Posted Sun Oct 15, 2017 | 460 Words | Tagged story chav

ukscallyladz:

👟ukscallyladz👟

You were browsing Grindr for a hook-up. One seemed interesting and so you got chatting and chatting away on the app. You decided to meet up with the guy, even though he seemed like a scruffy chav and not normally your type he seemed to have some personality.

You started to feel a moment of regret when you took the bus which winded through council estate after council estate. Watching the bus move on your map hoping it gets to a less rough area before you realise you’re at your stop.

Getting off the bus you gulp. The bus drove off almost immediately and you can see the run-down block of flats in front of you. You feel suddenly unsafe in your jeans and plaid shirt along with your converse shoes.

You check the bus times. The next bus out of the area wasn’t for another hour so you were stuck. No chickening out of this one it seemed.

Entering the block of flats you notice a large security camera. Clearly this was a problem area. You find the flat number on the sign donning the local council logo in the bottom corner. The guy’s flat is on the top floor, of course it is.

You press the button of the lift and you hear the shaft thunder downwards towards the ground floor. You get out the way of the screaming child in the pushchair being pushed by a lady in a pink tracksuit. She looks at you like a piece of trash on the floor, and well in this area you kind of were.

Getting in the lift, you push to go to the top floor and the door closes in a rackety manner, and way too quickly to probably be safe. The lift jolts a bit to go upwards, pushing you a bit on edge. The light flickering as it slowly makes it way up floor by floor.

It feels like ages and it smells of cigarettes, a smell intoxicating you. You feel slightly lightheaded, and the flickering does nothing for you. Creating a painful headache which hits suddenly.

Out of instinct you spit in the corner. Something you never did before, but trying to think why you did that doesn’t seem to do much help for your headache. 

Your dick stirs in your boxers. Something’s off but you can’t help but slide your hand into your trackies. Feels so good to have your hand in your trackies you barely realise you’ve made it to the top floor and your mate is waiting for you with his dumb smile.

Tonight was going to be a good ‘un, and after he’s had his way you won’t remember a thing. Nothing he didn’t want you to remember anyway.