Saturday's Heroes - Skinheads, Sex and Football Violence!

by Joe Mitchell

  "I hope it hasn't sapped all your strength", said Carol, hinting heavily that he might need some for later on.

  "Why? What did you have in mind?" asked Paul, looking for further conformation that his luck would be in today.

  "Invite me home with you tonight and you'll find out won't you", she replied, and with that she turned and walked over to Debbie.

  "Fuck this!", shouted Tony as his car went skidding off the track and into the crash barrier. "This steering wheel's faulty. I had that corner judged perfectly."

  With the GAME OVER legend flashing away, Tony took his Doc Marten boot off the acceleration pedal and returned to the land of reality. All four of them then bid farewell to the arcade and headed along the seafront towards the town centre.

  They stopped at a chippy for something to eat and then headed for the warm welcoming glow of the nearest pub. It was full of old suits with their young secretaries, no doubt enjoying a bar meal and a few drinks on their respective expense accounts. There wasn't a spare table to be had, so the skinheads made do with bar stools while they planned what they were going to do in the afternoon.

  "There's no way I'm walking about out there," complained Debbie. "It's freezing. Does anybody fancy going to the cinema?"

  "Why, what's on?" asked Paul.

  "How the fuck should I know, but we could take a look," Debbie told him, making it clear that as far as she was concerned the cinema it was.

  "Okay then," said Carol.

  The two blokes just looked at each other. If the girls wanted to go to the cinema, then the cinema it was.

  The choice of films wasn't exactly Earth-shattering, and Paul found himself watching Ghostbusters with a grand total of seven other people. And that included Tony and Debbie who were sitting a few seats away from him and Carol on the same row. Not that he was really concentrating on the film.

  Paul was sitting with his flight jacket on his lap, and within minutes of the film startling Carol's hand had found its way under it, and was stroking his groin through his jeans. His hands were wandering too, stroking her breasts underneath her Fred Perry jumper. Maybe Ghostbusters was well worth seeing after all.

  Soon his jeans had been unbuttoned, his fly pulled down and Carol was massaging his dick between her fingers. "I hope you've got something for this to wear tonight," Carol whispered.

  Paul replied by squeezing her other hand, before delving beneath her ski-pants. He was soon stroking her pubic hair, and then reaching further inside her knickers, to touch her fanny. For the best part of the film, they sat there, caressing and stroking each other. All Paul could think about was coming. He was so close to exploding that he felt a nose bleed coming on.

  With the film over, Paul hurriedly did his jeans back up. The lights came on, and as he stood up, he did his best to hide his bulging manhood by putting his hand in his pocket and carrying his flight jacket at waist height.

  It took a full five minutes for his hard-on to disappear, leaving him to pretend he couldn't feel the cold as he walked back to the car - jacket still in hand.

  Carol meanwhile was walking with Debbie, leaving him and Tony to bring up the rear.

  "Enjoy that did you?" Tony asked.

  "What?" said Paul, thinking that Tony and Debbie must have seen him and Carol fondling each other like dogs on heat.

  "Hello, is there anybody in there? Did you enjoy the film, you pillock?"

  Paul laughed. "Best film I've been to in ages."

  It was just after eleven when Paul opened the door to the flat. They had spent the evening in the pub listening to Billy boy talking about his latest plan to beat the fruit machines. Paul had missed part of it playing pool with Carol, but it had something to do with overheating the credit mechanism in the back of the machine by holding a lighter to it, and then playing free all night until the jackpot came up. "I'll be making two hundred easy, every week for just a couple of night's work", he boasted at one point. His only problem was finding a pub where he could hang about the machine with a lighter in his hand without getting the landlord's size ten up his arse.

  Only the hall light was on, which meant Paul's Mum had gone to bed. She had lived on a diet of tranquillisers and sleeping pills for the last ten years, ever since his Dad died of a heart attack, so she would be out for the count for sure. Just as well really, because the noise coming from the flat upstairs would have disturbed anyone else's sleep.

