.
 
From Snob-Head
to Skinhead
by
Dougie fae Glesga
 

 
Chapter 1
My name is Anthony Gresham-Marmaduke. I am twenty-three years old and the son and heir to the eighth Lord Marmaduke. I was educated at Eton school and the University of Cambridge, however I didn't do too well at university, packed in after my second year and joined the family's banking business but didn't do too well at that either, lasting only four months.

I had several terrible rows with my father. He kept saying I should do something useful in society.
"I accept that you are not an academic person but you must get a job of some type making yourself useful to the community. If you are unable to get a job that you like, then do some voluntary work. Go overseas and volunteer to do work in the third world. If you don't want to go overseas get a job at a drop-in shelter for down-and-outs. Mix with working class people. Get a spell as a labourer on a building site or an engineering factory, a job as a postman or a van delivery man.

All of them are good hard working jobs and you will meet interesting people. You will also find out how privileged our family is compared to many others.
When I was a student I took a job for two months each year on a building site. It gave me a chance to mix with people I wouldn't normally meet and I enjoyed it."

I thought to myself 'Why should I get a job with common people? We're rich and I don't need to work. Father is sixty-nine years old and should have retired four years ago. I think the old chap must be turning into a communist or he's gone senile. Anyway, all those people who work on building sites are communists and would beat me up because I am a member of the aristocracy.'

I should explain that we live in Marmaduke Hall, a mansion house with twelve bedrooms, eight bathrooms, four reception rooms, a huge kitchen, a tennis court, a swimming pool and a garage large enough to house our six cars, all set in four acres of grounds a few miles from Cambridge. We also have an apartment (flat) in London. I have two older sisters, both married to rich families. Father must be worth about £40 million. I am the only son and so the title, the estate and half of my father's cash and shares will go to me on his death.

Twice a week I go to a gym for three hours. I like to keep my body trim for my regular visits to the French Riviera and the places to be seen by the glossy magazines. When I leave the gym I meet my friends for drinks at the Polo club. Life couldn't be better.

It was a month after my twenty-third birthday when my father summoned me to his office.
"I am very disappointed in you, Anthony." he said, "I have told you several times over the last year to go out, find a useful job and get some experience of a tougher life. You have made excuse after excuse. This time I am going to give you an ultimatum. You will go out and get a job as a labourer on a construction site.
You will live like an ordinary working class man for six months otherwise I will disown you. I cannot stop you getting the title but I can stop you getting this estate, and any part of the family business."

I stared at him.
"Me! Get a job on a construction site with working class people. You must be joking. Me! Work with those filthy, unshaven, uncouth creatures. No, thanks."
"Have you ever met many of these "uncouth creatures", as you call them? Some of them can be tough and unpleasant, I agree, but the majority, although they look tough, can be kind and helpful, share their last cigarette with you; and they don't put on airs and graces. You are getting too full of your own importance in life. Six months as a navvy on a construction site will knock some common sense into you. You regularly go to the gym so you are fit enough to work on a construction site.

Your allowance stops as from now. I have blocked your credit cards and frozen your bank account.
You will complete six months on a construction site or a building site and your allowance will be resumed. Complete a year on a construction site and you will fall heir to this house, its grounds and half the family's banking interests when I die.
You can go and think about. I have work to do."

I couldn't believe my ears. I walked out in a daze. How could I run my Aston Martin car? Who would pay for my four weeks winter holiday in the Caribbean and my spring and autumn breaks at St. Tropez? And where would I live? In one of those horrible council house estates?

I walked round the garden thinking this was a dream. ME. Get a job with these peasants. My friends would laugh at me. For the next two hours my mind was in turmoil. I had visions of my six month old Aston Martin being replaced by a ten year old battered Ford Escort. My holiday, instead of a month in the French Riviera, would become a one-day trip to Clacton.
I was almost in tears.

It took me an hour to realised I had no alternative and I went back to my father.
"If I take a job on a construction site can it be miles away from Cambridge and can I change my name and not tell any of my friends." I said to him.
"Agreed." he said, "You tell me the site where you are working and I will pass by once every two weeks to check you are still there. You can use the name Tony Gresham. That's fairly inconspicuous. When I worked on building sites I used the name John Gresham."

I decided to go to London, where my friends would be unlikely to see me.
I went to a charity shop (in some countries they are called Thrift Shops or Goodwill shops) and bought a pair of used army combat trousers, a pair of faded blue jeans, two denim shirts, a sweater, a scruffy and slightly torn black bomber jacket and a pair of used steel toe capped high ankle boots. I discovered later they were called 14 holed Ranger boots. They would keep my feet dry if I sank into six or eight inches of mud.

My father managed to get me a job on a construction site near Canary Wharf and accommodation in Bow, an area in east London. It was a room in a house and I had to share a bathroom and a kitchen with tenants of two other rooms. At least the room (12 ft x 14 ft) was clean, in reasonably good condition and surprisingly the armchair was comfortable and so was the bed. I thought all working class beds were hard.

