Skinhead Paul was a nasty little cunt no doubt about it. At 16 he was short and ugly,not too bright and very unpopular with the other kids in his class.Unpopular in the sense that they hated his guts rather than that they ignored him. He was a violent little creep and greatly enjoyed his role as a school bully. A particular favourite activity was punching other kids in the face, a trick he had learnt from his 'Uncle' Frank who had made it very clear who was boss when he moved into their council house two years back. Since his dad ran off,his mother had been drinking more and had met this young bloke at the factory where she worked. They both shared a fondness for the pub and since 14 little Paulie had seen little of her in the evenings although he heard her and 'Uncle' Frank screwing most nights through the thin walls of their scruffy home after the pub shut..
Some of the other lads followed Paul around in a kind of moronic admiration but most kept well clear of him. They laughed at his jokes and agreed with what he had to say but they didn't like him much. Paul was...unpredictable. He had temper flare ups and was very moody. He knew he was not liked but gloried in the feeling of being feared by the other lads. And if he was short of cash for ciggies there were plenty of lads he 'borrow' money off. Most felt it was worth paying him some money every few weeks just to keep him off their backs. Any arguments with him were met with a punch in the face. Resist and he would go beserk,laying in the blows like some sort of demented Japanese boxer. Paul had other problems as well as his 'Uncle' Franks violence. He suffered from a condition that made it hard to gauge others emotions. His mother had been unable to love him and even very young he felt unwanted and unloved. Little Paulie did not help himself though.... He had long since given up trying to get people to like him. Respect and fear were fairly good substitutes. Nobody bothered him. Every now a kid would complain to a teacher about his bullying but that would just intensify the attacks and the kid would give up 'the grassing' as he called it. Even when one kid changed schools to get away from the violence, little Paulie found out where he lived and the attacks continued on the streets where this lad lived on the other side of town.
I was at school with Paul and he was a grade A bastard. I was not one of the stronger lads but had a mind of my own and argued with him.... It was never hard to argue with him as he had a very poor grasp on reality and would talk bullshit much the time . He decided the solution was to punch me in the face again and again when we passed in the corridors He taunted me too that I could never get him back. I fought back once,landing him a few blows to the side of his head but he went crazy lashing out and hitting me hard on the jaw and in the face...which was sore for weeks and a black eye explained to my parents as 'walking into a door'. I knew better than to 'grass' on him....As I said,a nasty little bastard.
When he was finally chucked out of school for bullying, Paul got a job in a factory making plastic sunglasses. He had a bit of money left over from what he paid his mum each week. Pretty soon he bought himself a pair of great 20 hole rangers and a great green MA1 jacket that worked well with his bleachers.Then some braces and a couple of Fred Perry shirts. He mixed with a bunch of skins who worked in the packing department and they went to the West Ham games a fair bit together....They were a couple of years older than him and were impressed with his strength and viciousness in the various rucks they got into with rival fans after matches. Paul ,in turn,had finally found 3 guys he could look up to and in truth[though he didn't know it yet] he was very attracted to one of them,Ben...yep,.Paul was gay but had a very nasty way of showing it.
He liked to hang around the park bogs looking for 'filthy fucking queers' and he liked to give them a good kicking. He had done it a few times alone,charging into the isolated brick built toilet block in the evening after a session at the boozer. He would shout and yell and start lashing out,kicking and punching anyone there .Pretty soon,little Paul had achieved somewhat of a reputation with the local cops as well. One guy had been quite badly injured after one of the attacks and had passed out on the floor of the bogs. Paul had given him some extra kicks in the chest whilst he was out cold and broken a few ribs.The guy complained to the Police.They had a pretty good idea who it was from the description and arrested Paul the next morning.Apart from a warning, little was done.The Police in the 80's had little time for 'queers' and if one got badly beaten in a park toilet at night it served him right.
