SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 12

Saturday night was pub night. Sure there were queer pubs in the town but the skins couldn't afford them. And into the bargain the cleancut weekend-wannabee-skinhead brigade weren't really true skins in the gang's eyes. Fuckin accountants in bleachers who hung them up after their shag. Civil servants in the cleanest of fuckin clean Fred Perrys who had them fuckin dry cleaned on Monday mornin cos they smelt of smoke after a night at the bar. And no fuckin substance to the tossers either - knew fuck all about helpin a mate out, or makin sure that all their mates were OK.

No, the lads went to their local pub at the end of their road, where they felt welcome and nobody bothered them. Nobody dared, that was the truth of the matter.

This week, they had a new member. David.

"Come on, Dave, we're takin ya down the pub. This'll be the highlight of yer fuckin week soon, lad," laughed Buster as he called out to the young lad. David sleepily appeared at the top of the stairs. It had already been a long day - sleep was catching up with him.

Buster gave the lad the once over and told him he looked good. "But I'm goin to fuckin shave that head of yours again before we go, get in the bathroom, lad," said Buster, with no regard to how David felt about this. David did as he was told. It seemed that when Buster told him to do something, the best thing to do was just to do it. Simple as that. He went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, awaiting his barber. He didn't wait long.

"What u doin just fuckin sittin there lad, get yer kit off and get a red in yer gob," said Buster smiling. David peeled down his braces and took off his perry, exposing his tit rings. Buster lightly ran his fingers over them as he filled the sink. "Mmmm...," groaned David involuntarily as he learned for the first time how nice it was to have metal in ones tits. "You fuckin like that, don't ya, lad," said Buster with a smirk. "Mmmm....," was the reply as the young lad lit up a red.

Buster shaved David's head twice.....once with and once against the grain being careful to avoid the healing tattoos. On the second shaving, Buster pulled the lad's head close to his crotch as he stood over him. David could smell the faintest trace of stale piss as he was forced to bury his nose into Buster's bleachers. "Mmm....," he groaned as the razor scraped up the back of his head and his nostrils filled with the smell of his big skinhead brother's rank bleachers.

Just as David though the shave was over, Buster tilted the lad's head back and took of the beginnings of his eyebrow stubble away with a few careful passes of the razor. "Sorry, lad, we'll let you grow them again when you've lived here a while," said Buster, half apologetically. A quick peck on the top of his bald head from Buster made eyebrowless David smile - there was no doubt, he was beginning to relax. He even voluntarily lit up his next red. "Good lad," said Buster, "now get yer bomber on, we're off for a few pints."

The four of them then set off for the pub. David was not exactly impressed as he entered the pub. It was like another world, certainly not like the smarter pubs he had seen or been taken to by his parents when he was younger. The walls were painted a sickly brown and covered with cheap wallpaper that was torn here and there, a long-disused dart board hung listlessly in the corner. A few old men, mostly with reddened faces sat at one end of the bar, and the rest of the public was made up of middle-aged men and women, who had hardly bothered to dress up for the occasion, him with his pint and her with her gin and tonic. Somehow, though, this was the right sort of pub for the skinheads, nobody bothered them, they didn't need to bother anyone else, just right.

"This is where we sit, over here, lad," said Charlie as he motioned for David to sit in a corner of an area of the bar that was totally empty. Not long after they had sat down, the barman brought over four freshly tapped pints of bitter. "Get that down ya lad, it'll fuckin put hairs on yer chest, haha," said Nisbo, handing one of the pints to David, who cautiously took a sip. He tried hard not to screw his face up. Wouldn't have been his choice. He knew better though to complain. He also thought it wise to light up a red when the others did. He was doing well with his smoking quota but he had a way to go. Copying the others, he set his reds and lighter on the table in front of him.

The three skins began to chat among themselves with David listening in, and watching as one by one, or sometimes two by two, some more skins began arriving in the pub. One of them immediately caught his eye, because he thought he was looking at a double of Charlie - same build, same big bald head, same coverage of tattoos. The only thing that set this new skin apart was the fact that he had three ugly teardrops tattooed underneath his left eye. They looked home-made, even David could tell that.

"Who've ya got here then, Charles?" beamed the big skinhead as he walked across to greet the group, "Is this the one you were telling me about?"

"That's him," affirmed Charlie, "Dave, this is Spider." Spider stuck out his beefy hand towards the young lad, and almost crushed every bone in David's hand as he shook it heartily. "Charlie tells me you'll be stayin with them from now on," began Spider, "yer in good fuckin company." David nodded, afraid to speak, he didn't know what to say to this big man. He also felt he shouldn't stare at his eyes, but he was transfixed by the teardrop tattoos.

