Ah fuck, what the hell did I get myself into this time? My arms, back, ass, mouth, cock, hell, every fucking thing is sore. I'm naked on my back in an empty store. I turn to my side and rub sleep from my green eyes. I'm staring at what's left of my shirt; it's ripped to shreds. I look for my green bomber jacket and boots. I can't find them, fuck. My head hurts. I slowly try to sit up, but the room spins. I fall back down onto the cold stone floor and welcome sweet oblivion.
Saturday night brings out all of the punks and skins to Second Street in my hometown of Pomona, California. The Glass House is packed as my favorite Oi/Punk band takes the stage. I go nuts in the pit as hot young sweaty bodies collided into me and I collided into them. A Skinhead in tight jeans, Gripfast Boots, and just a white wife beater keeps running into me. He slaps my shaved head, which turns me on. We lock eyes and I can tell that he is gay. He licks his chops and eye balls me like I'm a big juicy steak. He locks on to me and we join arms. Arms locked over our shoulder we steam roll the pit knocking punks and skins aside. I've got a huge grin on my face as we knock the shit out of everyone. I glance down at his crotch and notice that his bleached jeans can barely contain him. I'm close enough to smell his pits. Fuck! They smell good. It's the sweet smell of fresh young sweat, faint traces of cheap soap and the musk of a teenager that doesn't shower that often. It drives me wild. I break out of his grasp and we beat the shit out of each other as the band plays on.
After the show, I'm hanging across the street on the grassy knoll with the other locals. I'm smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer that I hide in my jacket between gulps. My homeboy, a punk in a studded leather jacket with green sleeves, asks whoÔs the Skin that's standing in front of us. I recognize him from the pit; his thin fit body is covered with sweat. He asks us to score him some beer. I jump up and offer to buy it for him and homeboy whispers to me that he might be a narc. I tell him it's cool, he's straight and I want some Skin to Skin action. He backs off and goes to make out with his girl friend. I get up and lead the young Skin south on Thomas Street and west on 3rd.
When we get out of sight of the crowds and down 3rd I push him against a wall of a closed down store and kiss him. He is surprised, but he wraps his smooth white arms around me. I move my hands all over his body end with them on his tight firm ass, as we push our tongues down each others throats and taste each other. "Well what do we have here? Two fucking faggots," bellows a large black skin. I release my new found skin boy and look up at the source of the voice. There are six of them both skinhead and punks. Their braces are down while they have their fists up. Fuck, they're six of them and two of us. Damn if we were at the knoll it would be twenty to six not counting the fresh cuts. Fuck, if my home boys were here, fuck it I've been beat up before. I gently push my Skin Boy behind me and raise my fists. The six bashers spread out and form a half circle around us. I get into a fighter's stance, while my muscles bulge and tense up. I tell my Skin Boy to run he doesn't move. I whisper to him that I'll hold them off, so he can escape and get my pack at the knoll. I turn and stare each basher in the face. A fist slams into the back of my head knocking me to the ground. Boots kick my head and I'm out.
"Get up bitch, Danny boy, you did good. You got us one nice piece of ass." I'm dazed, but the hand on my ass brings back everything. I try to spring up, but I'm shoved down. "Bitch you ain't going nowhere. Shut up, bitch!"
"Yeah, fucker you belong to the East Gay OC Skins now." Continue reading here...
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