By 18, Pauls attacks were getting worse and he had got a bunch of half a dozen skins who seemed to look up to him,even though some were older than he. After the pub they liked to do the 'queers' in the cottages and even in the parks. Sometimes they all got together into Bens van and went up to the Heath in the north of the city... Here there were lots of queers to stomp and punch. Most just ran off when the crowd of skins ran through the woods at 1 in the morning but some were not fast enough and would get a good kicking. They would have a great laugh about this and would discuss their raid in great detail later as they got pissed on cheap canned lager in the back of the van.
A year or so after he had been thrown out of school I was attacked by Paul and his little gang in the cruising park at 11 one night. They had just been chucked out of the pub by the tube station and were all in skin gear. Pissed,loud and aggressive,they wanted some bovver,they wanted to do some kicking and they wanted to show the 'queers' who was boss around here. Ben was kitted up in his oxbloods along with white tight jeans.Paul was in his high boots that were admired and respected by all the local skin bros. He kept them shined up and had added steel blakies so they made a great racket when he walked along the road. If there were granite kerbstones,he delighted in getting them to spark as he smashed his boots down.Three other lads were with them,all in DM's,bleachers and West Ham T shirts.They all had number 1 cuts and Ben sported proudly his West Ham team badge tattooed on his neck.
I had just left the bogs in the park,having just been jerked off by a willowy bloke in his 20's who looked like the local vicar. I just got back on my bike getting ready to cycle back to my parents place,It was the summer before I went to Uni in Manchester. I heard a shout...'Get the fukkin queer' and as I turned round I saw 5 guys coming for me,running across the concrete entrance to the park. I tried to get away on my bike but they pretty soon caught up with me,pushed me off it and after I fell onto the concrete started kicking me...laughing all the time. The bike got smashed up too as the boots rained down their blows of hate. then I was kicked in the head,boot after boot...skins standing over me as I yelled and pleaded to be let alone. More kicks in the ribs,hard kicks in the legs and even one in the balls that doubled me up. I curled up into the fetal position trying to escape the worst of their blows.... I screamed and yelled.The noise attacted attention from the main road and people walked over to see what the fuss was. They decided to split leaving me with cuts and bruises sobbing on the ground under the light of a park light. Slowly I picked myself up and went home,torn clothes,a wrecked bike,black eyes,blood from a split lip,bruises and cuts...the Police were called and the following morning my father took me down to the Police station and a complaint was made leading to a court appearance for little Paul and Ben.They were fined and warned about further behavior like this,not that it made much difference..... I heard he had lost his job as a result as the whole thing had been in the local paper.
Couldn't care less for the little shitter. I went to Uni,far away from London and forgot about it all, or so I thought,but I never really did. I returned to London in my mid twenties but lived on the other side of the city from the East End where I had grown up....my parents had left London for Bournemouth so there was no need to go back to the old haunts.....As the years progressed I got more into the gay leather and rubber scene and rather more into rough stuff myself. It was odd,I was not really a top and I was certainly no bottom either. I used to revel in the memories of the bashing by the skins from both the position of the attacker and the victim.. I liked to fantasize about that scene in the park . In truth those guys could have killed me.Their kicks were damaging but well controlled. I also fantasized about being the instigator of such an attack on some poor helpless guy.... In a way I enjoyed the fantasy that the attack had engendered but I knew also it had left scars in my head. I always felt bad that I had not retaliated...even just to get one or two blows back to those moronic little sods....but all I had been able to do was lie there and take it.
I heard years later from a schoolmate,David, I kept in touch with that Paul had spent some time in the nick for 'ABH' when he and a gang had attacked some guys in the street. I also heard that he had shared a flat with Ben for a while in the Stratford area and the two of them had even been seen in some of the gay bars in the East End of London like 'Charlie Browns' but I had never seen them. One of the guys that Paul had hung around with told David about the 'bashing' trips to the parks and about Pauls home life as a kid....Turned out that 3 of the 5 guys in Pauls little gang were gay,including Paul himself of course......Funny how denial works with even 3 horny young blokes unable to fuck other guys as they feel so bad about it in themselves but hanging around gay haunts then going queerbashing...
