SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 3 - Am I a skin?

It was 6.15 pm before I got home from work. I did not finish before 6.00 pm most nights, and tonight was no exception. A last minute grease and lube on a Renault Gordini had delayed me. Mum had tea in the oven for me, as dad always wanted his as soon as he got home from the wharf around 5.30. I woofed it down then raced to the bathroom to clean up for the nights meeting with Mick. The bathroom consisted of an old claw-foot bath, stained from years of leaking rusty water, and a small porcelain sink. The floor, like most of the rooms in our house was covered in old linoleum. It was cold and dank, and bathing always consisted of a flannel wash around the main body parts, with particular attention to the ears, as mum would shout up every time I was in the bathroom. A bath was a once a week luxury for us all. We took it in turns to use the same water, only adding a little hot water each time. The water heater was small and could only cope with one bath full. This was normally on Sundays, but I am sure mum cheated on us during the week when we were all at work.

I dressed in my best clothes and underwear. My underwear consisted of a pair of white cotton Y fronts, a white cotton T-Shirt and thick grey wool work socks. My trousers were a hand-me-down from my father, a pair of navy serge pants with cuffs and leather braces, a white long sleeved shirt open at the neck, a navy sleeveless crew neck jumper, topped off with my donkey jacket for warmth. Of course my work boots were given a hasty brushing and I was ready to race off to see Mick. As usual I could still smell that distinctive smell of grease all mechanics have, but it was in the donkey jacket and was the only warm coat I had. My hair, even though I had smothered it in Brillcream still reeked of oil. Brillcream and engine oil, a great combination.

It was already 6.55 as I left the house. Mick's flat was a good 10 minutes walk away, but if I ran real fast I might just make it. I have never run so fast in my life, my hobnailed boots skidding on the cobbled high street, giving off occasional sparks. This god was not going to find me wanting for anything. I would not disappoint him, ever. I arrived dead on 7.00 pm. Mick was waiting and opened the door before I knocked on it.
"Thought you weren't coming lad, had almost given up on you," he said as I entered the small dingy bed-sitter.
"Take your coat off and take off your clothes down to your underwear," he said as I entered.
The gas heater was on but I could feel the chill in the air as I stripped off my clothes.
"When you're stripped, come over to the sink and sit on this chair and put your head over the sink" he said masterfully. I was undressing with my back to him and when I turned around to face him, he was standing next to the sink with a cut throat razor in one hand and a thick leather barbers strap in the other. I felt fear for the first time since knowing Mick and he seamed to sense it. Grinning he said
"Don't be scared lad, this won't hurt a bit, but if you want to be around me, we have to make a few changes to your appearance." I must have looked puzzled for he tried to make lite of it. "You're a good looking lad but you can be a heart stealer with a small hair cut. Any objections Johnny?" I just shook my head and sat down on the chair. I had decided that Mick was my master that morning and if this was all I had to do, then it was a small price to pay. "Lean right over, don't want to spread your hair all over the room."
Instead of cutting my hair, he started to completely shave the hair from my head. In the odd moments he paused, I sneaked a look in the mirror and was shocked at what I saw but somehow it was exciting too. It was also sexually exciting as I started to feel the ever present straining of my underwear as my groin reacted to this new, exciting vision in the mirror. After about 15 mins, it was all done and I stood there gapping at my baldhead fully shaved like Micks, shining in the dull light of the single light globe, me, with a shaven head, me staring out from that mirror. It wasn't me but a new me. Angrier, with attitude, style and an ever-growing confidence.
"I'll make a skinhead out of you yet lad, that looks good on you. Now, to sort out your clothes. Can't have you looking like that when you are with me. Try these jeans on." They where washed out with patches of darker blue on them. I put them on but they were very tight and I had trouble doing up the button fly. They were also short in the leg, and were rolled up one turn at the bottom. Mick looked at me and smiled.
"Adjust yourself so your cock is bulging out in front" he said "Make it look like you have more than you can handle in those pants lad, learn to advertise what you have." I was puzzled by what he said but did as he suggested. It actually made the jeans more comfortable and sure did accentuate the bulge. Mick threw over a shirt and I put it on. It was a work shirt with long sleeves. I put this on and rolled up the sleeves just like Mick had on that morning. It felt good. The fabric felt rough and tough and good. A pair of navy elastic braces with red stripes on them was thrown at me next. After putting the braces on with Mick's help, I put my socks back on and then my boots. The jeans barely came to the top of my boots, but Mick had a pair of longer boots and his jeans fitted just over the top. They were the boots he had worn this morning, but now they were well polished and shone in the light. Mick wore a similar outfit to myself, but wore a better fabric shirt with short sleeves.
"Lets have a look at you then" Mick said as I finished lacing up my boots. "Yep, a definite improvement Johnny my lad, now we can show you off to the group"
"What group" I said innocently. I had heard of skinheads and the problems they caused down the wharf, dock pubs and at the football, but really knew very little more than that.
"The group, the crew that I work with lad. You will fit right in now" I was not prepared for this and he sensed my reluctance.
"Am I a skinhead now?" I asked
"A skinhead? No, you are just a lad with no hair right now, but if my feelings are right, you will be very soon. Clothes and a haircut don't make a skin, you have to be a skin, feel and live the culture of a skin, drown in their music, live and love their arrogance and confidence as if all else is nothing. No you're not a skin, but you will be." Mick sounded so confident. With that speech finished he grabbed my head and kissed me violently as if the world was his and I was his possession.

