There was a loud knocking at the door which stirred Simon from his comatose state.
"Simon, wake up."
His mother stuck her head around the door. Simon was lying on top of the covers, still fully dressed in his PSG tracksuit; he'd dribbled during the night, and there where spittle stains on the pillow and on the collar of his jacket.
"You slept in your clothes? Did you not hear your phone ringing? It's been going off and on for ten minutes. Get up and I'll make you a bacon sandwich."
Simon didn't feel like raising his head; the effects of all of yesterday's drinking were now wreaking vengeance on his brain which felt like it was pulsating rapidly against his skull. His mouth was bone dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper. As he drew breath, something caught at the back of his throat prompting him to cough sharply.
"Nasty cough." Said his mother. "It'll only get worse if you keep smoking."
The mention of smoking raised a craving in Simon. A cigarette was just what he need right now; luckily his mother was able to provide him with an excuse to go out and have one. He glanced at his phone and saw that Andy had called; the clock showed that it was 10.30.
"Be a dear and pop down to the shop to get some milk would you? Dad's taken your sister and Jake to swimming and Mike has gone to work."
"OK mum" croaked Simon.
Once she had left the room, Simon concentrated on his cough; he was a bit embarrassed to cough so violently in front of his mother as he knew it would provoke more comment about his smoking. His chest felt sticky, as if full of gunk; when he inhaled it felt like there was pressure on his lungs preventing them from inflating any further. He put his hand to his mouth and coughed; nothing shifted. He decided to roll a joint to smoke whilst he was out; his hands were a little unsteady as an after-effect of the previous days drinking, but it proved much easier than the one he rolled before going to sleep. He planted his feet on the floor and paused for a minute to allow his head to stop throbbing before leaving the room and heading outside.
It was still fairly foggy outside as the weak autumn sunshine tried to penetrate the low cloud. Dew hung on branches the path was damp. Simon headed over to the park and sat on a bench; he was still wearing the same clothes from the previous day and suddenly realised that he was not wearing any underwear. His cock hung down against the nylon of his tracksuit bottoms, taking great pleasure from the rubbing sensation. He lit the joint and took an enormous drag, gulping down a vast volume of smoke as he pulled it from his lips. He took another equally large drag and held the smoke in his lungs, allowing the cannabis, tar, nicotine and thousand other toxins to coat his teenage lungs. As he exhaled he felt an irresistible urge to cough and succumbed quickly; smoke still remained in his lungs howoever, and as he coughed the smoke further irritated his throat. He stood up and coughed further, trying to shift the obstruction. After about a minute the initial urge to cough passed and he resumed his smoking. He smoked the remainder of the joint down to the roach and sat letting his head absorb the drug. There was no doubt that he felt a little better after the joint, but of course it meant that he'd now started the day stoned.
"Ah well." He thought. "It's Saturday so it doesn't matter."
At that he lit a camel and noticed that he only had two left in the pack. He'd forgotten to pick up the carton before leaving Dale's last night, but still had about ten Marlboro Reds left. He smoked the Camel to the end, noticing that his fingers were developing a yellow tinge as he eked out the final two drags. Once finished, he stood up and wandered to the shop.
On leaving the shop he pulled out his cigarettes. Looking at the remaining Camel, Simon decided to save it for later and reached into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms to get his Marlboros; as he did so, his hand brushed against his cock causing it to spring into life.
"Hello old friend" he thought to himself gleefully. He took a cigarette from the packet a lit up taking what was now a normal sized drag and inhaling deeply. This didn't seem to satisfy him, so he took an even longer and deeper drag, inhaled and then took another packing the smoke deep into the recesses of his lungs. Even though his chest was full to bursting point, he still could not get the hit he required. He pumped the Marlboro for all he was worth, desperate to suck the nicotine into his needy lungs. He smoked the Marlboro until the filter was almost black with tar and the glowing tip was ready to fall off before casting it aside and immediately lit another. It was then he realised what was wrong: he'd grown used to the extra strength of joints and filterless cigarettes so that the filtered variety was not providing the same hit that he now seemed to require. He once again drained the Marlboro until the end of the filter was a charred mess and entered his home.
His mother was already sitting at the table.
"Did you wash yet? You slept in that tracksuit and wore it all day yesterday; you're starting to smell!"
"Yes mum." Said Simon absent-mindedly. He helped himself to a bacon sandwich and poured a cup of tea. It tasted good and his throat felt a little less irritated.
