Chav Lad

That chav lad came around again after all. The one I'd been telling myself I didn't fancy. Why would I? He was ugly, with beady, eyes and a doltish pug-dog face; He was stupid, not understanding even half of what I said; And he was too young, I don't know maybe 18 or 19 or something. And... he was a chav, a thuggish moron.

But actually, I did fancy him.

A lot.

We would never even have met, but with the Probation Office opposite the library, somehow we kept taking fag breaks at the same time. He'd swagger over, trying to look hard in his scruffy polo and his discount trainers. Then he'd interrogate me with a barrage of unintelligent questions, sparking a Lambert and Butler and squinting through the smoke. I tried to explain my art history degree, but he didn't get it.

I couldn't guess why he took such a shine to me, but it seemed genuine. And for all his street machismo he was respectful and polite. Or at least he kept his behaviour in check when loitering in plain sight of his Probation Officers.

I got a few questions in too, though he didn't like to talk about himself too much. He'd been in trouble everywhere, repeat offences; indecent assault, intimidation, theft and vandalism. Looking at his cross face I could easily see him losing his rag - clenching his fists and blindly laying into some blameless loser.

But there was also something sweet underneath. His button nose, the innocent whiskers on his top lip, the cheeky smile he let you in on. He was cute, and it soon tormented me as I lay awake at night. Lads like him were the enemy when I was growing up, but now I had to admit that I fancied them all.

Today he looked fucking peng. Newly buzzcut head and a fresh white polo done all the way up. And he wore a gold chain that went under his blue and red trim collar.

"Aite, Bey?" he chirped, with both hands stuffed in the crotch of his grey Adidas trackie bottoms, teasing his junk the way only fit chav lads know how to do. He always seemed to have a semi on, hanging proud in his crotch.

He couldn't wait to tell me about his new job - working with his Dad on some building sight. I suppose everyone thought his Old Man would keep and eye on him there, but the poor boy probably felt the back of his Dad's hand too many times already. If the Man had any sense he'd slap his lad's ass for being so sexy.

"You dressed sharp today," I smiled.

"Yeah mate, got a review wiv me Social Worker"

I don't know what I was thinking... I had no idea how he might react. The volatile delinquent could easily have just lamped me, but I said it anyway,

"You look fit, boy."

"What?" he spluttered.

"You look sexy in your shirt,"

He stared blankly a moment.

"Are you gay, mate?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "and you are Fine."

It took him a minute to respond. You could almost hear the cogs cranking in his head.

"D'you wanna to suck my dick?"

He still had his hands down his trackies, and I could only pray this was an actual invitation.

"Yeah, let's do it," I nodded, taking a final toke on my rollie and flicking it into a hedge.

Without another word he wandered round a corner out of sight. I wasn't sure if he was just leaving in disgust, but I decided to follow. Way down the side alley I saw him waiting by the dumpsters, throwing shifty glances left and right. The blood was pounding in my ears. Was this really happening? By the time I caught up with him he'd already whipped his hard-on out, so I got right on it.

And I am telling you now, this was legit the TASTIEST bellend I will ever be allowed to go down on. Pale and long, pumping lavish drops of salty chav boy precum over my tongue. And his pubes put out a nice laddish odour that made me want to take him deeper to get a better whiff. This bad boy was heaven.

He continued to puff on his cigarette, muttering idiotically,

"You like that, gay boy? Drink it down!"

But the daydream was over much too quickly, and now the lad was gasping,

"I'm gunna cum..."

He shuddered in the ticklish afterglow before quickly cramming his boner into his Calvin's and marching back onto the main road again.

"Hey!" I called after him, getting up off my knees, "Where're you going?"

He broke into a trot, clearly trying to get away from me fast.

"Come back tomorrow, yeah?" I told him, but he didn't respond.

If I worried I might like him before, I was outright terrified I might be in love with him now. This encounter was the single hottest thing that had ever happened to me, and I still didn't even know his name. It was useless telling myself he wasn't worth it; or that stealing a curb-side blowie off a random scally was shameful, and totally out of character. What the hell was my 'character' anyway?

When I moved to Plymouth two years ago, I remember thinking I could be anyone now. My Parents were so ashamed of me, and none of my old school friends could understand. I thought in a new city I could be just as fucking gay as I wanted to be, but it didn't really turn out like that. Maybe I was ashamed of myself too?

