#bleachers

Bleachers from @bleachersandco-blog

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I Wanna Get Better
Performed by  Bleachers
Written by Jack Antonoff and John Hill

FromWikipedia: 

The Lead single from Bleachers’ debut studio album Strange Desire on February 17, 2014, through RCA Records.  The song topped the Billboard alternative songs chart, becoming the band’s first number-one single, and also reached the top ten of the Hot Rock Songs chart. The accompanying video stars Antonoff as a therapist and was directed by his then girlfriend, actress and filmmaker Lena Dunham.

The song received heaps of critical acclaim.  MIchael Tedder of Spin called it “An example of an artist so succinctly summing up their entire raison d’etre in one song that the accompanying album becomes superfluous.”  Josh Terry of Consequence of Sound noted it was one of the album’s best tracks due to its “abounding optimism, complete with a monster, scream-it-at-the-top-of-your-lungs chorus.”

This.  Fucking.  Song.

It’s not that I had forgotten it existed.  It’s on at least two playlists that I regularly listen to while driving, and it is my default ringtone on my phone (picks up just as it goes into the first chorus).  I was reminded of it when I woke up this evening by a meme my Eldest had posted in our family group chat on the book of faces.  It said, “Who needs therapy when  you can listen to I Wanna Get Better by the Bleachers 50 times in a row?”

Well… The lines in the chorus brought something to the forefront of my mind that I was aware of, but trying blissfully to ignore the very obvious signs.  My marriage was, and honestly had been for a while, in name only.  It took a dancer at a strip club to truly hammer home, “I didn’t know I was lonely ‘til I saw your face, and I wanna get better.”  And that thought expanded to “I didn’t know I was broken ‘til I wanted a change, and I wanna get better.”  Not that I was going to start chasing a a dancer several years younger than me, I was a married man after all.  But it made me want to fix the glaring problems that existed in my relationship with my wife.  It was entirely too late for us though.

Seven years ago (I know it was late August, might have even been today) she asked me for a divorce.  The deepest and most gut-wrenching, heart stopping pain you’ve ever experienced becomes less with time, but never truly goes away.  Nearly breaking my jaw when I was seven, crushing my knee when I was 20, the pain that showed up in my hip at 39, and those four words, “I want a divorce.”  Losing my parents the way that I did didn’t do much good for me either.  I started taking antidepressants almost immediately after, and continued until my prescription and medical coverage ran out three years later.

I’m better now.  But sometimes this song, this fucking song, hits just right.

Lyrics:

Hey, I hear the voice of a preacher from the back room
Calling my name and I follow just to find you
I trace the faith to a broken down television and put on the weather
And I’ve trained myself to give up on the past ‘cause
I frozen time between hearses and caskets
Lost control when I panicked at the acid test

I wanna get better

While my friends were getting high and chasing girls down parkway lines
I was losing my mind 'cause the love, the love, the love, the love, the love
That I gave wasted on a nice face
In a blaze of fear I put a helmet on a helmet
Counting seconds through the night and got carried away
So now I’m standing on the overpass screaming at the cars,
Hey, I wanna get better!

I didn’t know I was lonely 'til I saw your face
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better
I didn’t know I was broken 'til I wanted to change
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better

I go up to my room and there’s girls on the ceiling
Cut out their pictures and I chase that feeling
Of an eighteen year old who didn’t know what loss was
Now I’m a stranger
And I miss the days of a life still permanent
Mourn the years before I got carried away
So now I’m staring at the interstate screaming at myself,
Hey, I wanna get better!

I didn’t know I was lonely 'til I saw your face
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better
I didn’t know I was broken 'til I wanted to change
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better

Better, 'cause I’m sleeping in the back of a taxi
I’m screaming from my bedroom window
Even if its gonna kill me

Woke up this morning early before my family
From this dream where she was trying to show me
How a life can move from the darkness
She said to get better
So I put a bullet where I shoulda put a helmet
And I crash my car 'cause I wanna get carried away
That’s why I’m standing on the overpass screaming at myself
Hey, I wanna get better!

I didn’t know I was lonely 'til I saw your face
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better
I didn’t know I was broken 'til I wanted to change
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better

Thinking about that time we got to dance on stage with Jack, my love

Stoned At The Nail Salon promo ft. me

[Thank you for the messages asking for a version of James’ Disappearance from James perspective, so here goes - hopefully it ticks all the boxes]

James was sitting on the number 13 bus; the one he hopped on to at college and would stake him on the twenty minute journey into town. He was going over what he’d learnt in college that morning. 

