SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 5 - Becoming a skinhead

Mum and dad arrived home about 10 minutes after I had left David to run mum's bath. As usual, they came in through the kitchen door. Dad always came and went through the kitchen door, but mum preferred the front door unless with dad. I was still upstairs finishing running mum's bath. David put the kettle on and sat down at the table and carried on small talk with dad. Mum fussed around as usual tidying up after us. David then told her I was upstairs running the bath for her, so she finished what she was doing and decided to come upstairs. David kept dad down stairs talking. To this day I still think it was his plan to soften the blow for mum and take the heat off me for a while, so that when dad saw me, mum would not be part of the row that would inevitably occur.

Mum came into the bathroom and saw me looking at myself in the mirror. She said nothing. She just looked me up and down and started to put her Radox bath salts in the bath. After she put the box of salts away she turned to me
"Your dad will kill you John. Why? Why now when your father is having so much trouble with them down the wharf." Her tone was soft and consoling, her concern for both dad and I showing. "You suit the hair style, but you will catch your death of cold. Those jeans have seen better days too, give them to me later and I will put needle and thread to them." Then she saw my face and tears weld up in her eyes. "Oh Johnny, what have you been up too. Your nose, that hansom beautiful nose, let me look at you." She gently looked at my nose then the grazes on my face. "One day I will be looking at this face in the morgue if you don't stop picking fights down the wharf. Please John, don't go this way, be like your big brother, and stay out of trouble." I must have started to smirk, thinking, "If only you knew mum, if only you knew your sons as well as you know your bible." but she saw me. "don't be smart young Johnny, your not too big yet I cannot put you over my knee." She threatened this many times, but knew it was just a threat of love, not punishment. "I can look after myself mum, don't worry, you should have seen the other guy. His mum has a lot more sewing to do." She suggested I go down to the doctor's surgery after lunch and get my nose checked. I said I would, and then left to let her have her bath in peace. I wanted to be next so I could go round to Micks place smelling sweet, but first I had to face dad.

Dad had his back to me as I entered and Dave looked up. I nodded to him and he smiled. He knew I had sorted out things with mum, now for dad. I sat down opposite dad and said good morning to him. He was blowing on his tea, which he would pour into his saucer and drink from the saucer. In all the years I can remember, I have never seen him drink out of a cup, even when we had visitors. He looked up at me and his faced dropped. You could see the anger building up inside him as his face got redder and redder. He was temporarily lost for words, but not for long. It came in a burst of profanity I had never heard come from his mouth before. My father was no saint, but profanities were kept for the wharf and never used at home until this day. It is the first time I ever felt fear of my father.

He jumped up from the table and ordered me out of the house. No discussion, no explanations, just immediately demanded that this fucking Nazi get out of his house. I was shocked. I was not aware of the Nazi connotations the skinhead culture had at that time. I ran from the room and left through the kitchen door. Where was I to go, what was I to do, I only knew this house as my home. I had never ever considered I would ever have to leave. My only thoughts were to run to Mick. Tears were in my eyes as I ran towards the high street, the cold wind freezing the tears on my cheeks. I had no coat on just the navy work shirt and the jeans Mick had given me. I did not notice the cold: I just had to get away from that guy calling me a Nazi. That guy was my father, why was he calling me a Nazi. I wasn't a Nazi: I was a skin, a homosexual skinhead. Not a Nazi, not a Nazi, I am a skin not a Nazi.

I banged on Micks door but he was not in. I was in hell. I just collapsed on the floor against the door and allowed the tears to flow. My master was not there. He would know what to do. He would help me, but he was not here. My life had gone from ecstasy to damnation in less than 1 hour.

It was dark when Mick arrived home: I had fallen asleep with my arms wrapped around myself, tears still running down my cheeks. He lifted me up by the arms and held me tight. He knew what had happened. Dave had finally found him in the pub. David did not know Mick, but had asked around and had located him about 6.oo pm that evening. Mick told David he would look after me and for David to go home and try and sort out his dad. I tried to tell Mick what had happened, but he just kept saying, "shush" gently into my ear and holding me gently. He didn't try to move, just held me, and comforted me.
"I am not a Nazi" I finally said sobbing "I am your's Mick and you are not a Nazi are you?"
"No." He said gently, "But many think all skins are Nazi's, they just do not know enough about our culture to know the difference. There are some, who use the culture for their own anger and nationalism, and the newspapers write them up as if all skins are like that. The skins culture is not that way. We are a brotherhood, a life style, a culture, an army of youth, dedicated to each other and keeping the culture pure and alive."