Besides my working clothes father insisted I only take two sets of casual clothes, shirts, sweaters, jeans, underwear and socks as well as one set of footwear. I took trainers. I was also allowed a small radio, a portable 10" TV and a mobile phone. If I wanted more clothes, a computer, a larger TV or a DVD player I would have to buy them from my wages. This was to "teach me the value of money" as he put it.
Father paid for the first two months rent and gave me the equivalent to a month's wage in a new bank account. I wasn't allowed a credit card or cheque book. Everything had to be paid in cash. From now on I was on my own.

On the week before I started work, I went round the various areas where building was taking place, going into cafes and listening to what the workers were saying so I could speak like them. Some of them seemed educated. Talking about home improvements, their children, gardening and holidays as well as football, drink and sex. I thought the working classes only spoke about football and sex.
Twice I sat near groups of skinhead workers and overheard them discussing whom they had fucked. At first I was disgusted but for some reason I was fascinated by their discussions and continued to eavesdrop.

When I started on my first day I was introduced to three other chaps, Bert, Dave and Jim. I told them my name was Tony Gresham and came from Cambridge.
"I'm a student trying to make ends meet." I said, hoping that would account for my superior accent and lack of building skills.
Bert said "My cousin is a student at London University and tells me he has to get a job during the summer break as well. He's working on a building site in Croydon to make end meet."
Happy that my excuse was accepted I got to work. I was surprised how pleasant some of the chaps were.

Oops. I have to remember and use working class words. 'Chaps' was out. 'Guys', 'cunts' and 'bastards' are the normal expressions. They are more working class.
Bert was about average build. He had a mop of black unkempt hair, dressed in tight fitting faded black jeans (ingrained with mud), black T-shirt, yellow braces and a pair of rigger boots. I noticed the back of his jeans, sorry, the arse of his jeans was well shaped and he had a yellow handkerchief sticking out of his left hip pocket. I also noticed some chaps, sorry, guys had red or yellow or grey handkerchiefs. I presume it must be some fashion accessory.

I was aware by the second day that he was giving me a long look a few times. At first I thought he was sizing me up for a fight then I realised that he fancied me.
Well, if he thought he was going to stick his working class penis, sorry, cock, up my arse then he can think again.
The other two guys, Dave and Jim had crew-cut hair, were dressed in tight fitting army combat trousers, green T-shirts and army boots caked in cement. Although they were tough looking and cursed and swore regularly they were friendly and offered me cigarettes and to share their beer. Possibly because I spoke with a superior accent or the fact that I was also dressed in army gear.

On the second day Jim said "Tony, if you want an arse to fuck Dave is always available. He's a right little fuck'n whore."
"You don't listen to this cunt, mate. He's a fuck'n cocksucker." said Dave.
There was a bit of banter between them and they started wrestling on the muddy ground. Dave managed to force Jim on to his back and taking out his cock he forced it into Jim's mouth.
Jim didn't put up much resistance and opened his mouth and started sucking.
Huh! Typical working class. Having sex in front of everyone. Quite uncivilised. I kept my thoughts to myself but I continued to watch.

After about two minutes Dave took his cock out of Jim's mouth and started wanking furiously. Suddenly gasped and a jet of creamy spunk shot out of his cock and over Jim's face. The latter opened his mouth, trying to swallow the juice.
Jim took Dave's cock in his mouth and cleaned all the juice off it. He must have enjoyed the experience. A few seconds after he had finished I subconsciously rubbed my crotch. Why, I don't know, but suddenly realised I had an erection.
I quickly removed my hand. Damn! I'm getting more working class than I realised.

On the third day it had been raining heavily and I slipped several times in the mud landing on my knees and later on my back. Bert also slipped once. That was in the morning.
The mud had dried by noon and for some unexplained reason I thought the other guys looked quite sexy in their muddy tight fitting clothes.
Bert came up to me in the mess hut. We were alone at the time.
"Hi, Tony. Do you fancy a blow job? You're well stacked and I can't resist a big cock in a pair of muddy combats."
He dropped on his knees in front of me.

I was so surprised I just stared at him. I never made any attempt to stop him as he unzipped my combats and took out my cock and started to suck it.
On Thursday and Friday afternoons Bert was on his knees and gave me two more blow jobs. I should have been embarrassed having sex with the lower classes but I convinced myself that as a member of the aristocracy it was OK for a working class person to be subservient. Obviously I wouldn't suck his working class cock.

On the Monday morning of my second week I was clearing some rubble with Bert when I happened to glance up at three men in suits who were about 50 yards from us and studying a drawing.
A shock ran through my body. I recognised two of them. They were old university friends. But they came from Nottingham. What were they doing here? I pulled my hard hat over my forehead. I didn't want them to recognise me.

