Skin%

03 Dare

Shant looked up as a customer came in. Immediately behind him came three young women dressed in what the guys called "bubblegum goth": trendy clothes mean to look goth.

The girls pushed past the guy and came up to the counter. The one in the middle leaned on the counter, resting her perky breasts on her forearms to emphasize them.

"Your sign says 'Custom Tattos', and I want a tattoo," she announced. "Where are they?"

"Usually they're on the people we tattoo," Shant told her. The man browsing through the fetish streetwear suppressed a snicker.

"Well, how am I supposed to know which one to get if I can't see them?" the girl demanded. "Don't you have one of those big... book... thingies?"

"No," Shant told her, the fake smile still on his face, as he wondered when Wrecks and Bump would get back with the pizzas. "We do custom tattoos. Those are tattoos that are one-of-a-kind, designed for each customer. What you are describing is what we call 'flash'. That's the cheap ass crap mass-produced for losers who have no idea what they're doing."

The girl looked outraged, but suppressed it. "Well, let me talk to the tattoo guy, maybe he can come up with something." She rolled her eyes.

Shant turned toward the hallway that ran to the back. "Flux!" he bellowed.

Flux came lumbering out of the back, and paused just inside the main shop area. He looked at the girls looking at him and shot a pleading look at Shant.

"Oh, eww," the girl grimaced. "Don't you have any good looking tattoo guys?"

"Oh, I don't know, I think Flux is drop dead sexy," Shant shrugged.

"And yet, he still forgets our anniversary," Flux complained, putting a hand to his heart melodramatically. His other hand rested on one hip.

"Oh, jesus," Shant snapped. "That was three months ago. I was out of town. My mother was dying!" He turned back to the dazed girls. "She's an absolute saint, just the sweetest thing."

"Dying of a Neiman Marcus overdose, you mean," Flux replied cattily, tossing his head in a pout.

The guy who had come in was now on the floor behind one rack, holding his sides. From the way he was shaking, Shant was worried that he was doing himself an injury, holding the laughter in like that.

Shant gave an internal shrug and turned back to the girls, going back to his normal speech. "Look bitch, we're not going to do a tattoo for you. We require a customer to know what they want first, at least in a general sense. We don't do cute hearts, we don't do My Little Pony, and we don't do Edward the Twitard. Why don't you find a tattoo shop that does that? Or, you could run yourself through a photocopier."

The man was now sitting up, his face full of joy at Shant's speech.

"You fucking faggot!" the girl snapped, her eyes on fire. "I'll have you fired! I want to talk to your manager."

"He is the manager," Wrecks announced, having just come in. "And the owner, which is me, is also a fucking faggot. So is everybody who works here. And we also have depth, which is more than I can say for you. Get out!"

"You're being awfully mean to me," the girl pouted, shoving her chest forward.

"Point those things elsewhere," Wrecks snapped. "One of those things springs a leak, we'll have enough lube to put the Space Shuttle up Ann Coulter's ass."

"I'm not going to take that from a fag in a skirt," the girl sneered.

"It's called a kilt, moron," Bump told her.

"I wish you, and your friends, would learn the meaning of depth, sincerity, honesty, and integrity," Wrecks said slowly. "The hard way."

A jet of flame leapt from the hole in the tip of the Monster, startling the girls.

"Girls, you're late for an appointment with karma," Wrecks smiled nastily.

Kimmy, Sammy, and Rene edged around him and out the door.

"Anyway," Flux said to Shant, as Wrecks and Bumps carried the pizza and beer into the back. "I don't see how we're going to make half these songs work without a decent bassist. I mean, I can play good chords and all, but there's no way I can make up for the fact that we have no bass guitarist."

Out of the corner of his eye, Shant saw the other man start and look toward them with a strange look in his eye.

"I know," Shant nodded. "Bump's a fantastic drummer, but without some good bass... It just sounds lame." He thought for a moment, trying to think of a strategy. He looked up. "Hey, hot stud!"

