Scally? What is a scally?

By Baldwizzard
published June 30, 2019
6078 words

Years ago, a gay teenager bought a magazine, years later that could be the reason of his downfall

Brian sat at his desk in his little room at the frat house. He did not like it much here. Most guys were into sports, party and pussy while he just wanted to finish his Master as soon as possible and leave that place. It was a family tradition. All men of his family since the day of his great-great-grandfather studied at Oxford, they all joined the same frat and lived in the same house. So, for Richard Johnathan Adam Brian Rudolph Montgomery, it had been a natural thing to join the frat. But Brian was different from his father, he was not as big, not as tall, not as strong, not as sportive. He was a slim, shy guy who loved books, culture, theatre, arthouse-films – and men. He had two younger brothers, so the dynasty was save, nevertheless he never told his father. His mother knew and she was surprisingly ok with it. Nobody in this house full of rich bois in their early twenties liked him, they played mean pranks on him and of course, nobody respected his wishes for some quietness to study and read. Suddenly, somebody knocked at his door, or kicked. The door flew open and three of the meanest bullies from the house, Douglas, Ryan and Philipp stormed into his room and before he could react, grabbed him. “Got him!” one screamed and he sounded drunk. Other guys stormed into the tiny room and started to tie Brian up like a Christmas present. They carried him downstairs into the large living room and placed the helpless victim on the sofa. They had gagged him with a pair of socks (not clean ones, Brian realized in terror) and so he started with eyes that nearly fell out of his head, at the things the guys had openly displayed at the table. Some gay porn magazines, two old gay porn videotapes, all things taken from his room. They knew. Now they would punish him, he was sure about that. He had bought those magazines years ago and he was not sure himself while he had kept them. They were the only gay magazines available at that gas station and he never really liked the pictures in them, expect one or two. The magazines were full of totally trashy guys in tracksuits, sniffing at each other’s sneakers and feet, grabbing their big dicks through the shiny fabric of their suits, wearing baseball-caps, having big fake diamond earring, stupid tattoos and strange haircuts. Most of them smoked. Scallies and Chavs, as the title said, both words he did not know when buying the magazines years ago. One of the magazines was open, a double page showing one particularly hardcore looking guy. He was skinny although had some abs. The jacket of his shiny, leather or rubber like track suite was open and showed the white skin of his chest with rings in his nipples and a lettering “HARDCORE” in gothic letters on his belly. The guy showed the middle finger and made a strange face, like spitting at the camera, a cigarette in his other hand. In both his ears he had huge fake diamond earrings, a heavy silver chain around his neck and silver bracelet around his left wrist. His face was kind of ugly, rough looking, his ears too big and like two handles on a pot. The guy’s hair was super short, shaved smooth at the sides and back and, like a island, without any fading, some mms on top. Why did they open the magazine at that page? In all the shouting, laughing and cheering, he could not understand what some guys were whispering close to the door. Finally, he saw Amanda McLear, the girlfriend of Trevor, one of the meanest guys in the house and captain of the rugby team. She was called “the witch” as she actually believed in all that supernatural nonsense. She came from a superrich family and studied Gender Studies, Religious Studies and Philosophy. She loved the occult, mainly to shock her religious parents he had always assumed. What was she doing here? She carried a very old and very heavy looking book and passed through the shouting and laughing crowd of guys and placed the strange book with a Latin title he could not decipher on the table. “So, this is the picture?” she asked, and somebody came to her ear and whispered something. “Ok, understood!” Dramatically, she produced a pendulum from her black bag, a black candle and a small knife. What in hell’s name was going on here?? She opened the strange looking book but before she started whatever it was, she was planning to do, Trevor stepped forward under the cheers and whistles of his friends and frat-brothers. He bowed down in a comical way and made as gesture like a circus director to get attention and silence. “Brother, friends, guests, mylady, I welcome you to our great Brian-Show. You all know Brian, this pathetic young guy here on our sofa, a guy who hates party” shouts and whistles from the audience “Yes, I know, it is a shame. A guy who hates beer” more shouts, buuuuhs, and whistles “and now we had to find out, that he does not even like pussy, no gentleman, we shared our house with a faggot all this time” The crowed screamed and shouted insults and Brian felt ice-cold sweat running down his spine. There were other openly gay guys in the house, why did they treat him like that??? “And now, you won´t believe it gents, we find out that our little princess is not only a faggot, but a really bad one, a fag that likes to smell at feet and sneakers, he fag that likes watersports, tracksuits and working-class guys. Who would have thought that? Little Earl is in fact a scally-lover. We are, holding a frat-trial, an old and wise tradition of our ancestors. I show you evidence one!” He showed the guys the videos and then the second magazine. Cheers, laughter, boohs, and screams. “But the second evidence closes the case!” He showed the picture of that ugly guy with that strange haircut, followed by more cheers and a chorus shouting “guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty!” Trevor smiled and had a lot of fun. “Silence, please. I think the jury came to a decision?” Now all guys shouted GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY. “So, our little sunshine is guilty of being a perverted scally-lover who loves to sniff feet and get his feet sniffed, who loves shiny track suits, fags, silver chains, silver bracelets and cheap tattoos, isn´t that right!” Yeahs in the room. “Lady and Gentlemen, the verdict is clear: He need to become what he wants; he needs to be a scally just like that one he loves so much!” Cheer, shouts. Oh god, would they cut off his shoulder length hair into a ugly haircut like the one on the photo? Would they make him wear clothes like that and parade him on campus? Amanda started to read aloud from the strange book, waving her hands and then taking the photo, pressing it against her heart and shouting words in a language unknown to him. Really? A curse, please… When she had finished her strange little performance, she said: “You will become what you desire, you will transform to fit your wishes… You cannot stop it, you will obey the voices in your head, you will do it all by yourself, you will struggle, you will fail. The only chance for you is to find the Book or Spells by Master Luwin, hidden somewhere in the library, but I guess libraries are soon no place for you anymore, smart boy! You have until Sunday, 19:30 to find the book or the spell cannot be reversed, good luck!” Then, he smelled something strange, as one of the guys pressed a cloth before his mouth.