I had a couple of awkward hook-ups but I didn't give a shit about typical gays, and there just wasn't any spark. Now in my final year, I determined to buckle down and get my dissertation done, and forget about boys altogether.

Well, that was before cultivating an inadvisable chav crush. But I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it. I waited in the library everyday, writing literally nothing and just watching through the window to see if he'd come back. He didn't.

I even had desperate thoughts of going into the Probation office to ask after him, but that was just ridiculous. What would I even say?

"Yeah, I'm just hoping you'll disclose confidential information about one of your delinquents so I can get my chops back on his cock. No, we didn't exchange names, but I've fallen in love with him now, so do the right thing and give me his number, cheers."

It took a week. I thought I'd never see him again, but quite suddenly, while I was taking one of my fateful fag breaks, he stormed passed me in his work shirt, caked in plaster dust.

"Come on then," he barked, disappearing down that alley a second time.

At the far end he yanked his dick out again. But I wanted more than a blowjob this time, and with both hands on his startled face I pulled him close for a kiss.

My heart nearly punched a hole in my chest. I fully expected him to lash out, but he didn't. He took it like a champ.

We pashed a minute, squeezing butts and driving our boners alongside one another. He was all sweaty from a hard day's work, and he smelled fantastic.

"What's your name," I groaned once we sank apart.

His eyes sparkled, threatening and vulnerable at the same time. Tyler Kierhardie had my heart in his polo shirt pocket.

"D'you wanna suck my dick again?" he sniffed in a crass display of emotional illiteracy. I swooned.

"Drink it down, you dirty basta'd!" he jeered like before till I was gulping his hot jam.

He didn't peg it this time, turning instead to take a steamy leak on the bins. It made me thirsty watching all that golden piss gush out his semi, but I didn't want to scare him off jumping straight in with mad kinks.

Shaking the drips away, he told me he had to be back at work. I made him kiss me and promise to come pick me up on his way home. Of course he didn't show.

When the library shut at 9pm I trudged back up North Hill with a heavy heart. But now I knew his name, and rolling with my phone in the bedsheets, I stormed facebook for his profile. Found him pretty quick with a surname like Kierhardie, and the dumbass had all his posts set public.

There were so many great pictures of him shirtless, larking about with his stupid mates in Radford Dip. And all the inane videos he was sharing. It was such a different world - totally incompatible and even dangerous probably, but I wanted some of it. Shrugging off any doubts I sent him a friend request. Within half an hour he accepted me.

I froze with disbelief. Would he back off completely if I sent him message? Even if I never got to taste his beautiful penis ever again, it seemed a risk worth taking.

"Hey sexy," I tapped with a cheeky emoji.

"Yes mate," came his magnificent reply, "Sup, missing my dick already?"

"Hell yes," I hammered, and we bantered back and forth a bit.

I got him to say he'd pick me up after work again, then barely slept a wink pining about it.

Ten past six Tyler came, sweaty and dusty like before, looking well hard. We wandered wordlessly round the side again, but this time a small crowd of Men in high-vis jackets were stood around the dumpsters. One was splashing a mop around where Tyler took a slash yesterday, and the others were pointing at a cctv camera we hadn't noticed.

Tyler was already swinging his stiffy about when they all looked our way.

"Oi!" they hollered, but we didn't stick around.

My God that boy can run! I tore my lungs out keeping pace with him, but I wanted to show him I could keep up. He legged it through the underpass at North Cross and didn't stop till he was past the station. Then we fell about laughing and gasping for breath.

"Mate!" Tyler guffawed, "that was fucking jokes, I swear down!"

This felt so fucking good! I'd always been the conscientious dweeb at school. I never broke any rules (only out of fear of course), and bad kids wouldn't be seen dead horsing around with me. And now I was hanging with the sexiest bad boy of them all. I was astonished when he invited me back to his place. I suppose he felt comfortable with me now, and he was probably thinking we'd get uninterrupted playtime back home.

I got nervous strolling into Swilly. I'd just heard too many stories - urban legends of street gangs and violence. It looked exactly like I imagined - Endless rows of dreary, dilapidated semi-detached houses with busted satellite-dishes on crumbling walls. But I'd follow Tyler anywhere, and I felt tougher just going by his side.