The man looked at him, and then around him, and then looked at Shant again.

"Yeah, you. Come here," Shant beckoned him.

The young man came toward them slowly, looking confused.

"I'm not going to bite you-" Shant sighed.

"Unless you beg first." Flux added.

"Do you play guitar?" Shant asked.

"Um, yeah," the brunette said, looking guilty.

"Electric, bass?" Shant prompted.

"Both," the guy said, shoving his hands deeper in his baggy, white cargo pants.

"We have a... kind of psychobilly band," Shant told him. "We call it raunch pyschobilly, psychobilly with a dark erotic edge, you know? Can you really pound a bass?"

"I wish I could play like that," the guy said, somewhat bitterly.

Flux clapped one hand to his forehead. "You manipulative bastard," he muttered admiringly.

"You ever tried?" Shant prompted, inwardly gloating as the Monster woke up. Wreck came out out to the shop at a run, skidding to a halt, as Flux went over to him and explained in a whisper.

"Yeah, by myself," the guy admitted. "Playing along with stuff. With my headphones on."

"Why don't you come on back and give it a shot?" Shant asked."What's your name?"

"Darren," the guy said glumly. He studied Shant's face for a tense moment. "Are you serious?"

"We all are, if you meant what you said, about wishing you could play like that," Wrecks told him warily.

"Hell yes, I meant it," Darren replied. "Who wouldn't want to? But... I freeze up around other people. I wish I wouldn't." He started rubbing his head, as the glow intensified inside the Monster.

"We can help with that," Wrecks told him, with a sharp nod. "Give yourself, and us, a chance."

Darren started, and shook his head.

"You okay?" Shant asked.

"Ah, it just felt like I was getting the mother of all headaches, and then it was gone," Darren said, shaking his head slightly. "Actually, feel a little stoned right now. Ah, what the fuck, I'll give it a shot."

"Come on back then," Wrecks told him. "I'm just closing up anyway. Go meet the guys."

Shant and Flux ushered the slender young man into the back room, where three battered couches, an old coffee table, and a bunch of old crates were arranged. The band's equipment occupied one end of the wide room.

Darren was taken around and introduced to the other guys, and got to understand their roles in the band.

Shant, dressed in a black and white checked western shirt and black jeans, was lead vocals, and managed the soundboard, mounted on a rack in front of him, like a keyboardist. His usual nasal voice actually had a lot of range and good projection. He also wrote the majority of lyrics.

Flux was lead guitarist, and wrote most of the music. His technique had more of rhythm and blues, rather than the metal-punk Darren would have expected, especially with the rubber pants, held up with rubber braces, with the studded codpiece and heavy boots held closed with big chrome toggles.

Bump was the drummer, and helped Flux write the music. Bump wore a bright pink, tight sleeveless bowling shirt that advertised the band on the back in flowing script, and had a name patch that read "Your Name Here" in curly embroidery. These were tucked into tight black jeans with the buttons visible on the fly. His cowboy boots were black with neon pink flames embroidered on it.

Ratch was the band's keyboardist, and was also responsible for anything mechanical that needed to be created, repaired or repurposed. He wore heavy canvas chaps over black spandex pants, held up by a tool belt. His fishing vest was festooned with all sorts of electronics parts, as well as three empty condom wrappers. Under it he wore a lycra tank top.

Lulz was basically the roadie, the guy responsible for making sure equipment was packed up and loaded, or unpacked and ready for use. The rather simple guy seemed to delight in making odd jokes, some of which Darren actually found amusing. Lulz wore a ripped red t-shirt and red denim overalls patched with bandannas of every color. His heavy work boots looked like they had been splattered with paint.

Wrecks was the owner of the shop, and occasionally pitched in a hand with an extra keyboard set up for special effects and sampling. Darren had to avoid looking at his ripped jeans, as they left nothing to the imagination, but admired the heavy, scuffed tank boots.

