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joshsjipple · 4 months

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Brother's Best Friend, pt 1

JOSH KISZKA X FEMALE READER

A/N: Hey guys! Happy Valentine’s Day! For those of you (me) who don’t have a Valentine and need a little spice, here's a two part series I'm gonna do:) I've had this idea forever and I'm so glad with the way it turned out. As always, this stuff is unedited.

Word Count: 4.9k

WARNINGS: 18+ this is very very dirty! graphic sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), LOTS of dirty talk and praise bc I love it, oral sex (m/f/ rec), face riding, fingering, slight hair pulling, slapping, slight choking, language, cum play if you squint, some degradation, minor cock warming, small daddy kink, p in v, dom (m) sub (f), fluff. Sorry if I missed any!

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Your feet splash through the puddles of water resting on the cement. Rain drizzles down from above you, thunder crashing around you like drums in a rock n’ roll song. You cross your arms over your skimpy top you had been dying to wear for weeks and choke back another sob.

It’s late, probably around midnight. You left the party ten minutes ago after a run in with your older brother, Henry. You two had always been close growing up. But the older you got, the more controlling he became. You had only had one boyfriend your whole highschool career. Even though Henry was three years over you and graduated long before you did, he still managed to scare everyone off. Even tonight, even though you’re a twenty year old woman, he still glared at every guy who came remotely close to you.

“Men only want one thing.” He’d say after you’d beg him to stop interfering with your life. “As your brother, it’s my job to look after you.”

That’s how every conversation went. Every conversation up until tonight. Tonight, you’d finally had enough. After Henry shooed off your pursuer for the night, you’d marched over to him, anger bubbling in your blood.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you started.

“Y/N, what?” He played dumb.

“Why do you always have to control my every move? I’m a grown adult, I can fuck who I want!”

“Yeah, clearly,” he snorted.

“The fuck does that mean?” You raised your voice.

“Oh yeah, as if I have no idea about what happened on your senior prom night.” he took a drink from a can of beer in his hand.

You pause. “How-”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever. I was trying to protect you from this kind of stuff, but seeing you’re a fucking slut anyways, what’s the point?” he growled.

His words slashed through the temporary walls you had built on the way over to talk to him. This man, your brother, who you had grown up with and loved your whole life, was slut shaming you. You could barely stand as your knees began to womble. Without another word you rushed out the front door.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, seeing it was storming and you came to the party with Henry. But at the time, nothing was worse than staying there and facing his hurtful words. With his friends around him, you felt outnumbered and solemnly betrayed. It was better this way, although, you were pretty sure you felt worse about the whole thing than he did.

Now, the rain picks up again and drenches your already shivering body. Your hair is a wet mess on your head. You rub your eyes, smearing mascara even further. Fuck it. You don’t care.

You jump as you hear a car approaching behind you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you tell yourself it’s just passing by. When it slows, your body freezes in its place.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice strikes into the night. You turn around to see Josh, your brother’s best friend, driving behind you. His head sticks out the window, a worried expression on his face. “I thought that was you.”

You stand in silence, unsure of what to do. You’ve known Josh since you were a kid. But he’s only been a side character in your life. He was always there, but he never did anything significant. Occasionally, he would drive you to places because you were too scared to get your license. He’d help you with your homework and eat dinner with your family at least once a week. But you’d never really considered yourself friends. Especially after he started dating your mortal enemy his senior year. But that ended soon after it started. You never hated him, your feelings for him were the exact opposite actually.

Like any younger sister would, you developed a crush on your big brother’s best friend. There was just something different about him. The way he talked about stuff he enjoyed and remembered the little things that mattered to the people around him. It didn’t hurt that he was good looking as well. Your crush only intensified as you got older. It went from a harmless crush to an ache in your lower abdomen. Of course, nothing ever became of it as you were a few years younger than him. Once you turned 18 you were anxious to tell him how you felt, but as his band grew, you overheard him and his twin discussing.