We traipsed in silence, glancing into every front room. Everyone was watching the X-Factor finale.

"Aite," came the heckle of some hard lad with his hoodie up, "Who's this batty boy?"

"Nah, he's safe, leave it," Tyler clapped back, making my heart swell with pride.

I stared the bully down, never having carried myself that way before in my life, but suddenly fully prepared to defend myself. He skulked backwards, no one bothered us.

It wasn't until we were crunching down Tyler's empty driveway that it finally dawned on me - this was his family home. I don't know what else I had expected to find up here, but just that first glimpse of Tyler's Mum through the window made my blood cold. I wanted to turn on my heel and run, but I went with the boy to his door, going steadily numb with dread.

"What's for tea?" Tyler demanded as he crossed the threshold

"Who's that?" his Mother snorted, looking me over with instant distaste.

Tyler said I was a mate, and I stood petrified as they bickered over regular things. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any sign of Tyler's Dad. I think I would have died on the spot.

"I'm going to my room," Tyler concluded peevishly, and I scurried behind like a rat - the bravado I'd summoned in the street gone in puff.

Once safely inside the bedroom I let out such a sigh of relief it made Tyler crease.

"She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like anyone," the lad snickered.

He didn't put the lights on, but even in the gloom I could see his room was a typical boy's room. Smashed cd cases and movies in a jumble with clothes all over the floor, and a games-console in pride of place with the control pads flung about at the end of their cables. And it smelled like a boy's room. It was nice.

Then I clocked two single beds.

"Wait, are you sharing this room?" I started, anxious all over again dreading another humiliating run-in with one of Tyler's fearsome relatives.

"Yeah, but Ryan's inside."

The walls were still plastered in Ryan's page-three cutouts and an oversized England flag. It was still Ryan's room. Tyler had a corner in it.

"What did he do?" I asked, sitting on the absent Brother's mattress and trying to garner something of his essence.

Tyler's Big Brother was doing time for GBH. He'd jumped his own best mate Jamie when he caught him with his dick in Tyler's mouth. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It was both utterly terrifying and unspeakably hot all at once.

"You fucked other lads before?" I choked, my dirty mind reeling.

"Yeah, but Ryan hates it. He henched me an' all. Says only he's allowed."

It took a minute for Tyler's meaning to sink in.

"Wait, did you fuck your brother?"

"Nah, he fucked me!" he frowned casually, as if it was a silly question.

I fully cross examined him about it as he built a spliff. I wanted to know everything, and Tyler seemed content to reminisce.

It started with just wanking. Ryan didn't feel any shame knocking one out with his little brother watching. Morning and night Tyler would admire his Brother's boner, and before long Ryan was telling him to get involved.

Hand-jobs led to blowjobs, and it was only a matter of time before Ryan wanted everything. Soon he was ploughing the poor scally, especially when girls had parred him off. I could just picture it - Ryan drunkenly kicking the bedroom door in to vent his frustrations, and steadily training his little brother with his big angry dick. I began to feel a bit left out.

"Do you miss him?" I asked

"Fuck off!" Tyler spat with a mysterious grin.

A sudden scream from the bottom of the stairs shattered the moment,

"You 'aving dinner or wot?"

I'd have happily hid all night in that dark, stuffy room, but Tyler wanted to eat.

"'E still 'ere?" she blurted over her shoulder as she returned to her chair in front of the telly.

On the kitchen table she left two hot plates - value beans, oven chips, and supermarket fish fingers. Tyler took his plate back upstairs without saying thank you. I copied him.

In the hall his Mum hung pictures of her spotty boys in their school uniforms. It made me wish I'd gone to All Saints so they could have bullied me. Ryan was the good-looking one, but it only made me fancy Tyler more.

Back in Ryan's room I ate my fish fingers, even though I'd been vegetarian since I left home. I just wanted to fit in so much. I wanted to be a chav like Tyler, and as we wiped the foul bean sauce off our plates with our chips I decided I'd been living the wrong life. I was born to the wrong family altogether, and I should have been scally all along. I should have been brought up in Swilly, and it made me hate my Mum and all the moralistic lies she filled my head with. There wasn't anything superior about being respectable. The delinquents had the right idea, pissing wherever they pleased and banging their own little brothers. Tyler was showing me a whole new way to live, and I wanted it bad.

