a guy to have some fun at that basement party, tonight. A girl can always hope. It's easy to get them rocker dudes all wrapped around your finger, chasing them and getting chased by them. Not necessarily by the same guy everyday. Fucking them is easy too, I've found out that they've all got a one track mind. But man, most of the times I don't wanna fuck anyone. I don't want it easy. I just wanna have a good time, get drunk, kiss a stranger and tell them about my life. Hear about theirs while I'm at it. If they misunderstand me because I'm extroverted, I'm outspoken and I have the most tempting siren eyes... I don't see how it should be my problem.

I look at my two besties, and they look back at me like they're impatient to leave. And they're right, it would be about damn time we did. I hurriedly throw my racing leather jacket on, and I slip into a pair of vinyl red heels. Matching my lipstick, my flame red hair... and my flame red Triumph Bonneville. Riding a motorcycle in heels is hell, no pun intended, but l've got this. I've done this without dying every night over the last few months. And on most of these nights, Chrissie and Bessie were my backpacks. No one ever came for us because it's illegal to ride a bike in three, even though it's illegal.

And why? Just because we're girls and we look good. And I can pretend I don't speak English, if a cop approaches us.

I grab the keys of my bike, and we all head to the door. Chrissie closes it behind our backs, and locks it. We're leaving, and it's official now. The hype is starting to kick in and I can feel it rushing through my body.
We all rush down the stairs, and I try not to break a limb 'cause l'm the only one to wear heels right now.
We leave our block of flats, side by side, and I instantly hop on top of my Triumph. I slide the key into the lock, and Chrissie hops on. I switch from neutral gear to first gear, and Bessie hops on to. I pull my clutch, I give a little bit of throttle, and I slowly release my clutch. My engine is fired, so am I, and there we go. Illegally riding our way to yet another one of our hysterical Seattleite nights. With the wind and the high speed messing up our hair, because we would never in the world wear a helmet that doesn't do our partying outfits justice.

***

Hello everyone ! This is a collab with my besties on here, sharkcastic  and MissElven3000 . Aka two amazing writers I'm so hype to be working with. Follow the adventures of Tori (my oc), Chrissie (sharkcastic 's) and Bessie (MissElven3000 's) having a shit ton of fun in grunge era Seattle. Expect all kind of stuff ! And keep an eye on your notifications, because we will update this story separately, on our respective accounts, part after part. Catch up with us if you don't wanna miss a single update. 

Tori gets the party started. Bessie and Chrissie will follow real soon. 💅🏻

XXX-o, Clownerella

st. wednesday 23/05/17 alas MMXXIII/V/XVII❤️