“No distractions, Jake. If this is what we want, we need to put all of our energy into it.” Josh said, his hand carefully resting on his brother's arm. “That means no women.”

It was never meant to be, and you accepted it. Things got easier as you both gradually went your separate ways. Slowly, he stopped coming to dinners every week. It became a holiday tradition for him to appear, smiles on his face and gifts in hand. You started college and soon, your feelings for Josh weren’t as evident. That was, until you saw him again. Then, all the feelings and reasons on why you loved him came rushing back.

It happened every time, so you weren’t surprised to feel everything again when he came to the party tonight after his six month tour. He looked refreshed and well rewarded. All it did was remind you how happy he was away from home, and admitting your feelings would only give him a reason to stay.

“It’s me.” your voice shakes as you snap back to reality. You squint your eyes at the beaming headlights and pray you don’t look as bad as you feel.

“Sorry, I probably scared you. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to find you.”

“It’s okay.” You say, feeling a bit awkward.

“Can I take you home?”

“Don’t worry about it, Josh.” you shake your head and start walking away again. Josh only follows you, driving right beside you.

“Really? I have heat.” he says in a tempting voice.

“I wasn’t going to go home. I was just gonna walk around for a bit.” you admit.

He thinks for a second. “Okay, come to my place. Everyone’s out so you don’t have to worry about disturbing us. I know you always do.”

You pause and he slows next to you. He’s right, actually. You hate to make people go out of their way for you. Turning to him, you give him a soft smile and tug on the passenger side door. He was right, he did have heat.

The ride to Josh’s house was quiet for a while. The air was stiff between you two, which is odd because usually you two had no issues. It felt different tonight. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something changed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asks.

You shake your head. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Okay,” he says. “But you can, if you want.”

You turn your attention back to the road ahead of you. “How was your tour?”

“Oh, you know. Lots of drinking, smoking, drugs, and women.” he says sarcastically, but for some reason it strikes a cord in you and you stop talking entirely. Josh notices and responds quickly. “Oh. I was just joking.”

“Yeah.” you say, rubbing your chin.

The radio plays quietly in the background, some old bluesy song fulfilling the silence. You turn to watch Josh, who has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh. You stare shamelessly at his hand. It’s large and veins protrude from the skin. Your eyes shift up and focus on his arms, the slight muscles and tones skin. You run your tongue over your bottom lip and glare at his side profile. His hair, once long, was now cut shortly on the sides with curls resting on the top. His jawline is sharp enough to cut your skin, his lips plump and full. If his nose didn’t have the familiar bump on it, you would have thought he was an imposter.

“See something you like?” he asks. His tone is both serious and joking.

“Yeah,” you sigh, a wave washing over you. “You’ve changed a lot.”

“Me?” he laughs. “You’ve changed. I mean, you used to have-” he stops and swallows.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing. You’ve just filled out. Like every woman does. Not bad-” he stutters nervously.

“So you’ve been checking me out?” you smirk. His eyes meet yours briefly before returning to the road.

“Uhm. Well. Your top doesn’t hide much.” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

He’s right. You look down to see the lace corset that is pushing up your boobs just right. Still cold and wet from the rain, your nipples press against the fabric. The view makes you shift in your seat, searching for friction.

“Yeah.” you agree and unbuckle yourself.

Josh’s hands grip the steering wheel, his eyes watching both you and the road ahead. You don’t know what has come over you, but the image of Josh looking at your tits makes your pussy throb. He’s changed alright, and his newfound muscles and hair has your mind thinking some inappropriate ideas.

You crawl slowly over the center counsel and watch his breathing hitch. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat. As your lips drag across the warm skin of his cheek, he lets out a breathy moan. Delighted with the sound, you tug on his ear.

“Jesus, Y/N. What are you doing?”

“You, hopefully. Unless you’re scared of my brother’s warnings.” you tease, your hand palming him through the black leather pants clinging to his legs.