He smiled as his mind drifted off his books for a few minutes thinking about the day ahead. After work he was getting together with his old schoolmates for a five-a-side football match. Then he was going to the cinema with Emma, his girlfriend for the past two years. James reflected on just how perfect life was. He was getting a great start in life, supported by a loving family. He’d passed all his exams and was now splitting his days between studying at college and working in an entry level position in one of the town’s accountancy firms. But somewhere in the back of his mind, from time to time he would hear a little voice speaking. Every once in a while it managed to capture his attention, ‘was this the life he wanted or was it the life his parents planned for him?’ 

James was brought back to reality as he heard the bus driver call out, “central bus station, all change”. He quickly gathered his books and picked up his rucksack. James jumped off the bus to begin the five minute walk to the accountant’s office he worked in.

James wasn’t really paying much attention to his surroundings when he bumped into a guy standing on the footpath in front of him. He looked up, first noticing the shaved head, “oh, I’m sorry” he said as he looked down to see a pair of tall black boots with white laces, extremely tight jeans that looked like they had been splashed with bleach tucked into the boots. He looked back up to see the guy was wearing a long coat and he was smoking. Like the rest of his family, James hated smokers. From what he could tell this was a very weird smelling tobacco.

“Excuse me”, James said meekly as he tried to get passed.

“Oi oi m8, what’s the rush”? the skinhead replied, blowing the smoke in James face “don’t you like m’ clobber m8″?

James didn’t know what to say. 

The skinhead then inhaled more smoke and blew more of it right n James’ face. The smell was so strong, James couldn’t help but start coughing. “You’ll get used to it m8, don’t worry. Now, look at m’ boots m8, don’t you think they look great? They feel great. Bet you’d like a pair of boots like these. Bet you’d like to be like me. Not a worry, not a care”.

“No… no… th.. thanks, I… excuse me, I need to get going”, James stuttered.

“Nah, you don’t m8, just think how great these boots would feel tightly laced on your feet. Na one would mess wiv ya m8, wearing these. Look at them, don’t they look great”. All the time the skinhead kept blowing smoke in James’ face.

James felt compelled to stare at the boots, his mind was becoming more and more fuzzy. Was it something in the smoke? He was supposed to be going somewhere wasn’t he, but where? To anyone watching James looked like a lost sheep.

James watched the skinhead drop the cigarette he’d been smoking stomp on it firmly with his boot. He watched the skinhead get the pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and light another one up. James was frozen on the spot as he watched the skinhead repeatedly inhale and blow the smoke right in his face. Each time the skinhead blew smoke, James could hear questions, “You like my boots, don’t you, you think I’m hard, don’t you? you like skinheads, don’t you? You wanna be my skinboi, don’t you?” Over an over the questions were repeated. The fuzziness in James head got worse. He found it harder and harder to think. He couldn’t string any words together so he just started nodding in response to the skinhead’s questions. 

In split second the skinhead took a long drag on the cigarette and then pulled James towards him, and as he kissed him exhaled the smoke directly into James’ lungs. James felt the skinhead’s tongue probing his mouth. James gasped and the skinhead immediate pushed his tongue in. He was was in no fit state to fight back, so he simply started snogging the skinhead. 

James ‘came up for air’. He didn’t know whether there was something in the cigarettes or the smoke, but he was experiencing sensations in his body he’d never experienced before. He was intoxicated by this booted stranger. He couldn’t stop himself moving back in for another long skinhead kiss. The skinhead finally broke the kiss and said, “leave your stuff. Follow me skinboi”! In James’ fuzzy mind there was no option but to comply, so he dropped the pile of books that were in his hands, the took the rucksack off his shoulder and left it on the ground. “Right boi, let’s go”!

With no idea of what was in store for him or where he was going, James followed his new skinhead mentor. like a puppy follows its new owner. They walked through a part of town James was unfamiliar with. The buildings looked derelict, and there was graffiti everywhere. Despite a sense of unease, James continued walking two paces behind his new skinhead companion. 

Eventually they came to a stop. The skinhead reached into his pocket and this time pulled out two cigarettes, put both in his mouth and lit both of them. He took one out and handed it to James, who instinctively put it in his mouth and inhaled. “Right boi, tell me yer name”? the skinhead asked blowing smoke in James’ direction. 

“Er… it’s James”.

