SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 6 - Locked in Love

Mick dropped me off at work in his truck and I waited outside for Jim to arrive. There wasn't much shelter from the freezing northerly winds, but I wore my shaven head with pride, my collar down and my shaven look presented for the entire world to see and admire. Jim arrived about 5 minutes later and saw me standing there in my new look.
'Heard you had a hair cut from the doctor. He said your mother rang him and asked him if your nose would be ok for a few days till your father came round.,' he said with a snarl on his face. 'Got yourself in a right pickle this time Johnnie lad. How do you think my customers will think, you shoving that head in their faces? Most of them are still getting over the war like your dad. They don't want to be reminded about the Nazi's.'
'I am not a Nazi,' I said with anger in my voice. 'Skinheads are not Nazi's, they are just working class guys with shaven heads. The Nazi's are trying to give us a bad name. We don't need them to do that, we can do that for ourselves.' I had a smirk on my face when I said that and Jim saw it.
'Don't be smart, and get to work on that Prefect out in the yard. Give her a good going over for Mr. Courtold. He has it up for sale and wants it to look and sound good.'
'That heap of shit! That thing is clapped out. The best place for that is the scrap heap.' I said while I sorted out my tools. 'What is he asking for it Jim?'
'£250 with 6 months registration. It will be a good car for a beginner like yourself Johnny me' lad. You cannot break them tanks. Built to last you out to the grave.'

I worked on the prefect till smoko time and as I was washing up I saw my mother standing in the workshop with my lunch box in one hand and a thermos in the other. I dried my hands and walked out to her.
'Thought you might need this,' she said smiling, 'I have made you some roast beef sandwiches from last nights dinner, and some nice hot soup in the thermos. Don't tell your dad I brought this for you, he is a bit upset at the moment. What were you thinking Johnny; you know your dad had a bad time in the prison camp in Germany during the war. It will take some time to bring him round, so stay out of trouble till he does. I must be off; I still have to finish scrubbing the floor and the front steps before your dad comes home. When you have finished your lunch leave the thermos on the table and Dave will pick it up on his way home. I will see you tomorrow.' Mum fused around a bit before turning to go.
'Thanks mum, I appreciate your coming down with this for me. I didn't do it deliberately. It just happened and I really think I have found a purpose for my life. Oh I know I am only 16, but I will be 17 in 5 weeks and I know that this culture is what I have been looking for. They are not Nazi's, mum. They are just guys like me who have an interest in the same music, love of a culture and use the shaved head for recognition and respect. The Nazi's have taken the look and image and tried to turn it to their racist ends. I will never give the skinheads up mum, no matter what. I am a skinhead and if that means dad will not talk to me then I must accept that. I don't want that to happen, but dad must accept I have to live my life to my own set of rules and goals, not his.' I gave mum a kiss and hugged her. She kissed me on the cheek, turned, and left. Mum was to bring me my smoko and lunch every day from then on and dad never found out.

I arrived back at Micks around 6.15 pm. Mick had the kettle on and poured me a cup of tea as soon as I entered. I sat down and drank the tea while Mick talked about the crew and how with the truck the crew could work quicker and therefore get more money and bonus. I asked who the crew were and he said that the guys we went to the pub with on Saturday night were the crew, except Frankie, the mechanic, but he was going to start with them on the wharf at the end of March when the flower and tomatoes season started.
'Are there other skinhead groups on the wharf?' I asked
'There are a couple, one group works for your father on his shift. They are a right wing group. Nasty bastards they are, always in trouble with the union and your father. The other group is on the late shift. They are mostly West Indians and are a heterosexual group. My crew are all queer, that's why we get on so well, and we have no moral expectations of each other.' Mick then started to give a brief summary of each member of the crew. 'The guy with Frankie was Hugh. He was a labourer on the wharf and got beaten up by the right-wingers when he got caught looking at one of them when at the toilet. Beat him up bad. Frankie found him while down the wharf fixing a truck, and looked after him. It was 3 weeks before he could even talk again. They are now inseparable. The other 2 were Garth and Cedric (Sid for short). Garth met Sid in London while on holiday last year. They had a torrid love affair in the London Underground lasting all of 15 minutes and decided to tour Britain together. Sid was in a bank and just threw in his job that day and followed Garth. Sid was not a skin and did not take up the culture for almost 3 months after meeting Garth. He followed Garth back to the island, tried to get work in the banks here, but could not get past the front counter. A job came up at the wharf on Garths team and Sid decided to give it a go. Garth refused to let him on the wharf if he did not at least shave his head, and the rest is history.' I listened with interest at how the guys had become skinheads. They all had some torrid love affair that they could not ignore and which had changed their lives forever. They had not gone out of their way to be skinheads. They had become skinheads through circumstances, much like myself and had grabbed the love and brotherhood with gusto.