Darren wasn't sure what to make of Wolf, who was draped comfortably over Lulz's lap and sharing pizza with Lulz. From time to time he would get up and make a circuit of the room, begging for a drink of beer. He did admit, to himself, that the furry guy was a real turn-on, and hoped nobody else noticed.

Wrecks looked to be in his 30's, and wore it well. The rest of the guys seemed to be in their early 20's, although possibly Bump was older, Darren decided.

"Geez, look at these hands," Bump said, grabbing Darren's right hand by the wrist. He examined Darren's fingers carefully. "These are real bass hands, if I ever saw them. Man, you were born for the bass."

"Bump was part of the Warped Tour three years in a row," Shant confided. "So he'd know."

"Let him eat," Wrecks told Bump. "He can give it a shot when he's eaten."

"We can't call him Darren," Ratch shook his head violently. "No way."

"Let's just call him Dare," Shant shrugged.

"Yeah, 'Ren' is way over-" Flux was cut off as Wolf was spilled onto the floor with a yipe.

"No!" Lulz objected angrily. "You guys can't do that to him! You're going to make him ashamed! You can't! All of us earned our names. Let him earn his, or just admit you're taking him for ride." Lulz crossed his thick arms and glowered at them.

"You're right, Lulz," Wrecks nodded solemnly. "If he wants that name, he has to earn it. It's the only way to wear the name with pride."

"How the hell do I do that?" Darren demanded, feeling lost.

"You suggest a way to earn it, we tell you if it's good enough to earn it," Wrecks told him. "Then you do it. You succeed, you've earned it."

"What did you guys do?" Darren asked suspiciously. He looked at Wrecks.

Flux snickered. "Wrecks caused a seven car pile-up, and didn't get a scratch on him."

"I miss that bike," Wrecks sighed.

"So what was so hard about that?"

"It was seven limos, half a block from the Oscars," Shant grinned.

"And you?"

"I chanted an old Aramaic, uh, ballad, for 48 hours," Shant shrugged. "Drunk."

"It was supposed to be Chant, but he kept slurring the words," Flux nodded. "That's the downside. You don't quite make it, or screw up, we get to name you based on that." He looked embarrassed. "I was supposed to be Tower. I... tried something to prove my strength and power, instead it gave me extreme mood swings."

"Like what?" Darren asked.

"He can't tell you," Wrecks cut in. "It can only be told to someone who's earned their name and place with us."

"I earned my name by letting three buses run over me," Bump volunteered.

Darren looked at Ratch.

"I was trying to claim the name, and got cut down," Ratch explained. "So I challenged the guys to come up with a way to disprove it. Very unorthodox. So they sent me out to one of the old ships off the coast, with only a ratchet set."

"And?"

"He came back with a machine gun," Flux said sourly. "One of the big ones, mounted on deck?"

"What happened to it?" Darren asked.

"We tossed it in the bay, over the side of the bridge," Lulz shrugged.

"Why?" Darren asked, not quite willing to believe they were pulling his leg.

Ratch shrugged. "It was late."

"We were bored," Wrecks nodded.

"We were drunk off our asses," Shant agreed.

"There was a midget involved," Lulz put in.

Several of the guys gave Lulz a high-five as Darren started snickering.

When he got control of himself, he wiped his eyes. "What about you, Lulz?"

"I kept the guys laughing for six hours," Lulz told him.

"We had to take Flux to the ER, his blood pressure was so bad," Shant admitted.

"And Wolf?" Darren asked.

"Wolf is Wolf because he is Wolf," Wrecks shrugged. "And he doesn't remember his old name. It's just... convenient, I guess. But what else would you call him?"

Darren had to admit that made a lot of sense, and considered for a few minutes, as the guys ate more pizza and drank more beer.

"Okay, I'll prove it's my name," he began, but Wrecks stopped him.