“Well that won’t do m8. I can’t have a skin boi with a pon-see name like James. From now on you’ll be known as Jim… Jimskin. I’m Gaz and this is my place, nothin’ special but it’s from where the new you will emerge, the new Jimskin. You know you want it boi. I know you need more to your life than working in an office. Let’s go”. And with that they entered the building together. 

The skinhead led Jim, who was still smoking his cigarette, into the bathroom, “right lad, strip and I mean everything. Then we can get started”. While Jim removed all his clothes, including his underwear, Gaz went into another room and returned with a chair and a pair of clippers. 

“In the chair boi”, Gaz commanded.

He didn’t know whether it was the effect of the smoke or being naked with this powerful skinhead in front of him, but Jim, the [soon to be former) student sat passively in the chair. The voice that questioned his perfect life, his ambition to be an accountant was louder than ever. The scene (and the smoke) was having the desired effect on Jim, and Gaz was pleased to see what was happening. “Yeah boi, this is it. This is what you want. I knew it see it in the way you looked at my boots. I’m gonna make you the perfect skinboi. I’ll train ya. I’ll show ya how to dress proper. I’ll make sure you get a real job” (emphasising real). With that he pulled another cigarette out of the packet and placed it in Jim’s mouth. He lit it and smiled contentedly as Jim, without any prompting started to inhale the smoke. He could see his boi relax. Gaz set to work.

CLACK! The familiar sound of clippers being turned on. They made quick work of James’ hair. Gaz switched them off and took a few moments to admire his work, “Boi, you look so much better now. I bet you feel better too”.

Jim wasn’t so sure. He looked somewhat dejected as he saw his brown locks fall onto the floor, capturing some clumps of hair in his hands. Suddenly the diligent, studious career boy reasserted itself and he started having a panic attack.

“M8, m8 calm down, what’s the problem”?

“The problem is I look a complete fuckin’ freak, that’s what the fuckin’ problem is”, Jim retorted. (Gaz was pleased that Jim had used a profanity for the first time. Gaz would ensure that Jim’s vocabulary became more basic and that most sentences would include a swear word or two).

“Look boi there is no problem”. With that the skinhead got another cigarette out of the packet and said, “here smoke one of these, it will help calm you down”.

Jim smoked the cigarette and found that he was starting to like being a smoker, he even asked Gaz for another one. “No problem”, came the reply from Gaz, smiling, “but if you’re going to be a smoker, you’re paying for them out of your wages alright”.

“Wages”? James questioned.

“Yes boi, wages, but not from working some snooty desk jockey job. Wages you’ll get from proper work; where yer hands get dirty. Now listen to me. You’re gonna get dressed now, and in proper skin gear. I’m gonna let you have some of my spare stuff and later you can pay me back, if yer know what I mean. Yer gonna be my skin boi and yer gonna dress as I tell ya. Yer might not be sure about what’s happening to you right now, but in time yer gonna love being my boi. I’ll make sure of it, now get up and follow me, Jimskin”. With that the newly shaved Jim got out of the chair and followed Gaz into the next room. 

“Let’s het you kitted out”. Gaz opened the cupboard door and took out a load of clothes. He picked out a Fred Perry polo shirt in black with yellow piping, a MA1 bomber jacket in green, “and these are jeans I bleached m’self, they’re called bleachers. They’re Levi’s 501s, and I will show you how to bleach them when we get you a couple more pairs from the shops, but these are ready for you to put on. One more thing, as my boi you’ll wear my jocks. Now put this on first”, as he handed Jim a jock. 

Gaz then opened another door to reveal several pairs of black boots, in a range of heights, each with laces of different colours. Gaz picked up a pair which had white laces that were already partly laced up, “yeah these are perfect for my boi”.

Gaz smiled at Jim, and held out the pack of cigarettes. With no hesitation, Jim took one and put it in his mouth. Gaz held out his lighter and lit the cigarette, like a proud father watched the end turn bright red as Jim inhaled the smoke that was making his conversion to skinboi so much easier. “Right, get the rest of the clobber and then I’ll show you how to lace up your boots proper.

Jim started dressing. Already wearing the jockstrap, he pulled on a pair of white football socks, first up his left leg, then on his right. Then he pulled on the bleachers; they were skintight and cut off just below the knew. Gaz walked over to Jim and attached a pair of white braces to the back and front of the bleachers and pulled them up onto Jim’s torso, letting them twang on the boi’s shoulders. Gaz adjusted the braces so they lifted the bleachers as far up into Jim’s crotch as possible. He ran his hand over Jim’s arse, ensuring the bleachers were pushed into the skinboi’s crack. “Yeah boi, very nice” was all that Gaz needed to say.