"Were you smoking?" asked his mother, her nose twitching as if to answer the question for him.
"Yes. I smoked a cigarette on the way to the shop."
"Oh Simon." Said his mother in a resigned tone. "Promise me you'll cut down and try to give up."
"I will." Said Simon, even though he knew this would be difficult seeing as he seemed to need to smoke more than ever.
"I'm meeting up with Nick in town later. Can I get my allowance now?" Simon was given £100 a month by his parents as a kind of personal allowance. Normally it would be enough to cover the cost of his cigarettes, but his parents knew to expect him to run out of money about halfway through the month. They'd given up trying to keep track of the money he `borrowed' against his next payment and resorted to simply admonishing him when he asked for more.
"OK." Get me my purse from my room.
Simon went into the bedroom, aware of his cock brushing against the nylon of his tracksuit bottoms. It had been almost fully erect since he'd left the shop and he could feel some precum dribbling down the right leg. He went into his parents' room and found her purse on the dressing table. Opening it up, he found about £200 in cash; he decided that she wouldn't miss £20 and slipped it into his pocket. He brought the purse into his mother who pulled out the cash and gave it to Simon.
"Here you go love. Don't spend it all at once."
Simon thanked his mother for the money and went into his bedroom. He took out his phone and called Andy.
"yeah?" said Andy.
"You called earlier."
"So I did. What you doing today?"
"Not much. Thought about getting my hair cut."
"Yeah, it looks a bit gay!" responded Andy with more than a hint of sarcasm. "I know just the place. Meet me at Liverpool Street at midday. Wear the tracksuit I gave you yesterday."
"OK." Said Simon as Andy disconnected.
He went into the bathroom and stripped off his tracksuit; as he pulled down his bottoms, his cock was released and sat horizontal, the thickness of the shaft providing ample support to defy gravity. He thought about a quick wank, but noticing that it was already 11.15 decided against it. He quickly showered, paying particular attention to his cock and balls, as well as his arse crack which was still a little raw from yesterday's action. By the time he had towelled dry and applied the obligatory lynx deodorant it was nearly 11.45. Hurrying back to his bedroom, he quickly pulled on a navy t-shirt and got into his PSG tracksuit. Although he was starting to get used to wearing it, the thrill of the nylon material touching his skin and rustling as he move never ceased to generate a sense of excitement. With a quick "See you later" to his mother he made for the front door. The first thing he did when he left the house was pull out his cigarettes and light up. Once he'd taken a few big drags, he set off for the bus stop.
"Shit" he thought, "I meant to roll up a couple of spliffs."
He crossed the park at a rapid pace, leaving a trail of smoke behind him as he went. The fog was lifting somewhat, and weak sunshine was attempting to pierce the gloom; as it brightened, so it seemed to Simon that his tracksuit shimmered even more as he caught his reflection in the glass of the kiosk in the middle of the park. He paused to light another cigarette, observing himself in the window as he did so; he looked just like one of the guys he used to fantasise over which, of course, made him feel very horny.
As it was a Saturday there was a group of young lads waiting for the bus, all wearing varying combinations of tracksuits and hoodies. Normally Simon would try to look at what they were wearing without being noticed, but today he realised that he was the one being glanced at. He pulled out his Marlboro, noticing that he was down to three cigarettes and lit up. He could sense the looks that the other lads were giving him and wishing that they too could smoke. Having said that, one lad did pull out a packet of Lambert & Butler and also lit up. Simon caught his eye and grinned. He grinned because the lad was a bit of a stunner; he looked around 15 and was wearing the standard teenage issue adidas tracksuit bottoms in navy with white stripes, and a light grey Nike hoody.
"Alright mate." Said the lad.
"Alright."
"Nice trackie mate. Saw that one in the shops ages ago but it was way too expensive."
"Yeah, it's great isn't it? Got it cheap from a friend."
"Lucky cunt. Can you get me any cheap gear?"
"Give me your mobile number and I'll see what I can do. What you after?"
"I'd like a Lacoste tracksuit, but can't afford to shell out £120!"
"Any particular colour?"
"See what you can get hold of, but I'd like something white if you could. I don't have any white trackies at the moment."