He woke up hours later in his room and in panic reached for his hair. Still all there. Sighed in relief. He looked down at himself, still his normal t-shirt and jeans, no strange, hot, sexy, ugly, bewildering, cool feeling, disgusting track-suite. But what he saw then, was a shock. His wardrobe was open, and it was… empty. All his clothes were gone, not a single piece left, no underwear, no socks, no jeans, no shirts, nothing. Somebody had glued a note to the door: “You won´t need those fancy clothes anymore, Scally-Lover!” He cried. It had been such a shame for him and now that! He grabbed the pack of Marlboros and the lighter, lit the cigarette and inhaled deep. It took it several puffs, inhaled deep into his lungs, before he even realized what he was doing. He never smoked in his life, never, not even as teenager. Why would he start now and where did those cigarettes come from? He threw the cigarette out of the window but felt a sudden deep regret. Seconds later he had a second burning cigarette in his mouth, he threw that away, too but the third stayed in his mouth and he smoked it like a pro, holding it in cupped in his hand. He sat down at his windowsill with the window wide open, leaning with his back at one side, one leg bent, the other stretched out, smoking and, to his own shock, spitting. Picture flooded his mind, pictures of guys in tracksuits sitting like that, smoking and spitting and he felt that his cock was rock-hard, he massaged it and nearly came before he realized what he was doing. Oh god!! He finished the 7th cigarette and threw himself on his bed crying again. During the night, he had vivid dreams of scallies and chavs and when he woke up his sheets were humid and sticky. He had slept with his socks on, shit, it was the only pair left. He took them off and sniffed at then, to check if it was ok to wear them again. Oh no, it was not. They stank of feet and sweat, so disgustingly delicious. He realized that he was standing here in his room, in his last underwear, sniffing at his socks for minutes now, and he was hard again. He put the sock away with a little scream but then took them in his hands again. Shaking, he grabbed the cigarettes, lit one, and puffed on it. Between every puff he pressed his face into the stinking socks and came twice in 30 minutes. Totally exhausted he fell back on his bed and cried again. Was is possible? Did that stupid curse really work? What now? He needed to find his clothes! He dressed quickly in the same old clothes he wore yesterday, grabbed the cigarettes under immense pain as he tried to resist and had to force himself NOT to put his jeans into the socks. He struggled hard and only 5 minutes later, in the hallway, he put them in the socks, releasing him of nearly physical pain. A burning cigarette in his mouth (when did that happen????), a second one hidden by his long hear behind the ear, he knocked at several doors, but nobody answered. The house seemed to be deserted. NO wonder, it was Sunday and Trevor had a big game, so the boys were supporting the alpha male. So, in a wave of unknown bravery he opened every unlocked door in the house and searched I the pig stalls, the others called rooms. But there were no traces of his clothes, nothing. Two hours later, he was back in his room, again crying. He decided that there was nothing he could do but buy at least some new underwear. When he wanted to step into his shoes, he realized, those were gone, too, but here the guys had replaced his normal leather shoes with white sneakers, adidas, clean but obviously used. He kneeled down and took one of the shoes. He sniffed carefully and finally had half his face buried in the shoe, sniffing in the heavy aroma. He was crying and jerking off at the same time and needed 45 minutes, 6 cigarettes and a lot of handkerchiefs before he was finally able to put the shoes were they belonged – at his feet. Again, he HAD to put his jeans into the white socks. With the cigarettes and his wallet, he left the frat house, feeling like everybody was staring at him with that strange shoes on and the jeans inside his socks. Maybe most people just thought he was one of those eccentric students and nobody really cared. He took the bus to the city and searched for some shops. Normally he did his shopping in London, when he was home at his parents’ place. Oxford really did not offer much in this aspect and as it was early, he decided to ride to London.

