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.
As Tom awoke, his head was filled with a mass confusion that overwhelmed his senses. He tried to reach for his head but quickly discovered he was bound. A few moments passed as his mind slowly cleared and his eyes began to focus. The room, albeit moving slowly, eventually formed a still image. He found himself in an abandoned subway station, who knew how deep underground. The next sense to clear revealed that he was cold and heavily restrained with bindings, he looked down to see he was nude and had thick hempen rope binding his limbs, wrists, and ankles to a solitary anchor point. The stone floor was cold and rough like sandpaper. As he wriggled and groaned a voice spoke from the darkness. “Your finally awake, good. We have much work to do” From the darkness a figure stepped into the spotlight above Toms body. A God of a man stepped over him and sat on a set of railings nearby. “Don’t be alarmed boi, you will eventually learn your place in MY world” The figure moved his booted foot closer to Toms face, then spat on it grinning as he did so. “Lesson one boi, worshipping your GOD’S boots. Keep them gleaming, keep them polished, learn there scent, learn your place.”
Tom, tired from his full week at work slowly climbs the concrete steps towards his modest flat. Back aching, feet feeling swollen he continues to climb, slowly, each step echoing around the staircase. As he reaches the 8th floor he stops to catch his breath and readjust his backpack. After a few seconds, Tom goes to continue only to see a booted man sitting on the top step, tapping his size 10 docs. The reverberations echo around inside Toms head, rhythmically and enticingly. Toms mind begins to feel heavy as he steps closer to the 6ft god sitting in front of him. His sight becomes hazy as his mind fills with a chanting from an unfamiliar voice. Stepping closer the 6ft god continues to tap his boot, Toms eyes begin to glaze over as he finds himself unable to look away from the now enchantingly tasty boots. He stumbles on a step and falls to one knee in front of the booted god, his shoulder bag slips down his arm and collides with a nearby step. Looking up at the booted god his size seems to change, growing taller and more muscular. The voice in his head continues and increases in intensity yet the figure is not speaking. “Submit, Surrender, Serve, Submit, Surrender, Serve, Submit, Surrender Serve” Tom tries to fight the voice and the natural urge to comply as the figure reaches down and grabs Toms face, slowly lifting it up as the voice’s tone shifts into a demand. “Drone Submit, Drone Surrender, Drone Serve” Tom continues to resist, continues to defy, until a warm ooze suddenly collides with Toms cheek. The warm, refreshing ooze slowly slides down Toms face, as it does the resistance drops away. Toms mind is left empty and silent. The spit slides further down as the figure speaks one word “Lick”. Tom immediately slips his tongue out of his mouth and licks up the spit quickly. The figure speaks again, “Speak”. Tom instantly and effortlessly announces, “Drone thanks Master for deposit”. The figure grins, stands and orders Tom to “follow”. Tom immediately gets up and stands to attention behind his Master. “He is ready for whatever Sir requires of him” respectfully says the figure as a second man steps form the shadows clad in full leathers. “Good boi, lets see how well you have trained your slave. get inside”
Great story - can’t wait to read what happens when Tom enters the room.
All i see here is a lineup of boots in desperate need of worship. I’ll be right over to service them as a proper bootboi should. Getting my wet and eager tongue, deep into the creases, applying a think layer of bootboi shine to each and every boot. While making sure that the owner of the boot knows, senses and feels my dedication to my craft. This is my life and I am passionate about it.
Is there anything hotter than 20/30 hole boots, white lacess and which socks?
Can you imagine what the person(s) wearing them look like?
My mind was reeling from what had happened in the last couple of days. My younger brother came to visit; telling me how he’d been inducted into a crew of skinheads. My brother tied me to a chair, his ‘mates’ invaded my house, shaved my head, and have forced me to smoke. They have just shown me my new clobber. They’re going to force me to wear an outfit that makes me look like some rubber gimp freak-show. Now someone else is at the door and my brother has mentioned the word ‘ink’. I’m pretty sure I know what that means. I began struggling against the ropes, but my efforts continued to be futile.