"Don't," Wrecks told him. "You're about to challenge us to prove you wrong. In that case, we have to do our best to do so. Think how bad that can be."

Darren winced. "Alright, from now to ... no. I'll take dares from each of you, for one hour each. To prove I've earned it." The guys looked at each other, considering. They started nodding.

"Works for us, looks like," Bump nodded.

"Let's do this right," Wrecks decided. "You'll draw names, one by one. I'll be right back." He nudged Wolf off his lap, and left the room.

He was back quickly, with lots in a brass bowl that looked like it has been used as an ashtray, and a timer.

"Where'd you get the timer?" Shant asked.

"One of our tattooists used it, to time sessions," Wrecks shrugged. "Works as a stopwatch or a count-down. Anyway. You'll draw a name, that person gives you the dare. Maximum time is an hour. If time isn't used up, they can give you another dare or pass. You refuse or argue, you fail. You can name restrictions that do not contradict what the guy has said. Cool?"

"Cool," Darren nodded, reaching for the bowl. Shant caught his hand.

"Don't fuck this up," Shant told him. "I really don't want a bassist named Wuss, okay?"

Darren swallowed and drew the first name. "Ratch."

The chubby red-bearded guy grinned. "Ah, great. I dare you to drink six beers, naked, sitting there on the couch, with all the rest of us."

The other guys looked at Darren.

"Done," Darren told him, peeling off his white tank top, pulling off his pants and boxers, socks, and sneakers.

"Not quite," Wrecks told him, handing him a six-pack of beer.

"Thank the gods," Flux sighed, pulling off his combat boots and wriggling out of his tight rubber pants. The cod-piece turned out to be his rubber jock, and he gripped it by the bottom and unsnapped it in one pull, letting his balls and pierced dick flop free. He leaned back as he rolled his balls around in his hand, sighing with relief. The rest of the guys quickly followed, as Darren chugged his first beer. When Darren looked up from the empty beer, Wrecks was helping Wolf take off his tight denim shorts. Darren almost lost his grip on the second beer when he saw that the tail on Wolf was real.

"You have an hour," Lulz told him. The big guy was sitting on the floor, leaning back against one of the other couches, with one of Ratch's legs on either side of him. He'd found it easy to strip, it turned out he wore nothing under those overalls. "You don't need to shotgun them all."

Darren shrugged, and slowed down.

"Nice piercings," he observed to Shant. "The stripe's pretty fucking cool too."

"Thanks," Shant told him, putting his arm over Darren's shoulders. He held up his beer and clunked it with Darren's. "Tell you what, I'll keep pace with you."

"Fuck, sure," Darren laughed.

They alternated chugging the beers and sipping them. Fairly quickly, Darren reached for the next beer, and found the six pack gone.

"Ah, fuck!" he complained. "Give me another beer."

"You have ten minutes, Ratch," Wrecks noted, as he passed a beer to Darren.

Ratch dug into his tool belt, which he'd left on after taking off his clothes, and brought out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He tossed a single non-filter cigarette to Darren. "I dare you to smoke that before time is up."

Darren smirked as he reached into his pants and pulled out a lighter. He lit the cigarette and let it dangle on his lips as he dug into another pocket. He pulled out a pack of off-brand cigarettes and put them on the arm of the couch next to him, smirking at Ratch.

He didn't notice the sharp looks between Wrecks and Bump.

"Time," Wrecks announced as the timer went off. Darren grinned as he picked the next name.

"Bump," he read smugly.

"See those bars running across the end of the room, up to the ceiling?" Bump asked. Darren nodded, they had been part of some old, built-in shelving. "Let's see if you really have the hands of ax axe-man. I want you to climb those, to the ceiling, using only your hands, and touch the ceiling."

"Right on," Darren agreed, pushing himself off the couch. He walked to end of the room opposite all the equipment, and stood in front of the bars. The rest of the guys had followed him. He grabbed the bars and lifted himself up, so that he could grab the next one.

