Date: Thu, 19 May 2011 10:37:14 +0100 (BST)
From: Mark Mcd <maninnotts@yahoo.co.uk>
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.