I sometimes wondered what my reactions might be to seeing my tormenter again. I also began to hate him with a vengeance. Hate as in wanting to hurt him and even kill him.The hate surprised me sometimes but there were so many memories from my early teen years of his fists flying into my face and the fear the guy instilled in me and my friends. I was also angry about finding out he was gay and yet had preyed and hurt gay men.
Twenty five years had passed but I had never forgotten the events when I was 17.When times got bad I even brooded on them. I had had a lot of issues with low self esteem for many years after,even though I had done well at Uni , got a good job after for a multinational in London,and had travelled the world..... I blamed Paul for a lot of shit,even my own inability to form a lasting relationship with any other guy.. I enjoyed the whole gay clubbing,cruising and fukkin scene as much as anyone and after stuff relaxed a bit after the AIDS scares of the 80's and 90's really started to enjoy the gay leather and rubber scene again .As skins began to make a reintroduction on the gay scene in a big way in the early noughties I got into it myself and looked pretty awesome in the kit myself. At 6 foot I look pretty cool in my 20 hole Grinders,along with a full rubber skin outfit. Hell. I even got a thick rubber skinhead anatomic face mask that looks so cool with the rest of the outfit.Great for scaring the guys on the Heath late at night or getting that extra spurt of cum in a backroom from the rubberboi I'm jerkin off! I liked rubber and I liked the feeling of total anonymity the mask gave me.
When I was masked once I saw Paul in a fuck club.... He was in skin gear and I recognised him at once.The years had not been too kind and if anything he looked older than I knew he was. He had put on some weight too which being short looked bad on him. I watched out of fascination across the bar at my nemesis but he had no idea of who I was. I kept the mask on that night and when he left I left too a few minutes behind,I quickly got my bike jacket gloves and helmet from the cloakroom and kitted up,getting onto the Honda Blackbird parked outside. I put the helmet on over the mask and quickly revved up the bike and was away....now where was the little shitter?..... I rode a round the block a couple of times and then I saw a pair of red rear lights illuminated from an old Ford as it left a parking space.A shiny head in the drivers seat......Yep. It was him....my old 'friend'...
At a distance I followed his car. He drove up Eastway and onto the North Circular and around 30 minutes later turned off down into Golders Green and then headed towards Hampstead Heath.... I knew where he was going. It kinda made things easier,I had thought of following him home but imagined the neighbours would hear a fight and call the cops,so this was better...... He parked at the bottom end I knew so well. Again parking a distance away with my lights off,I watched him get out of his car,lock it and cross over the road into the woods toward the cruising area..... I could feel my dick stiffen in the rubber jeans...was this to be payback time?
I locked my helmet onto the bike and walked into the woods following a trail I knew very well. It ended up in a clearing by a lake and a lot of the rubber guys met up there. In recent years it had been a lot quieter but still could be very lively at times,especially on warm wet summer nights. This evening it was pretty quiet though there were a few shadows walking around. In the background I could hear a guy being whipped and obviously enjoying the experience... I walked around for a while looking for little Paul...and then I saw him,his light bleachers and white braces quite visible. I began to follow him.Paul saw me and walked up into the woods.... I guess he was interested in me. I was still wearing my anatomic skinhead mask. I was wearing my leather jacket over my rubber gear and had put on my thin surgical gloves as well.
In a small clearing in some bushes he turned to face me,looking at me with curiousity..As I drew near he reached out at my rubbered crotch.That was the last time I let Paul do anything more to me..... I lashed out with my fists.... I hit him twice hard on the face. He was astonished by this .. He yelped in surprise...... I grabbed his neck... He shouted at me:
"Hey get off me you fukkin creep"
"I'll give you 'fukkin creep' shithead..." I yelled through the mask.