Just then the bus pulled up. The two lads waited whilst everyone else boarded so they could finish their smokes. They boarded and both headed for the top deck and the back of the bus. Simon proceeded to pull out his rolling papers and put together a joint; it was his best effort yet. The other lad watched him intently. Once done, he rolled another; he had resolved that he needed to get into the habit of keeping a stock of joints rolled at all times.
"Is that blow?" Asked the lad.
"Might be. Depends who's asking."
"Conor. I've never tried it before. What's it like?
"Pretty cool, you know? Totally different from being drunk. Makes you more mellow; but if you mix it with drink then it hits you hard."
"Mind if I try some?"
"I'm getting off at Liverpool Street. Join me if you like."
"cool. I'll do that."
"Where do you go to school?" Asked Simon. "I don't think I've seen you around before."
"I live in Barking. My old man lives in Bermondsey so I stayed at his last night; he lets me do more stuff than my mum."
"Oh." Sometimes it seemed to Simon that he was the only kid with both parents still together. He could see the advantages of a broken home as kids whose parents had separated seemed to get away with more. On the other hand, it made him feel secure having both parents at home even though he didn't see his father that much. The bus arrived at Liverpool Street and most of the passengers alighted. Conor followed Simon across the street to a side alley where he pulled out one of the joints and lit it. As was becoming his habit, he took two massive drags before inhaling deeply and then exhaling a large plume of smoke. He took another three drags, packing his lungs with the smoke and getting a hit from the pot as he did so, after which he handed the joint to Conor.
"Take it easy at first mate. It can wipe you out."
Conor gingerly tugged on the joint. Simon could tell that he hadn't been smoking for very long as he looked uncomfortable holding in and inhaling. He took a small puff and breathed in slowly.
"Can't feel much." Said Conor.
He took another, bigger puff and drew in more deeply. The strength of the smoke irritated his throat and he coughed violently.
"I'm still not feeling anything."
"Finish it and then see how you feel." Simon took out the other joint he'd rolled and lit up. He took his usual three large drags and inhaled deeply, following this up with another three drags; half the joint smoked in less than two minutes. Conor was watching spellbound and tried to do the same. With much coughing he managed to finish the joint and stood unsteadily watching Simon finish his.
"Feel anything now?"
"yeees. I feel very light-headed."
"Good." Smiled Simon. "Should last a while too."
"I think I'm going to go home and lie down. You have my number?"
"Yes. I'll be in touch."
They both walked into the station and Conor left to get his train. Simon texted Andy to let him know he'd arrived.
"Platform 2" came the response
He headed for platform 2 and saw Andy waiting by the gate. He could hardly miss him as he wore black adidas tracksuit bottoms tucked into his white socks, a shiny white nylon parka-style jacket with an enormous fur-lined hood and a black cap with lots of scribbled writing on it.
"Hey mate." Said Andy. "I had to buy a ticket today. Too many police around!"
They went through the barriers and boarded the train. Simon looked at Andy's jacket; it was brilliant white, so much so that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it when the sun caught it. The cap was perched at a jaunty angle, the rim at an angle of thirty degrees; the tracksuit bottoms had three white stripes which ended just above the socks pulled up about six inches below the knees.
"Like the gear do you?" asked Andy with a slightly mocking tone.
"Yeah. Looks good mate." Replied Simon, meaning every word. Perhaps he should ask Andy about getting him some gear?
"Dale mentioned that you can get hold of sportswear."
"I have been known to."
"Could you get me any Lacoste tracksuits? I'd like a couple if you could."
"I'll have a word and find out for you. How you doing for blow? Want any more?"
"Yeah, I've used quite a bit already!"
"OK, I'll give you a daughter this time. That'll be £25."
Simon handed him the money and took the small brown lump wrapped in cling film. It smelled quite a lot stronger than the previous piece that Andy had given to him; it also felt quite a bit softer.
"That's Afghan black." Said Andy. "Much better stuff than the last I gave you. Some good shit coming out right now."
"Smells really nice." Said Simon and proceeded to roll up a joint.
"You're getting better" joked Andy.
"Practice makes perfect." As he burned the square of hash it gave off a thick, white smoke which he sucked greedily into his mouth. Despite this, a smell of burning hash filled the area where they were sitting; fortunately, the train was fairly empty as most people were still travelling towards central London rather than out. He busied himself with the details of finishing the rolling as the train pulled into Stratford. Quite a few people boarded at this point, so Simon hurried himself with finishing and hiding the paraphernalia in this tracksuit pockets. As if to prove a point, Andy pulled out his own tin and rolled up right in front of several disapproving glares from fellow passengers. After another ten minutes the train pulled into Ilford.
