Date: Thu, 19 May 2011 10:37:14 +0100 (BST) From: Mark Mcd Subject: Scally Simon Chapter 13 Simon woke with a start. Where was he? His head felt like someone was trying to escape by using a sledgehammer. As he gathered his thoughts he realised that what felt like a pillow was actually Dale's shoulder. Dale himself was lying prostrate, his tracksuit jacket pulled up enough to reveal a bare midriff which extended down to the top of his pubic hair. His left arm was underneath Simon's neck and his hand had draped around Simon's stomach so that it was resting on the inside of his groin. Simon's cock responded by twitching and then proceeded to grow rapidly until it was pushing hard against the nylon lining of his tracksuit bottoms. He reached down and rubbed it, groaning as he did so. He lay there for a few minutes before glancing at his phone. "Shit. 11.30!" he thought, almost aloud. His stirrings roused Dale who sat up groggily. "Eh? Wazzit? Simon?" "Fuck, it's 11.30 mate. I was supposed to be home at 11!" "No worries. Night busses run quite often. You don't want to be walking through the estate on your own at this time of night though. I'll walk you to the bus stop. Dale reached down and started to roll a spliff. Simon coughed violently; the few hours lying sleeping had caused congestion is his chest to gather and his lungs wanted to expel the mucus that had collected. He gave a racking cough and eventually hacked some yellowy mucus into a tissue. "Fuck mate, you'll be giving Andy a run for his money with a cough like that!" laughed Dale. Simon grinned and lit a Camel; he greedily sucked in three drags, held the smoke briefly and exhaled before taking another three large drags. Half the cigarette smoked in six drags; although they were smaller than the Marlboro reds he was used to, he could smoke them further down and the smoke was much stronger and somehow more satisfying. He pumped hard on the cigarette until it burnt his fingers and then lit another from the remains. Then, he too proceeded to roll a spliff. "OK, let's go" said Dale. "Best be quiet as my mum is home, although she's probably passed out in front of the telly." There was a smell of stale cigarette smoke as they passed along the corridor; they could hear a TV playing loudly at the other end. "Mum usually has a few drinks when she gets in on a Friday. Plenty of people do. Difference is she does it even when she gets home at 7am after a night shift!" They opened the door and walked towards the lift. Dale pulled out his spliff and lit up; the lift stank of stale piss anyway, so it was unlikely that anyone would notice the smell of joint. In fact, it made the air seem fresher. After much clanging, the doors opened on the ground floor and the two lads stepped out. The estate looked very different so late at night. Whilst not exactly a welcoming place during the day, at night time it looked intimidating. "Nice, aint it?" said Dale "Not exactly my word to describe it!" laughed Simon nervously. "You'll be alright with me. The gang roams around this late at night, but I know the main players so you'll be fine. So long as you don't grass and don't stray into any of their business they tend to leave lads who live here alone. If you're from another gang or they don't know you then that's a different matter." "Were you ever tempted to join?" "Nah, not me. I'm a free operator! Seriously though, you don't want to mess with these guys. I may not really give a shit, but I don't want to get mixed up in the sort of shit they do." They walked across the square towards the main road. It was a bit misty, and the streetlamps glowed with a diffused orange. Simon lit a camel; the smoke hung in the air behind him as he walked. Dale passed the spliff to Simon; he moved the Camel to his left hand and pulled on the spliff. As he exhaled the spliff, he took a drag on the Camel. He repeated this until the cigarette burned his fingers; by now this was becoming a habit. "Damn mate, that's some pretty hard core smoking!" "Don't want to waste anything!" replied Simon, and gave a cough as if to emphasise the point. He took another long drag on the spliff and passed the remainder to Dale. As they turned into an alleyway they saw a gang of teens standing under a streetlamp, all dressed in sports gear or gangland clothing. They approached and Dale greeted the lad who appeared to be the leader. "Alright Aaron. How's it going?" said Dale, and touched fists with him. "Sweet man, sweet. Who's this?" "Simon. He's a mate from school." "Sick trackie man. Good ting you with Dale or someone'd tax that of you!" Simon grinned nervously. He glanced at Aaron; he was a bit shorter than Simon at about five foot nine. He wore a black Ecko tracksuit with graffiti design in various colours over the bottoms and the back and a large Ecko rhino logo on the front. Of course, the hood was up over the top of a baseball cap. The tracksuit was very baggy; the bottoms sagged around the trainers which Simon noticed were a pair of top of the range Nike TNs, one of his favourite brands. They were mainly light blue in colour with a white tiger-stripe design. The overall effect of the look was quite intimidating to Simon as was clearly the wearer's intention. Aaron held his fist out to Simon who clenched his in return and tapped it. "Safe man. Keep sweet." The other lads were busy messing around having a mock fight. One of the teens was lying on the floor as three or four others punched him, although with no real venom. The lad on the floor was wearing saggy jeans; jet black and hanging down past his arse cheeks with the Calvin Klein waistband on his briefs clearly visible as well as a good portion of his bottom. There was a whistle as Aaron called the lads to order; a youth was approaching from the other end of the alley wearing a scarf over his mouth with the hood of his baby-blue Henleys hoody pulled up tight; he also had saggy jeans and was walking by swaying his hips asthe waistband of his jeans constrained the free movement of his legs. The lad