The bus ride was not easy to survive as he had the urge to smoke. He even put the cigarette between his lips and playing around with the lighter but did not light it. When it was finally time to hop off the bus, he was so needy, he could have smoked six fags at the same time. And that made him cry again. What a strange sight: a guy with long hair in an expensive Ralph Lauren Shirt, with jeans that cost 250 pounds, but those jeans stuck into white tennis-socks, white sneakers. Long shiny hair in waves, a boyish face, smoking greedily and crying like a little boy. And his crying grew stronger as he suddenly realized that he had left the bus at the wrong station. He was in a suburb, a working-class quarter of the city. At the other side of the street, three scallies used the bus-stand as their private living room, all fully dressed up in tracking suits, jewelry and shorn heads, smoking and making obscene jokes while drinking beer. That was as disgusting as in those magazines, but why was he rock hard again, one hand actually massaging his cock while looking at them. He walked over to them although a voice in his head screamed RUN RUN RUN and asked the guys where to buy good gear around here. They looked at him in disbelief, but his Cockney was perfect (no, it was not, he was from the upper-class) and he had his jeans stuck into his expensive and cool sneakers. Maybe this guy really was in need of some real fashion. The three scallies surrounded him but instead of punching him in his face as he expected, they offered him a fag and guided him to a shop where they sold all kinds of scally-wear. He listend to himself while he spoke with the guys. He sounded so different, self-confident, but with bad grammar and wrong intonation. That was all just a nightmare. They guys asked him what he needed, and he heard himself say: “I have nuff’in left, ma huse burnt down, yak no? Have to buy tons of stuff!” The owner of the shop loved to hear that and so the shopping began. Piles over piles of clothes, tracksuits, track-suits, track-suits, some shiny like leather, other more like silk, other in cotton, some in a rubber-like material, all brands, Puma, Adidas, Picaldi, Everlast, Lonsdale, Alpha Industries, shirts, muscle shirts. Baseball caps, gloves, socks, socks, socks, jockstraps, sneakers and sneakers and sneakers, he would need a lory to get all that home… but he would surely not buy a single piece of it. Especially not the super expensive Adidas Chile trackingsuit he was wearing right now, black, and shiny, and so sexy, he jerked off in the cabin twice, not unnoticed by the rest of the scallies who giggled and rubbed their own dicks.

He remembered that he paid with his father’s credit card, the black one. He had bought ALL of it, including different sets of fake jewelry, especially heavy chains and bracelets. He was the shocked owner of 12 pairs of sneakers, 9 tracking suits, 11 t-shirts and shirts, 23 pairs of white socks, 12 jockstraps, 11 sweat-pant, 10 short sport pants and 6 baseball caps. The problem: he hated every single piece of it but as his jerking in the cabin had showed, it aroused him like hell. It was nothing he understood. How could he buy such nasty, sexy, horrible, hot clothes? Seeing his reflection in a shop’s window made his boner so hard, it was nearly painful, but his face turned red in shame. He saw himself, as he lit a cigarette, one of the scallies gave him. Here he was, in a black shiny Adidas track-suite, pants in the white socks, black shiny sneakers and while he tried to excuse himself to go home – a lot of homework to do until Monday – the guys wouldn´t accept his excuses. They asked him to join them on a beer and maybe some fun but suddenly, his posh accent was back, it was as if he could take over control again. The cigarette tasted bad and he threw it away. He felt ridiculous in those clothes and not a bit horny any longer. The guys looked nearly shocked as he explained that he had to finish an essay about the War of Roses until Monday, using strange posh words and sounding like a typical upper-class lad while he was still wearing the track suit and was carrying all the things he just bought. One guy gave him a note written in a very bad handwriting, nothing but a phone-number. “If yaw anna hang out, just call, bro!” As if, but he was well educated and so he thanked the guy, said goodbye to the others and stepped into the bus that was coming just a minute later. In the bus, he fumbled at his pants, to get them over the socks at least. This was so embarrassing. The entire ride back to Oxford he was staring down to his feet, to avoid any eye-contact with the typical teachers, professors and posh students on their way back to the university.

