SkinMarvin Gay Stories

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |

Chapter 11

David looked pleadingly at Buster. The last thing he needed now was to be turfed out of the only place of refuge he had left, he simply had to stay with the other skins.

"So you'll do anythin, will ya, kid?" taunted Buster.

"Yes, Buster, anything. I can't fuckin go back anymore, I can't," implored David.

Buster blew the last of the smoke from his red and stubbed the butt out on the floor of the tattoo studio. Buster took his packet of cigs out of his pocket and opened them up. He put a fresh one to his lips and lit it.

"OK, boy, another rule about stayin in the house...," began Buster, "....is...this." With the last word he took his lit red from his own mouth and placed it between David's lips and held it there. "Take a drag, lad, yer goin to be a fuckin smoker, boy," commanded the older skin. David didn't know how to take a proper drag, but he sucked the end of the fag, and watched down, almost crosseyed at the tip of the cigarette glowing as he sucked on the red. Buster took the red out of the lad's lips when he was content that David had taken a sufficient amount of smoke. "How's that?" he asked.

David blew out the smoke as if he was blowing out candles on a birthday cake. "It doesn't taste very nice, does it Buster?" he asked. "You'll fuckin learn to love it, lad," replied Buster as he replaced the filter into the lad's gob, "now this time suck some smoke in, wait a sec then breathe it down into ya, lad," guided Buster. David did as he was told and began to cough, but to his credit soon got himself under control again. Jimmy and the rest chuckled to themselves in the background at the lad's efforts. Buster kept feeding David the red until it was all gone, urging him here and there where necessary. When Buster took the red out of the lad's mouth for the last time, David complained that his tongue had gone numb. Buster replied, "Good. But don't say it too fuckin loud or Jimmy will pierce it!" The other skins had a good laugh, but David just sat back in the chair trying his hardest to stifle the cough that he wanted to do.

"Here's the deal, lad, I got five smokes left in this packet, boy, and you ain't done enough fuckin swearin to stay in the house," said Buster, to a chorus of agreement from the others, who were getting interested in David's predicament again, having cleaned up the studio. "So, you can stay if you get all five inside ya by midnight tonight, how's that?" asked Buster.

"I'm just starting out at this, Buster, I never smoked before in my life. You'll get me fuckin addicted if I do that Buster," moaned David. Before Buster had a chance to reply, Charlie butted in.

"Listen, sonny, I've fuckin had enough of yer moanin, do you fuckin want to fuckin stay in our fuckin house or don't ya?" Charlie got louder every time he swore.

"Yes, yes, I do Charlie, honest," pleaded David, looking up, scared. Funny how a bit of pressure made him forget about all the piercings he'd just come through. Nothing was more important to him than being allowed to stay in the house with the other skins.

"Well then FUCKIN STOP MOANIN," yelled Charlie. "You'll get those five reds in ya like Buster says, AND the two I have left in my pack, AND whatever Nisbo has left in his packet, understood??"

David knew he couldn't argue. Nisbo approached and handed his packet of reds to the lad with a big smile. David reluctantly accepted the packet and opened it to see twelve reds staring up at him expectantly. He'd have to get nineteen into him before the day was through - a whole pack on his first day, and it was already approaching midday.

Buster took the reds he had left and the two from Charlie and put them carefully into the package along with Nisbo's twelve, handing the lot to David who was still sitting in the chair. "There," he began, "get em in ya before midnight otherwise it's the end of the fuckin road for ya Dave," said Buster. David knew the former was serious. "And when u smoke one, get the fuckin butt into the inside pocket of yer bomber - we'll wanna see at the end of the night if ya fuckin actually smoked em," added Buster. David knew then his fate was sealed. "But I've never smoked before," he moaned as he took the pack from Buster. "Well fuckin START!" growled Charlie from behind. Charlie and Buster knew really it wouldn't be too hard for the lad to start, given the amount of nicotine which they'd already administered to him through the "sticking plasters".

Buster helped the lad out of the tattooist's chair and had him pull up his jock and bleachers again. David gingerly pulled the underwear up over his new PA, wincing as the dick metal was enclosed in his jock.

