Bad girl, Evening

The hand drifted to my shoulder as the futa leaned against me.

The futa was a head taller than me. She wore no clothes except for a spiked choker, a variety of piercings in her nose, tongue, ears, belly-button and a variety of other places. Her arms and stomach were painted with tattoos of naked women, angel wings, snakes, spiders and the words Bad Bitch tattooed in a curve below her belly-button. Her head was shaved bald, the darkest thing on her being her black lipstick and eyeliner.

She took a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke from out of her nostrils.

"Hey babe. Happy birthday."

"Evening, hi!"

Evening is a part of the Bitchpunk Movement, a counterculture that emerged recently that emulates the "Punk Movement" from the 20th century that involved anarchy, overt-indecency and outrageous fashion.

My mom and sister always tell me to stay away from Evening, saying that she was a bad influence. They aren't exactly wrong either. Evening is rude to nearly everyone she meets, she smokes, she drinks, she swears like a sailor, and in spite of all of that, I just can't stand to be away from her. There was something about Evening that I liked. Maybe it was because she was objectively cool and she chose to hang out with me.

"So what's the birthday girl up to today?"

"Heather, mom and I are going out for dinner tonight."

"What's so special about dinner?"

"We're having it at that Steakhouse off of 5th and Goliad."

"Hmm, I heard that place is tight."

"Yeah."

"So I was thinking about taking the birthday girl out for her present. You coming?"

"When?"

"In about five minutes."

My mind went blank.

"B-but I have school..."

"So what? You've got sick days left in the semester. Come on, let's play hooky and I'll show you a good time."