  "Those bastards are always playing that shit music until two or three in the morning," explained Paul, finding himself apologising on behalf of the scum who lived above him.

  Paul might not have been working at the time, but the four blokes who shared the flat above hadn't done a day's work between them in their lives. And were never likely to either. Nobody wanted to employ grebo punks like them.

  The strangest thing of all though wasn't that these bastards had nothing better to do except blare out crap in the early hours, but that nobody had ever done anything about it. And more to the point, Paul had done nothing about it. He had lost count of the times he had been kept awake by the constant pounding of music, but had never once gone up and sorted it. True, he'd banged on the ceiling with his baseball bat, but that did fuck all to stop the noise.

  "Don't worry about it," said Carol, trying to lessen his obvious embarrassment. "You should hear the racket my little sister makes with her Wham! tapes."

  He didn't say anything, but it wasn't the same. These bastards were invading his flat at whatever time they liked with their noise, and making his life a misery. The constant fear that he would be woken up by it any night of the week was almost as bad as the drug takers prowling the landings after dark. It wasn't so much the music - he couldn't even hear what music it was - just the constant pounding. Just like when someone sits opposite you on a train with their Walkman on, and you can hear enough to know it's on, but not enough to know what's being played. Just like that, but louder. And yet, he was letting them get away with it. So much for an Englishman's home being his castle.

  When they reached Paul's room, he switched on the old record player he had had for years, and put on a Motown Chartbusters LP. He had it turned down low, but it was still enough to drown out most of what was coming from upstairs.

  Carol was sitting on his bed by the time he had neatly put the record sleeve away. As he went over to her, she stood up and they began to kiss and cuddle. The kissing became more passionate as his hands began to explore her body, starting with her breasts and working down towards her ski-pants. Carol had unbuttoned his Ben Sherman and was soon running her hands over his bare chest and stomach. Her touch was so gentle, so sensuous.

  It wasn't long before they were undressing each other, and Carol was once again stroking his manhood. Only this time, she started kissing his neck and working her way down his body until she was kissing his now throbbing dick. All the touching and caressing in the cinema came flooding back, and all Paul wanted to do was come.

  He started moving his dick in and out of her mouth, feeling her lips and tongue working away. He started moving faster and faster, and Carol's kissing and licking became more and more passionate. Barely two songs into the album and Paul was holding on to Carol's head as his dick started to shoot spunk inside her mouth. The moment of relief and ultimate pleasure couldn't come soon enough now. He had had blow-jobs before, but this was the best bar none . . .

  Now it was Paul's turn to keep Carol satisfied while his dick recovered. He sat her down on the edge of the bed and started kissing her. First on the lips and then on her small, firm tits. Her nipples stood out as he kissed and sucked them. Her skin was as smooth as silk. She was groaning with pleasure by the time his hands made their way up her inner-thighs and started caressing her wet vagina. They were soon joined by his tongue which started probing away while his fingers went right inside her.

  Carol lay back on the bed, her legs wide apart and hanging off the edge, her arms spread out in total abandonment. She was moving her hips in rhythm to Paul's fingers going
in and out of her fanny. Her moans and groans were really turning him on and within minutes his cock was hard again.

  Still fingering her, he reached over to the battered chest of drawers, pulled open the top one and reached inside for a pack of Featherlite. Carol sat up, insisted that he continued to pet her and then pulled the only Durex in the box over Paul's prick. Within seconds he was on top of her and inside her. They were kissing passionately, her fingernails running riot over his back as they made love on the squeaking single bed.

  It was now three in the morning and the only sound breaking the silence of the night was Paul and Carol whispering to one another. They had lay there for the last few hours talking about their lives, their thoughts and their dreams. And the more they talked, the more certain Paul was that this was the girl for him.

  "Do you really have to go back on Thursday?" asked Paul.

  "Yeah, I'm afraid so," replied Carol. "It's my Mum and Dad's wedding anniversary on the Saturday and then it's back to work on Monday."

  "I can't believe I've met someone like you and am going to lose you after only a few days."