Josh turns down the nearest gravel road and parks on the side, turning his lights on. He faces you in a haze, his eyes hooded and lazy. His hand finds your cheek and he runs his fingers over the soft skin.

“Oh baby. The devil himself couldn’t keep me from you.”

And with that, his lips slam into yours. You freeze for a second but soon reciprocate his actions. His hands tangle in your hair, yours in his. His tongue drags across your bottom lip, an invitation under seductive cover. You grant him access, allowing his tongue to dig into your mouth. You moan, and he quickly swallows the sound, supplying you with his own set of whimpers. He pulls back, his eyes filled with a mischievous glare.

“Are you a virgin?” he simply asks.

“I’m not a prude.” you scoff, taking offense.

Josh shakes his head. “Being a virgin doesn’t make you a prude. All it does is alter the way I’m fucking you tonight.”

You swallow harshly and squeeze your legs together at his words. “No, I’m not a virgin.”

“Okay.” he says before pulling the lever that keeps his seat up.

It reclines quickly so he’s almost horizontal. You smile and giggle as he smirks at you.

“Well, darling?” he asks in an accent.

“Maybe the back seat would be better?” you question.

Josh shrugs and opens his door. You do the same, meeting him in the back seat. You share the same goofy expression as you crawl to each other. His hands find your waist immediately and he hoists you onto his lap, earning a surprised gasp from your lungs. With your knees on either side of his legs, you connect lips. He tastes like alcohol and sugar and you grind your hips into him. He groans, and you can feel him hard between you. The few pieces of clothing between you two is all that keeps you apart. You rock against him again, your skirt riding up your thighs. Josh takes notice and pushes it up farther with his hands. As you bite and tug at the skin on his neck, his hands squeeze your ass. The gesture is strong enough to know it will leave a mark.

You let out a pitiful moan you didn’t know you had in yourself. He twitches against your leg, obviously finding it very attractive. Letting out a shaky breath, he distributes a soft smack to your ass. You jump and suck harder onto his neck, trying to muffle the sounds of your pathetic moans. Josh feels your vibrations and you can feel the smirk on his face.

“I think I have you figured out, doll.” he seductively says before smacking your ass again, this time, more firmly. You cry his name into the crevice of his neck. “Yeah? You like it when I smack you?”

You can feel your panties grow damper by the second. You had no idea you were into this. Or that he was.

“Answer me,” he hisses.

“Yes! Yes, daddy please!” you cry, the name leaving your mouth without thinking.

He whimpers and thrusts himself into you. You cry at the friction and find his lips again. You grind against his leather pants, desperately searching for friction. Josh watches you, his teeth biting his lip.

“Take this off, mama.” he tugs at your skirt. You unzip it and throw it up front. “Red lace? You filthy girl.”

He grabs your ass and lifts you up so all your weight is on your knees. He kisses your stomach and plants a kiss on the hem of your panties. His fingers that dig into your ass wander between your legs. The feeling of his digit sliding over your dripping core makes you shudder above him.

“So worked up, and for what?” he teases, enjoying the show above him.

“You.” you say weakly.

“How long?” he asks.

“Since I’ve known you.” You admit, feeling no shame considering you’re half-naked in front of him.

“What a slut, baby. And all for me?” he whispers, his finger dipping into you. “Take these off.”

You crawl off of him and do your best to gracefully pull the drenched material off your body. Once it’s off, Josh pulls you back onto his lap. You’re shocked and confused, but the look in his eye makes you ditch your expectations.

“You want me so bad? Fine, show me how bad and fuck yourself on my leg.” he spits. “While you’re doing that, you’re gonna tell me how long you’ve waited for this moment.”

You move to straddle his right leg, immediately working yourself onto him. He tears off his shirt. It’s dark in the car, but the full moon shines just right, showing you his soft skin and sculpted chest. His fingers move to your corset, toying with the back.