My thoughts were interrupted by Stevo talking in the hallway and returning accompanied into the room where my predicament was about to get worse.
“Ah Kev’s here”, my brother looked happy, as if a long-lost friend had returned.
Kev was what I can only describe as a ‘big fella’, and his head sported an array of artwork.
He was carrying what I can only describe as a doctor’s case - you know the ones you remember as a child - when they actually did home visits if your were ill. Anyway, he removed his coat to reveal he as wearing a polo shirt made of rubber, his arms were covered with so much body art that there was almost no pink flesh left to see.
Stevo lit up a cigarette and began smoking whilst watching Kev open the case and start removing some of the contents.
“Give us a cig Stevo.’ my brother broke the silence, even thought I couldn’t turn away from staring at this huge, tattooed brute of a man, I listened intently. “So you see, Kev’s here to make it so you can’t return to your boring life”. I looked over to my brother, he smiled and then inhaled on his cigarette, blowing the smoke in my direction, he continued “I don’t want this to be painful broth, it’d be better if you just accepted your fate. But seeing you struggle I think you need a little more ‘medicine’.
My attention was so focussed on what my brother was telling me and what Kev and Stevo were up to that I hadn’t noticed Chopper had come downstairs and was now laying on my sofa. It was the first time I’d actually got a good look my brother’s boyfriend. I was staring at his body, I thought he was kind of sexy (wait no, did I really just think that?) He spoke up, interrupting my thoughts, “Kev when are you starting work on my lad’s sleeve? You know he’s itching to get more ink and Nick won’t be happy until he’s got more tatts”.
“Don’t worry”, Kev replied, “the priority is to do his elder brother today. I’ve booked time on Wednesday for you and your boyfriend, just get to my place for 10. Now, Nick’s told me what he wants, so seeing you’re all here, let’s get started.
I couldn’t believe it, the whole crew was going to be spectators in my transformation to an inked rubber skinhead. I was still struggling against my bonds, but I don’t know why. It was pointless, there was no escape.
Kev noticed my resistance, “Right lad I’m going to need you to calm down, Dunc, do you want to get another of those drinks for your new crew member? The lad here is going to need it”.
Dunc returned with another cup filled with the strange-tasting liquid.
Kev smiled and held the cup to my lips, “your brother was reluctant at first. Nick saw his potential, but we had to give him a nudge or two to make sure he fitted into the crew”. Turning his head to look at my brother, Kev continued, “now look at him, he’s a proper skinhead, with a great boyfriend in Chopper”. Turning back to me, “…just like you will be with your new boyfriend Stevo, when we’re done with you. Ok, we begin”.
It seemed as though I had no say in the choice of tattoo or placement. Kev had finished putting on some black gloves “Turn your arm over”, I complied. I watched Kev intently, I was strangely calm after drinking more of that liquid. Kev used some rubbing alcohol on my forearm he then used some other liquid to moisten up the skin. After this, he placed a stencil onto the skin where the tattoo would be completed. Once the transfer was done, Kev carefully lifted the stencil paper, and there on my skin was the outline of the first tattoo.
“Are you happy for me to get started”, Kev asked. Oh, why am I asking of course you are”, and with that he began.
Kev tattooed the first line. It is fair to say that those first few seconds after Kev had started were the worst. Just getting used to the discomfort. Strangely enough, after a short while, I got accustomed to the feeling. Kev completed all the line-work of the tattoo and then started on the shading and colouring. I watched Kev switch between different needles and also use a second machine. He said it was to ensure the shading and coloring was ‘done to perfection’. After what seemed like hours, Kev stopped. “Take a good look”, he said. I looked down.
On my forearm was my very first ink, and it looked amazing. Kev applied a hot towel to calm down the tattooed skin. Then he told me he was applying some protective ointment. He finished up using wrapping tape and a bandage over the new tattoo.