I turned to Bert and asked who the three men in suits were.
"They're the new design consultants. Took over today. Some firm from Nottingham. They'll probably come round every second day wanting things changed. Typical surveyors. They can't make up their minds. Apparently the last crowd had an argument at the week-end and walked out." he said.

A feeling of panic ran over me. It would be embarrassing for former friends to see me here and then tell others. I had to get a job somewhere else. I would make some excuse to leave. I could say I've sprained my ankle or I'm allergic to wet cement.
My chance came a few minutes later when a new guy joined us. His name was Ted. He was a skinhead, reasonably well built, broad shoulders but slim waist, ginger hair and freckled face. I noticed he had a black eye. Probably has been in a fight. Typical working class. Using their fists to settle a discussion.

He wore muddy tight fitting bleached jeans and Doc Marten boots. Despite his black eye and tough appearance I found something attractive about him. In fact I fancied going to bed with him. Then I realised what I was thinking. He was working class. That was definitely out. Once I had completed my six months I certainly wouldn't mix with them again, although I must admit they were pleasant and helpful at times, and Bert's blow job was enjoyable.
Bert knew the newcomer and said "Why did you come back here? I thought that site in South Ongar paid well."

"The pay was good. There's dormitory accommodation so you don't need to look for that. The site is three miles from the nearest pub and five miles from Brentwood. Nowhere to go at night unless you have a set of wheels.
That wasn't the main problem. All of the guys were ex-cons. They had been in prison for assault. There were seven of them and every one of them is a fuck'n skinhead. I had to get a number one cut before they would accept me. Normally I wear army combats but fortunately I also had a pair of bleached tight jeans and had to wear them.

For some reason they hated combats. The leader and his mate were beaten up by a gang wearing combats. The bastards virtually rule the site and the foreman lets them get away with it as long as the work is done.
I used to have my hair in a mass of curls. When I went home last week no-one recognised me with my zero crop." said Ted.

'That was it.' I thought to myself, 'Get a skinhead haircut.'
I have a head of light brown wavy hair. With a skinhead cut none of my friends would recognise me. Then I realised if I should meet them face to face they would still recognise me.
Ted continued "The other guy who joined at the same time as me left as well and the company has vacancies if you're interested. The work will be finished in two weeks and there is talk of the crew moving to a site near Rainham. The company is called Don Gee Construction. Dodgy Construction would be a better name. The two guys who run it are a pair of cowboys. No safety rules because no surveyor comes round. They pay the guys in cash. The workers are classified as self employed and it's up to them to pay their tax and insurance. Nobody knows who is officially employed and who is casual."

I thought 'That was the solution. Get a skinhead haircut and work in South Ongar. If no surveyor came round then I would be safe.'
I said "I might be interested. If there is free accommodation it will help me pay my university fees."
Ted said "I would give it a miss if I were you, mate. You need to get a skinhead haircut and these guys are tough. You're wearing combats. They'll eat you alive."
"I had a skinhead haircut last year." I lied, "and I can look after myself. I used to go to judo lessons."

The last statement was also untrue but I was determined to get off this site.
Ted said "There's a Don Gee Construction van at the cafe round the corner. You can go into the cafe and ask the guy if there are any vacancies."
I turned and headed for the exit and the cafe round the corner.

If I had heard what Ted told Bert next then perhaps I might not have been so keen to move.
Ted told Bert "On my first day, the other new guy and I were stripped and each fucked by four of the bastards. One guy fucked both of us. Then we had to lick their arses. The bastards do the same with every new guy who starts. The other guy had a posh accent and they picked on him a lot because he called one of them an ignorant moron.
The next day they handcuffed him to the shit pan for 2 hours and pissed over him. The minute he was released he was off the site like a bullet."

Five minutes later I was in the cafe talking to a man in overalls with DGC stamped on the back. Apparently he was one of the joint owners of Don Gee Construction. The outcome was that I would start tomorrow morning. The guy offered to pick me up this evening at 7 p.m. or I could get a train to Brentwood and be picked up by a truck tomorrow afternoon.
I opted for the 7 p.m. move. My rent was paid for five more weeks so if I didn't like the new site I could always go back.

I went back to Bert and Ted and told them the news.
"You'll need to get a skinhead cut and change these combats." said Ted, "How do you fancy swapping your combats for my jeans."
Bert said "There's a barber's shop next to the cafe. Go and get a skin cut when you leave tonight."

At 5 p.m. I went with Ted to the workers cabin and exchange my combats for his jeans. The jeans were a perfect fit. I noticed there was the smell of stale urine from them. I expect he was too lazy to go to the toilet. Typical working class.
I went to the barber shop. There were two other construction workers there so I didn't feel out of place and asked for a zero crop.
When I looked at myself in the mirror after the haircut I hardly recognised myself. A feeling of, perhaps a bit of arrogance, came over me. I felt tougher and more confident. Almost working class.
I went back to my flat and put a set of clean outdoor clothes in a rucksack and returned to the site at 7 p.m.