This scene was not what he had expected,to say the least..... I guess Paul had come here wanting a bit of a gentle mutual jerk off or something. But he was going to get rather more this night. I kneed him in the groin. He tried to hit back but I then punched him hard in his little fat stomach. He was no longer very fit...but I was . I spent time at the gym and the pool and looked after myself.Little fat ugly skinhead Paul smoked and ate badly. He never did any exercise. In truth he was a slob,old before his time.As he bent double,I pushed him down into the mud. He yelled as I started kicking him.First in the stomach again.pretty hard. He grunted as he was unable to breathe by being winded....Then in the ribs,I kicked and kicked him on his chest and ribs...... I remembered how it felt when he did it to me all those years back and this just rekindled my enthusiasm.... I was powered by the years of hate I had for this cunt...Oh jeezus it felt so good... but I knew I had to control myself... It would be so easy to lose control with this little shitter.....then finally I kicked him in the face...... I kicked again at his head as he finally got his breath back and yelled and cried out.
"Nah,stop man please,I'm sorry..."
I stood astride his head,one boot on either side. He looked up at me standing tall above him.
"Lick my boots ya little dickhead.."
Nothing happened so I moved one boot out and kicked the right side of his head.
"'Do as You are fukkin told!" Even in the shadows I could see he was afraid. He looked up at me with a desperate expression and groaned.
He turned his head and began licking the boots. I watched as his little tongue darted in and out trying to lick the mud off the boots and retching...Then I lifted one of my boots and placed it over his face. He licked the muddy sole.... I pushed down on his face with my muddy Grinder boot then. I gave the side of his head another kick.Not a hard kick,but one that caught his ear and hurt all the same.,then another in the same place,and another.... He yelped.... I was enjoying this....no,really enjoying this... He deserved it,he really deserved it. He deserved more for all the years of hatred and torment he poured out over all his victims. He deserved it for all the queerbashing he had done because he couldn't come to terms with himself and his sexuality.... He deserved this because he was an evil little shit...and little shits like Paul needed a good twatting.
There was no resistance. I kicked some more. I was sporting a semi hard under the rubber and I wanted to do something very badly..... I wanted to piss on him.This was nothing to do with piss sex ,this was about showing the guy my hatred and contempt. I got my pisser out and let Paul have it.... I stood over him and pissed all over his clothes...
"Please don't" he whimpered,but nothing was going to stop me. I kneeled over him and pissed straight in his face and down his Fred Perry shirt.
I slapped him
"Open yer Fukkin mouth"....nothing happened so I hit him hard in the face,just like he used to do to me all those years ago... "Ok man OK" he gibbered and I directed a flow of piss into his throat
"Drink it you little cunt"
I grabbed by the collar of his black MA1 jacket kneeling over his chest. I sank my boots into his groin and pushed the back of his head into the mud. I pissed some more straight into his worthless piggy face.. He scrunched closed his eyes....For a minute all was quiet. I hit him in the face,then again.
... He started crying... quietly at first, then huge wailing sobs.
'Don't hit me any more,please don't hit me,please" he cried out half sobbing. I had no compassion,just hate and contempt.
More tears. I looked down at him shaking the sobs out . I could see them roll down his face. He would remember this night.
" Man I'm sorry,listen... I'm really sorry,really sorry"
A pause "Don't hurt me any more,please,please..." His begging made me hard and my dick stood to attention.
I jerked off my hard dick over him unloading my hateful cum all over his face. As I came I dug my boots into his crotch for one last final attack on his prone wounded body...
This felt good. I looked at those two bruised piggy eyes full of tears and I felt good about this. I felt like years of pain in myself had been washed away by his cries and tears this evening. I felt good,elated,happy. I was also surprised there had not been more resistance. He was a tough little fighter as a kid.Now he was just a stupid fat little shitter lying in the mud,worthless and pathetic.
Looking down at him with complete contempt,not an ounce of pity in my heart. I got up. He was still whimpering. there was blood,mud and my cum and piss on his face. his jacket was torn and his jeans were soaked with piss and covered in mud. He was finished. He knew who was boss... He had got some justice.
And as I turned round to walk away I heard something that did surprise me
"What took you so long to find me?"
I stopped.
"You know who I am?"
"Yes.... I am truly sorry for what I did to you. I deserved this,and more....You are not the first guy to do this to me. I'm sorry man,really sorry"
I left and walked out of the wood. Oddly I have never seen Paul again,but I don't worry myself thinking about him any more. He is an old memory. He doesn't threaten me any more.