Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
"High School Blues" part 10: Joe gets another nickname...
I can remember sharing several more beers with Jimmy, Mike and the guys. They pretty much ignored me unless it was to look at me and laugh. They had helped me put my clothes back on, leaving the condom on my dick which was still hard as steel and tenting my pants. After they had bullshitted for awhile and had a few more rounds of beer Shawn said to Mike:
"So when are you gonna let me go a few rounds with "Pinky"?
"Pinky!" he chuckled. "Hey, that would be a good name for the fag except we decided he would be changing his hair color every month. What are we gonna call him next month-- Goldy?" Sound of laughing.
"Yeah, yeah," said Shawn impatiently. "Whatever. Now what about the match? I got a score to settle with this fag and I can't wait forever. When do I get to leather him?" He looked at me, flexed his biceps, and winked.
"Real soon now," Mike said. "Maybe next Saturday. I want to see that myself. But I just got another idea. Did ya hear what the fag said about Greenburg's exercise room. He must have some awesome equipment in that basement. What do you say we 'borrow it'-- permanently!"
"Cool," said Jimmy. "You got shit in here. This sure ain't no Bally's. I couldn't even exercise my big toe in here," he snickered.
"Watch it, shithead," scowled Mike. "It's been good enough for you up to now."
"Yeah," said Brad, " but I'd love to get my hands on some good exercise equipment. It would be awesome to set up a real gym. I'd be down here 24/7."
"Twenty-five bucks a week, buddy," Mike shot back.
"Sure Mike, in your dreams. But what if we get caught? Greenburg could probably beat the shit out of any one of us; you add Mahoney and it's E.R. time for sure."
"Listen, man, I can take Greenburg; believe it" he said as he flexed his biceps. "But it ain't gonna come to that. We'll do it when nobody's home. We'll get the fag to find out when they'll be away. He already told me that they go on camping trips sometimes and they're gone for a whole weekend at a time. That should give us plenty of time to clean the place out; maybe even pick up some extra cash."
Brad still wasn't convinced. "Man, what if we get busted by the cops. I sure as hell don't want to spend the next few years behind bars."
"What a pussy," said Jimmy. "Look, we're gonna be real careful. There's an old dirt road that runs through the woods right behind High Street. I've been through there; never knew Greenburg's house was so close. Nobody'll see us; we'll wait until it's nice and dark; we'll wear dark clothes too. Just like fuckin' James Bond, man. The fag said there was a back door into the basement. It's perfect. We can move the equipment across the back lawn and right into the van. When the Greenburgs get back it'll look like an ordinary burglary-which it is," laughed Jimmy. "We'll never get caught AND we'll have an awesome set of machines to keep our abs in top form!"
"Yeah," laughed Brad. "We'll have to have some top notch abs just to move that shit."
"Will you dude's quit you're damn whining. It's all gonna work out like I said. We just gotta make sure Pinky, I mean Zits, doesn't find out and rat on us," Mike warned. "He's been tight with those two assholes. Like I said, he's their cocksucker. But, hey, he's so damn stupid we can get the info we need out of him and he'll never know the difference."
While this conversation was going on, I was still in a semi-conscious state. They had put something in my beer to keep me in la-la land. I heard them talking, but it didn't make any sense. All I really heard was something about "Pinky" and then a lot of laughing. I was so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open. "The next thing I knew somebody was shaking me:
"Wake up, Zits. Time for us to get you home. You've had a wee-ally busy day for yourself. We wouldn't want your mommy and daddy to get mad and spank you." It was Mike's voice.
"Yeah," said Brad, "I think he's been spanked enough for one day." Laughter all around.
The guys dragged me out to Shawn's van. Shawn and Brad drove me home. About a block away from my house they stopped and pushed me out of the van along with my backpack.
"Bet your folks will love your new look, Pinky. They'll probably throw a fuckin' party for you," said Shawn.
Coming out of my fog, I had no idea what had happened to me. I did recognize my street, and began walking unsteadily toward my house. I turned around and saw the guys grinning at me. "Thanks for the ride. See you guys at school on Monday," I said.
"You can count on it, Pinky!" Shawn yelled. Then the wheels on the van squealed and the motor belched out smoke as they tore off down the street.
"Huh," I thought to myself. "Wasn't there something else I was supposed to be doing this afternoon." Then I felt my backpack, which was heavier than I remembered, and vaguely wondered if I was supposed to be at Bob's house this afternoon for practice. "No, I think maybe that's tomorrow. I'll call him when I get inside and check for sure."
Nothing could have prepared me for the reaction of mom and dad when I walked in the door. What was wrong? I hadn't violated my curfew. It was only 7:30 pm, and they already said it would be okay to have dinner with Bob and Terry after practice...SHIT! Practice was today! What had happened? I could hardly remember a thing; just some jumbled images about walking through the woods toward Bob's house and hearing some motorcycles. It was Mike, Jimmy and their buds. I had run into them in the woods. Something had happened. I remember pain in my butt and back (I still felt it.) Had I fallen? My thoughts began to break up as my concern returned to my missed exercise appointment and the horrified look on my parents faces.
"What the hell have you done to yourself now!?" dad said with an angry look on his face. My sister Michelle peeked out the door and started giggling hysterically. "Answer me, Joe, I've had just about enough of this idiotic behavior of yours. You weren't brought up to be a punk or some kind of freak. So what's with the damn hair? And what's that white stuff all over your face; it almost looks like..."
For a moment I had no idea what he was talking about. He knew about my mohawk. Was he still bitching about that?
"Dad, I don't know what you're talking about," I said, completely confused.
"So you don't know what I'm talking about? Well come over here to the mirror, mister, and you'll see what I'm talking about." Through all of this my mother was just staring. I think she was so shocked she was speechless. Later she would have plenty to say!
When I looked in the mirror I almost fainted. Vaguely I remember seeing someone at Mike's place with pink hair who looked just the way I do now. He looked so crazy I started to laugh. But this was no laughing matter. What the hell had happened? Then I remembered a conversation with Jimmy in the bathroom at school earlier today when he said that the guys thought I would look good with pink hair. Now I understood too why they were saying "Pinky" so much. They were referring to me!
All of these thoughts swirled through my mind as I continued to stare in the mirror at my hair and the thick white stuff starting to peel off my face, which looked and smelled like...cum! I was ready to cry but I didn't want my folks to see that I had been tricked and humiliated (again). So I put on a brave, cum-covered face and told another enormous lie.
"Dad, this is no big deal. There is a logical explanation for this...(I just hadn't figured it out yet!) Besides, there are lots of kids at school who have gone much further than I have. They have two-toned hair; they have rings in their ears and noses; they even have studs in their tongues and lips. People won't even look at me twice. It's the new generation dad, and I'm a part of it." Boy was I getting good at this; I even surprised myself with that speech!
"Maybe I am from another generation," dad said, "but I don't want my son looking like a damn freak. That color; it almost makes you look...uh (he was having a hard time getting it out)...it almost makes you look like a homosexual."
"Dad, don't overdramatize," I said. "I just want to express myself."
"Well, this matter is far from over, Joe. We've got to have a very serious talk about this. And there's another matter I want to discuss with you. You smell like you've been drinking and you act like you've been taking drugs. Have you, Joe? Son, dyeing your hair pink is nothing compared with getting hooked on drugs. Tell me, have you been experimenting with something?"
I had just about reached the breaking point. I had to get up to my room and take in everything that had happened. If they asked me any more questions right now I would turn into a blubbering idiot. "Dad, I really appreciate your concern and I promise we'll have a good talk...tomorrow. But right now I'm really tired and want to go lie down. Please."
Dad was very reluctant to let the matter drop, even for a day. But he could see that I needed some rest and finally relented. "Okay, son, but I'm not forgetting this. Tomorrow we talk it all out." Almost as an afterthought he said, "And I want to know about that stuff on your face. Now wash it off!"
"Joe," my mom spoke out for the first time, "Bob Greenburg called twice earlier saying that you were supposed to be at his house at 4:00 pm for exercise. You never showed up. What happened?"
"I know, mom, something else came up. I can't talk anymore now. I just got to take a little nap."
"But don't you want any supper. You were supposed to eat at the Greenburgs'. You must be starving."
"I'll have something later, mom. With that I bounded up the stairs, went into my room and locked the door. I was almost out of my mind from humiliation, anger, and guilt. I looked in the mirror again. I truly did look like a freak. My ass and back began burning again and I decided to strip to check it out. Besides, my cock felt funny, like it was packed inside something (can you tell I was naive?) I thought I had already faced the greatest shock of the day, but I had no idea what was in store for me when I undressed.
I had a full length mirror on the back of my bathroom door. I looked for a long time at my pink hair. I knew that Jimmy had said the guys wanted to change my hair color in the bathroom this morning, but somehow I thought that he was only joking. How could I face my classmates now? I almost started to cry when I thought of the mockery that was in store for me on Monday. I began taking my clothes off, starting with my shirt. I noticed that my nipples were red and swollen. I turned around to look at my back, which was stinging badly. I was shocked to see that it was criscrossed by angry red welts. It looked like I had been whipped. I suspected that the same was true of my ass which was similarly burning. I had a fleeting memory of being tied up while heavy leather belts were swung by shadowy figures against my back and ass...then it was gone.
I removed my pants and briefs and was in for the shock of my life. My pubes! What happened to my pubes!? Those bullies couldn't stop with my head, they had to violate the most private part of my body for their stupid entertainment! In my confusion I hadn't even looked at my cock. When I looked at it closely, I nearly jumped out of my skin, thinking at first they had dyed it red (told you I was naive!) Then I realized they had placed a condom over it, maybe with just a shred of kindness so that the dye didn't stain it too.
I tore myself away from staring at my pubes to look at my poor stinging butt and saw that it, too, was covered with welts, a few of which were oozing blood. I was going into sensory overload. Before I worked myself up any further, I had to clean up and soak in a nice warm tub. Hopefully, that would soothe my back and butt and maybe even wash some of the dye out of my pubes and hair. With my butt stinging more than ever, I decided that the tub water probably should be cool: no sense adding fire to fire.
The water did take some of the sting out of my wounds. The water turned a bit pink, but I wasn't sure if was from the welts on my butt or the dye from my pubes. I soaped and soaped my pubes (and later my mohawk) and although the lather became slightly pink the hair color did not change significantly. Jimmy had done another "good" job! I was stuck, then--at least for now. Maybe as I washed daily my normal color would begin to return. Than I thought about Mike, Jimmy and the other baboons, and how they would probably come after me again if I messed around with their latest handiwork.
I got some antiseptic cream from the medicine cabinet and spread it, as best as I could, on my back and butt, which began to burn again as soon as I got out of the tub. I was not about to tell dad, who was pissed off enough, about what happened to my pubes and my ass. If I did, the shit would really hit the fan. He would find out everything, which would just bring me more humiliation. Besides, I had no desire to start a neighborhood war, and so once again I meekly accepted what I didn't seem to be able to stop. I knew that for quite awhile I would have to be very careful the way I sat down (ouch!)
Now my fears focused on Monday. What would happen when I went back to school? Would everybody be laughing and calling me 'Pinky'? And there was one other thing that bothered me. When I looked at what I knew was cum, thickly covering my face-- and I knew damn well whose cum it was--my cock got as hard as steel. I washed off the cum, which had become dry and crusty. Then I reached into the waste basket and pulled out the red condom the guys had put on my cock while they were dyeing my pubes, and placed it carefully in my night table. Just the thought of it made my cock even harder.
(To be continued)