The skins, including young David, left the tattooist after bidding Jimmy a fond farewell, all of them, including David (albeit gingerly), lighting up as they went out through the door.

Jimmy chuckled to himself as he heard the young lad cough just outside his shop.

"You'll soon get the hang of it," said Buster, "just watch me and take a drag when I do, Dave."

"It's makin my head fuckin dizzy, Buster," said David, remembering to get his swear words in where he could. "It's a fuckin weird taste too," he added.

"You'll get used to the taste, Dave, you bloody well have to if ya wanna continue livin' with us," said the older skin.

"Would you really throw me out, Buster, after all I've gone through?"

"Look, Dave, you wanted to come and live with us, so you have to live our fuckin way, Charlie's dead nuts about everybody in the house fuckin bein' like everybody else, inked, pierced, smokin, drinkin, swearin.....it's all part of the fuckin package, Dave.....so if you don't fuckin learn our ways you gotta go, simple as that."

David had finished his first fag, and threw the stub on the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his Ranger boot. "Ah, ah, ah, evidence, Dave, evidence," cautioned Buster.

David reached down and picked the butt off the ground and put it into his inside pocket of his bomber. Not three days ago he was a normal 18-year old just about to leave school. Now he was a tattooed and pierced skinhead apprentice who had severed ties with his parents and was being trained up by a gang of older skins who had reduced him to picking up cigarette butts from the ground.

Charlie and Nisbo walked way ahead, and Buster and David slowly continued their way through the town back to their house. David again could not believe the reactions his looks got from the general public. It was especially apparent to him because he had to walk somewhat slower than normal because of his new metal between his legs. He was very grateful that Buster hadn't left him on his own.

Without asking, Buster led the way into a McDonalds. "Sit yerself down there, rest yerself, Dave, and I'll bring ya somethin' to eat," commanded Buster, pointing to a table in the window. "You fuckin need it after all that metalwork goin in ya, lad."

David cautiously took the seat that Buster told him to. He could see his reflection in the window easily because of the way the sun shone in. He took in the sight. Boots, big boots, 20 holed Rangers to be exact - with white laces, each eyelet pulled as tight as they could be. His dirty-red football socks had been pulled over the tops of his boots to conceal the padlock through the top eyelet. Yes, he was still locked into his boots from the night before. Then the bleachers, cut to the tops of the boots so that there was no way that a single eyelet could be hidden. The bleachers themselves, a bit worn and none too clean. Distinct dirtier patches round the knee.

David couldn't help his hard on as he stared at his reflection in the window, his olive green MA1, again not the cleanest, and the black fred perry and white braces underneath. Above all though, there were his new marks. Those effectively had changed him from one of us to one of them. His hands. SKINHEAD on his knuckles. Swallows on each hand between his thumb and first finger. Not small either. His face. Rings though his ears and his septum. He gasped when he saw how much the ring in his nose changed his face, made it harder. And then of course, there was his head. Two days ago it was a normal looking head, indistinguishable from thousands of others. Now shaved completely bald, and marked indelibly for the rest of his life. He'd been turned into a skinhead. No going back.

His thoughts were interrupted by Buster carrying a mountainous load of food. "Thought you'd be fuckin hungry so I brought you a fair bit," he said cheerily. The daydream was broken.

"Dig in, skinhead," encouraged Buster as he put at least half the mountain of food in front of the younger lad. "Do you reckon I am a skinhead yet, Buster?" asked David earnestly. "Nah, kid, nowhere fuckin near it, but yer certainly lookin' the part," replied Buster, smiling. "What I do fuckin know is that yer better off with us than with yer fuckin goody-goody family, that's for fuckin sure!"

David raised a smile. "Yeah, you're right, Buster, I've dreamed about being a fuckin skinhead for months and now it's fuckin happening, and I'll never eat all this fuckin food," he said. "Yeah you will, just get it in ya lad, yer as thin as a fuckin rake," laughed Buster, "yer too fuckin thin, stick with us and we'll get ya fattened up a bit!"