Mick grabbed his jacket. It was a military green bomber jacket with an orange quilted lining inside. He moved towards the door and I grabbed my donkey jacket and my cloth cap.
"Throw that cap away Johnny, that's the last time you ever wear a cap" he said "Wear your shaved head with pride, as a badge of arrogance against the cold. Let the world know you exist, let it know it no longer controls you" He sounded so strong, arrogant and stopped me in my tracks. I had never heard anyone sound so masterful. I was in awe of this shaven headed man, this skinhead, this god. I threw the cap on the bed and walked out the door. I never wore that cap again, I never wore a cap or hat ever again unless required for safety purposes at work, but that was different, that was allowed.

We walked slowly down to the dock area, my head was freezing, but I was determined to not think of it but to concentrate on what Mick was saying.
"Don't wander off when we get to the pub, stay with me and don't go to the men's room without me, you understand Johnny?" I agreed and he continued to give me instructions for the evening "I will buy the drinks, you stay away from the bar, the barman will throw you out if he sees you. Follow my lead and just enjoy yourself, but stay close. After the pub, we will explore your sexuality and find out just how much you really know." There goes my groin again. Please God let me learn to control my groin before I sink this island under a mountain of sperm.

The pub was typical of the dockland pubs on the island. Scruffy, with a stench of stale beer and urine mixed with smoke and sweaty bodies. The pub was warm and was packed with dockers and their wives, shouting and singing filled the air. Mick moved through the crowd with accustomed ease over to the far corner. There were several other guys there with shaven heads, and they were enjoying their beer and singing to the Bob Marley record playing on the jukebox. Mick hit the first one over the head with his hand and the guy immediately jumped up with fists flaying determined to punch out the attacker, but Mick was used to this and had positioned himself to be just that inch or two too far away. As soon as the guy saw Mick he jumped over the back of the bench and tackled Mick like a long lost brother. The group took up the chant of Oi, Oi, Oi, with Mick joining in. After the head slapping and body punches were over with, Mick introduced me to the group. Their names became a blur with the surrounding noise, but each slapped me over the head and punched me in the ribs and said welcome or words to that effect.

The night was a mixture of warm Guinness, warm friendships and Elvis Presley, Cliff Richards and Bob Marly filling the air. I felt great, Mick was very attentive, with his big warm callused hands on my crotch most of the night, and the guys keeping me in the conversation as best they could. I felt at ease with them. They never questioned my being there. They just accepted me as being a skinhead friend of Micks. Most of the guys worked down the docks, but one guy was also a mechanic for at firm on the other side of town to where I worked. I had seen him around before but never really took much notice till now. He kept looking at me then back at the guy next to him. His hands were mostly under the table like Micks but I did not connect this with him also laying claim to his crotch buddy.