gave two sharp coughs as he approached and one of the gang members started rummaging in the pockets of his oversize puffa jacket. As the lad passed, the gang member followed quickly and then overtook; their hands briefly met and the lad kept walking with a quickened pace. The gang member wheeled around and returned to the lamppost. "Check you later man." Said Aaron as Simon and Dale headed towards the main road. They reached the bus stop with no further incident where the indicator stated that the next bus was due in ten minutes. "Just enough time for a spliff." Commented Simon. He pulled out the joint from his tracksuit pocket and flicked his lighter into life. The mist was now thickening into fog, and the smoke he exhaled clung to him briefly before descending to the ground and merging into the fog. He added a lot of cannabis to the joint and each drag fired off several burning embers which traced their way through the fog to the floor. The earlier snooze at Dale's had helped to clear his head a bit, but he was still unsteady with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed and the strength of the spliff increased his feeling of slight dizziness. He took one last long pull from the joint and handed it to Dale before reaching into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and pulling out his packet of Camels. They stood waiting in silence for the bus. Although it was late, the road was a major thoroughfare and there was a steady stream of vehicles passing, their tyres hissing as they rode along the damp road surface. "I enjoyed tonight mate." Said Simon. "Yeah, me too. You're a cool guy you know." "Thanks. You too." Simon finished his cigarette and reached for another, the bus stop display indicating that three minutes still remained before the bus arrived. He offered one to Dale. "No thanks. Too hardcore for me! I'll stick to my Mayfair." He reached into his own tracksuit bottoms where the packet was clearly visible through the thin white nylon material. He turned away briefly as he struggled to gain ignition on his lighter. For the first time Simon noticed that he could clearly see the outline of Dale's underwear through the tracksuit bottoms: he guessed they were Calvin Klein from what he had seen before. It was all he could do to stop himself from running his hand over the beautifully formed bottom with its semi- transparent white nylon covering. His cock hardened as he recalled embracing Dale earlier in the evening. Although they had seemed to bond he sensed a certain awkwardness between them; much was unsaid and Simon suspected, and hoped, that Dale was struggling with his feelings towards him. Simon had no such struggles; he quite clearly adored Dale and wanted nothing more than to get to know him intimately. Just as the Camel burned his fingers, the bus emerged from the enveloping fog and pulled to a halt alongside the stop. Dale stuck his hand out to Simon. "Laters mate." Said Dale. Simon responded by grasping Dale's hand and, with his left hand, briefly touched Dale on his side. Dale gave him an ever so brief endearing look before turning, casting his cigarette into the gutter and disappearing into the fog. The bus was fairly busy given that it was a Friday night after pub closing time. Groups of men in their twenties leered over women dressed in very simply clothing and were quite happy to encourage the men to an extent. Simon felt very self-conscious as he boarded, remembering what he was wearing. The lower deck was full so he ascended the stairs to find a seat. The back of the bus was taken by another group of lads dressed in Ben Sherman shirts, black trousers and shoes; townies as Simon liked to think of them. Clearly they had been drinking heavily as they were talking loudly about their exploits for the evening. "Eh up lads, check that out!" ordered one of the group loudly, gesturing towards Simon. There were a few laughs from the seats around and he could sense some of the other passengers grinning although they didn't want to get involved with the boisterous lads at the back. "Fuck me, he's dressed like a footballer. Reckon he's on loan from a girls' team?" There was loud laughter from the rest of the gang. "Nah. He's been at a queer's convention by the look of it. Fucking poof." This last statement was made with some venom. Simon was getting nervous, and steadfastly kept his gaze to the front without giving any hint that he heard them. With any luck if he ignored him they would find some other prey. His luck was in; at the next stop two girls dressed in short white skirts and tight denim jackets came to the top floor. "Wahey! Come down to the VIP seats girls!" Their attention was now focussed on chatting up the newcomers. Simon gave an almost audible sigh of relief and relaxed. He was feeling very tired again and was struggling to prevent his eyes from closing. He nodded off briefly before realising that he had just passed his stop. He pushed the bell and stood up sharply. "Oooh. See you later fairy boy!" came the shouts from the back. "Careful princess, it's dangerous out there." Simon felt himself blushing but at the same time quite excited; he got a certain thrill from the abuse he had received. He stumbled down the stairs and stood by the door until the bus came to a halt. Like many in London, the bus driver seemed to like to wait until the last possible moment before braking and he catapulted the unsteady Simon into the door stanchion. He literally fell out of the bus before turning and glaring at the driver. The driver gave a smile and roared off. Simon paused to light a cigarette; although it had only been about fifteen minutes since his last, he felt that he needed a smoke. He flicked his lighter and caught the flame on the end of the Camel, took a deep drag and savoured the feeling of the thick smoke as it poured into his lungs. He took another deep drag and expanded his lungs to their full capacity before exhaling a large volume of white smoke where it quickly mingled with the fog. He walked the 