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february 1999 S k i n h e a d Boston was cold, and dirty snow lined the streets. We waited outside the Middle East for only a short while before being let in. The show we'd all been waiting for was about to start. A local Oi! (skinhead punk) band, the Brass Knuckles, took to the stage to warm up the crowd for the ska bands. A bunch of the younger skins crowded the mike, and the lead singer bent down and sang "Evil, evil, He leaned into my ear and said, "I want to rape you." My smile broadened. Scooter was the other reason I came to Boston. We'd carried on a email friendship for over 2 years now and it was about time we met face to face. My other skinhead friends came up from New York and other places to see the show and hang out, too. I was on my second beer. Before I knew it, the Scoidats were up, and I was skanking up a storm next to my buddy. I was sweating and I'd lock eyes with him every now and then. I've never had my toes sucked by such a hot mutherfucker in all my life. He nibbled each toe, bit down the sides of my sweaty feet, and sent electric shocks up my legs into my crotch. I noticed Scooter's skin was darker than mine with my pale foot pressed lovingly into his face. He was part Italian after all. He darted up from my feet and made out with me, pressing his hard prick into my butt crack. I moved like I was doing the twist without moving my knees, but jerk back my head and came back down again. That's the best way I can describe skanking. My eyes wandered to other bald heads in the crowd. Working class guys are always the hottest guys in town and Boston is full of them. Every now and then I'd smile at somebody who caught me checking them out and I'd get a smile back. That only got me to wondering what was going through the other guys head. Is he looking at me now because I was looking at him? Just then I felt something at my backside. "Just fuck me already!" "Yeah?" "YES!" He lubed his fine piece of meat and placed his knob on my hole. Tiny explosions inside my eyelids as I slammed them shut, feeling the first thrust. That's always the hard part for me, getting over the initial "prick". In no time, I was begging for it harder. Harder than the last one. My legs began to turn to jelly. I didn't know how much more I could take before I would blow. It was my pal from Philly and a few of the guys from New York. They had made their way up front where Scooter and I danced. Steve was a big guy and he couldn't help bumping into me a bit with it being as crowded as it was. I met the New York Crew two New Years Eves ago. We drank lots of Guiness and ended up back at D's apartment in Brooklyn for my "initiation". I was to ride in the trunk of Steve's boat of a car with another guy, but this is whole other story. We rolled over on our backs and took a breather. It didn't last long. In seconds, we were on each other again. I moved my way down to his crotch rocket and gave it a good sucking, but I don't stop there. I was down in the curly, sweaty hairs around his balls, drinking him in. I hoisted his legs into the air and put my mouth right on his asshole. I could tell this is one of Scooters favorite things, getting his ass eaten. I dug in like it was my last meal. His smell was intoxicating and for me, smells are such an important part of sex. Heaven. Skinhead Heaven. More drinks and dancing. More dancing and sweating. I was working up an appetite, but I wasn't sure what for at this point. Sex or food. Both rank up there real high for me. If I was to ever be faced with the choice of a really great dish simultaneously, I'm sure I'm not sure which I would pick. "I want to come." "Me too." Our veiny pistons were slick with spit and lube. Scooter straddled my chest. "I want you to come down the back of my throat." This is one of my most favorite things. Cum. On my chest, on my face and especially in my mouth. It smells good and it tastes even better coming out of the tap. I felt his thighs tighten around my chest. I knew what was about to happen. I opened my mouth real wide. I wanted this all night. With one final thrust, Scooter unloaded and I swallowed. Boston is great. all illustrations © 1999 by shane |
evil!" The pit started and hot, sweaty guys jumped and bumped into each other, much to my amusement. I stood right on the edge of the pit with a beer in one hand and my other hand free to catch anyone should he fall. It's "pit etiquette", after all.