 
***

Chapter 2
It was 8 p.m. when I arrived at a site about five miles from Brentwood. It was out in the country. If I changed my mind then I had a five-mile walk to get back to a train station. Work had just finished. I understand the guys work from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Monday to Saturday. There was no work on Sunday.

I was taken to one of several portacabins, (temporary prefabricated buildings). This one was quite long and divided into three sections, a dormitory room, a rest room with a small kitchen and a toilet and shower room. We were in the rest room. It looked like a bomb site with rubbish everywhere. There were seven guys there. All were dressed in filthy muddy clothes and they looked a rough, tough bunch with skinhead haircuts and unshaven faces.
The man who had brought me in said "This is the guy who's replacing Ted. He's a university student and worked at a site In Canary Wharf. I'll leave you to get to know him."
With these words he walked out.

One guy walked slowly around me.
"Another fuck'n student." he said, "Well, we'll let him see how real workers welcome new guys. Let's sort him out."
I was pounced upon. A gag was forced into my mouth and tied behind my head. I was then stripped naked and dragged to one wall. Ropes were tied to my wrist and they were tied to two rings in the wall about six feet off the ground and about three feet apart. My legs were pulled apart and my ankles tied to two rings at the bottom of the wall. I stood spread out unable to move.

I felt grease being pushed into my arse hole. Seconds later the gang leader said "My name is Sid and this is my cock going up your arse."
He stood behind me and rammed his cock up my arse. I let out a muffled yell at the sudden intrusion. I heard them all laughing.

As he rammed his cock in and out I was stunned with shock at what was happening to me. It must be a dream. A month ago I was sitting in the Polo Club with my friends sipping a martini. Now I was being fucked by an animal. I was a member of the aristocracy. I could trace my ancestors back twelve generations and I was being fucked by a peasant who probably doesn't know who his father is, and probably doesn't care.
By the time the third guy was fucking me my shock turned to anger. This was my father's fault. He had ordered me to get a job with these communists.

By the time the sixth guy was fucking me my anger had transferred to Ted who had told me about the vacancy. If he hadn't said anything I would still be at Canary Wharf. . . and my ex-university friends. On second thoughts, perhaps I had better stay. It was while I was being fucked by the seventh guy that Sid said to me "You can go back to Cambridge and play hockey and chess with your class mates. You can always look them in the face and say you were fucked by a group of real men."

I knew then that I had to stay. No way could I go back to Canary Wharf and face my friends. I would show those animals I was tough and take their animal punishment. I suspected they were doing this to drive me away. They were jealous because I was educated and they weren't.
When I was released the leader sneered at me and said "Put on your clothes, little boy and on your way back to daddy."

I went over to where my clothes were lying and put them on. As I was putting on my jeans I said "I'm not at university any more. I failed my exams and my father can't support me so I need to get a job. I've no money. I came here to work and I'm staying."
I hoped that half-truth might work.
They stared at me and one of them said "We thought you were here to pass the time. The last guy here was a university guy and he called us a bunch ignorant half-wits. If you are here to work then that's OK with us."

The leader interrupted by saying "Who says it's OK. He's a fuck'n snob. All these cunts who go to university are snobs.'
"Give the guy a break, Sid. He said he failed his exams and no longer a student. Also he's a skinhead. We're all skins. The last three cunts weren't skinheads. If he doesn't pull his weight we'll soon tell him. The same way we dealt with that last lazy bastard" said another guy.
"OK. OK. But he gets baptised first." said the leader.
What did he mean by baptised?

They all watched me getting dressed. When I laced up my boots and rolled my jeans up to the tenth hole I was pounced on again. This time I was dragged to the toilet section and to a stinking WC, or shit pan as these peasants called it.
I was forced on the floor in front of it and my arms encircled it. Then handcuffs were fitted. I couldn't escape. My cheek was pressed against the piss and shit stinking pan.

The leader sat across my chest and pressed a piss soaked sock into my mouth, gagging me.
He stood up and they all took out their cocks. Seconds later I was showered in piss from head down to my boots. I lay there helpless as they stood and laughed at me.
Sid said "You'll lie there for the next two hours. Every guy who wants a piss will give you a golden shower."

It was now about 9 p.m. That meant another two hours of piss stinking horror.
It must have been about an hour when one of the guys approached me. He was about 21 years old, slim build, freckled faced and quite good looking. He reminded me of Ted at Canary Wharf.
"Hi, Tony. Sorry I can't release you, mate. Sid is the boss here. I was just looking at the bulge in your jeans. Looks like you have a big cock. I love big cocks."
He looked at my crotch for several seconds, then suddenly dropped on his knees and unbuttoned my jeans. He took out my cock and started to suck it. It was already semi-hard for the last hour. Why I have no idea. I couldn't possibly be turned on by these animals.