"Here we are" announced Andy, packing the two joints he'd just rolled into his jacket and pulling out a cigarette. As he disembarked, he lit the cigarette and offered one to Simon who shook his head and pulled out his last Camel. Andy approvingly watched as Simon tugged hard on the filterless cigarette.
"Proper strong fags them. Good call!"
Simon rolled up the now empty pack of Camel and tossed it on the tracks behind the departing train; the slipstream of the train hauled the empty pack for about a hundred yards along the sleepers where it disappeared in between two rails. He realised that this was his last one, and decided to text Dale to see what he was doing and to remind him to bring the rest of the Camels with him. This done, he dragged hard on the small amount of cigarette remaining, pushing it slightly too far and causing a bit of pain as the glowing cherry touched the inside of his index finger. Looking at the damage, he noticed that there was a definite yellow tinge where the smoke from the cigarettes was depositing a layer of tar on his pink skin. He smelled the fingers and his cock gave a slight twitch as he could detect a very strong smell of stale smoke. He rubbed the sleeve of his tracksuit jacket against his nose as if wiping away snot and was pleased to discover that it also smelt of stale smoke as the burning of each cigarette threw smoke from the tip and drifted up his arm. None of this had gone unnoticed by Andy as he pulled on his own cigarette.
"You really get off on all that shit, don't you?"
"What?"
"Getting your trackie all scabby and messy. I think you get off on smoking too."
"No... I just enjoy it"
"Whatever."
They left the station and headed towards the main High Street. They diverted into a newsagent and Simon was happy to find that they sold Camel non-filters which would keep him going until Dale responded. He unwrapped the pack and tapped it on his wrist to shake out a cigarette which he then tapped on the packet to compact the tobacco. This done, he proceeded to place it in his mouth and light it. As he drew hard on the Camel, a couple of bits of loose tobacco were dislodged from the cigarette and stuck in the back of his throat causing him to cough to try and shift the irritation. This didn't work, so he coughed harder, sounding more like a fifty year old smoker than a sixteen year old teen. He hacked and coughed, still unable to shift the flecks of tobacco and eventually gave up, resorting instead to pulling harder on his unfiltered Camel. This didn't give much relief, but he felt that he could numb the discomfort to a certain extent by coating it in smoke. The thick white, unfiltered smoke flowed down his throat and into his lungs; he took a further hard drag and pushed more smoke down his throat holding the accumulated smoke deep in his lungs, feeling a small kick in his brain as he held it for a minute. When he exhaled, little smoke poured out as much of it had been absorbed into the delicate tissue of his lungs, the tar hardening a few more alveoli and decreasing the elasticity slightly more and reducing both the capacity and the ability to pass oxygen into his bloodstream. Of course, Simon was unaware of the events deep inside his chest and even if he was, he wouldn't have cared as the satisfaction of smoking more than made up for any detrimental effects on his health. In fact, the idea of damaging his health was a bit of a turn on for him, a large part of the smoking fetish and what drove him on the increase his smoking. He pumped the rest of the cigarette until it burned his fingers and then lit another.
"I see you're still smoking heavily, that's good. As you seem to be enjoying your tracksuit so much, I may have something for you in a bit..."
"What?"
"You'll have to wait and see. Let's go and smoke a joint or two."
They headed down one of the side streets and took up a position behind a couple of large bins. Simon dropped his spent Camel onto the floor and pulled out his joint; he ran it along his nostrils savouring the smell of the strong hash it contained. He lit up and pulled deeply; the smoke was intense with has and very strong. A few days ago the same harsh smoke would have irritated his throat and caused him to cough, but the amount of joints and strong cigarettes he had smoked had numbed his throat and had reduced the efficiency of the cilia in his throat so that they were less able to reject foreign organisms. However, he could definitely feel the smoke as it hit his lungs, the strength being such that it even made the unfiltered Camels seem quite weak. He felt a bit of pain as he held the smoke, but resolved to take in more, which he did. This time the pain was slightly less as his lungs gave out less of a protest and the chemicals in the smoke passed into the bloodstream and fed the cannabis to his brain. He was rewarded with a large release of dopamine which passed a wave of relaxation through his body, making his head feel much lighter. As he smoked the joint down to the roach, the light-headed feeling increased but, paradoxically, his feet started feeling much heavier. His phone sounded a message as he contemplated his heavy feet; it was from Dale:
"Hi m8. Free 2day. Where r u? Will bring fags"
Simon texted his response and turned to Andy.