“Right, let’s get yer boots on. Now, there’s a special way to lace these boots boi. I’ll show you what to do with the first boot, but then yer on yer own. Right? Now sit down”!

Jim sat in a chair whilst Gaz sat on a small stool in front of him. He pulled the boi’s booted foot and set it on his own crotch. Gaz was able to feel the sole of boi’s boot pressing on his own bleachers.“Now listen, take one end of the lace and push it in the top hole. Then thread the other one through each hole in turn starting at the bottom and go up, like a ladder”. Gaz continued to lace up the boot onto Jim’s leg. “When you’ve done, just wind round the rest of the lace and tie ‘em tight at the top. Easy eh”?

"I’m not sure I get it.” Jim said, feeling as though he’d never do it right. “Anyway, does it have to be so fuckin’ tight"? 

“Oh yeah, that’s part of the fun boi, you’ll never forget you’ve got a fuckin’ pair of stompin’ boots on ya”. Gaz said confidently, “right you do the other boot.”

Jim followed the instructions Gaz gave him, whilst Gaz watched closely to make sure they were laced properly and were ‘as tight as fuck’.

Gaz watched intently as Jim laced up the other boot. He smiled at how quickly James had accepted his new life as Jimskin. How he was allowing himself to be turned into a skinboi. Not once had he mentioned his college, parents, accountancy job. That had all been suppressed and would soon be forgotten as Jim immersed himself into the skinhead life Gaz had planned for him. 

“Right, stand up lad. Put this on”. Gaz handed Jim the green MA1 jacket, “follow me”.

The pair went into the bedroom, which just happened to have a full-length mirror. Jim stared into the mirror and gasped at his reflection. The boots on his feet, the Fred Perry shirt and braces, his zero-cropped head and the tight bleachers. Without a thought, his hand went down and he rubbed his crotch. Inside the jock, his cock was growing rapidly, so much so that his hard-on was impossible to hide. Gaz smiled. "You like it, don’t you boi”? said Gaz. “Well, this is what you are now Jim, you’re my skinboi and there’s more modifications I’m gonna get done”. With that Gaz grabbed Jim and pulled him onto the bed and into a long, a very long snog.

“Are you happy now boi”? Gaz asked, handing Jim another cigarette, and taking one out for himself.

“Yes, Gaz, yes, I fuckin’ am”. Jim replied, lighting up.

Jim spent the next couple of days getting to know Gaz intimately and what was planned for Jim’s new life. Gaz worked for the gas company, and they were short of labour and looking for apprentices. Gaz had promised the boss that when he returned from his week’s leave he’d bring along a new starter; Jim was going to be that man. Gaz also told Jim he’d train him to be the perfect skinboi and that he should get some ink and piercings, but only when he was ready.

It was the end of the week, Jim was venturing out of Gaz’s home for the first time as a skinhead.

Jim was introduced to Gaz’s mates and they had a few beers to welcome the new skinboi. As Jim was adjusting his socks, he looked up to see a woman stop abruptly, and she looked back him. Jim thought he recognised the woman, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.

James had it all. He had just turned 18, he had a loving family, one elder brother and one younger sister, and he had a steady girlfriend. He kept fit at the gym and played five-a-side football with friends he’d stayed in contact with from school. James wanted to be an accountant, and was following his dreams by combining studying at college and working as a junior in one of the city’s accountancy firms. Typically, James would split his days between attending college classes and working for the firm. 

So, it may come as a surprise to read that one-day James just simply disappeared. He was last seen by fellow students boarding the number 13 bus. That was one of several on the route between his college and the main bus station in the city centre. Only one person has come forward to say what happened when James alighted. 

One of the last passengers to get off the bus recalls seeing the student [James] literally bumping into what she described as a ‘ruffian’. She said he looked like a ‘thug’ with a shaved head, wearing black boots, jeans that looked like they had been splashed a long coat who was smoking. You know, one of those skinhead thugs.

Concerned for the student’s safety, the passenger pretended to be checking messages on her phone, but she was really listening in to their conversation. From what she could hear, the two were just talking about the skinhead’s clothes and in particular the boots he was wearing. The passenger couldn’t be certain, but she felt like the skinhead was actually flirting with James. 