“As much as I love how little this top covers, I want the full view.” he unties the strings in the back. “Talk, or this is over. Tell me how bad you’ve wanted it.”

“So bad.” you cry. “Since you started tutoring me.”

“That long? You were what– a junior?” he slips your top off and leans back.

You pick up your pace, your arousal soaking into his leg. “I was so jealous of all those girls you would hang out with.”

His eyes absorb your breasts and how they look bouncing in the faint light. He brings one of his callused hands and teases the nipple. “So jealous of the girls who got my cock, huh?” He leans forward and begins to suck on the bead of your nipple.

“So jealous!” you say in a high-pitched tone. Your stomach tightens and you feel the familiar feeling grow in your stomach. “Fuck, Josh. I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, mama. All over my leg like a good girl. Make a mess.” he encourages, moving to the peak of your other breast. “Bet you did this all the time. Fucking yourself with your fingers, imagining it was my cock.”

“I did, I did.” you say as your eyes fill with stars. You shake at the feeling of your release.

“Fuck. That’s so hot.” he breaths into your chest. “You’re a blessing.”

Pulling yourself off of him, you grab his face and pull him in. Your teeth knock together as you run your hand across his raging erection. He groans at the contact and fucks up into your hand.

“Suck my cock. I know you want to.”

You do. So, you pull away from his mouth and work at his buttons. His cock springs free as you pull both layers off his body. It rests on his stomach, glistening precum decorating the tip. You drool at his size, the length and thickness. Without another word, you dip your face between his legs and take him into your mouth. He shakes beneath you, giving you a sense of power you enjoy.

“Holy fuck. Just like that. Wrap your pretty lips around it.”

His hands find your hair and he forms a makeshift ponytail with his hands. Using this as a handle, he pushes your head up and down. You bob on him, hot tears streaming down your face. You take him as best as you can, gagging on him as your tongue messes with whatever area of skin it can find. He sounds so pretty above you, his breath hitches and sweet profanities being whispered to you. In one swift motion, he pulls you off of him and wipes your lip with the pad of his thumb.

“You take me so well, better than any other girl I’ve had. But I want to cum later, mk?” You nod. “I want you to ride my face.”

“Wha-”

“Please. I’ve waited for this too. I have dreams of you and I wake up so fucking hard, baby.”

His confession has you placing both knees on the side of his head.

“Tell me if I’m crushing you, okay?” you say seriously.

“Fuck that. Ride my face, hard.”

He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you onto his face. His tongue runs between your folds and circles your bundle of nerves strategically. He sucks on your clit pulling it between his lips and letting it go again. You grind into him, your hand smearing on the window like the Titanic. You’re a huge mess above him, crying his name and cursing. He groans into your core, the vibrations unleashing a whole new kind of moan from your lips. You pull yourself off him slightly and when you look down, you see two giant brown eyes staring back into you.

“You look so pretty between my legs.” you breathe.

His eyes stay burning into your soul as he slides a finger into your heat, his tongue flicking once over your sensitive bead. You cry out once. Then again when he slides a second finger into you. As if he's an expert, he finds your G-spot immediately. His fingers pump in and out of you at the same rhythm as his tongue. Rockstars are the fucking best.

Completely lost in the feeling, you grind into his face, your hands tugging in his perfect curls. You ride his face, chasing your own high. “Josh. I’m gonna cu-” The words barely leave your mouth. You scream and thrash above him, his arms keeping you glued to his face as he continues to lap mercilessly at your throbbing clit. The adrenaline and heat floods your bloodstream, making you extremely dizzy. If he wasn’t holding you into him, you probably would have fallen over.

After a few seconds, you detach yourself from your brother’s best friend’s face. It’s soaked with your cum and arousal, but his smile lets you know there’s no other way he’d have it. Crawling off of him, you straddle his cock. It’s pulsing between your legs. Having enough, Josh flips you onto your back. He leans over you wearing a shit-eating smirk proudly.