400 yards back along the road and crossed over, before coming to his street. Outside the house he finished his cigarette and lit another. Glancing up at his parents' apartment he couldn't see any lights on; checking his phone he saw that it was 12.15. He was late, but not exceptionally so. He drained the cigarette without fully exhaling at any time, coughed several times and went inside. When he passed the living room he could see that the TV was on. His elder brother was lying on the sofa with a can of Stella Artois in his hand. Although he tried to be quiet, his tracksuit didn't so he gave quite a loud rustling as he approached. His brother turned his head and looked over. "That you Simon?" "Yes." "Come in and have a beer." Normally Simon wouldn't think twice about such an offer, but he was acutely conscious of his clothing; although his mother had seen him wearing it earlier and his younger brother thought it was cool, he wasn't sure what his older brother would think. "With you in a minute, got to use the bog." Simon sneaked down to the toilet, trying to generate as little noise as possible from his tracksuit which was not easy. Every movement was punctuated by a swishing sound as the nylon rubbed against itself. At last he made the safety of the toilet and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted, his eyes deeply bloodshot, and hair in a mess. He thought for a moment and decided that he would take off his jacket to reveal the polo shirt he was wearing underneath; it was blue with white horizontal striped. To maintain a semblance of the scally look he put the colour up and then tucked the jacket under his arm. He passed through to his bedroom and threw the jacket on the bed before going into the living room and sitting down. In the meantime his brother, Mike, had visited the fridge and picked out two fresh cans of Stella. "Here you go bro." "Thanks." said Simon. "What you wearing?" asked Mike, pointing at his tracksuit bottoms. "Are they new?" "Yeah. Got them cheap." Mike chuckled. "I should hope so. They look weird!" He opened his can and took a drink. "What have you been up to tonight then?" "I went round to Nick's and watched some telly" he lied. "That all?" "Yeah." "Smells like you've been in a pub. You stink of smoke and booze. Something you're not telling me?" "I might have had a few drinks." "And a few fags by the smell of it!" "Yeah, one or two." Simon didn't see his brother much these days as he spent most of his time at work or out drinking. Although his smoking was common knowledge in the family, except with his youngest sister, no-one else smoked. "It's a mug's game. I don't know why you do it. Paying so much money to kill yourself." "I enjoy it." "Fuck knows why." They drank in silence staring vacantly at the TV. It didn't take long to finish the cans. "Fancy something a bit stronger?" asked Mike. "Yeah, go on then." Mike disappeared and Simon found himself needing a cigarette. He went into his bedroom and leant out of the window to light a Camel. It felt good. Even though he'd smoked so much already that evening he felt like he needed to smoke more; the craving seemed to be almost incessant. He double and triple-pumped the cigarette until all that remained was a smouldering butt of soggy tobacco which he flicked into the bushes in the garden below. Feeling refreshed, he went back into the living room. "Did you just have a cigarette?" Simon tried to look quizzical. "You stink of fags. Smells disgusting. Ah well, it's your funeral." Simon said nothing and picked up the bottle that Mike had produced. "One of dad's cheaper whiskies. Tastes a bit rough, but perfectly drinkable. I recommend you add some water to it so that you can handle it." "No, I'll be fine." Retorted Simon. "Suit yourself." Mike poured a generous measure of whiskey into each glass. "Cheers!" he said as they clinked glasses. Simon watched as Mike poured the entire contents of his glass into his mouth. A strong feeling of sibling rivalry set in and Simon followed suit. The whiskey tasted disgusting, but he forced himself to finish the glass in one go. He was rewarded with a burning feeling travelling down his throat and emerging in the put of his stomach. He felt warm saliva in his mouth and briefly thought he was going to vomit, but the feeling passed after a few moments. "Too much for you?" "No, I'm fine. I'll have another." Mike raised an eyebrow and then proceeded to pour two larger glasses. He drank more than half before setting his glass down. Simon did likewise and the burning feeling was slightly less intense than previously. Having said that, he became aware that he had not yet eaten that evening and the alcohol from the whiskey, on top of the amount he had consumer earlier, was going straight to his head. As he sat watching TV he found himself having to close one eye in order to keep the screen from moving. He made the decision to finish the glass and go to bed, which he did without saying a word. "Night." Said Mike as he left the room In the bedroom Simon decided that he would have one last joint before sleeping. He stripped his tracksuit bottoms and briefs and then put on the tracksuit bottoms on their own. The cold nylon against his balls felt heavenly and although very drunk, he felt a sudden rush of blood to his cock which quickly pushed out against the tracksuit bottoms. He then pulled on the jacket and ran the zip up to the neck. It took much longer than normal to roll the joint; he was not very good even when sober, so when this drunk it was ten times more difficult. He dropped the tobacco from the paper twice, which meant adding more cannabis each time. Eventually he managed to loosely roll the paper and went over to the window. Because he had added so much cannabis, the joint was very strong. Almost as soon as he'd inhaled the first drag a wave of dizziness hit him. This intensified as he progressed through the joint, so he smoked as quickly as he could. When he finally finished, his head hit the pillow and he was out immediately.