The skinhead got a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lit one for himself. He inhaled and blew the smoke right in James’ face! …and he kept doing it, over and over. Each time he did, the skinhead would ask James questions. The passenger thought she could hear, “You think I’m hard, don’t you? You like skinheads, don’t you? You wanna be my skinboi, don’t you?” James didn’t say anything, he just nodded. Mindlessly. It was like the student was in a trance. The skinhead then took a big inhale from the cigarette and flicked it onto the ground, stomping on it with his boot. He pulled the student towards him and kissed him. It wasn’t a little ‘peck on the cheek’ either. To the passenger it looked like the skinhead was giving James mouth to mouth! Things took a turn for the worse when she realised that he was kissing the skinhead back.

The passenger heard the skinhead say, “Leave your stuff. Follow me skinboi!” Robot-like, James dropped his books and took the rucksack off his shoulder and put it on the ground. The passenger watched James follow the skinhead, just like a puppy following its master. With that the two disappeared into the distance.

A number of days had passed by when the passenger that travelled on the bus the same day James disappeared was once again in the city centre, near the bus station. 

Sitting down by the side of the road was two of those skinheads, ones that wear tall laced-up black boots, with white laces and jeans splashed with bleach. As she passed them by, she stopped abruptly, and looked towards a bench on the side of the road. The skinhead that was adjusting his socks looked very familiar indeed, but she just couldn’t place him.

gay-skin-ben:

No One Else To Blame

It was his own fault. All those years of fantasising about being a skinhead and now James (now Jimbo) is one.

With the anonymity of fake profiles on different websites, Jimbo thought he was ‘safe online’. He would download pictures of skinheads from the internet. Later he’d write short stories and use the pictures as illustrations and then post them online. Or he would see a picture already posted, which would inspire a reblog with accompanying text. 

Thinking no one would discover his real identify, Jimbo would be open chat with as many skinheads as possible initially on Tumblr and then on chat services like Kik or Hangouts. 

During these chats he’d talk about his interests, his desire to become a skinhead, the ‘gear’ he owned, and sometimes the little bit of experience he’d had playing with or meeting other gear-heads. Jimbo also revealed some of his deepest desires to a couple of the people he’d chat with most often. These guys would often suggest meeting, at which point he’d make his excuses and end the chat - sometimes resorting to blocking the writer if things became a little too ‘close for comfort’. Reassured by the knowledge that he had faked his location, anonymised his identity, and if things became too much he could easily delete his profile and continue with his boring office worker life.

Unfortunately for Jimbo one of the skinheads he chatted with had different ideas. Mal knew the lad would never become a skinhead without intervention. so he decided to ‘grant the lad’s wishes’. The long-time skinhead, who never divulged his name, but spent many hours chatting with Jimbo, and getting the lad to be confident enough to share pictures with him privately (and sharing his own pictures in return), any of which might just give a clue to the lad’s real location.

Jimbo warmed to the skinhead, and had probably become a little complacent in their chats. When Mal divulged his location was Sweden, And as if to reaffirm this shared a few pictures showing him in Sweden. (Little did the lad know they were taken on a recent holiday). Jimbo thought it was safe to say where he really lived, after all, it would be highly unlikely that he’d travel from Sweden to his town. The lad also shared some pictures of him in places he frequented locally, including one outside where he worked. Although he’d done his best to ‘crop’ the pictures there was enough for the skinhead to work out the locations. The skinhead (who didn’t live in Sweden) hatched his plan.

The moment came at the end of the work-week. The lad had told Mal he offline on Friday because Fridays at the end of the month was a ‘Payday Piss-Up’. Everyone where he worked would go out, the boss would put a few hundred quid (pounds) behind the bar so they could wind-down after work on the company tab. 

The pub the company uses happens to be an old ‘inn’, so it has rooms where you can stay the night. Mal checked into his room, spent half an hour getting things ready and went back downstairs. He found a quiet corner of the pub where he wouldn’t readily be noticed. He was watching people coming and going, and then the lad appeared surrounded by work colleagues. He slowly drank his beer, whilst watching the lad (and his colleagues) getting worse for wear. 

The moment came when the lads colleagues started to disperse and he was left alone at the bar. Mal walked up to the lad, and said “Let me buy you a pint. I’m Mal”. Jimbo looked up. Standing next to him he saw a skinhead, with green MA1 jacket, the tightest bleachers, what looked like 20-hole ranger boots and white socks. Jimbo was taken back by skinhead’s generosity. Little did he know who the skinhead actually was, James…,my name is James, nice to meet you.” (his speech was somewhat slurred).