“Ready, baby?” he asks as he lines himself up. “Gonna fuck this tight little pussy and you’re gonna take it like a good girl.”

He pushes into you, not all the way, but enough. You cry at the feeling of being stretched, your hands clawing at his back. You both moan as he rocks his hips into you again. You’re dripping all over him, making a mess in his back seats.

“God, look at you. It’s barely in and you’re fucking withering.”

“Give it to me,” you beg. “Treat me like the slut I am.”

He pulls back before thrusting completely to the hilt. Your back arches, a cry leaving your mouth. It fucking hurts, but it feels like heaven.

“You feel like velvet.” his hips snap again. “Such a pretty, perfect pussy.”

Josh tucks his head into your neck, kissing and sucking across your collarbone. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to keep him deep inside you. He snaps in and out of you at an insane pace. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, your mouth hanging open.

“So big,” you whisper. “Filling me up.”

With every deep thrust, you’re overcome with ecstasy. He twitches inside of you, causing you to squeeze around him. He cries in your ear, his lips tugging at the skin. His rough hand dances between your bodies, settling on your sweet spot. The pad of his thumb circles aggressively across your bundle of nerves. Your whole body is aching and arched at his touch.

“Do it, mama. Cum for daddy. Cum all over his cock, Y/N. Give it to me.”

Your body tightens as you cry his name like a story. Your nails dig and scratch at his back, surely to leave a thousand tiny cuts. As you pulse around him, he rolls you both over so you’re on top. You sink into his skin, the feeling of his cock still hard inside of you making you tired. As it twitches, you shoot up, you eyes wide open.

“You didn’t cum-” you hiss.

“Shh baby. Ride me?” He kisses your forehead.

The idea makes you smirk. You never did much with your first, or second. They weren’t into anything besides missionary and you giving them head. Josh wanted it. All of it.

You line him up and sink onto him as he throws his head back. With hands gripping either side of your waist, he pulls you down into him so you’ve taken every inch. His mouth hangs open as he watches you slide up and down slowly on his length, taking him as best as you can.

“I’ve never done this.” you admit in a sloppy tone.

“Like any of this?” Josh pauses and stares at you.

“I’ve had sex, Josh. Just not positions. Can you tell me how you like it?” You ask.

“Fuck. We don’t have to-”

“No. I want to. So bad. Just talk me through it.”

Josh, with both of his hands on your hips, guides you. You get the memo and roll your hips against him. “Yes, just like that. Ride it.” His words make you pick up your pace. As you figure things out, you add a few tricks to it. He’s whimpering below you, cursing your name as you fuck him just how he likes it. His hand harshly smacks the fat of your ass cheek and you cry his name. He twitches inside of you, letting you know he’s close. With one rough thrust, you collapse onto his chest. Your hands tangle in his curls, your rhythm matching his thrusts. “Your tits are so hot. Could watch you like this forever.”

He plants a sloppy kiss on your lips, the sound of wet skin filling the car. You feel yourself close again, noticing how your own body reacts. You squeeze around his length.

“Gonna cum again?” he teases. You mumble under your breath. Your hair is glued to your red, fucked out face as you take every inch. Josh wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from moving and his other hand connects with your clit. You’re done for. “Yes! Fuck yes!” he cheers as another mind blowing orgasm rips through your body.

You tremble above him and buck against him as you come down from your high. Your foreheads connect and stick together from the sweat. He leans up and kisses you softly, tucking hair behind your ears and wiping a few stray tears from your eyes. His cheeks are flushed and you cup them with your hands, admiring his state.

Once again, he flips you onto your back, his cock leaving you. You squeak in slight disappointment. “I can’t cum again, Josh.” You admit, eyes still closed.

“Wanna stop?” he asks sweetly, cupping your face.

“No.” you say honestly.

He flips you on your stomach in one solid, swift motion. “Good. I’m not finished with you. Stick your ass up, sweet girl.” He smacks it as you lift it off the wet seats.