He carried all the bags into his room and closed and locked his door. In disbelief he stared at the pile of clothes, shoes and accessories he had just bought and would NEVER wear. He jumped out his shoes but… there again, he was sniffing at them and he was hard again, harder than before. Minutes later he rolled through the pile of clothes, a cigarette in his mouth and jerking off again – where did all that come from???? Following a sudden idea, he put his hair straight back and put on a baseball cap. That looked even more real. He removed his shirt, put on a heavy silver necklace, put the jacket back on and looked at himself in the mirror. Better, no WORSE, better, even more looking like a scally already. He jerked off again. That was impossible, how could a man come that often in one day?? He realized, that the pack of fags the guys had left in rooms were nearly empty and he HAD TO BUY new ones. OH god, no… yes, nooo, he was a strict non-smoker. NOOOO! He was still screaming inside his head when he found himself back on the bus to London. Wait, why? He could buy cigarettes at home why?? He saw himself texting to the guy who gave him his number. After he had pushed “sending” he read the message; “Bra, needa fuckin’ haircut, meet u at the busstop, cya” The reading took him longer than it should have, he realized and was shocked again. The nervous feeling of not smoking came back and he observed himself stuffing his pants back into the socks. He had hoped that the curse (stupid, there was nothing like a curse!!) would be broken, but instead he was back in London and he had texted a total stranger with a super short haircut that he needed to see a barber. When he left the bus, first thing, he lit a cigarette then hugged his “bro” who was already waiting. It was one of those cool guys shoulder against shoulder hugs, he had never done before but was now absolutely sure how to do it, it did not even feel awkward. “Bro, ya really need a cut, you look like one of those posh guys, nearly fooled me with that posh talking earlier!” Brian just sucked at his cigarette nervously, unable to say something. He was so scared, it was unbelievable. The other guy, Jerry, was constantly talking and he used such a slang, that Brian sometimes did not really get what he was saying. But was it him or Jerry? It got easier and easier and he heard himself answering in a similar dialect, that got worse every minute. They walked some minutes and three cigarettes until they reached a small, not very welcoming looking shop called Bruce’s barbershop and tattoo parlor. RUN, RUN AWAY. IF THEY COME CLOSE TO YOUR IT WILL BE LIKE SNIPPING YOUR MIND. YOU HAVE TO FIND THAT BOOK, YOU HAVE TO LEAVE. His inner self was screaming, crying, fighting, but nevertheless Brian sat at a barber-chair, caped and was asked what he wanted. “What will it be? Looks like you are really in a need of a haircut!” For a second the real Brian found his voice back. “Oh, I am not here for anything radical, just the tips, please!” But his new best bro Jerry was not ok with that. “DUUUUUDE, no way. U need a real cut, what about one like mine?” Jerry had a kind of super short high’n tight, the sides buzzed down to zero, the top around 5mms long, perfectly blended. “Oh no, I am not sure… I mean, it looks good on you (his cock already leaked again) but I think that is nothing for me. I only want” and in that moment his mind snapped again and he observed himself in terror saying: “Top 6mm, sides and back shaved smooth with a razor, high, no blending, that’s more my style!” OH NO IT IS NOT YOU STUPID IDIOT! WHAT ARE U DOING HERE!!!!! The barber just nodded and without much further asking started to buzz down all his long and luscious dark brown hair that had just reached his shoulders down with a no. 2 guard. He was not only screaming inside his head, in fact he saw tears in his eyes as all his long locks slid down the cape and fell to the floor, not longer part of him, nothing but garbage. He never had a buzzcut in his life and it was such a strange cut. Hair was very thick, and it looked like a velvet carpet on his head. With some strokes, the last long hair in his nape was shorn off and here he was with a no.2 buzzcut. He was so nervous, he grabbed his ciggies and smoked in the barber-chair, not even asking if that was ok, but the barber didn´t mind, in fact, he grabbed one, too before he took another clipper, this time without a guard. He knew what was coming but he was shaking. The barber was merciless. With the sharp blades, he removed all but an oval island in the form of a rugby ball. All that was left was rough, white sandpaper. The shaking grew stronger, but the barber did not seem to care at all. Methodically, he shore off all the short hair and Brian saw the bristle rain to the floor and fly through the room. He pressed his eyes together, while he clawed himself with both hands in the arms of the chair. The barber changed the clippers again, now using an Andi’s shaver. With circular movements he shaved every tiny hair and left nothing but snow-white skin. Brian briefly opened his eyes, thinking he had to faint. But the procedure was not over, oh no! The barber went to the back, probably