"Who was that?"
"Dale. He's going to meet us later; he'll text when he gets to the station."
"Cool. Let's go get your hair done."
They walked down a few streets; at least Simon walked, Andy strutted. Simon admired Andy's gait; it spoke of high confidence if not arrogance and certainly made people move out of his way as he strode the busy pavements. They took another side street and came to a barber shop: "Specialists in Afro and West Indian styles" declared the sign. They paused for another cigarette and entered. There were a few West Indian men in the shop; one was having cornrows threaded into his head; Simon was interested to see how it was done, but had no intention of having the same done to his own hair. Andy chatted to one of the barbers in the corner and then beckoned Simon over to join them.
"Hey, my man Andy tells me you want your hair fixed up?"
"Yeah, I'm a bit bored of this style."
"What are you looking for?"
"Something a bit more exciting, but nothing too crazy!"
"Give him a grade three top and tribal patterns on the back!" said Andy.
Simon had seen these cuts, and there were very scally in his opinion. He wasn't sure that he was brave enough to have it done to his hair though.
"Bit too much for me. How about that?" Simon pointed to a picture on the wall showing a man with fairly short hair heavily gelled to look deliberately untidy. At the back, the hair was even shorter with closely cropped wavy lines running across the whole way.
"Style number 16 it is!" announced the barber.
Simon removed his tracksuit top, being careful to remove his cigarettes and wallet into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms. Noticing that the other customer was smoking, he pulled out a Camel and lit up. The barber passed him an ashtray, and placed a cape around his neck before pumping the chair up several inches.
"Just relax and enjoy..."
As he sat smoking his cigarette, with the barber working his clippers over his hair, Simon's thoughts started to wander, helped in no small part by the fact he was nicely stoned from the joint he had smoked. He started by thinking about Andy in his scally gear, the shiny white coat which he could see in the mirror as he stood behind the chair chatting to the barber. He then thought about Andy's comment at the station; "I may have something for you in a bit..." What could that mean? Was it something sexual or not? What else could Andy have for him? He also wondered about Dale and what he was doing right now; he felt that something had clicked between them last night, they had crossed the boundary between acquaintances and good mates. He wondered what Dale would be wearing when he arrived and whether he would like Simon's new haircut which he could see taking shape in front of him...
Whilst thinking this last thought his phone beeped and he reached into his tracksuit bottoms to retrieve it.
"Just coming in2 Liv Street now." Dale would be there soon. Simon reached for his pack of Camel and lit another cigarette, clearing some mucus from his throat as he did so. The barber reached past Simon and picked up a tub of hair clay. Simon had never seen this before and was bemused as the barber scooped out a generous measure of the sticky, putty-like substance and dumped it onto his hair. He then proceeded to massage it through Simon's newly coiffured hair using his fingers to add random spikes.
"All done." He announced, holding a mirror to the back of Simon's head so he could see the full details. The spiked hair ran just over the crown of the head whereupon it was abruptly interrupted by a grade 2 shave which was punctuated by wavy lines of grade 0 length. Simon loved it immediately, but wasn't sure what his friends and family would think. Of course, he knew it would be considered very cool with his scally friends. Up to that point he hadn't really considered that he had any scallies as friends, but now realised that Dale was a pretty close friend and he was definitely a scally.
"You like it or what?" repeated the barber, breaking Simon's reverie. "I hate to interrupt your daydream man."
"Yeah, it's...really cool, thanks."
"That'll be fifteen notes."
Simon handed over his money. He lit a Camel and dangled it from his mouth as he put his arms into his tracksuit jacket. His phone beeped with another message from Dale telling him he was just pulling into the station. Simon decided to keep his new hair under wraps for now and pulled up the hood on his jacket. As they stepped outside, they both noticed that the weather had changed; a stiff breeze was blowing and the earlier mistiness intermingled with sunshine had been replaced with a solid grey sky, darker grey clouds scudding quickly across the monochrome backdrop. It remained very raw, and both lads could still see their breath condensing in the cold air. Simon decided to add to the condensation by lighting a cigarette.
"Your new cut is wicked mate."