We lay on top of the bed, I in Micks strong arms. Mick talked about the skinheads and how they had evolved out of the working youth on the docks in England, how they associated themselves with the Scar and Reggae music of the West Indian culture. Many of the crews or groups were a mix of West Indians and white youths who worked together on the docks, and how the young working youth like myself had grabbed the culture and embraced it's strength. He explained how the white nationalists and Nazi youth had seen the skin culture as a vehicle for their hatred, mistaking pride and arrogance for superiority and racism.
"Skinheads are not racists" he said, "Their whole beginnings were from a coloured culture and brotherhood with the West Indian youths of their neighbourhood." I listened closely to Mick, as he explained the skinhead brotherhood, it's music, its pride in it's self, and the arrogance of being part of an old culture, the other youth of today could not understand. The anger was not at specific groups or races, but generally at society for the way they were treating the working class youth. I understood what he was saying and my heart went out to him. Here was this 6' 6" male god, with all the arrogance of his brotherhood and strength of his upbringing, being as tender as a lioness with her cubs. Yes, I was one of his cubs. He would teach me life, how to survive, how to be a brother.

There was a knock on the door: it was about 8 pm. Mick got up from the bed, turned on the light and opened the door. I could see David as the door opened, standing with my toolbox in one hand and a bag in the other. Mick let him in and David sat down next to me on the bed.
"Mum packed you a few things. Dad would only let her pack your underwear, overalls and your old jeans" he said apologetically "he said the rest belong to him, and would not let mum pack them. I sneaked your coat out and your tool box" I thanked him and asked how mum was. He said she was upset, but she would always back dad up. She will let dad settle down for a few days then try and get him to see reason. In the mean time, you will have to find a place to stay. He offered me some money, which I refused, as I knew he could not afford it, but he stuck 2 pounds in my jeans and got up.
"You need it more than me" he said, and walked over to Mick. "Can you look after him for a few days Mick? Dad is an obstinate pigheaded fool at times, but he will come round eventually."
"Yeh, no problem, there is a spare bed up in the attic he can use. I will sort it out tomorrow. How did you find us Dave?" Mick asked
"The queer community knows it's own Mick, you were not hard to find" Dave said with a smile. Mick looked at him then at me, and the penny dropped.
"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle, happy families. Did Johnny know before Now?" he asked.
"I told him this morning when he told me about this skin he had met and fallen madly in love. From the way he talked, I knew he had a deep love for you and knew I had to let him know he was not a freak, not alone. I knew he had to be able to talk to someone in the family and decided to confide in him. I didn't know it was you Mick until I met you in the pub earlier. I hope we both will keep each others confidence."
"You have my word Dave, both on confidence and with young Johnny here. He will be safe."
With that, Dave left. I was still in the corner curled up on the bed. Mick started to strip off, and I decided to do likewise. He came over to me and started to lick my chest as I took off my shirt and t-shirt. I kissed his head and ears, and then his face and neck. Mick was kissing and licking every part of my body as I removed the clothing from the area of covering. Likewise, he was slowly removing his clothes and I saw he was already well stimulated. I, of course was already seconds from ejaculation when he started whispering in my ear. In my attempt to listen to him, I found my urgent need to ejaculate had eased, and he stopped whispering and started to lick me all over again. Mick pulled back the quilt and we crawled in-between the sheets, pulling the quilt over the top of us as we continued to kiss, caress, lick and suck each other. His smell drove my senses wild. His sweat mixed with his body odours are difficult to describe, but I was acutely aware of a musky sweet odour and a feeling that this was his calling card to my inner desires. It was an animal smell. A rugged, violent, heady smell that filled my nostrils and my mind, my senses.

My emotional state and Mick's insatiable need for sex resulted in a night I will never forget. I needed to be loved and Mick was just the man to oblige. He could orgasm then rise again and again to orgasm each time, each more violent and more beautiful than the last. 3 times that night his love burst inside me. Each time his violence at orgasm was more painful but more stimulating to me. Mick's violence was not damaging, but felt in his grip, his arms, and his thighs, his thrusting, his mouth, his gyrations and body movements. For Mick, sex was a whole body experience. Every muscle in his body was used to give himself and his lover every possible pleasure, from pain to ecstasy, to sheer terror and back to love and gentleness. His mastery of the art of making love astounded me. He could keep me on the brink for over an hour then release me in seconds. He himself revelled in extending the pleasure of love for as long as he desired, then after a short period of relaxation would gently start the process all over again. The more we made love that night, the less his penetrations hurt. I was able to accommodate him easier, and his juices helped to lubricate and ease the penetration.

We finally fell asleep and I woke up in the foetal position cradled in his body. His whole body was wrapped around mine as if protecting me from the world. Yes this was what I wanted from life. I wanted a man to hold me like this forever.

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