into his warehouse, and got a small metal cup. In these he filled hot water and then began to touch foam with a shaving brush. Only then he moistened a towel with very hot water and then put the cloth around Brian’s shaven head. The barber offered him another cigarette, which he eagerly took to calm his nerves. With the towel on his head he imagined that he still had his beautiful, perfect long hair. But then the barber removed the towel and Brian could see all this miserable again. Nervously, he pulled on his cigarette. The man began methodically, quickly and professionally to cover the 0mm shorn sides and the back of the head with a thick layer of shaving cream. “Hold still now!” he said, pulled out a razor and began to shave the right side from top to bottom with strong strokes. Brian was holding his breath as the shaving continued. Only the scraping sound of the sharp nice against the tiny bristles filled the room, combined with Brian’s heavy breathing. When he thought it was finally done, the barber smeared a new layer of shaving cream on his head and now started shaving bottom to top. When that was finally done, too, the barber forced his head down to the sink and washed away what had remained from the shaving cream. When the warm water hit his shaved sides, he nearly shot a load into his pants, actually he was dripping like hell. The barber rubbed a kind of after shave into his head and he drew in a sharp breath, for it burned pretty well. The barber wagged his towel a little and the burning sensation of refreshing coolness. And he was still not finished yet. The barber rubbed in some lotion to his scalp that gave it a glass-like shine and finished his work with some hair-gel that gave the short bristles in top a darker and fresher look. “All done, but dude, we should do something with those eyebrows, too!” the barber said and Brian, not really listening while still in shock and already so horny, he was afraid he would produce a pond beneath the chair, just nodded with his mouth wide open. The barber pressed his head against the neck support, which he pulled up and, before Brian could react, pulled the machine over his two eyebrows with a very short attachment. After that he shaped them with the help of thin strings, which he moved to and fro. It hurt like hell and tears hit Brian in the eyes. A clear, broad swath was then shaved with the razor in the left brow, two narrower in the right. The guy that looked back at him was not him. The barber had removed the cape already and one could clearly see the wet spot in his dark pants and his woody. The shiny Adidas track-suit, the white socks, the expensive shiny black sneakers, the heavy silver necklace and silver bracelet and now that terrible, terrible, DAMN FUCKING HOT, haircut. Just a small football shaped island of dark hair was sitting on top of a mainly shiny, white and bald head. His ears looked larger now, his head smaller. The brows really made a difference, that he would have never expected. Suddenly, he really looked like a scally and the problem was, he hated it and loved it, he was so horny, he couldn´t think straight and suddenly Jerry walked over and gave him a long and wet kiss. “Looks great mate, now the only think missing is some ink and some jewelry, don’t ya think?” No, he did not think so. That was all going way too far already. He would need years to grow his hair back and at least weeks to look normal again. But the kiss made something inside him break. “Hell, why not? Can we do that??” Brian asked and was shocked to hear his voice that sounded rougher, deeper and with a heavy cockney accent, even worse than before. The barber nodded and asked what he wanted. He said (and screamed inside at the same time) that he wanted the words “Scally 4EVER” on his right forearm and the words BAD BOY in a very ornate scripture on his neck. The barber asked if he was sure he wanted that much done at once, and it was Jerry who suggested a lion’s head on his right hand as well. “He is a tough guy, he will manage!” No, he won´t!!! It took hours, it was a torture. Not only the pain, but the entire time he wanted to run, scream, tell the guy to stop but he just couldn´t. In fact he was horny most of the time and Jerry massaged his cock and even sucked it to ease his pain. It took several hours but finally he was able to see the damage/hot ink/perversion/the ink that made him so rock hard on his body before the barber smeared a big amount of cream on it and wrapped it up. And suddenly he woke up again. What should he do? Scream? Run away? That was all just to surreal. He had fucking tattoos and an ugly haircut and he was more looking like a scally than ever before. How should he explain this radical transformation to his parents. He felt his eyes fill with tears but Jerry thought it was because of the pain and maybe joy so he kissed him again. This time he really tasted his breath that stank from cigarettes and chewing gum and while he tried to move aside, his cock woke up again and the sober and clear-thinking Brian moved back to the back of his head. “I need earrings, too, big diamonds” he heard himself say and it took no time for the guy to pierce both his ears.