He turned to the room and said “First one done, let’s have a ciggy break”. Kev put two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them both. Then he took one of them and placed it between by lips. I sucked in the smoke, long and steady like Stevo told me. I held it there for a moment and then I inhaled. I repeated it a few times. I caught Stevo’s eye. He smiled like a proud dad does when his kid has scored the winning goal. It wasn’t long before I’d smoked the whole cigarette.
“Right, let’s get back to it”, Kev said. I wondered where the next tattoo was going to be placed. Kev started on a different side of my body, working on my upper arm. The same process was repeated and before long I had my second tattoo.
And so it went on, two more tattoos were added. The one on my back took many hours to finish, but looked amazing (did I really just say that).
All the while I was getting inked, I’d reassured myself that it wasn’t a problem because all the tattoos could be hidden under my clothes. Then Kev made sure there was no way to hide what I was becoming. My knuckles were tattooed.
I’d drifted off again thinking about what they’d done to me, when Kev interrupted my thoughts. “Right that’s what Nick wanted doing today. what do you think Stevo”?
Stevo walked over to me and looked at Kev’s handiwork. “You look great lad. You’re one of us now and there’s no way to hide it”. He turned back to Kev, “great work as ever.” Then Stevo put his arms around Kev’s should and talked in a low voice. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Kev raised his voice, “Yes, I got the kit with me, but Nick didn’t mention doing any metal today”. Stevo turned to me and turned back to Kev, “Just do it, he’ll look great and it will make what we have planned for tomorrow a lot easier for him”.
I had no idea what they were talking about, but I knew I wasn’t going to like it.
Stevo walked up to me, he leaned in to kiss me on my lips. His smoky breath caught me by surprise. My cock was already partly stiff but suddenly sprang to life “I’m so proud of you with your new ink. There’s one more thing and I want you to want this mate”.
With that Kev came back over with some needles and rings. “Right let’s do this. Stevo wants to start you with your first piercing. This one will be in your septum. It’s gonna be a little painful, but you can cope. Kev game me a running commentary, “First, we will mark the sweet spot - that’s the membrane between cartilage and nose. Right that’s done. Now I’m going to use these forceps to hold the cartilage in place. Are you ready for this”? I yelped out at the point when the needle was inserted, but that was it. In no time a ring was threaded through the piercing and secured. Kev smiled, “It’s done”.
I’d been inked and had my septum pierced, but I was surprisingly content. “You look so hot m8″ Stevo said to me, then pointing at the rubber laid out earlier, “I can wait to get you in your new gear”. Strangely enough, I was curious to know what it would feel like to wear.
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
“Right, take a look at yourself” Steve pointed to the Mirror Dunc was holding. Stevo smiled, he could see the tent that was forming in my trousers. Stevo walked off into the kitchen laughing, while I was left looking at my denuded head in the mirror.
Stevo came back after a few minutes, “Thirsty?” Surprisingly I was. He held the cup to my lips. I knew it wasn’t water he was giving me. The cup contained that same bitter liquid, but in a strange way I really wanted to drink again whatever it was he was giving me.
He sat down again, a lit a cigarette “So shall I tell you the plans, or shall I just keep you guessing about what’s happening? Maybe I’ll just keep you guessing”
Dunc interjected, “No Stevo, look at his pants, he’s liking this. I think we’ve just ‘woken’ something inside him”.
“Here Dunc”, said Stevo passing over his cigarette, “give it to the lad”. Stevo watched as Dunc pushed the lit cigarette between my lips. “That’s the first stage. We all smoke in this crew, and you’ll not be an exception. Start inhaling!” Suddenly Stevo’s tone changed, more stern than before. Dunc began telling me what to do. “Right, hold the lit cigarette in your lips, then suck the smoke gently with a long steady intake into your mouth, hold the smoke there for a second, then inhale normally, through your mouth, drawing air and smoke into your lungs. And repeat”. I coughed, hard, and my eyes started watering. The cigarette had fallen out of my mouth. Dunc picked it up and put it back in.