You watch him from over your shoulder, his fingers toying with your entrance. He looks so pretty in the light you just want to fuck his face again. He fists his cock, stroking it while staring at your leaking pussy. He curses under his breath and circles your hole, oblivious that you’re watching. When he sees, he circles the head of himself over your sensitive clit. You shudder as he sinks himself back into you, this new angle unlocking a new level of pleasure.

He doesn’t move which makes you grow impatient. “Josh.” you cry, elongating the ‘o’ in his name. You push yourself against him, searching for movement.

“Awe. Pretty girl is so hungry for me even though she’s already came twice.” he mocks. “Show me how bad you want it and fuck yourself on it.”

With another crack at your ass, you bounce onto him, your boobs brushing against the seats below you. The friction makes you bite your lip. Eventually, Josh can’t handle it and he meets your bounce with a thrust of his own. You wither from under him, sweet noises dancing around you. He’s pounding into you at a vicious rate. Not a single thought circles in your head at the moment.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growls loudly.

“Yours.” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yours! It’s yours.” you give in pathetically.

“Yeah it is. I’m fucking it like it’s mine because it is mine. Got it?”

“Mhm.” you cry, feeling his thrusts become sloppier by the second.

“Sorry, what?” he smacks your cheek and pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

“My pussy’s yours, daddy!” you shake.

One hand wraps around your neck as the other cups your aching heat. He splits his fingers, feeling his cock pound into you. You tremble against him, your breathing quickening. “Josh, wait. I can’t. I can’t cum again, it hurts!”

“Poor little baby,” he bites your shoulder and squeezes your neck tighter. “Wants to play the game until she loses, huh? Not here, mama. Take it.”

His words have you bucking against him, using your own hand to circle your clit. He smacks it away and replaces it with his own. You both let out unearthly sounds as you approach your climax. With one final thrust, he spills into you which sends you over the edge yourself. You scream as your lips connect, his cock still spasming inside you. You fall flat on your chest and Josh pancakes you to the seat, his cock still buried inside of your walls.

“That’s my good girl.” he kisses your hair. Pleasure still floods through you, your brain barely processing a word he said. With hands planted on either side of you, he pushes himself off your body and pulls himself out. You feel the strands of cum fall from him and onto your thighs. “Jeeeez.” he says.

You flip onto your back, your chest still heaving. Josh is between your legs on his knees, throwing his shirt over his head before placing another kiss on your cheek.

“Does daddy just fuck you so good you can’t even get dressed?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The aggressive act is gone and replaced with the loving Josh you’ve grown up with.

“So good.” you smile, pulling him in for another kiss.

He falls onto you, his curls brushing across your face. Using your tits as pillows, he lays comfortably. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

You sigh and giggle. “You’ve already fucked me Josh, no need to be a suck up.”

He lifts off of you again. “I’m not sucking up. You’re perfect, and I want this.”

“What?” the words tumble out of your mouth. “What about tour and the girls-”

“It’s you, Y/N. It’s always gonna be you. They mean nothing to me. They never have and never will. With you it’s real, and I want it.”

“But, Henry.”

“Fuck Henry. I was done with him the second he called you a slut. Only I get to call you that.” he jokes, kissing your nose.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Are you?” He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“Josh I’ve been in love with you my whole life. You just fucked me so hard I won’t be able to walk for a few days and now you want me to be your girlfriend. I’m sorry if it’s going to take me more than a few seconds to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” he apologizes and lays back on your chest. “We have all the time in the world, darling.”

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is-she-suffering · 3 months

Text

8 April 2000 -Telegraph Magazine

Disturbed and disturbing, Katie Jane Garside fronted the band Daisy Chainsaw, prophesied the end of the world - and then disappeared. Seven years later she’s back, ready to shock again.