The rest of the Saturday was foggy in his memory. He went with Jerry who lived in one of those public housings, in a small flat that was filled with gear, a playstation, a big TV and a shisha. He remembers getting his feet licked and licking feet, drinking, smoking pot, kissing, playing water games and having sex, but when he woke up the next morning, he was clear-minded again. He picked up his clothes, wrote a note with an apology (one, it was damn hard to write properly and he actually made several spelling errors) and then sneaked out of the apartment. It was Sunday, he needed to go to the place he lived in, this big house, with all the guys, where he went to school, nah, not school, where he… studied, yes, a Uni.. something, yes, wait, what was going on, he needed to go back to Oxford, to his frat house and find that book, that was hidden in that large building that was stuffed with other boring books, a…li…libra.. something like that. Where was the bus-stop? He couldn´t remember god damnit. He had to take the 310, or was it the 130. A cigarette would help him think.

He finally managed to find the frat-house but he couldn´t remember the code for the door. He banged but nobody answered. Finally he climbed through a window. In his room he was lost again. Why was he here? Right, he wanted to take his new cool clothes and move back to Jerry. The guy was cool, he hat pot and stinking feet and a sweet face. And he mentioned a job in his auto repair… wait, wait, he was a student, no, he would not work in a auto repair, he did not even know how to hold a screwdriver. He needed to find that thing, with all the pages, one of those boring things full of words he had problems to read as he had dropped out school after the 9th grade, NO, he did not, he went to ETON, he had a degree, he already had bachelor, or was he a bachelor? Not really, anymore, as Jerry wanted to be his fucking buddy and maybe boyfriend, this cool guy, who take care of him and who did not care that he was no very smart, natural intelligence yes, but no school intelligence. It was 18:45, the clock said, he had to do something important, like… like smoking, yes, that was the idea. Oh, and good sniff at his shoes could not do any harm. So, he smoked, sniffed and jerked off. After that he changed into a rubber-like Picaldi tracking suit and new, blue sneakers but kept the socks on for later. He realized his head was not as super smooth as it had been and so he shaved in front of his mirror above the sink until the sides were smooth and totally hair-free again. He put a fag behind his ear and one in his mouth while he stuffed all the cool new clothes in the bags. He wrote a note that was so full of spelling errors, it was hard to read to tell the bros in the house that he was gone. Fucking school, he had always hated school. Packed like a donkey with all the bags, he left his room for good, taking only his wallet and his laptop, he could use it for net-porn and Instagram! He passed the library, and something made him stop in front of the large, old building. It was as if a tiny voice inside his head screamed. He needed to go inside, it was already 19:25, something urgent. And then, like a click, he knew why he was here. With a scream of terror, he ran to the building. His chances were minimal, but he had to try. He could not live that life, no, no, no. 19:27 he was inside the large reading room, three minutes left to save his brain, but the library was titanic and it was full of boring books, he got tired and bored just looking at them. He slowed down and walked around, trying to read the covers, but the words made no real sense to him. 19:28 and he needed a piss and a cigarette. 19:29 he was standing in the reading room, scratching his balls and putting the ciggi he had behind his ear in his mouth. Before he could take the lighter, a screaming woman sent him out. 19:30 and he was standing outside again, smoking. 19:45 he was back in the bus that drove him to Jerry. 20:56 he was ringing at Jerry’s door, 21:16 they were making out like there was no tomorrow.

When he woke up next morning, still in the arms of Jerry, everything had changed. EVERYTHING. The two fighting selves in his head had merged into one. And that was, at first, a painful experience. He knew he had been a smart, wealthy student just hours ago and that now, his education was… let’s say basic. It was like he could see all the things he once knew, but they were out of reach, locked in a cell. On the other hand, there was a broad knowledge about things he had never cared for, like social media, drugs, cars, bands, movies and series. He knew that he had have long hair that he loved but nevertheless he went to the bathroom to shave the sides and back clean. He knew he had no other chance than accepting his new life, as his old one was out of reach. He was close to crying but when he saw himself in the mirror, the sides and back of his head covered in white shaving cream, the first ciggi of the day dangling between his lips, his new ink, still wrapped and the shiny diamonds in his ears, he grinned at his reflection and massaged his cock… could have been worse, nah?

Mind control
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