“Don’t worry lad, we’ll be giving you lots of practice. You’ll soon get the hang of it, and be lighting up every morning from the moment you wake up”. Stevo sniffered as he looked over at Dunc who was actually laughing.
I was feeling very woozie, what with the weird drink, the cigarette and me watching these two brutish skinheads who were smoking in my house. My cock was as hard as ever.
“You like this boi, don’t you”? Well even if you don’t, you’ll be like just like your brother - one of us”. Dunc said, taking a couple of drags of a cigarette he’d lit up, and then walked over to me to place it between my lips for me to smoke.
“But with a twist”, Stevo quickly interjected into the conversation.
“Where are we up to lads”? I hadn’t noticed that he noise from upstairs has stopped and that my brother had entered the room, with a big smile on his face, plonking himself down on a chair..
“I was just telling your brother here that he’s going to be just like you, but with a bit of a difference”. Stevo was talking directly to my brother. “Yeah, broth, you’ll like the new life they’ve got planned for you. My life with Chopper is amazing, I wouldn’t want to go back to the lonely, shy boy that left mum and dad’s for a job in the Midlands. So, Stevo what have you got planned for my big brother”?
Stevo went to the other side of the room to grab the huge bag he’d brought in earlier, but I wasn’t looking in that direction.
My brother said, “don’t you want to see what Steve has brought you? Go on take a look”. He pointed to where Stevo was removing all the items from the bag, occasionally looking around at me, with a big smile on his face tenting in his trouser. He laid out all the items on the other couch. It was all kinds of things, most of which I’d never seen before.
“That’s going to be your new uniform broth. Stevo has some kinks, don’t we all”? My brother started laughing, as did Stevo and Dunc. He went on, “well Stevo is into some weird stuff but so far he’s failed to find a partner who can enjoy the same pleasures. But that problem is sorted now. It’s going to be you”.
I was struggling for release again, “what do you mean”?
“Dunc, get him another drink will you”? Stevo was keeping quiet, just looking over at me whilst my brother did all the talking.
“Sure”, with a deep chuckle, Dunc left the room.
“You see Stevo is into watersports, you know ‘piss’ play and that sort of stuff. And in our world wearing the colour yellow means just that, that person is into watersports. That’s why all the gear over there has yellow on it. Everyone will know that you’re a piss pig. Which, by the time we are finished, we’re going to make sure you are”.
There was a knock on the door, my brother looked at the clock and asked, “is it ink time”? The other two nodded. I think I know what was happening to me next.
“So the new me; the shaved, booted and bleacher-wearing new me was about to go out into the big wide world with Nick and his crew. Me, the new lad. I remember him standing by the front door, arms folded, looking me up and down. He was grinning and told me I was starting the look the part but there was more to do, and we needed to get a move on.
As we headed into town, he came alongside me and told me that I was being inducted into the crew and that all the lads were excited there would be someone new living in the house. Nick told me that one of the lads, called Chopper, was particularly happy that I would be part of the crew - if you know what I mean. He gave me a big smirk and shouted that we needed to hurry up if we were going to get everything done today. With that he started walking faster.
I didn’t have a clue where we were going. Remember, I was the new lad in town, miles from home; the ‘lost sheep’, Nick was me Shepard and whether I wanted to or not, I was joining his flock.
Just then we came around the corner and I realised where they were taking me. We were going to a tattooist. I was about to ask what we were doing here (I was so naive back then), but the lads came behind me, lifted me off my feet and pushed me through the door.
I remember Nick talking to the tattooist who was called Blake and saying that he wanted everything that they’d previously discussed. The lads pushed me into the chair. I was panicking because I had no idea what they were going to do with me. Nick turned and said, don’t worry lad, you’ll love what is going to happen today. Well you’ll have to, because you’ve got no choice. With that he nodded to Blake, who walked over to me. He told the lads to take my Fred Perry off, which they did. One of the crew was standing on one side of me, and another on the other, both holding me down. Blake started to place tracings on me: on my left arm, right forearm, and back. I won’t bore you with what happened, but that’s how I got the tatts you can see.