It wasn't easy at all, since the bars were at least a foot and a half apart, but Darren grabbed the next one and heaved himself up, not thinking about the 20 feet high ceiling. His feet wanted to grab hold of something, so he bent his knees so they couldn't touch anything by accident.

Step by step he pulled himself up. He would grab hold of the bar with one hand and then grab it with the other. Like reversed chin-ups, he pulled himself up and grabbed for the next one.

Finally he was at the top bar, and he flexed his arms to get into reach of the ceiling. He pushed up one hand to touch it.

By pure chance, his hand went through a dense layer of cobwebs, into a junction box missing a cover plate. A bright blue spark lit up his hand and travelled down his arm to his head.

The shock knocked him backwards. However, he was too stunned to notice that he floated the last five feet, as Wrecks clenched his eyes shut and Chant murmured under his breath.

"Did I do it?" he asked thickly, as Bump checked him all over for signs of injury.

"You did it, bro," Bump sighed, relieved. "But you might want to check a mirror."

Wrecks helped him to the small bathroom, and Darren's jaw dropped. His hair had been frizzed and charged with static, so that his head was now covered in thick dreadlocks.

"Look at this, guys," he announced happily as they came back into the room. "Is this great or what? I didn't know a shock could do this! Must have been all the sweat in my hair."

"Bump, you got forty minutes left," Wrecks announced. "Giving you back the time that was lost."

Bump studied Darren for a minute. "I dare you to do a hundred push-ups before the time's up."

"Alright," Darren nodded.

He dropped to the floor and began ripping out push-ups quickly, as Bump kept count of them.

Darren jumped up and rolled his shoulders, smirking at Bump.

"You got five minutes," Wrecks sighed.

"I pass," Bump decided.

"You can take a break if you want," Wrecks told him. "Between guys or between dares."

Darren shrugged. "I'm good, but I need a beer."

Once he had chugged half the beer, Darren drew the next name. "Shant!" He grinned at the white-haired guy.

Shant eyed him up and down for a couple minutes. He shook his head.

"I dare you to model for us, any outfit we choose, for the next hour," Shant decided.

"There's no women's clothes out front?" Darren asked, wincing.

"I don't think saying men's clothes only would be a violation," Wrecks shrugged.

"Only men's closed, I mean clothes," Darren nodded.

They trooped into the front. Wrecks had previously drawn the long heavy curtains over the front windows and door.

"So, you know how to read music, right?" Bump asked him as they waited for the other guys to finish making their selections.

"I wish," Darren replied. "Just kind of shot, I mean taught myself how to play by hear, ear."

Bump nodded, and disappeared.

Shant handed him a pair of neoprene chaps and a red t-shirt with zippers running at odd angles across it. Darren pulled them on, with help, and walked from the hallway to the door and back.

"Looks... okay," Ratch said. "Not sure about the shirt though."

"Hey, that plaid shirt from earlier," Flux suggested. He ran into the back, coming back with a plaid sleeveless shirt, black and dark red. Darren put it on and turned around in front of them.

"Still no," Ratch shook his head. "Honestly, he's got a good body. Why hide it?"

Ratch had picked out a pair of tight denim jeans with a black denim codpiece, and a net shirt that had been rubberized. Getting into the jeans was difficult, but Darren walked back and forth for them. He had to admit he liked the feel of the rubberized netting rubbing across his chest and nipples.

"They look good on him, but almost look too conservative for him," Bump observed. He waited for Darren to skin off the jeans, and shoved a piece of paper at him. "See if you can make heads or tails of this."

Darren looked at the sheet music, and began puzzling out the mish-mash of notes. He started bobbing his head slightly with the music, prompting Bump to smirk at Wrecks.

Bump took the paper away, and handed Darren more clothes.

Finally, with minutes on the clock, the guys had to admit that the net shirt, paired with the neoprene chaps and a bright red jock, looked best on him.

Regretfully, Darren stripped out of the chaps.