When our plates were empty Tyler opened a window and lit that joint. We toked in silence, blowing lungfuls of white smoke into the night. Tyler could make smoke rings. I thought about that cctv camera, and wished we could have watched the video of us down by the bins.

Flicking the roach out, Tyler got bold with me. He kicked off his trainers and spun around to push his grubby feet up under my nose. The sour, sweaty stink in his socks was lush, and I took his foot in both hands to keep it close.

Then with the other foot he stepped forcefully on my crotch. It hurt my balls, but not enough, so I tugged my jeans down my thighs so he could get a better tread directly on the bulge in my briefs. He wasn't gentle, but I wanted to show I was hard. I suppose this was a game he used to play with Ryan, but Tyler would have been the one in pain. He got me good, and I bent double with a groan.

"Ahh! Pussy boi!" Tyler smirked victoriously.

"Come on then!" I jeered through clenched teeth, spreading my legs wide a second time. Quite rightly, and without hesitation, Tyler cracked my nuts with a stamp of his heel.

"Pussy boi!" He chuckled again as I cried out pitifully. My defeat gave him a nice stiffy, and he put his hand down his pants to haul on it slowly. Neither of us were in a rush, being nicely stoned, and he let me lick his dick leisurely, loving every inch of him. I don't thunk he was much used to an affectionate touch, but he surrendered to it. Then that super-strength skunk we were smoking went straight to our heads and we passed out.

Next day Tyler was irritable and sulky. He didn't even seem to want to know me, and definitely wasn't in the mood for anything sexy.

"Why are you so gay?" he lowered and sucked his teeth.

I left, hugely crestfallen, but I did manage to pocket his dirty socks and I sniffed them all the way home. I couldn't understand his sudden change of mood, and blamed myself for having made some misstep somewhere along the way. Actually, the problem was all Tyler's. He might go on struggling with his sexuality all the rest of life, and this sequence of events set a pattern for all our following confrontations. But it was all part of why I wanted him so much.

In the meantime, despite the feelings of dejection, I had been fucking inspired. When I got home I stuffed every item of clothing I owned into an old sports bag; all my skater brand tees, all my gay designer briefs; and I marched right back out and turned it over to the first charity shop I passed on my way into town. Some of those t-shirts were worth £60 a piece. There could have been several grand's worth of labels in that bag. All gone.

Then I made an immediate route for Sports Direct and bulk bought myself a new wardrobe. Shabby polos, discount trackies, shit baseball caps. I splashed out a little bit on some Henley's tees, because I'd seen all the scally's wearing them. The ones with the oversize text in lime green on blue. But everything else had to be the cheapest. I didn't want to come home with any trace of the old me, and I changed out of what I had been wearing in the gents at Mac Donald's. I left my jeans and Carhartt hoodie on the cubicle floor.

Next I wanted a gold chain. First piece of jewellery I ever bought. I got my hair seen to in a clumsy Italian barber's, a really close and awkward cut. Looked just the part. And I finished this impulsive field day getting my ear pierced with a lame faux diamond stud.

I let my shameful dirty boner stand out for all to see in the crotch of my track bottoms as I went up and down the high street, wondering if I'd get a soft cock ever again.

Finally back in my room with all my new playthings, I put crappy UK Garage on loud and turned my room upside down. Arcade Fire got torn down, along with all the other posters, and my bright new England flag went up. Red and white, clean and bold. As I lay beneath it jerking off I singled out the other things that had to go. I'd throw out my books, swap my turntable for an xbox, shift my vinyl for games. Took a few days, but...

My housemates flipped, getting all passive aggressive about my insufferable new listening habits, and dropping jaws at my fashion choices. But like all cowardly middle class dicks, they never said anything to my face about it.

I felt ready to try it on with Tyler once again. To my surprise, he replied to my text immediately and we met at the Broadway. That was my idea, Plymstock was chav central and over the coming weeks we made it our playground.

I forget in what order things happened. One time I took him to the cinema to see that Venom movie with Tom Hardy. We were obnoxious from the start, mouthing-off and throwing popcorn. A punctilious usher had to come out several times when people complained about us. In the end Tyler just flipped his wondrous penis out and let an arc of piss crash noisily on the seats of the row in front. Single greatest thing I ever saw. Of course we legged it.