Not only did I get tattooed, but they also gave me my ‘metal’. I got my ears done, a septum piercing and a PA. That was the most painful of all. I was in the tattooists for hours, but you know what? Once you’ve got your first taste of ink you just want more, and more. I’m going back next week, I’m thinking of getting a spiderweb on my right elbow - Chopper said I’d look great with one, and with s-k-i-n-h-e-a-d on my knuckles. Anyway, after the tattooist we went for a couple of pints to numb the pain of the tattooing and piercings. After that Nick said that I needed some more skin gear to wear. So we went to a shop nearby that sold Army surplus (and skinhead gear). I got some cammo pants, 20-hole Oxblood coloured boots, a couple more Fred Perry polo shirts and a black MA1 jacked, which I put on to walk back to Nick’s house.
If you didn’t think my life had changed dramatically in one day, it was about to change further. I got through the door carrying my new skin gear. Nick grabbed the bags off me, and before I knew what was happening, Chopper grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me towards him and started snogging me. At that point, I’d barely kissed half a dozen girls at school, and there I was was kissing a man. I remember Chopper’s mouth tasted amazing, all smokey. Chopper pulled away and asked if I liked him kissing me. I remember smiling and moved back for more.
Chopper pulled out of the snog, he looked around to see Nick and the rest of the crew in the living room with a few beers on the go. He grabbed my hand and led me up the stairs.
“So Nick returned to the kitchen, I can remember he had a big smile on his face when he confirmed the first phase of my transformation was complete. He told me to get some sleep as there was so much that still needed to be done. With that he turned the kitchen light out, leaving me with my arms tied to this chair. It wasn’t long before the house was in darkness and I was left to contemplate what had happened to me.
Somehow, despite the discomfort I liked Nick and his crew, and even though they’d forcibly shaved my head, I felt ‘safe’ in their hands. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is waking up to see one of the skinheads in Nick’s crew, Dave was sitting on the kitchen worktop opposite me. I remember, he was wearing jeans which looked like they had been splashed with bleach. He had a tattoo on his right arm and was wearing these long black boots with white laces.
He smiled at me, and said “morning lad - we’ve got an exciting day ahead of us. Big changes - and guess what? You’ll like them”. Then, Stevo joined him in the room with two carrier bags in his hands. Dave then said right, let’s get you dressed properly.” With that he came behind my chair an undid the rope that was restraining my hands. I don’t know why but I didn’t put up a fight. I was lonely, in a new town, in a new job and these guys wanted to be my friends.
With that Stevo picked a white polo shirt and pair of jeans that looked like Dave’s out of one of the bags and told me to put them on.
He told me that the jeans were called bleachers and everyone in Nick’s crew either wore bleachers or cammo pants. The bleachers were skintight and were cut in such a way that they just covered my knees. I would be wearing on my top half. I pulled the shirt over my head and Steve then pulled a pair of red braces and white socks out of the carrier. He told me to get the socks on first and then it would be time for the boots.
He opened the other bag and took out a pair of brand new black boots. First of all he pulled out the black laces that were already laced in the boots. He told me that they only wear white laces in their black boots. It’s Nick’s rule.
For the next thirty minutes Stevo instructed me on how to ladder lace my boots and supervised my every move. I remember him nodding and smiling as I mastered the lacing of my new boots. I was used to wearing trainers, so these boots felt so very different and way heavier to what I was used to wearing on my feet.
I heard Nick shout down, is he ready yet? Steve said, “all good.” And Nick said right lads bring him along, we’re off into town.”
Some pics of me in army-themed camouflage gears. Of course a good soldier needs to have the discipline to lace up an entire pair of knee-high ranger boots! And then just never take it off. Like, ever.
Those boots are Grinders King, for those who wanna know.
