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THE OLD MAN & THE HOODIES
© 2014 Robbie Webb
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover Image © cozyta/yaymicro.com
This story is not attributed to the cover model. The cover is an illustration for viewing only and there is no association with the model and the story.
All characters and terms including ‘boy’ ‘lad’ and ‘girl’ refer to people age 18 and over.
It’s well intimidating when you get a gang of lads walking towards you. Intimidating to most people but not to Charlie Chadwick. It just made him feel horny. He was a frail 78-year-old and if the gangs wanted to mug him then there was nothing he could do about it, but he just didn’t have any fear. He’d always been like that. It was probably a generation thing. All his friends were dead now but when he was alive, Harry Whitehouse was exactly the same; he’d walk through a gang of lads without giving it a second thought. It’s the best way to be really, no use living your life in fear. Charlie Chadwick didn’t know the meaning of fear. He’d give the lot of them a clip round the ear hole would Charlie Chadwick if they gave him any cheek.
He was walking through town one afternoon when a gang of them came walking towards him, the usual type: tracksuit bottoms, hoodies. There were half a dozen of them, 18 and 19-year-old chavs, all horny looking fuckers the lot of them. One of them caught Charlie’s eye. He was well fit, this hoodie was. He caught Charlie looking him up and down, caught him looking at his bulge. The boy had a nice big bulge in his white nylon trackies.
“You looking at my dick?” he said.