"Thanks. Where we off to now?"
"I need some stuff from Boots."
They headed back to the High Street, pausing only for Simon to light another cigarette en-route. As it was Saturday afternoon, the High Street thronged with mothers leading unwilling kids through the maze of shops, fathers wishing they were in front of the TV drinking beer and the requisite teenagers in their various groups: the skateboarders with their baggy jeans and boards; goth kids wearing all black, their hair reaching down past their shoulders, and scallies, by far the most numerous, groups of kids and teens in differing brands and styles of sportswear hanging around the town centre looking like they had nothing better to do. Not all were out to cause trouble despite the reputation of the scallies; most were just at a loose end and hung around with friends for want of something better to do. Andy counted himself as a scally, but did not fit into the group of those with nothing to do; he was a lad on a mission and right now that involved going to Boots and getting something. Simon wondered what there was in Boots that Andy needed.
They entered through the front door and Andy looked around. There were lots of mothers with pushchairs, shepherding their young charges unwillingly around the shop looking for makeup, baby items or toiletries. There was a security guard by the main door keeping a close eye out for any shoplifters, but he looked rather bored and didn't really seem to care for his job. They moved over to the men's toiletries and the razor blades. Simon didn't yet need to shave, and he was sure that Andy also didn't require razors; however, glancing at the price tags he was shocked to see that a pack of ten razors cost £20. With another glance around, Andy emptied a rack of razors and handed them to Simon.
"Quick. I know that trackie jacket has deep pockets. Stuff these in there."
Simon didn't have time to react and tucked the ten packets of razors into his right pocket. Andy emptied the rack next to the previous one and again handed them to Simon who placed them into his left pocket.
"Right, I'm going to create a diversion. When I do, run out of the front of the store, and I'll meet you by the bins where we had the spliff earlier. Got it?"
Simon got it. He glanced down at his jacket; the bulges covering the razor blades were clearly visible, so he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"You'll need your arms to sprint out of here. I'd suggest you get close to the door and get ready."
So, Andy's plan was to go shoplifting. Simon reckoned there were about £400 of razor blades in his pockets and they definitely had security tags as he could see the white band on the blades remaining on the shelves. He was stealing! The thought made him feel very horny; he'd stolen money from his mum and dad's pockets before, but never from a shop or anyone he didn't know. What happened if he got caught? He thought about being rugby tackled by the security guard and held in an empty room until the police arrived and called his parents. The thrill of it all set his pulse racing; his head buzzed with the adrenaline his brain was pumping into his body. Then he heard a crash: Andy had knocked over a large display of baby items which alerted the security guard. As the guard ran down one side of the aisle, Andy disappeared down the other and raced out of the door; Simon followed hot on his heels. As soon as he reached the door, the alarm system started blaring, alerting everyone in the store to what was occurring. Simon didn't pause for a moment and followed Andy.
"Don't follow me. Split up." Gasped Andy between heavy breaths. "I'll meet you where I said." Simon looked back and saw that the security guard had just left the store and was looking to see where the two lads had gone. Simon didn't waste another moment and rushed down a side street, glancing over his shoulder as he reached the end; he could see the guard about three hundred yards behind him. He darted left at a t-junction and then took another right. He saw a fence surrounding some waste ground on the right and clambered over the fence; as he jumped down the other side, his jacket caught on some loose wire and ripped a two inch hole in the side of his jacket. He ran across the waste ground and crouched behind a pile of rubble waiting to see if the guard followed. He was breathing hard, struggling to catch his breath, his pulse racing after the rare exercise. He was wheezing audibly as his tar-lined lungs struggled to deliver enough oxygen to his bloodstream. With his hands shaking, he reached into his tracksuit bottoms and pulled out his cigarettes; with all the excitement he hadn't noticed that his cock was as hard as a rock almost to the point of pain. The saliva in his mouth was thick and lumpy, whilst the back of his throat was intensely dry. He spat out a few globules of sticky saliva and then lit a cigarette and greedily gobbled the smoke, his heavy breathing drawing the nicotine further into his lungs than normal. After draining the cigarette in two minutes, his breathing was slowly starting to return to normal and he lit another cigarette which he enjoyed at a more leisurely pace. His phone vibrated in his pocket. There were two messages.
Dale was asking where he was. He'd decided to go and buy some drink and had bought a half bottle of vodka.