  "Well, you can always come back to Hull with me, " said Carol her fingers stroking his chest, and then she laughed. "I could put you in my suitcase and smuggle you on to the coach!"

  The way Paul was feeling it didn't sound such a bad idea. Not so much the suitcase bit, but going to Hull. After all he had no job to keep in him in the Medway towns and he could always come back to visit his Mum. And if it meant he would be able to see Carol, he would go to Timbuktu and back.

  "Maybe I'll save up some money and move up to Hull," he said.

  "That would be great," said Carol, kissing him on his chest where her head was now resting.

  "What's it like for work?" Paul asked as he began to warm to the idea of moving north.

  "You could easily get work on the ferries. They are always looking for people."

  Paul didn't consider himself much of a seafarer - the school certificate for doing ten lengths at the swimming baths was about his limit - but a job was a job in Thatcher's Britain. And the ferries could just be the start of a decent career for a bloke who had done a hundred and one unconnected jobs since leaving school.

  "When you get back, let me know what the score is and meantime I'll get some casual work and get some money together."

  "Okay, sailor boy," replied Carol. Then turning towards him and climbing on top of him, she added, "Now, make love to me again . . . "

  She started kissing him and fondling him, quickly bringing his dick to attention. Then she started rubbing it along her moist vagina.

  "What about a johnny?" asked Paul, but he didn't have to wait for an answer. Carol had already inserted his dick deep inside her and once again they were performing the old in out . . .

  Chapter 4

  "HULL? What the fuck are you talking about? Hull?!"

  Tuesday evening was always put aside for the Syndicate to talk about what was happening on the coming Saturday. A trip to Bolton was top of the agenda, but while they were waiting for Tony to arrive, Paul had made the mistake of mentioning that he might be going to Hull. Bobby was obviously not impressed. Neither was Alan.

  "You've only known the bird five minutes and you want to move in with her? You've fucking flipped, Westy. They're all northern bastards up there!"

  "Look, forget I mentioned it," replied Paul angrily. "All I said was I might be going to Hull for some work. That's all. Now can we talk about something else?"

  "A whippet. You'll need to buy a whippet or you'll stick out like a sore thumb," laughed Bobby, wanting to get another dig in before the subject was dropped.

  Ignoring him, Paul said, "So how many of us are going on Saturday then?"

  Bobby reeled off a mental list. "Me, you, Alan, Tony if he's up to it, Trevor and Billy. Wayne says he doesn't have the money."

  "What about the others?" demanded Trev.

  "The usual excuses. Bloody part-timers," explained Alan. "Simon's Dad won't let him out of the house because he got in too late on Saturday. He gave the poor kid a clip around the ear too by the sound of things."

  "We're going to scare the shit out of Bolton then, all six of us," added Big Trev. "Fucking wasters, half this mob. Anyone can defend their own end. What we need is a decent away squad."

  "Oh, well," said Billy as he stood up. "Hopefully some of the casuals will help us do the business." And on that optimistic note he went to the bar to get some change for the fruit machine.

  As per usual though, Billy was talking out of a hole in his arse. Gillingham didn't have a casual mob. Not unless you counted the twenty or so ski-hats who stood at the Rainham End at home games, but they were under-five material and hadn't been seen at an away game all season.

  Away from home, the Gills couldn't count on the sizeable gypsy support that turned up for home games either. Now they would make an away firm to be proud of. No, if it kicked off at Bolton, the only ones defending the good name of the Medway Towns would be the MSS and the thirty or so other hooligans who you could guarantee would turn up. Hardly enough to attract attention, let alone turn over Bolton's main firm on their own patch.

  Just as Billy sunk his first ten pence piece into the machine's black hole, in walked Tony, Debbie and Carol. They pulled up some chairs and joined the other skinheads at the table over by the juke box.

  Paul had last seen Carol when he said goodbye to her that morning before she left his flat to go back to Debbie's. And she looked more stunning than ever tonight in her tonic suit, shirt and fishnets. The way some of the other blokes were looking at her, he wasn't the only one who thought that either. The worse thing about being a skinhead in the mid- Eighties had to be the lack of decent looking skinhead birds to knock around with.