QUEEN ADREENA were on stage for only half an hour or so. The audience at London’s Hammersmith Palais had come to see Bush and the collected youths did not know what to make of this support act. It’s lead singer, Katie Jane Garside, is thin, provocative and confrontational. She has uncut Miss Havisham hair and wears pervy Victorian underwear. Twisting and squirming in the dark, often screaming, often prostrate, often turning her back to the audience, she is a performance artist rather than some chart-lipsticked Everywoman. Sexual in a very weird way, she looks as if she is lap-dancing in a gas-chamber. The blokes stare in disbelief. They shuffle about. Then, as the mike goes between her legs, they jump up and down.

Backstage afterwards the band squash into one of those huddles of Marlboro Lights and flushed analysis. There is a sign saying that CCTV is in operation and anyone taking drugs will be handed over to the police immediately. Orson, the bass guitarist, is wearing a long burgundy evening dress and complaining that his shoulder hurts because he fell off his horse. In Surrey. Very rock'n'roll. An individual wearing a jacket which looks as if it was made out of Wombles turns out to be Katie Jane’s boyfriend. She points to a huge man wearing black lipstick.

“That’s Billy Freedom,” she says. “He’s one of the weirdest people I have ever met.”

The lead guitarist, Crispin Gray, turns up. All eye-shadowed and Glam, Gray is from Islington and both his parents were West End actors. He understands theatre and has worn make-up for years, though not so much when he was signing on because he couldn’t face the hassle in the dole office.

“Quite a lot of girls seem to be attracted to the band and I’m sure it is because of Katie rather than me,” he says modestly. “Most guitar bands are still fronted by tough rock chicks trying to beat men at their own game, but Katie is not trying to be tough and I think girls like that.”

Katie Jane, ripped stocking, long lace bloomers, shoes that she has dyed herself, drinks quite a lot of red wine from the bottle and agrees that yes, she has come a long way since the days that she drilled babies’ heads

She used to shave her head. In 1992 she went around as Daisy Chainsaw, a short-lived, explosive act distinguished by the dramatic theatre of self-battery. In seizure to a megaphonic fuzz of electric guitar, she sang I Feel Insane and other loud angry songs coloured by dervish dancing and props - a doll, red paint, stained wedding dresses, wigs and dead flowers.

Those who went to see her perform in Deptford pubs described a grimy child-woman convulsing to ‘grandcore punk riffs’, and quoted scenes of fury. “I hit Crispin and he beats the shit out of me,” she said at the time. “Once he smashed me against a wall and I played a gig with blood running down my face.”

Daisy Chainsaw were managed by an ex-punk named Jason and they did pretty much as they pleased, turning down Glastonbury, Top of the Pops and advances from Madonna’s label, Maverick. “I think Katie is psychotic,” the bassist once said. “She lives through her emotions rather than her brain.”

She was accused of manufacturing her madness in order to merchandise pain, a useful pop trick subsequently deployed by Alanis Morissette et al. But Alanis is acceptable: she likes lipstick, takes a bath and conforms to the dreadful truth that a haircut can make you happy. Katie Jane is more unfathomable than this; she has no labels.

Pressed to explain herself she came up with a range of disparate theories founded on a basic witchy eccentricity that deviated into an offbeat belief system. She took on everything from white magic to David Icke, the former spokesman of the Green Party who announced that he was the Son of God.

“People can laugh,” she said at the time. “But I always realised the insignificance of role-playing and he gave me the courage to stand up for my convictions.”

In essence, she wanted to break down conditioning and communicate some of the terror and disillusion that we all feel. She enacted ugly sadness. Most of all, though, she was a fatalist. She did not think about where she would be when she was 30 because, she said in 1992, the world was due to end in 1998.

Daisy Chainsaw were not commercial and in 1993 they split up. The world did not end and now Katie is 30. She went away for five years, had a nervous breakdown, and now she’s back.

“I had worked really hard for a long time and given too much away. When I look back, Daisy Chainsaw represented a bottleneck of desperation and that is why it came out in such violence.”