It was midnight, the pub was closing and we were pissed as farts. I could barely walk. I had never drunk alcohol before and it went right to my legs. Mick and the others were also drunk but showed it less. As we left the pub, the cold hit me like a steam train and my legs went from under me. Mick grabbed me and held me up.
"You right lad?' he asked. I heard him in a distant fog, but answered him with a spew into the gutter. "That's right lad, bring it all up, will make you feel better"
After I had stopped spewing I sat on the curb getting my bearings, the group was hurling abuse at the other customers coming out of the pub, trying to get takers for a rumble. They were primed and bored and itching for a fight, with no takers. I finally got up and staggered around for a while till my head stopped spinning and my legs felt stronger. It must have been about 12.30 when a group of rockers in leather jackets and slicked back brillcreamed hair came up the street. They must have been to a pub down the other end of the street. They were on our side of the street, and the guys in our group started to hurl abuse at them. The rockers were confident they had an advantage with ten of them to our six, so came at us at running pace. At that moment, I just reacted as a member of any group would and threw myself into the fray with gusto. I was not shy to use all at my disposal. I had been to a tough school and survived many attacks with honour, although honour was not my weapon. Knees, steel capped boots, fists, heads and anything we could lay our hands on, we used, and within a few minutes, the rockers were running, battered and bruised from the scene. We were all blooded, but still standing, and as the adrenaline continued to flow, we all let out a blood curdling scream and jumped up at one another hugging with the joy of victory. I was now part of this group, I felt accepted and wanted. I had never felt this before with any of the friends or groups I had been part of. It was like family, blood brothers forever to be depended on for support, in all life deals out, for life.

We all walked up the road toward the high street. We must have looked fearsome in our shaven heads, boots clanking on the cobbled stone road, blood on our faces and clothes. Mick had his arm around my shoulder: it felt as if it belonged. We parted from the group at Micks doorway, with so much noise we must have woken up half the neighbourhood. Mick grabbed me and shoved me into the hallway, and as he closed the door, he grabbed my head and started to lick the blood off my face. I started to massage his groin, and I could hear his breathing start to quicken. He lifted me into his arms and walked up the stairs, opening the door to his flat then slamming it shut. He did not turn on the light, just put me down on the bed and started to kiss me violently and passionately, while starting to remove my coat.

We struggled to remove our clothing, all the while trying not to break contact with our lips. I was a novice but my passion was as strong as his and my eagerness for him to make me his tonight was burning in my mind. His hands were all over me, exploring, probing, touching, stroking, his penis was fully erect and strong. I reacted as his body reacted to mine. He moved down under the quilt and started to kiss and lick my back, moving ever closer to my anus. His tongue started to lick my arse and probing the orifice. Then I could feel his penis rubbing over my anus gently probing, then moving back the probing again. His fingers suddenly entered my arse and moved slowly in and out, in and out, then his tongue was in my arse and moving in and out, in and out. I felt his penis again only this time it was more insistent, and he forced it to enter just slightly into the anal passage. It hurt and he felt me react to the pain, but he soothed me with gentle kisses on my neck and ears. Again his penis penetrated me only this time deeper, with the pain more a stretching feeling, but again he withdrew and once more gently probed with his penis. It was big and thick, and he knew it would hurt me if he were too insistent, too quick. He was gentle and finally I felt him enter fully. The pain was there, but it felt good. To have him inside me was a feeling I had not even dreamed of. It was a feeling of joining, of being one. I felt warmth and love for the first time in my life. He held it there for a while, allowing me to get used to this feeling, before he gently started to move his body in and out, slowly allowing his penis to slide back, and forth inside me, moving his love inside me, allowing me to feel his love and his tenderness yet his strength, his masterful strength, his power over me, his slave. His urgency began to increase. His breathing became faster, his body becoming more insistent his member becoming stronger, stiffer, thicker, more loving inside me. His body started to move violently on mine his hands grabbing me, gripping my flesh in a grip of steel, causing me pain but causing me pleasure and stimulation to this pain. I was already in full erection, but had not cum, as every time I was close, he would cause me to be distracted and therefore my ejection was stopped,. But this time the pain of his hands gripping my flesh, his callused hands and nails digging into my buttocks was so powerful as to be an aphrodisiac and caused me to have an orgasm to beat all orgasm's. My juices burst from my body as if "Old Faithful" had just received a de-coke. I was a 500 cubic inch V8 dragster unleashed to do the ultimate mile. Mick came at the same instant and as I felt his cum in my body I wept with joy. I had found love in the most unlikely place, but I had found love.

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