My cock shot up erect as he sucked it. I should have felt disgusted but I didn't. In fact I was turned on by it. After two minutes I could feel my juice building up inside me and, somehow, I didn't want him to stop. I wanted to shoot my load of juice into his mouth.

Suddenly my body went rigid and I let out a low muffled yell as my creamy juice shot into his mouth. He licked it up as if he couldn't get enough of it. He continued to suck my cock and I gave a muffled whimper as the last drop was ejected.
The guy pushed my cock back into my piss stinking jeans, stood up and said "I hope you don't run away like some of these other guys. I love giving a guy a blow job and fancy your cock up my arse."
He turned and walked away.

I lay there unable to think. I should be angry and disgusted with these guys but somehow I wasn't disgusted. Angry, yes; but disgusted no.
I then realised none of my friends knew that I had come here. These guys here didn't know me either so I could fool them. If I was to survive among these animals then I had to talk and act like an animal. I would have to curse and swear and fight and fuck. I liked the fight and fuck part. I would love my victim to be Sid. Beat him up every day and fuck him. Make him suck my cock and lick my arse. That's what the fuck'n bastards needs. A good cock up his fuck'n arse.
I realised I had started to think and talk like a working class guy.

During the next hour several guys came up to me and pissed over me then walked away without saying a word.
It was 11 p.m. when they all approached me and led by Sid.
"OK. Release him and see what he says now." said the guy.
My wrists were released and I slowly rose. I said nothing looking blankly in front of me.

Suddenly I sprung at him, knocking him over. He was taken by surprise as he landed on his back. I dropped on top of him and punched him in the jaw but before I could get another swing the other bastards were on me and pulled me off.
Sid rose and wiped the side of his face. I feared the worst. It was seven to one. He looked at me for several seconds then grinned.
"Let him go. I like him. He's a fighter. He's now one of us."

He put out his hand to shake mine. I was a bit wary but I put out my hand and shook his.
"Of the last two cunts who came here one of them ran off within 48 hours and the other was a lazy bastard. I gave him a beating because he wouldn't pull his weight." he said.
I thought to myself 'That must have been Ted, who had transferred to the Canary Wharf site. He had a black eye.'
Sid continued speaking "Benny says he fancies you so you can shack up with him. He's a right little whore so your cock will get plenty of exercise."

I found out that the dormitory section had room for ten bunk beds but now there were only eight. I had the bunk above Benny. I found that nobody slept in the top bunks. Two guys were in each of the bottom bunks and one was fucking the other.
That night not only did I fuck Benny, he licked my arse which I should have been disgusted but in fact I enjoyed. He fell asleep in my arms.

 

***

 

Chapter 3
From that moment I was treated as an equal, sharing booze, cigarettes as well as arses. Within four days I had fucked every one of them, including Sid. There was quite a lot of friendly banter between the guys. I was picked on once for my posh accent but managed to give a witty reply and they all laughed.
I have to admit these guys weren't afraid to work. In fact they were on bonus and each night one of the two bosses handed the bonus in cash to each of us.
"You don't want to pay tax on all this, do you? When you fill your tax returns say you work twelve hours a day at fixed pay and keep the bonus in your pocket." he said. That left me in a quandary. I dont like telling lies to the tax department. I can fill in the tax forms a month after I leave the site.

I actually enjoyed wearing filthy clothes and acting like I were working class. These guys treated me as a regular construction worker. I made sure I did my share of the work. By now I didn't want to go back to Canary Wharf. Perhaps Benny's arse had an influence on my thinking.
We work a twelve hour shift, six-days a week including Saturday. I was told that on Saturday night we could borrow an old transit van and go into Brentwood, Chelmsford or Romford for a drink. Or, any guy could go home on Saturday night provided he was back at work on Monday at 8 a.m.

"As no-one has transport we spend Sunday on the site getting drunk and fucking each other." said Benny.
By Friday evening, I had changed my opinions of my fellow workers. (You will notice I have stopped calling them animals) They're a bit rough and ready but not a bad bunch. Each day one would go out in an old pick-up truck and collect material for the site and at the same time buy beer and whisky or vodka for us at night. None of them went out from Monday to Friday nights. Each night they had a ritual. Each guy in turn is handcuffed to the shit pan for two hours and all the other guys piss over him. Even Sid, the gang leader, took his turn.

I should tell you their names. Besides Sid, the leader, there was Dave, his mate or "arsehole" as I privately called his mate. They came from Wembley in north-west London. Benny, my "arsehole" came from Leyton in east London and the others came from Dagenham in Essex. They were Jake and his "arsehole" Harry, and Chuck and his "arsehole" Greg.

I was told that on Saturday night we would be going out for a "booze-up and a punch-up" as Benny described it. I was a bit apprehensive. I didn't want to get arrested with the rest of them for causing a fight or getting drunk. I knew the other guys had all been in prison for assault. Even Benny, despite his baby face appearance loved a fight and was due to appear in court in two weeks for beating up a guy in a bar.