The climate is different now. In 1992 the queens of the scene were L7, Babes in Toyland and Courtney Love’s Hole. They were linked by defiant unprettiness, crashing guitars and a Riot Grrrl wildness. But the backdrop was middle-class. Some of them had been high-school cheerleaders; Courtney Love arrived from suburban America.

The contradictions between the rockstar on stage and the real person who created the image caused insoluble tension, and one which arguably destroyed this genre. L7 disappeared; Hole simply sold out. There are no wild women now. No one dares to be odd or to flout the diktats of traditional beauty because they know it won’t get them on magazine covers. That is why Katie Jane is important. She is difficult to manipulate and difficult to package and thus encourages healthy deviance from the universal definitions of 'normality’.

In 1992, Katie Jane signed on, drove her 'patchwork’ Mini on a ley line from Cornwall to Norfolk, recorded the wind on DAT, mucked about with a musician from Test Department (a cutting-edge industrial band), stayed in a haunted house, did some group therapy, had visions, nearly went mad, but avoided prescription drugs.

“The doctor told me that, emotionally, some people have a football pitch and some people have a rocky landscape. I chose to stay with the rocky landscape. It was what I was born with.”

You have to trust nature, she believes. “I don’t think psychotherapy works. It simply creates a new set of crutches.”

She laughs and tells a story about the afternoon she was sitting in the hollow of a tree and all these blue tits flew around her in a huge flock. Very strange things have always happened to her. “I do hear voices,” she admits. “But it’s not a regular thing.”

Her life is full of entities and strange synchronicity. There is a Zulu warrior that watches out for her - “I have seen his face,” she says. She could be psychic or she could simply be someone who looks at a lot of different ideas, feels everything and understands empathy.

One day, a year or so ago, she was walking down a street in Belsize Park and ran into Crispin Gray. They had not seen or spoken to each other since the Daisy Chainsaw days. He had tried to run the band without her and it had not worked. They needed a singer. “It did not end properly,” he says. “And I knew it wasn’t over.”

Katie Jane re-entered the music business in her own inimitable way. One meeting with a record company executive was staged on Hampstead Heath.

“There is a beautiful undergrowth bit,” she says. “My friend Louise led him to this clearing. Then we stood there and did a cappella. I said nothing and he gave me a big lump of money.”

So now they are back with a manager, an agent and a public relations company. Their name, Queen Adreena, arose from Katie’s dream about a warrior queen. Later, looking in a book by Annie Sprinkle (a porn star/performance artist) she noticed that 'Queen Adrena’ was the name of a legendary Californian dominatrix.

There is a new album, Taxidermy, and a CD-ROM of their new songs played to complement a black and white film made by Martina Hoogland-Ivanow, a 25-year-old photographer/director.

Katie Jane Garside grew up in Salisbury, the child of an army background. When she was 12 her father announced that the family were going to live on a 33ft yacht. The sailed around the world for four years. As teenage girls, Katie Jane and her younger sister, Mel, saw deserted islands, ate meals out of tins and disappeared into the realms of imagination.

Finally, they ended up near Poole where Katie attended a rough state school. She was beaten up for many things, but mostly because she had very small bosoms, a memory which transmuted (as these things do) to become a part of her work.

At 17 she arrived in London, penniless but determined. Then she met Crispin Gray when she answered an advertisement in a music paper, and her professional life, from then on, was about working with him.

The voyage around the world had left her feeling different and displaced. She was left with a love of the ocean, and indeed all places that allow a person to be alone. She is still displaced. When you ask her where she lives she says she doesn’t really know. She has lived in a lot of places. She wanders around in her thrift-store chic, with a battered brown leather suitcase containing all her possessions, her pale flesh bruised from falling around on stage. There is an atmosphere of acceptance around her. She will end up where she ends up.

“You might become a major rock icon,” I say, thinking this would be a good thing.

She smiles. “That would be a funny place to be.”

Jessica Berens

#queen adreena #interview #2000 #taxidermy

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