"You don't have to take it off, you know," Wrecks told him. "You don't have to be naked."

"I can't afford this stuff," Darren snorted. "And nothin' wrong with being naked."

"You can keep that outfit," Wrecks shrugged. "If you want it. The guys will probably help you make up all sorts of gear for gigs, but you can have that, anyway."

"Fuck, you're nuts," Darren said, shaking his head. But he resisted taking off the shirt.

"Up to you," Wrecks told him. "I can't dare you to, only for an hour maybe. But it's still yours. I won't sell it. And you can't make me." He bent down and picked up the chaps. "I'll put these aside for you. Let me know when you want them."

Darren followed him to the back room. Before sitting down, he stripped off the jock and tossed it on top of his cargo pants.

"Who's next?" Bump asked.

Darren picked up the next name, and grinned. "Lulz."

Lulz lit up. "I dare you to jam with the guys, on the bass, for an hour." He paused with a naughty look on his face. "While getting a blow job." He scrambled to his knees and opened his mouth wide, waiting.

Darren laughed. "You fucker. You're on, but if I cum, dare's over."

Lulz looked pleased with that idea and nodded.

"Challenging Lulz to draw it out?" Wrecks asked, as he followed Darren over to the equipment. The rest of the guys were whooping and scooping up their instruments.

"Nah, this gives you guys an out," Darren shrugged. "If I really suck, Lulz just has to get me to cum." He checked the connections on the spare bass guitar, and turned toward the rest of the room. He lifted the guitar out of the way and Lulz engulfed his cock.

Darren gasped, and Flux started noodling on his guitar idly, waiting. Bump started a complicated beat on the drums. Darren moved the guitar around a bit to get comfortable, and began jamming.

After a little while, Flux started breaking out in different chords, and Darren worked hard to match him, despite the distraction. Bump went into a wild flailing stretch, as Ratch and Wrecks jumped in with the keyboards.

Finally, Darren gritted his teeth and dove in as well, hitting stride in the real bass manner. He didn't bother trying to match Flux at all, but tried to draw the music the keyboards were making together to fight Flux's chords.

Flux smirked at Shant, as the latter adjusted sound levels and electronic effects. Shant spun around to face Darren.

"Rubbers break!" Shant growled, about three octaves below his usual voice. "Sheepskin rots. Your mouth is my condom! You're my own personal Fleshlight! Who needs a condom when there are holes like yours to use?"

Darren sneered at him and drove in a raucous blend of tortured bass.

"Your mouth is my condom!" Flux screamed into his microphone. Bump, Wrecks and Ratch echoed him, each half a beat behind the previous guy.

They kept it up, challenging each other with their instruments, shouting obscene lyrics at each other.

"Hey, wait!" Wrecks yelled finally. "I think time's up." He went over to look at the timer and nodded. "Not sure how long ago it was, we were playing too loud."

Lulz suddenly did something to Darren's cock, and Darren's fist pounded on the strings of the guitar as he shot his load down his mouth.

"Yeah, Lulz is good at teaching guys to play," Shant nodded as Darren staggered over to the couch.

"Give me ten," Darren begged Wrecks, shakily trying to light a cigarette. Shant took the lighter away from him and lit it for him. Darren looked at his fingers, where the skin had blistered, broken and bled. Bump reached over Shant to grab his hand and pour a beer over it. The blood washed off, leaving calloused skin behind.

"Fuck, never knew beer could do that," Darren snorted. "Thanks, bro."

Shant smirked at Bump.

"Down to just two of us," Wrecks told Flux wickedly.

"If there's only two, why are there three slips left?" Darren asked as he let the smoke out of his mouth slowly. "I'm not that drunk. Besides, I think Lulz sucked all the booze out of me."

They stared at the brass bowl, where three folded slips of paper waited to be picked.

Darren reached out and picked up a slip of paper. He unfolded it.

"Who the hell is 'the Monster'?" he asked blankly.