At 11 a.m. I was asked to go out with Greg to collect a small cement mixer, which had been hired out to a guy in Brentwood. We were in the town and had lifted the mixer on to the pick-up truck when Greg said he would go into the off-licence shop to buy the booze for Sunday "stay at home" party.
I was standing on the pavement beside the pick-up when a car drew up.
"Hi there! Tony." said a voice.

I looked at the car. Driving it was an old university chum. A feeling of shock came over me. I stared at him. He was looking at my muddy clothes. I couldn't tell him my father had cut off my allowance. I tried to put on a bright smile.
"Are you working on a building site?" he said, still looking at my muddy jeans and boots. "You're not doing the same as Toby Lyons, are you? He's working on a building site so he can learn to build his own house."
His eyes moved up to my face.
"And Jason Gordon's doing the same." he continued, "I must admire your guts. I would be half dead on my first day if I worked on a building site."

I realised his comments gave me the ideal excuse and quickly got over the shock.
I said "Yes. I'm buying a plot on Spain and I think I'll build a villa overlooking the Mediterranean. Six months on construction sites here and I should pick up lots of tips. I might even spend a year on sites."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Why hadn't I thought of that excuse before?

"I would love to build my own little shack. Somewhere in the country, away from the rat-race. I'm really impressed with your idea. Sorry I can't wait. Must rush. Trying to sell some high tech equipment to some boring old fart who doesn't want to part with his money. I wish I was working on a building site right now. It will be less stressful than trying to keep up appearances. Trying to impress people with the latest gadgets knowing they want it all for nothing. A good honest day's work is what I admire. If you hear of any vacancies for labourers on building sites let me know."
He gave me a wave and drove off.

I almost laughed. I had been embarrassed to let my friends know I worked on a construction site. I now find that two other friends were doing the same and a third one is jealous. He also supplied me with the ideal excuse for working among these guys. There was something else he said. 'It was less stressful than racing around trying to keep up appearances" and "A good honest day's work is what I admire."
Perhaps working on a construction site wasn't so bad after all.

For the rest of the day I was in great form. There was nothing wrong or demeaning working on a construction site. The guys work hard and in all types of weather. I realised my father was right. I was getting too full of my own importance. I was looking forward to the night out with the boys. In fact I was hoping there would be a punch-up.

We stopped at 8 p.m. and at 8.30 p.m. we were dressed in clean clothes. I had my spare pair of jeans and checked shirt. Both clean. I cleaned the mud from my steel toe capped ranger boots and Benny gave me his spare silver coloured bomber jacket. It was scruffy but fairly clean. We jumped into the old transit van and decided to go to Romford, arriving at 9 p.m.

There was a bar the guys went to. Apparently a rough crowd went there and Sid and the boys had a fight several months ago with some other guys there. I was looking forward to see some guys start a fight. I might even join in. I already had three vodkas before we arrived and I was feeling adventurous.
Within another half-hour I had a beer and two more vodkas. I confess I was beginning to feel aggressive. Perhaps it was dressed in skinhead gear and among guys who loved a fight.

Benny had gone to the bog (that's working class for urinal) and was returning crossing the bar when a scally, a guy in tracksuit and hooded top, stopped him. Within seconds an argument started.
Dave said "That's one of the bastards we had an argument four weeks ago."

Perhaps it was because I had too much to drink or perhaps I was feeling over protective towards Benny but I walked over to the scally guy grabbed the front of his top and brought my knee straight into his balls. He let out a yell and as he bent double I punched him in the jaw. He fell back and landed in a crowd of skinheads. They didn't take too kindly to him and kicked him as he landed on the floor.

Seconds later there was mayhem as guys started fighting. Skins fighting scallies. Skins fighting bikers. Bikers were fighting anyone in front of them just to prove they were tough.
A minute later a siren sounded and guys ran out of the bar and scattered. I grabbed Benny and ran outside. Chuck and Greg ran behind us. Once outside we saw Sid, Dave, Jake and Harry. We all ran down a side street to the van parked only about 100 yards away. We jumped in the rear door and hid just as two police cars race past us.

Sid moved to the driving seat, started the van and drove off.
Sid and Greg both had black eyes, Chuck had bruised ribs but the rest of us got off lightly. I was getting pats on the back and praise from the rest of them. I was quite pleased with myself. It had been a great day. Not only had I made the perfect excuse for working on the construction site, realised I enjoyed working on a construction site but also I was accepted as a true skinhead by my mates.

Did I say mates? Yes, mates.
It was only 11 p.m. Normally we would stay out until 1 a.m. but we decided to head back to the site in case anyone could identify us later if we stayed in town.
It was Sid's turn to be handcuffed to the shit pan.
In the rest area I said "Why is the guy always on his back when handcuffed to the shit pan. If he lay on his chest all of us could fuck him."
I was quite keen to fuck Sid for a second time.
"Yes." said Jake "Let's fuck the bastard while he's face down on the ground."
"And we can piss up his arse." said Chuck.
"Who said you can fuck me while I'm handcuffed to the shit pan.

