Simon knew that he was going to be in trouble as he turned the key in the front door. They had hurried back to Dale's house where he had changed quickly, stuffing his new tracksuit deep into his schoolbag. He had drawn quite a few glances on the journey to Dale's house: his tracksuit smelled of piss and spunk and he found that although people initially sat next to him they soon moved away after turning their nose up at him. He had quite enjoyed this however; sitting in his full nylon tracksuit with the hood up, partly to hide his face but also because he liked it, with people casting glances at him wondering about the stains on his jacket and tracksuit bottoms.
Now he was home the full reality of his situation hit him: he was about an hour late, and still stank of alcohol and cigarettes. He had been grounded the day before, and now had to explain why he was late and why he smelled of alcohol. He decided to smoke a cigarette before entering in a feeble attempt to disguise the smell; the mints and cough drops were not having much effect.
He entered the house and noticed that it was fairly dark; his parents appeared to be out and he knew that his younger brother had football practice on Thursdays. His older brother, who was on a year off before going to university, was still at work and his sister must be with his parents. Heaving a sigh of relief, he headed to his bedroom and hid the tracksuit at the bottom of his wardrobe; he then stripped off and headed to the bathroom for a shower. He still felt rather drunk; looking in the mirror he could see that his eyes were bloodshot and he was a bit muddy. When in the shower he started thinking about the day's events: buying his first tracksuit made him feel very horny and his cock started twitching. Walking around with a group of scallies dressed head-to-toe in sportswear was a real turn-on. Then he remembered Andy sucking his cock in the changing room; his cock rose a little more. Finally, he recalled the incident in the bushes; he had almost forgotten this, having been much the worse for wear by that stage. However, as soon as he started going through the events his cock rose until it stood erect at ninety degrees from his body. He started massaging his cock, thinking about his adventures of the day, imagining walking the streets as a scally wearing his scally gear. He decided that he would have a wank whilst wearing his tracksuit. He went back to the bedroom, retrieved his tracksuit and put it on, pulling the zip all the way to the top; the hood felt fairly tight against the top of his back. Grabbing the hat, he placed it on his head and went back to the bathroom. Standing looking in the full length mirror he looked even more like a scally than he first realised; he looked like someone he would have crossed the street to avoid just a few months ago. His all black tracksuit shimmered in the bathroom light, the grey flecked accents just breaking up the black enough to draw his attention; the stains were clearly visible on the nylon material and he could make out the hole in the bottoms caused by the burning hash. All of this made him feel even hornier and his cock was pushing hard against the front of his bottoms, tenting like a live animal trying to escape. The hat, to top it all off, hung down over his ears Tibetan style making him look like a real scally in his eyes. He pulled the elastic of the tracksuit bottoms down so that it lifted up underneath his ball sack and started to work his cock. Each move he made, the nylon rubbed against itself almost sounding like sandpaper rubbing against painted wood. As he moved faster, the bobbles form his hat started banging around his ears sending him into a further frenzy of action. Despite having his juices drained earlier by Andy, his teenage testicles were ready to pump more fluids, especially when he started rubbing the front of his tracksuit jacket with his free hand, the feel of the nylon material sending him into further paroxysms of pleasure. He barely heard the click of the front door as his parents entered and even if he had, it was too late as he passed the point of no return. He stood up onto his tiptoes as stream after stream of pure white spunk flew from his helmet, peppering the sink with mounds of teenage sperm.
Before he could start to clean up there was a tap on the door.
"Simon? You in there?" It was his mum.
"Yes. Just about to take a shower."
"Ok. See you in a bit".
Simon's heart was pounding. He was standing in the bathroom wearing his full tracksuit and hat having just emptied his love-juice into the sink and his mother was outside the door. He quickly ran water through the taps and cleaned up the spunk. Next, he turned on the shower and carefully undressed before entering the shower and scrubbing himself as best he could. Once he was finished, he towelled himself dry and, using one of the spare towels from the cupboard, he wrapped his tracksuit and hat, placing it under his arm before going into his bedroom. He decided to put on the bottoms and climbed into bed.
He must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing he knew his mother was knocking on the door before entering.
"Simon, are you ok?"
"Yeah, fine. Just a busy day at school. I was a bit tired."
She came in and sat on the end of his bed.
"I just wanted to say sorry that we were so tough on you last night. You know it was important that you were home in time to look after your sister."
"Yes mum. I just went round my friends and forgot the time."
"I know. Look, we're under a bit of stress at the moment and I'm sorry we grounded you. If you promise not to do it again we'll lift the grounding."
"I promise."
"Good. Have you been smoking today?"
"No."
"Simon! I can smell it on your clothes. I thought you were going to try and give up?"
"I will when I want to."
"You know we both hate you smoking. You're killing yourself. Anyway, get a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks mum"
She left the room. He looked at the time on his phone: it was 10.30. He must have been sleeping for a while. He surfed the internet for a while, looking at gay websites and scally gear. Before he knew it, the time was 11.30 and he was not tired. Listening at his door, it sounded like everyone else was in bed, so he sneaked down the stairs to the living room. All clear. He opened the drinks cabinet and looked inside: not much choice other than a bottle of tia maria and some gin. Grabbing a pint glass from the kitchen, Simon poured an equal measure of each shuddering as he did so; the concoction looked awful. Still, so long as it did the job. Heading back to the bedroom, he sneaked up the stairs making sure to avoid the squeaky step halfway up. He was still wearing his tracksuit bottoms with a polo shirt, and every movement made a rustling noise which to Simon sound incredibly loud in the otherwise silent house. He eventually reached his bedroom and sat down to take a gulp of his drink; it tasted every bit as bad as it looked. He shook his head in an attempt to make the taste go away and took another swig; still just as bad. To try and overcome the taste he opened his bedroom window wide and lit a cigarette, making sure to lean out as far as he could and blow the smoke outside. That felt a little better. He smoked the cigarette down to the butt and then drank half of the liquid, almost gagging in the process; the effects of the alcohol were starting to affect his balance so that he almost leaned too far out of the window for his next cigarette. Finally, he drained the glass and had a final smoke; looking in the pack, there were only two cigarettes left. That meant that he'd smoked around thirty cigarettes that day.
After his final smoke, Simon lay on his bed. He was already feeling very drunk and after a while the room started spinning wildly. He placed one foot on the floor to try and steady himself before passing out. A couple of hours later he awoke with a splitting headache and a very dry mouth; his bladder was also full to overflowing. He clambered out of bed and stumbled across the room, not spotting the Lacoste trainers he'd left in the middle of the floor. He tripped over them and banged his head on the edge of the chair before hitting the floor. Groaning, he headed to the bathroom where he pissed for what seemed like ten minutes. Looking in the mirror he could see a large read mark on his right temple where his head had connected with the chair; it was painful to the touch and looked like it would be a proper shiner the following day. He went back to bed and fell asleep instantly.