Andy was letting him know that he was at the rendezvous waiting for him. With a final check to see if the coast was clear, Simon emerged from behind the pile of rubble and climbed over the fence at the opposite side of the waste ground. He darted down a few alleyways and found Andy waiting for him as agreed; he seemed to still be struggling to catch his breath and was smoking a joint which he handed to Simon. He had changed his clothes; the white jacket and tracksuit bottoms appeared to have been stowed away in his rucksack, and he now sported royal blue Nike tracksuit bottoms, and a white Nike tracksuit top. On closer inspection, he could just make out a logo on the top which was for Inter Milan. The material was polyester, but looked like nylon; although not as shiny as the white jacket, it still looked stunning in Simon's eyes.
"Good job. Give me the blades."
Simon did as was told and Andy put them into a small rucksack.
"You did well my lad. I notice you're bulging a bit down below. Are you holding out on me?"
Simon shook his head.
"Let me see." Andy grabbed Simon's cock and squeezed hard; he let out a yelp of pain. Andy then pulled Simon's tracksuit bottoms down to his knees, followed by his boxers. He knelt down and started massaging Simon's hard cock making him shiver with anticipation. He started exploring his helmet with his tongue, lapping up the precum which had started oozing from his slit.
"Mmmm, salty." Proclaimed Andy. "Time for your reward for good effort."
He pushed Simon over a bin and started to feel around his anus with his fingers; he had no lube, so he spat onto his hand and rubbed around Simon's hole before slowly inserting his index finger. At first it felt a little painful, but Andy moved it in slowly before easing it slowly in and out. He spat again, and added his middle finger, pushing back against Simon's sphincter as it tried to reject the foreign object, and stretching the muscle. Next, Andy got onto his knees and started probing Simon's arse with his tongue, gently licking the smooth teenage skin around the hole before grabbing both arse cheeks and forcing his head in between the buttocks so that he could ram his tongue as deeply into the anus as possible. Simon groaned with pleasure as the memories of his session the previous day came flooding back. Andy stood up and pulled down his tracksuit bottoms releasing his own rock hard cock from its prison as it sprang to attention; he spat some more onto the helmet and rubbed it around before moving it close to Simon's eagerly awaiting hole. He teased the buttocks a little first; rubbing them with his helmet before guiding it towards the passage where he very slowly started to push it against the still resisting sphincter. Simon tried to relax, but without lube Andy's cock stuck to the skin a little despite the spit he had rubbed on it; he grimaced slightly as Andy pushed slightly harder and felt his muscles open slightly as the helmet prised his arse cheeks apart. With much grunting on Andy's part and groaning on Simon's the helmet popped into the hole where he held it for a moment while he waited for Simon's arse to grow accustomed to the size. After about a minute he pushed a little more, the unlubed cock causing friction against the anus as it passed slowly deeper into the passage, Simon's groans growing slightly louder as it did so. With a quick thrust and no warning, Andy pushed his cock as deep as possible into Simon's arse and he gave another yelp in response.
"You ok?" asked Andy.
"Yeah, fine." Gasped Simon.
"Good. Don't really care either way, but it's better if you enjoy it."
He held his cock in position for a couple of minutes, before slowly drawing back and then quickly thrusting forward. He repeated this a couple of times until he could feel the precum providing natural lubrication inside Simon's rectal passage whereupon he suddenly started pumping hard and fast. He grabbed Simon's midriff and pumped harder and harder, so hard that the bin over which Simon was leaning started clanging against the wall; he could feel his own cock being compressed against the metal and it hurt somewhat, but the extreme pleasure he was getting from Andy's efforts over-ruled any pain he may have been feeling. He started to push back against Andy's cock in rhythm to the pumping, increasing the depth to which Andy's penis was able to penetrate.
"That's good queer boy; you're starting to get the hang of this."
Andy's helmet was brushing against Simon's prostate causing an intense explosion of pleasure in the teen's over-active brain, chemicals firing off all over the place as the intensity of Andy's pumping increased. He could hear Andy's breathing becoming heavier and at first wasn't sure if he just getting out of breath or if he was about to climax when his question was suddenly answered as spurt after spurt of Andy's hot spunk filled his arse; Andy's cock pulsated and throbbed as it delivered more and more semen into Simon's hungry hole. The feeling of the hot spunk brought Simon's own orgasm to the boil and he felt his penis explode with juice, pouring out down his legs and into his boxers below.