Immediately the rest of us grabbed him and within two minutes he was naked and we dragged him to the stinking shit pan. He didn't put up any resistance for knew it would be useless as we handcuffed him lying on his chest. Perhaps we would enjoy the idea of fucking him at the shit pan.
He soon found out because an hour later he had seven lots of juice up his arse.

  
 ***

Chapter 4
On Sunday I had intended to walk to Brentwood so I could get a train back to London to check my room in Bow. Benny reminded that work would end in Friday, only another five days, so I didn't bother. Instead I stayed for the drunken orgy. During the day we all became drunk. By 2 p.m. I had fucked four guys. From 2 p.m. to 6 p.m. we slept.

At 6 p.m. it was more booze and fucking. At 8 p.m. Sid challenged me to an arm wrestling contest. The best of 5 presses and the loser gets fucked by the rest. But first we drink a half bottle of spirits. He would drink whisky and I would drink vodka. I agree and Dave brought forward the two half filled bottles. Within half an hour they are empty.

I was already drunk when I said. "I'll also lick every fuck'n arse and the lot of you can fuck me if I lose."
I was so unsteady on my feet that when we sat at the table to start the match I never noticed if Sid was drunk or not. Within three minutes Sid had my hand flat on the table three times and he was declared the winner. The others decided the arses would be licked first. I was then ordered to kneel near the work table and my wrists were handcuffed behind my back. It was five minutes per guy. The first guy to drop his jeans and lean over the table was Dave. Sid pushed my face into the crack of Dave's arse.

"Take a big deep breath." said Sid keeping my face pressed into the arse for at least a minute.
"Now start licking." he said and I started lick the traces of shit from Dave's arse.
"Get into that fuck'n crack." said Sid as he pushed my face in repeatedly.
At the end of five minutes Sid shouted "Next." and Dave was replaced by Jake. It was a repeat performance. Jake took over from Sid and pressed my face into Sid's arse for me to lick. It took 35 minutes to lick the seven arses.

The guys brought out two bunk mattresses and put them on the floor. I removed my clothes and lay down. Within a minute I had the first cock up my arse. The effects of the booze was taking place because I don't remember all six cocks, I think I remember stating that if I fell asleep to waken me up by belting my arse and my balls. It must have been after that when I passed out.

I woke up on Monday morning with a hangover, sore balls and red weals across my arse.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday seemed to pass like lightening. I found that both Jake and Dave were masters at telling jokes and funny anecdotes. I was actually enjoying their company. The embarrassment of my friends finding me on a construction site had gone. I couldn't care less. I was a construction worker and proud of it.

Work was complete by 1 p.m. on Saturday, five hours ahead of schedule. During my two week my cock had plenty of time to exercise giving me three arses each day to fuck. Also I was never thirsty; a pint of piss tastes as good as a pint of beer.
By 2 p.m. we had tidied up and prepared to go our own ways. Sid and Dave were the first to leave. As they were leaving Dave told us that he had substituted Sid's whisky for cold tea prior to the Sunday wrestling match, and as I got more drunk with the vodka Sid became more sober with the tea. That's how Sid had won, the cheating bastard. Even I had to laugh.

Sid and Dave were getting a job on a construction site on the M25 motorway near Watford. Benny was to appear in court on Tuesday charged with assault. He said he expected to end in the nick (prison). The four guys from Dagenham were going to work (with the same bunch of cowboys) at a site in Rainham in two weeks time
"Where are you going?" asked Jake.
I was undecided. I could go back to Canary Wharf. I didn't care if my old friend saw me now. I was doing a respectable job and willing to stick to it for a year as my father had wanted.

"Why don't you come to Dagenham with us and work in Rainham when it starts up in seven days time." said Jake. "Where we live in Dagenham is a rough area. There are about twenty skins in the district. They like to get to know a new skinhead and you're guaranteed to get several cocks up your arse. There's a Hells Angel gang in the area and you might get beaten up and fucked by them but that's all part of the excitement."
"Yeah. Tony. Come with us, mate. We like your company." said Greg.
"Three of my mates, Frank, Mike and Chas, should be here now with Frank's van. If you want you can come with us" he added.

Just then a Ford Transit van drew up. It was no ordinary van. It was customised. The body had been "lifted", i.e. raised axles, and it had extra wide tyres. The bodywork had various designs along the side and the whole van had a high gloss shine to it.
"They call it the "Shaggin' wagon" said Jake with a grin. "It has a mattress and restraints at each corner of the van. Any cunt who goes in doesn't get out until he's had three cocks up his arse."