Over the next hour or so, Buster and David chatted about what it was like to be a skinhead, how they both found skinheads such a turn on, Buster telling David that in a very short while he too wouldn't be able to imagine his life any other way, other than living every day like a skinhead. David listened intently to Buster, but it didn't escape his notice that the older skin was rubbing his boots against his own Rangers all the time. He noticed too that what the older skin was saying and doing was giving him a hard on - he loved the way that Buster looked and talked.

With Buster's encouragement, David cleared his pile of food - burgers, fries, coke, all gone. He sat back in the chair, stuffed. And a bit hard because of Buster's boots playing with his own. "Right, lad, get a smoke in yer gob," said Buster, sitting up straight in his chair.

Self-consciously, David looked around, and took out his packet, still with eighteen reds in it. "That's the way lad, get one in yer gob, hold it there, then light it up. Take a draw as you light the end," instructed Buster. David did as he was told, and soon was blowing out a load of smoke in Buster's direction.

"Right, now this time, take it slow, breath out a bit, put the fuckin red in yer gob, suck some smoke into yer mouth, and then fuckin breathe it down," said Buster, demonstrating each stage as he went along. David copied as best he could. His slight sway gave away that he had had a good hit of nicotine that time round.

"There, that's it, fucker," laughed Buster. "It's making me feel fuckin sick, Buster," gasped David. "Then fuckin take another drag," was the only sympathy Buster showed. David did as he was told, again taking the smoke right down into his lungs. Buster looked on, proud of what was happening. David stubbed out his red butt and put it into the pocket of his bomber to join number one butt. "Good lad," said Buster as he rose from the table. David rose too, but stumbled back onto his chair. All the goodness of that particular red had gotten right into him. Buster steadied him.

"You'll get the hang of it - just have a few more reds wiv me and you'll see, Dave," assured Buster as he put his hand on the back of the lad's bald head. David liked that. "Mmm....I'll try my fuckin best," said David, as he rose to his feet.

The two skins left the McDonalds, and David was conscious again of the stares they got. He was sure that Buster was consciously leading him through the most crowded of the shopping streets and he was sure that every shopper was stopping to have a look at them. That of course wasn't the case but given that two days ago David could have easily been any one of those shoppers, he felt like everyone knew that he was new to this skinhead world and it showed. He tried his best just to walk and act like Buster.

Not five minutes after they left the McDonalds Buster stopped momentarily in the street to light up another red. He nodded to David. David knew what he had to do. "What? You want me to smoke here? Here, as we're walking home, in full view of everyone?" Buster's rolled eyes told him yes.

"Fuck lad, you DO have a fuckin lot to learn," said Buster, trying to stifle a smile. He was becoming fond of his new role as Boss-skin to young David. "Don't fuckin tell me you're embarrassed to smoke a red in public?" he asked. "A bit," admitted David.

"Get one in yer fuckin gob NOW," replied Buster, raising his voice. "Okay, okay," was the reply, as David hurriedly put his next red into his mouth. He struggled lighting the cigarette and Buster came to his rescue. "I fuckin know what'll help ya get over yer embarrassment, lad," said Buster, "Gimme your pack of reds. And fuckin inhale how I taught you!"

David gulped as he took his first drag of the new fag. Buster took the pack from the lad and took another red out, closing the pack up again immediately. "Stand still a minute lad," he ordered. David's tattooed head flushed as he was made to stand in the middle of the street of crowded shoppers. Buster opened the zipper pocket on the sleeve of the lad's MA1 and stuck the pack of reds half into the pocket and half out, enough so that they were secure in there and enough that everyone could see that David was now a smoker. "There," he said, as he tucked the single red behind the lad's left ear, "That'll let everybody fuckin know yer a smoker until yer more comfortable wiv it," declared Buster authoritatively as he began to walk off. David, knowing it was futile to even begin to argue, took another drag and took a few paces to catch up with Buster.

Two more reds, and three times to pick up his red and put it behind his ear again, and the skins were home. Charlie and Nisbo both approved at how the young one looked with the fag behind his ear. He'd be keeping one there for a while.

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |