Wrtten by rbbrbikerthorp
I said to myself as I walked down the dingy corridor looking at the numbers on the doors. A sign points the way up another flight of stairs.
“Room 507 – here it is,″ I said to myself.
I put an actual key key into the lock. I turn it to the door to the attic bedroom, I still can’t believe that all the known chains in town were full for the night. After. a really long day trudging around the city from meeting to meeting and then entertaining a customer, I’d missed my last train home. I must’ve checked out two dozen hotels online before I managed to find one with a room. I guess ‘beggars can’t be choosers’. As I opened the door the stench hit me in the face; a mix of smoke, damp and old furniture offended my nose. No point complaining; there were no alternatives and it would only be for one night.
I dropped my bag on the bed and walked over to the sash window to see If I could open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Years of painting had sealed it shut. I looked around the room to see if there was another way to get some ventilation in. There was a ventilation panel and a switch on the wall below it. When I flicked the switch, I was pleasantly surprised that the hotel had fitted one of those silent air-con units you can hear faintly as opposed to one with a fan that creates an unbearable noise. I looked around the room and spotted a TV on the wall, there was a fridge and kettle. I also noticed a wardrobe, but as I was only staying one night I wouldn’t unpack my bag.
I guess the day was catching up with me because I began to feel very tired. Just then I remembered I had to send a couple of emails before the end of the day. So I grabbed my laptop and sat at the desk. As I typed away, I could hear the comforting sound of the air conditioning whispering away in the background.
“Mmmm perhaps this wasn’t so bad for one night,“ I thought.
The two important emails were sent plus, I sent another to my department head summarising meetings – not something I’d normally do, but I felt compelled to do it on this occasion. I logged out and closed my laptop. I decided to take a shower before bed. I stripped out of my suit trousers and shirt and headed into the bathroom. I turned on the shower and stepped in, the hot water immediately relieved the tension in my muscles. Not having planned to stay away for the night I didn’t have any toiletries with me, but I was amazed to discover a hotel of this standard actually provided a selection of bathroom amenities for guests.
I cracked open the shower gel and rubbed it into my hair. I whiffed the scent.
“Wow, that’s really overpowering,” I thought.
I tried to figure out what the scent was but for some reason, my mind wandered onto other things. I massaged it into my hair, lost in the smell, closing my eyes. I stood under the water raining down from the shower head feeling the suds wash out of my hair.. I reopened the bottle of shower gel and applied it everywhere, wanting the smell to cover me entirely. The smell is making me feel so relaxed and so horny. Eventually, I know I’ve left the soap on me for long enough and rinse myself off
Turning off the shower, I step out grab one of the towels from the rail and dry myself off. I felt so drained but also so relaxed.
I walk out of the en-suite and drop the towel on the floor and, fully naked, I climb under the covers. At the side of the bed is the remote control, I grab it and turn on the TV. When the screen came alive there was just static. I flicked through the channels, but it was the same. “Urgh”, I thought, “here we go, the TV doesn’t work.” I was about to get up and see whether the cable had come loose but I found myself captivated by the colours on the screen. There was also a strange humming noise emanating from the television that made it hard to think.
I lay there, watching the pretty colours,” So beautiful…”
As I watched I became hornier and hornier but I found couldn’t move a muscle. I began to panic, the static was interspersed by coloured spirals and then there were flashes. the flashes grew brighter and more frequent – I’m sure the flashes were actually words but I couldn’t tell. I kept staring at the screen, open-mouthed.
All I could do was stare at the screen. Sometime later the screen finally went blank. I reached over to the bedside table and switched off the light. I quickly drifted off to sleep listening to the soundtrack of the whispering air conditioning.
I vaguely recall having this weird dream when suddenly I came around. Rolling over I tapped my phone to check the time, it was only 3:30 a.m. A thought entered my head – I needed to get up and check the wardrobe.
“What? Are you serious?” I lay there for what felt like ages, but the thought didn’t go away.
In fact, the voice in my head kept getting louder, Check the wardrobe…Check the wardrobe…Check the wardrobe… It kept getting louder still. Check the wardrobe… Eventually, the compulsion took over. I climbed out of bed walked over to the wardrobe, and opened the door. As I pulled the doors open, right away there was a rank smell of old leather and cigarette smoke. Hanging inside the wardrobe were some clothes and a pair of boots. Even though I knew thugs wore clothes like these, I couldn’t help myself, I had to touch them. My hand brushed against the green bomber jacket; I felt a static charge that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I picked up the boots, lifted them and held them to my face. They looked as though they’d been well-worn. I took a deep breath. Inside each one, someone had stuffed in a sock. At first, the smell of foot odour and leather was overpowering, but after inhaling the scent for a few minutes I felt intoxicated and started feeling horny again.
I picked up the pair of jeans that looked like they’d been splashed with bleach. They looked like they’d been worn a few times since the last wash. There was also a black polo shirt on another hanger. “Hmmm,” I thought, “The last person staying here must have left this behind. I’ll have to mention this to reception when I check out. I put everything back in its place, closed the wardrobe door and went back to bed to try and get some more sleep.
Back in bed, I lay staring at the ceiling listening to the whispering air con.
“Was that a voice I could hear? Was it telling me I should try on the clothes hanging in the wardrobe? Why on earth would I want to try on another person’s worn, actually well-worn clothes?”
I lay in bed contemplating what the voice in my head was telling me to do. After a while, I thought, “Maybe I could try the clothes on – it would be a laugh. No, what am I thinking?”
I was restless in bed. In the end, the voice was becoming unbearable, and I caved in. I got out of bed, opened the wardrobe again, and inhaled deeply. This time the smell didn’t offend me. I took out the contents put them on the bed and looked at them closely. I grabbed the bleached jeans and slid them on, one leg at a time. I struggled to get into them as they were skin tight, probably a size too small compared to any trousers I’d normally wear.
I stood up and walked to the mirror. The jeans had been cut short, so they just covered the knee. There was a clear bulge at the front. I turned around; the jeans were nice and tight around my arse. “Where did that thought come from?” I walked back over to the bed and picked up the black polo, with yellow piping on the collar. I raised my arms and slid it over my head. I looked okay to say I’m not the slimmest I could be…
My horniness was increasing. The boots were next. I felt a definite tingle all over my body as I picked them up. I pulled the socks out and one at a time, I rolled them up my legs. I studied the boots; the white laces were pristine. This was a total contrast to the rest of the clothes, which had been used multiple times. I could tell there was a certain way the previous owner had set about lacing them up. It took me a few minutes to work out how to copy what had been done before that would, in the end, create a ladder effect. Instinctively knew they needed to be laced tightly onto my feet, so I started with the left and then moved onto the right boot.
After a short while, I’d got the boots on my feet. I stood up and walked around. The boots felt heavier than anything I’d worn on my feet. Walking around the bedroom in these tightly laced boots that went all the way to the top of my calf muscles was amazing. I was getting hornier than ever. I could see my growing bulge in my bleached jeans. I walked over to the wardrobe, took the green bomber jacket from the hanger and slipped it on. I noticed a lump in one of the pockets. Lifting out the contents, I held an unopened packet of cigarettes and a box of matches in my hand. I stood staring in the mirror for ages.
I was experiencing a ‘sensory overload’ – that’s the only way I can describe it. The reflection in the mirror was obviously me, but it also wasn’t the me I’d known all my life. For the first time, I felt different like a different person, but something didn’t look right. I stared and stared, and then I had a revelation. “It’s the hair,” I said out loud, “You don’t wear clothes like this with a head full of hair.” Without thinking I went into the bathroom and looked through the amenities that the hotel provided. Sure enough, there was a brand new Mach 3 razor and a tube of shaving cream. I slipped off the jacket and removed the polo shirt.
Although I kept my hair relatively short, it was going to take some time to shave my head without being able to use any clippers to remove the bulk of my hair. In the whispering air con, I heard a voice, so quiet you could barely make it out. It seemed to be whispering “desk drawer, desk drawer”. I walked back into the bedroom and opened the drawer. Inside was a solitary item; a pair of scissors.
“Well,” I said to myself, “these will make things easier!”
I went back into the bathroom and set about hacking at my hair with the scissors. Clumps of hair were falling into the sink. I kept snipping until there was almost nothing left to cut. I turned on the tap and ran the water until it got very hot.
Next, I squeezed plenty of shaving cream into my hands and applied it evenly all over my head. I rinsed my hands of the foam and picked up the razor. Instinctively I knew what I needed to do. I put the razor at the back of my crown and pulled it towards my forehead. I rinse the razor under the running hot water. In steady strokes, I went from front to back in the direction my hair seemed to be growing in.
I could feel the bulge in my jeans getting harder and harder. I’d completed the top of my head. Time to do the sides. I put the razor just above the left-hand side, and pull it down in an even stroke, only stopping when reach the top of my cheek. When I’d finished the one side, I switched to the other side and did it all over again. Between each stroke, I’d rinse my razor in the hot water to keep the blades clean. When that was done, it was time to do the back. I took my time because I couldn’t see what I was doing. I carefully placed the razor at the back of my crown, then pulled it down toward the nape of my neck. I made very slow, even passes with the razor, repeating it until I could was happy that all my hair was gone.
“One last scrape… done!”
I looked in the mirror and could see my head was fully shaved and gleaming. At that moment I felt different. A ‘switch’ in my head flipped. I stared at myself in the mirror – I sensed I’d evolved. A new character had emerged, I had become mean and aggressive. I was shaken from my thoughts by a knock at the door. I looked through the peephole to see who was at the door. Whoever was standing on the other side of the door had obscured my view.
“Oi, oi! Lad, open the door”
It wasn’t a request, it was an order. I had to comply. I opened the door, and standing in front of me was a huge skinhead. He didn’t say anything nor did he smile.
I spent a few seconds taking him in; From the tightly laced boots on his feet and the obscenely tight bleached jeans to the black bomber jacket, black gloves and shaved head. Not only did I feel tiny by comparison, but I also felt intimidated by his appearance. He walked over to the other side of the room. Lit a cigarette, inhaled and blew the smoke in my direction. He took another drag on the cig, exhaled and then spoke. “Right, let’s take a look at you.”
I walked towards him, inhaling the second-hand smoke. He studied me like a scientist looking at bacteria under a microscope. He smiled.
“Yep, it seems that you’ve responded exactly as you were instructed, boy.”
All I could do was smile. If I’d been a dog I’d have been wagging my tail; happy to have pleased my skinhead Boss. “Boss, where did that thought come from” I wondered?
With that, he took another drag on his cigarette. “Boy, I think you’ve already found a pack in your jacket pocket, get one out and light up, …now!
Again it wasn’t a request it was an instruction to be obeyed without question. I got one out of the pack and put it in my mouth. I got a match out of the box and, as I pulled it quickly along the side it ignited. I brought the light to my cigarette and instinctively inhaled. I held it for a few seconds and then exhaled.
He took another drag on his cigarette, exhaled in my direction and spoke. “Right boy, get yer wallet and phone and give ‘em to me.”
I walked across to the bedside table where my phone was and then went into my suit trouser pocket to get my wallet. I handed them over without question.
He watched me finish my cigarette and then spoke, “I want you to get through that pack today boy.”
I didn’t say anything, I nodded still in shock as I realised for the first time in my life I’d smoked.
“Stay there boy. There’s one more thing to do.”
With that, he took some red braces out of his pocket and attached them to the top of the jeans I was wearing. He handed back my phone.
“That’s better – red braces to hold up yer bleachers. Take a selfie boy, and then give the phone back to me. It’s time to tell all your friends, family and workmates yer a skinhead now.”
I took the picture and handed him the phone. I watched him type out a message, attach the picture I’d just taken and select ‘send to all’. “Done,” he said, putting my phone back in his pocket. “Can’t wait to see the responses you get boy.” Now he had a big smile on his face, “Now put your shirt back on and grab yer jacket. Leave everything else behind, we’re leaving.”
He watched me pull the braces off my shoulder so I could put the polo shirt on. I was about to pull them back up when he said, “Nah, leave them down. He paused for a few seconds, “Now yer might be dressed like a skinhead boi, but you’ve got a lot to learn about the skinhead code. Yer gonna live with me and I’m going to show ya, but we need to make a few modifications first to finish your transformation. Let’s go…”
Without questioning my new Boss I grabbed my jacket and followed him out of the room. The door slammed shut behind me – not turning back. Walking down the corridor, we passed a room where someone had left a pair of black boots and some other gear outside. The skinhead turned around, “Ah good, looks like they’re getting ready for the next ‘guest, who will join the growing skinhead ranks.”
At which point I grabbed the growing bulge in my bleachers and followed two paces this brute of a skinhead Boss ready to embark on my new life and the final stage of my transformation.