With a final grunt Andy withdrew from Simon's bottom and staggered backwards. He lit a spliff and sat down. Simon started to pull his boxers back up when Andy stopped him.
"No. Wait. The security at Boots will have gone through the CCTV with the police by now. They'll have descriptions of us and you are pretty noticeable in that gear." HE rummaged in his rucksack and pulled out a pair of white tracksuit bottoms. "Here, I want you to wear these. No underwear!" he warned.
Simon took the proferred tracksuit bottoms and held them up. They were Nike; made of white nylon and lined in white nylon. There were black stripes down each leg which meandered around to the front of the ankle at the bottom. The material looked almost transparent; in addition, the nylon was a very rough style which made a lot of noise as they billowed slightly in the increasing wind. He slipped his feet into the tracksuit bottoms and shuddered with pleasure as the rough, cold nylon travelled up his legs over the thin teenage hair on his legs. He pulled them up to the waist and tied the drawcord; they were slightly too long and hung over the back of his trainers. Andy handed him a red Nike hoody, which he pulled over his head; it was mostly plain barring a large Nike tick and letters emblazoned on the front. Finally, he gave him a Nike nylon tracksuit top; it was totally white, other than a thick pale blue stripe running down the length of each arm. He pulled up his hood and put the jacket on over the hoody before zipping it halfway up his chest. Finally, Andy produced a Nike TN cap; again, it was white, but had a navy grid-like pattern running across the top and back. He placed it on his head at the regulation scally thirty degree angle and looked at Andy.
"There. Dressed in pure white, the colour of virginal innocence. Who would accuse you of being a scumbag shoplifter?"
Simon grinned and tented in his trackies. He noticed that not only was the outline of his cock visible, but also his helmet could be plainly seen through the thin white nylon material. This revelation served only to make him tent the trackies even harder.
"Smart." Said Andy. "I'm going to have some fun with you!" Andy rummaged in his back again and produced a leather cock-ring: It consisted of two straps – a longish thin strap and a shorter, fatter strap. Each strap had several studs on there were small metal spikes on the fatter one.
"Pull your trackies down again." Ordered Andy. Simon did as he was told. Andy grabbed Simon's cock and balls and pulled them towards him. He pushed up his balls and wrapped the longer strap around the base of his penis behind the balls before pulling it tight and fastening it using the tightest stud. Simon squealed a little as the tiny spikes tickled the underside of his shaft. Once this was in place, Andy pulled down on the balls, stretching the skin so that he could wrap the shorter strap between the bottom of his penis and the balls; once again he pulled it as tight as possible and fastened the stud.
"There. That should provide just the right amount of pain and pleasure." Said Andy, laughing as he saw the look on Simon's face. "I want you to keep that on whenever you are around me. Clear?" Simon nodded.
Andy was not quite finished; from the rucksack he produced a butt plug. It was not a large plug, and at first Simon was not sure what it was for; he was quick to find out as Andy went around to his rear and rubbed the latex tip around the spunk he had left behind earlier. He eased it into Simon's hole with a little resistance as it had been opened up somewhat by the recent buggerings he had taken. The butt plug felt slightly uncomfortable, but more worrying was the feeling that his arse was trying to eject it and that it might slip out at any moment. Andy had an answer for this. He produced another piece of leather which he fastened to a stud on the top of the cock ring; he wound the leather around Simon's back and under his arse where a thicker strap fastened to the base of the butt plug thereby holding it securely in place. He buckled the front tightly to ensure that it stayed in place. The result was that the butt plug held firm pushing hard into Simon's arse and, at the same time, his penis was kept almost at ninety degrees from his body.
"There, you can pull your trackies back up now."
Again Simon followed Andy's orders and watched as the elasticated waist twanged his cock as they slid over the top. When he tied the drawstring his penis bulged conspicuously and the helmet seemed to be even more visible than before, swimming in a small pool of spunk which had dripped out of his cock following his ejaculation. He pulled his jacket down over the bottoms and the bulge was less noticeable; people would only see it if they deliberately looked. He lit a cigarette and the feeling of pleasure caused his cock to twitch which in turn pushed one of the spikes into his penis. He yelped.
"Shut up you girl!" Warned Andy in a joking manner.
Simon checked his phone. "Dale says he'll meet as at the place we went to last time."
Andy nodded and they set off across the waste ground.