Mick had talked to the landlord earlier that day, and had arranged for me to sleep in the attic. It wasn't much, but it had a bed and a wardrobe with little else. There was no heating or cooking facilities, and the nearest toilet and bathroom was the one on Mick's floor. However, it was mine for 1 pound per week. Mick had accepted it on my behalf. He took me up to the small room. The ceilings sloped to a small area of flat. The bed was under part of the sloping area and only just fitted.
'Can't I stay with you Mick?' I asked hurt, thinking he wanted to get rid of me. 'I won't get in your way, honest.' I was almost pleading with him.
'Slow down Johnny, every man needs his own space once in a while, so he can be his own man and not something someone else thinks he should be. This is your little bit of space, where you can shut out the world and be yourself, if only for a moment. Think of this as your dressing room.' The connotations of that remark made me smile and he laughed, more of relief than through humour. I understood his thinking, especially after the happenings of the day before. I always had a door open to me, no matter what. I unpacked my meagre things and then joined him in his room. I dressed in my skinhead gear. Mick was still in his work gear. He looked at me as I entered and remarked; 'Looks like we are going out tonight young Johnnie. How about a quick one down the pub with the crew.' I agreed, and he changed into his bleachers and work shirt with the red braces. He put on a pair of different work boots, which were much higher up the leg.
'What are those boots?' I asked looking at the red laces and 14-hole design. 'Why are your laces red?'
'Skinheads have a uniform,' He said, 'Each piece has a reason for being.' My lesson in the uniform of the skinhead was then begun 'The skinheads began with the working class youth, so much of the uniform was based on their work gear of the time. The boots are an integral part of the arrogance and pride of the skins. Work boots with steel caps protected the skins from injury on the wharfs when loading and unloading the ships. Many cargoes were loose such as wheat, coal etc, so the longer laced up style was used to stop the boots filling up with dirt, the higher the better. You can get boots with 20 holes or more if you wish although 14 and 20 holes are the most preferred. The laces reflect the crew's colours. If you see a skin in the island with red laces he is one of us, a queer. Be careful though, red laces do not mean queer in all places. The bleachers were taken from the West Indian workers who worked with the skinhead crews. They were colourful characters and washed out jeans set them apart from the dull British wharfie of the day. The skinheads adopted this look and it has become their trademark. Their habit of wearing them short in the leg also gained acceptance by the skins. If it really be known, the West Indians were so thin, that to get a pair of jeans to fit their waist meant they had to buy boys jeans, but they won't admit to that. The braces have been part of the working mans gear forever. A workingman shows his braces, a gentleman never does, so for the skinheads to show their braces, is to show their roots in the working class and culture. The colour is the same as your laces. The working shirt with rolled up sleeves is again an identity symbol to show their working roots, although this is slowly changing and singlets and T-Shirts are making a presence. The bomber jacket was a cheap form of warmth for workman straight after the war, as the Army-Navy stores off loaded their surplus stores. It also gave the skins a military look. The skins took on the appearance of a youth army. So the skins became crews or squads (squadies) and the skinhead culture developed into a brotherhood with it's own uniform, culture, music. An army of youth dedicated to each other, to their own group, their own turf, their own vows of allegiance and colours. When you can understand and accept this culture, you too, Johnny, will be called to the vows.' I sat fascinated by Mick's knowledge, his descriptions, and explanations of things I just took for granted. He was right, dressing like a skin did not make you a skin. Understanding each and every piece of the culture and being of a skin, was what a skin really was. I knew I had a long way to go, but I knew I would be a skin. I wanted it so badly it hurt.

Mick and I went down the pub and met up with the crew. Frankie had been paid that day as his boss had been away on Saturday when he normally got paid. He paid for the first round and most of the other rounds. I came to realise that the crew looked after each other. If one of the crew had money, they all drank. No exceptions. If one of the crew had problems it was a problem for the whole crew. No exceptions. The crew was your brother; you always helped your brother. No exceptions. I felt comfortable in the group and the group accepted me as a part of the crew. Mick told them of my skirmish with my dad and they all vowed to look after me. All were annoyed at being classed as Nazi's but understood where my dad was coming from. 'Any problems Johnnie just let us know. We'll sort him out for you' they said as one. We drank till closing and all walked back down towards the high street. No rockers in sight tonight, but we were happy and rowdy as usual and caught the attention of the local bobby. We gave him some light-hearted cheek and received some stern warnings back but little else.

As we climbed the stairs, Mick suggested we christen my bed. I didn't need a second invitation and didn't stop at Micks room, but went straight up to the attic. How many times can you experience ecstasy with the same man, doing the same thing? I hope I never find out. It was again an experience, to rival all that had gone before. Pain, tenderness, love, and violence. His mastery of all will never cease to amaze me. He made love to me only once that night with all the passion he could muster. Then the unexpected happened. Mick had just climaxed inside me and had allowed his penis to soften slowly. He withdrew slowly which I was surprised at, as Mick had always stayed in me for as long as he could. Mick then started to work me up and as I stiffened and grew closer to full erection, he moved me behind him and guided me to his glory hole. To date I had only penetrated his anus with my fingers and tongue, but tonight was to be a pleasure for the both of us. I had never ever had sex before, not even with a girl, even though I had boasted to my mates of the many conquests in the bushes at the back of the school. Mick was a big man but his anus was very tight. I tried to penetrate several times without success, so I moved down and started to lick the anus gently probing with my tongue. I could feel Mick becoming excited and started to move my tongue in further and more quickly. He then grabbed my head and moved it up allowing me to probe once again with my penis. This time he was more receptive to my probing and I inched inwards, pushing gently, then pulling back a little then pushing inwards some more until I was fully inside him. Now I know the feeling Mick had when inside me. Warm, exciting, the feel of muscle squeezing your penis as you expand inside. The smooth movement as the body fluids lubricate you to allow you to fill the cavity with your love. You want to push more and more, to enter his body with your body, your loins to be inside him. You push and push and push again, each time feeling you have gained another inch or more. Wanting your love to smother him internally, as well as externally. You feel his body moving and responding to your every move, never wanting it to stop. You feel Mick growing inside you even though you are in him. Mick is reaching his orgasm and you whisper in his ear and you feel him relax just a little. You realise you are controlling him as well as yourself and you realise you are now a man. Two men together, locked in love, forever a part of each other, for eternity. They may go their separate ways at some time in the future, but this moment will be with them both for as long as they live.

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