Three guys stepped out. All were skinheads. Two had mohican haircuts. They wore tight fitting blue bleached jeans with yellow braces, DM's with yellow laces, red polo shirt and blue bomber jacket. They were tough but good looking. I wouldn't so no if asked to go to bed with them. The third guy had a number one cut. He wore scruffy white ripped jeans, scruffy DMs with grey laces, a scruffy white T-shirt and a green bomber jacket. I noticed he had a yellow handkerchief sticking out of his left hip pocket. He was tough looking and well built with a large bulge in his crotch. I notice a long scar down his left cheek.
Jake said "This is Frank and Mike in the blue bombers and Chas in the green bomber. If you come with us Chas will put you up for a week in his flat. He just came out the nick last week."

I looked at him. I wanted to fuck a tough guy. The tougher the guy the greater the challenge.
"I'd love to get my cock up your arse." I said with a grin.
"You haven't a hope, mate. It's my cock which works full time. My arse only works occasionally." he said, "The only way you're going to fuck me is to beat me at nude wrestling."

He paused and looked me up and down "Actually I like the look of you. I'm looking for a sub. Someone I can fuck four times a day and make him lick my boots"
I don't know how good I was at nude wrestling but I couldn't resist the challenge. If it meant getting his cock up my arse several times a day and I have to lick his boots it might be worth the effort for a week.
And anyway, what made him think he could beat me? I quite fancied him as my arsehole and bootlicker.
"By the way, Chas is starting with us at the Rainham site." said Jake. "If you go to Rainham you can shack up with him."

It was crunch time and I only took a second to decide. I hadn't told my father I had moved to South Ongar.
Fuck my father. . . Fuck his title. . . Fuck his money.
I wouldn't tell him I was going to work in Rainham. I'm a skinhead and proud of it. I've got skinhead mates. These guys like me for what I am, not for any title I might get. I decided Marmaduke Hall wasn't for me. I wanted to live in a tough council estate with Chas and meet more tough skinheads. Get my cock up their arses. I might meet a few Hells Angels and ram my cock up their arses as well.

"Once we get to Dagenham I'll wrestle you to decide which of us is to be the top man. I could do with a bootlicker." I said to Chas.
"I've already told you, mate. You haven't a hope. After I ram my cock up your arse I'm going to fit a collar and padlock round your neck and throw away the key."
I was aware I had a hard-on.

"Why wait until we get back to Dagenham. Decide here and now. We can go into the Portakabin rest area and you can have the wrestling match there." said Jake.
The other guys yelled in agreement. I was willing and Chas nodded.
We went into the rest area and both stripped. We faced each other. I looked at Chas's physique. Wow. It was perfect. It might be worth losing to have that body beside me every morning when I woke up. Then I looked at his erect cock. Holy cow! It was huge. I was having second thoughts about my rash statement of agreeing to wrestle with him. I regularly worked out at the gym and think I'm pretty well built but I knew that I had met my match.
There was a grin on Chas's face. "One of us gets the other on the ground face down and gets his cock up the other guy's arse. He has to keep it there for ten seconds. If he succeeds he is the winner."

I nodded my head. By now my own cock was getting hard with anticipation.
We circled each other then suddenly Chas dived at my legs. I tried to jump out of the way but he grabbed me. We wrestled on the ground turning over several times. Every move I made he countered it. Suddenly he kneed me in the balls and as I gasped he forced me on my chest and within seconds had his cock was rammed up my arse. He grasped my chest and kept his cock in as several guys counted. One . . two . . three . .
Chas kept his steel like grip until they reached ten. There were cheers. I was given a clap by the other guys for a good try.

Chas kept a grip on me.
"Bring that leather collar, Mike." he said to his mate and the mohican guy held a broad light brown leather collar. I saw the words CHAS'S SLAVE on it. While I was still being held firmly by Chas, Mike fitted the collar round my neck. He produced a small padlock and locked the collar.

Chas released me and stood up.
There was a wide grin on his face.
"I told you I would fit a collar round your neck and throw the key away." he said.
Mike handed him the key. Chas went to the door and threw the key some distance away. I couldn't see where.
"OK Let's get into the van." said Chas as he picked up his clothes.
I went over to my clothes and started to dress when Chas shouted "Oi! Who told you to get dressed?"
I looked at him. "You don't expect me to go stark naked to Dagenham, do you?"

"I didn't say the front of the van. I haven't tried that arse of yours. Get into the 'Shaggin wagon' "
Then I remembered what Jake had said earlier "No cunt gets out of it until he has three cocks up his arse."
As we entered the Shaggin Wagon with Frank and Mike, Chas said "When we get to my place in Dagenham, I have six pair of boots needing licked." said Chas. "Then we'll go out to the DM Boot Club at 11 p.m. and you can lick my boots in front of my mates. If you do a good job I might let you lick their boots as well. Do a good job of that and you can drink their piss."
My cock, which had gone slightly soft, shot up hard with anticipation.
 

 

END

 

 

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2012