  "Get anything nice then?" Paul asked Carol. Her and Debbie had spent the day shopping at Maidstone market.

  "Not really. A few records, but that's about it."

  "It was too cold really and some of the usual stalls didn't turn up," added Debbie. "Tony, can you get me some fags?" she shouted to her boyfriend who was up at the bar talking to Alan.

  Back at the table, Tony asked about Bolton. Alan had obviously told him about the poor turnout expected and he wasn't very happy. "If I'm going, Wayne can certainly get off his arse and go and so can Woody and that dipstick Barry. You should have heard the grief I got off the boss today for missing work on Monday - and then I had to ask for Saturday off. He must have thought I was taking the piss."

  "I'll give Wayne a ring tomorrow and tell him he's coming whether he likes it or not," said Trev. "I wouldn't count on Woody and Barry though."

  "Well, if they can't be arsed travelling, they can leave the Syndicate. It's as simple as that." Tony was obviously in no mood for excuses.

  The sound of coins cascading from the fruit machine suddenly attracted everyone's attention. "I've done it! I've fucking done it!" shouted Billy as he began scooping up his winnings. £20 in tokens. Tokens that either had to be fed back into the machine or spent at the bar, but that didn't bother him. "I told you lot and now I've done it!"

  "Don't forget to wave when you drive past in your Porsche," commented Big Trev, more for the benefit of those sitting around the table than for Billy's ears.

  "Do you fancy a game of pool?" Alan asked Tony.

  "Yeah, go on then. You coming Debs?"

  The three of them made their way to the pool table, and were soon joined by Trev who saw himself as the skinhead world's answer to Steve Davis. With Bobby studying the tracks on the juke box, that left Paul and Carol alone at the table.

  "Are you coming back with me tonight?" asked Paul.

  "No, I can't. It's not fair on Debbie's Mum and Dad if I don't go home tonight. Debs told me they weren't too happy when I didn't show up last night. Doesn't mean we can't have some fun before that though."

  "Like, what?" asked Paul, his face brightening up again.

  "Well, I'm sure we can find somewhere to go. There's a park
just across the road isn't there?"

  Carol's cheeky smile told Paul he might not have her in his bed tonight, but he would be getting the next best thing. "I tell you what, you go and raid the Durex machine in the gents, and I'll tell Debbie that we're going for a walk." With that, she left Paul sitting at the table, fumbling for a pound coin in his pocket.

  When he came out of the toilets, Carol was already waiting for him by the pub entrance. As he walked over to join her, Trev joined Tony in a chorus of "We can see you sneaking out!".

  Without turning around, Paul flicked them the V-sign and then escorted Carol out into the night chill.

  "Your hands are freezing!" Carol squealed as Paul found his way under her skirt and to the top of her stockings. They continued kissing as Paul started fingering her already wet fanny. The excitement of doing it in the open air in total darkness bar the distant street lights was really turning her on, and Paul's probing was bringing her close to orgasm.

  She unbuttoned his sta-press trousers and started massaging him. He was already hard and her stroking quickly made the end of his dick wet with spunk.

  Paul was desperate for her and after putting on a johnny, he tried to get inside her. Only with him being a good few inches taller than her and them having to do it standing up, things weren't going to plan like they did in the movies. Paul was beginning to wonder just how Jimmy had banged that bird up the alleyway in Quadrophenia.

  "Turn around," he said and as she did so he leaned her forward. With one hand holding her knickers over to one side, and the other one guiding his dick into her vagina, they began to make love doggy-style. As he thrust in and out of her, he began fondling her tits and rubbing her clitoris, the combination of which had them both forgetting all about the cold night's air all around them. He came first, but kept pumping, spurred on by her obvious pleasure.

  A few minutes later and he was buttoning up his trousers and telling her that her shirt was hanging out of the front of her skirt still. Both suitably adjusted, they started to walk back to the pub.