Believing their meeting was just a coincidence, Jimbo accepted the offer, “Yes, sure”. Mal got the drinks in and they got into a conversation about football, work, interests and of course skinheads. Mal kept buying Jimbo drinks but would duck out of getting himself one. Eventually, Mal had the lad where he wanted him. 

“I’m not sure you’re in a fit state to go home, I’ve got a room upstairs that you can crash in”. With that Mal hoisted the lad over his shoulder and carried him to his room. Back upstairs he sat the lad down in a chair that he’d placed in the middle of the room. He strapped Jimbo to the chair to ensure he was full restrained. 

Mal picked up the clippers and said, “I’m going to make your dreams come true”, and with that he turned on the clippers. Over the next two hours Mal transformed James into Jimbo. First using the clippers and then wet-shaving his head. Mal went over to the corner of the room where there was a big bag. He pulled out a number of items: a box, a pair of bleachers, a white vest, white socks. “Right lad, let’s get you into some proper gear”. Mal was ready for Jimbo to fight him, but the truth was this is what James really wanted. The only way it would happen is if a big hard skinhead changed him, and made him a skinhead. So, as drunk as he was, he fully cooperated as Mal dressed him. The best part was Mal teaching him how to ladder lace his boots. (How would he ever remember what to do). Mal looked at his creation, satisfied with what he saw he turned the lights out.

[Next morning, outside the pub] 

Jimbo had his head in his hands in the full realisation that his life was changed now, and had a sick feeling about how he was going to explain his new look

“Right lad, my work here is done. Don’t be ashamed. You’re a skinhead now. It’s what you’ve always wanted to be”. With that Jimbo watched Mal walk off down the road

“So that night I experienced gay skinhead sex for the first time. I’m not one to ‘kiss and tell’, but let me say Chopper was amazing. 

He’s my boyfriend now. In fact, soon you’ll get to meet him”.

I’d not said anything for ages. I was dumbfounded by the story my brother had just recounted. “What do you mean, soon you’ll get to meet him?”

My brother smiled, “Well you see, I’m now a proud skinhead boi, part of an amazing crew, with a great Boss in Nick, who takes care of everything. We put all our wages into one pot, so everything is shared equally. That’s the thing, everyone is scared of skinheads, even I was at first, but I’ve learned lots about being a skinhead and one thing is that we look out for one another.”

Just then there was a knock at the door. “Ah that’ll be the lads. When I told them I had an elder brother, they wanted to meet you. That’ll be them at the door now”.

I shouted to my brother, “are you not going to untie me?” All i heard was him laughing as he opened the door. I could hear him saying something that sounded like, “Oi oi lads, he’s all tied up and ready for collection. Come on!”

What the **** did my brother mean ‘all tied up and ready for collection’? I had a very bad feeling and got that nauseous sensation in my stomach.

At that moment my brother came back into the room and was followed by two other guys looking pretty much the same as my brother, and both were smoking. I wasn’t too impressed the house was going to stink. Little did I know that at that time that was the least of my worries.

“This is Stevo and this is my boyfriend Chopper.” At which point Stevo dropped his cigarette on the carpet and stomped on it with one of his boots to put it out. The two of them started snogging.

The fella my brother introduced as Stevo told the other two to ‘get a room’. Needless to say my brother led his boyfriend into one of the bedrooms. Meanwhile Steve pulled up a char and looked me in the eyes.

“Right then. Let’s do proper introductions, I’m Stevo, and you are?”

“MMMMMMichael”, I stuttered my response.

“Mick it is then. Your brother has settled in nicely with his new family. And I mean really settled in”. He said with a big smile, and listening to the noise coming from elsewhere in the house I knew what he meant. “You see when your brother became part of the crew, it means that any immediate relatives also become part of the crew. So when he told us that he had an older brother, we needed to make plans to ‘bring you into the fold’, so to speak. And here we are. Not only that, but when he showed me your picture, i knew I had to have you….and I will…once you’re fully inducted into the crew that is.” 

Stevo got up, came over to me an offered me a cigarette. i shook my head. “That’ll be the last time you refuse a ciggy lad. Right while your brother’s otherwise engaged, I’ll bring in the other lads and we can get started.” and with that Stevo got up and walked back into the hall.

What the hell did he mean get started? I heard the front door slam shut. Alone again, all I could hear were the noises my brother and his boyfriend were making.

(to be continued)