"I see you've been visitin Jimmy too, lad, can't get started soon enough, he fuckin does all our work," said Spider. "Yeah, Buster and the gang took me again today to see him," said David. Buster inwardly swelled with pride, and rubbed his leg subtly slowly up and down David's.

"Fuckin great job, Buster," said Spider. "Well, I'm off to see these other fuckin hooligans, lads, maybe see ya later, if not, see ya on Monday," he said, winking at Buster. David had the sneaking feeling that something had been left unsaid but he never questioned it. He had his reds quota to get through. He lit up another one. He cautiously allowed himself to feel good in the company of the other skins. And at least he hadn't disgraced himself or the others in front of Spider.

"Ah, for fucks sake, lad, hurry up and drink that down ya," said Charlie, pointing to David's pint, not even half finished. "I can only drink so fast, Charlie," said David, pleadingly. "Well we'd better fuckin make sure you get plenty of practice in the next few fuckin weeks, kid," said Charlie as he took the three remaining pint glasses to the bar. He came back with four pints, not three, and plonked another one in front of David. "Come on lad, get yer first one down a bit faster than that," said Buster very quietly, leaning over into the lads pierced ear, brushing his lips against the rings as he ran his hand up the inside of the back of the lad's MA1 to stroke his back, "Come on, do it." David drunk down about a third of his remaining first pint at one go. "There ya go, kiddo," laughed Charlie, "see, nothin fuckin to it. Now fuckin keep up with us!" That sounded like another order. The young lad lifted his glass and took another huge gulp. Pleased with himself that he managed even to finish the first pint, he sighed audibly as his third pint was placed in front of him, just as he picked up his second for the first slurp. He had a lot to learn. Bravely, he tackled the second pint, even though he was already starting to feel light-headed.

David wasn't even aware that Nisbo and Charlie had carried him all the way back from the pub and into his room and laid him on the bare mattress on the floor. Poor David had passed out after only two and a half pints. Not so much passed out, but rather couldn't keep his eyes open. The two skins laid him on the mattress, and as a last laugh, Nisbo held the lads legs apart while Charlie aimed a stream of piss at the crotch of the lad's bleachers. "Poor little fucker'll think he's fuckin pissed himself," said Charlie with a laugh as they left the lad to sleep off his excesses.

Buster couldn't resist looking in on his new protgr' when he got home and had heard what nasty Nisbo and Charlie had done to the lad. There was David all curled up on the grubby mattress on the floor of his room, which was as furnished as barely as David's head was bald. A bare lightbulb hung listlessly from the ceiling, a wooden chair in the corner and the mattress on the floor. That, apart from old beer cases piled up in the corner was David's room.

Still, Buster liked what he saw. A young lad who knew what he wanted and with a bit of help, was going for it. Buster couldn't help the rush of blood to his dick as he thought of how he'd been in a similar situation only months earlier, and how the lads had worked him over from being a good cop to a hard-nut skinhead. And now he was doing the same to David, quick transformation, like he'd had done to him. And changed him for the better, thought Buster as he felt his prick through his camo pants. David must have sensed Buster's presence in the room because he stirred on the mattress, and rubbing his eyes he began to wake up. He woke up with a start though as he felt his crotch area soaking from the piss. "I must've...."

"Sshhh, lad," said Buster, as he got down on the mattress beside the young lad. "Nah, you didn't, it was those two fuckers downstairs, they pissed on ya as a joke to make ya think you'd wet yerself," he continued. "Aww, really?" said David, incredulously. "Yeah, don't mind em, they're wankers, but they're good wankers," laughed Buster quietly, as he lit two reds, giving one to David, who accepted it without question and began to smoke. "I don't remember getting back from the pub, Buster," confessed David. "Nah, Charlie and Nisbo carried you fuckin home," said Buster with a smile. "Fuck," said David, " I don't remember that either."

"C'mere," said Buster as he stubbed out his red and hugged the lad close to him. "You're home now and that's what matters," he said, strokin the lad's shaved skull. "Yer here to stay, too," he added. "You mean I've smoked and swore enough," asked David, child-like. "Yeah, but you'd fuckin better keep both up," replied Buster, "or you'll be out on your fuckin ass again, onto the streets." David shivered. Anything but that, he thought. He tentatively returned the hug. Buster held on to him, "A fuckin pack a day by the end of the month, lad," said Buster, "or else." The young bald head nodded as Buster tentatively slid his hand between David's legs, feeling the young lad's dick get hard under his pissed up bleachers. David moaned gently with pleasure as Buster continued his exploration, David enjoying the older skin's smoky breath on his face.

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