Page 12 of The Trailer Park Twink
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m flat-out saying it. You’re obviously into your stepson. Look at you. You’re leaking and everything.” He points at my crotch again, and I cover it, my hand pressing against the damp fabric, my cheeks scalding.
“You don’t know shit,” I say, even though he seems to know me better than I know myself right now, because what the fuck is happening?
“You literally asked him to come for you,” Queerbait retorts. My cock twitches for fuck knows what reason. “And each time you tell the goddamn story, you make sure you say that part with your whole chest.” He looks around the small breakroom, seeking backup, by the looks of it. “I mean, I’m not the only one who sees this right? It’s crystal-fucking-clear they’re in lo—”
Whatever the hell he’s trying to say is silenced when Bubba slams his palm on the table and shakes his head, his face redder than I’ve ever seen it. “You let it happen in its own time. Of course, it’s fucking obvious, but we don’t talk about it. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut that sassy mouth when you’re talking about D-Bag. He’s a good dad.”
I don’t know why, when Bubba started dishing out nicknames for his Core Four, I got stuck with the worst one. Orwhy he keeps using it all the time. Hell, Clint and Johnny have nicknames, too, but he don’t use theirs for some damn reason.
“The fuck are y’all talking about?” I ask.
Bubba sighs. “Nothin’, bro.”
I guess Clint is done with the conversation, because he’s got his phone out, designing tattoo art on his phone probably. Tattoos are his passion. As an at-home tattoo artist, he’s always working to better his craft during his break, usually ignoring us completely, so I’m a little surprised he feigned interest as long as he has.
“It sounds a little gay if you ask me,” Johnny says, but it ain’t like he’s being mean or anything. One thing I’m proud of is how, in the heart of the Bible belt, the four of us blue dots in a sea of red managed to find each other. I don’t know what the hell Queerbait’s political leanings are, and I don’t really care enough to ask, especially after the way he just spoke to me. Queerbait’s unknown political affiliation aside, this is probably one of the only machine shops in East Texas—hell, knowing the oilfield, probably the only shop in the country—to proudly fly a Pride flag alongside the American flag out front. It put Aussie at ease when he came to visit me. I kind of wish he had a chance to meet the rest of the Core Four before running off, claiming he was having a heat stroke. I know he’d love the boys if he gave them a chance, and I really want him to give them one. Dickheads or not, they’re my bestfriends—my fucking brothers—and I don’t want to keep these two parts of my life separate. Shelly’s never met them either. Should it bother me that she hasn’t?
Looking up, I guess the focus is off me, because Clint is showing Johnny and Bubba his phone screen, and Johnny’s eyes are bulging, but a smile quickly splits his face. “You gotta be fucking shitting me.” He rears back his arm and decks Bubba in the shoulder as hard as he can, then both men break into what almost sounds like a giggle-fit you’d expect to hear a thirteen-year-old gay boy’s slumber party. I ought to know. Aussie never had any slumber parties as a kid because he didn’t have a whole lot of friends, so I threw his first one when he was nineteen. It was just him and me on a pallet I put together under the dining table, a maroon sheet draped over, giving us a veil of darkness. Aussie was using his phone as a torch, resting it on the floor between us, the screen casting the prettiest pink glow onto his skin. We laughed that night. We giggled like schoolboys about neighbors we’ve both hated for years. We cackled at inside jokes. And through it all, my eyes never left him. How could they?
Why can’t I ever tear my eyes away from him?
I swallow, but I can’t swallow down that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one I get every time he calls meDaddy.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice shaking as I try to push the thoughts aside. They’re always there, just beneath the surface, but I keep them anchored far enough down that I never have to figure out their meaning.
Clint shows me the tattoo design, and I just blink at Johnny. “Why the hell would you get that?”
Johnny shrugs, smiling like a fool. “It’ll make Bubba laugh.” He punches Bubba’s arm again, but it’s not as rough this time.
Bubba smiles proudly at Johnny. “Damn right, it will.”
Queerbait flings his hands in the air, storming off, shouting about the believability of two bi-awakenings in one small machine shop, whatever the heck that means.
I need to check on my boy, because I know if he’s home—and let’s be real, I know he’s home—he’s got his cock out right now, stroking it for all those strangers as they gaze longingly at all the parts that make my Aussie a man. At the dark curls growing out of him like a forest. At the average length of his cock, probably judging him for not being stacked like a porn star. I’ll weld their fucking eyes shut if they ever say shit to my boy. With rage in my heart and possessiveness flooding my veins, I bring up his OnlyFans profile.
Fuck.
The green dot is there. He’s online.
Excusing myself, I walk out of the shop and toward my truck. Once I’m inside, I blast the air to counteract the Texasheat. Leaning back in my seat, I bring the profile up again, and his profile picture makes me do a double take. It’s new. His old one was almost conservative in choice, considering the platform it was posted on. Just an adorable selfie of my adorable guy. Now, it’s like I’m looking at a stranger. A new version of my son. The version of Aussie I saw last night.
No. Not Aussie. Not my sweet little guy. He’s Austin Snowden, and he’s a grown-ass man. In the picture, he’s sitting on the bathroom counter, angling his phone at the mirror behind him to capture a full portrait of his back. All he’s wearing is a pair of briefs, but the briefs are wedged between his crack, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
He looks like a fucking whore.
Why is this new side of him making my heart race so fast? Is it because I’m angry? I know that’s how I should feel, considering the number of times I’ve forbidden him from using this damn site. Now he’s got his bubble butt out for anyone to see. They can see his fucking crack.
Fuck.
My stepson is going to get the ass-whooping to end all ass-whoopings when I get home. I’ve been out here in the heat all day, slaving away to provide for him and his momma, and what do I get in return? The striking image of his scantily clad ass, and being blatantly ignored. Last night, after I stayed up until two in the morning playing video games with him, Imade him swear he’d go to class today. I know he’s still pissed about the trip, and to be completely honest, so am I. I swear to God, I wanted to serve Shelly with divorce papers the moment she told me Aussie couldn’t go. She had venom on her tongue and fire in her eyes, and as I heard her say the cruelest things anyone could say about their son, I wondered why I ever loved her in the first place. Did I ever really love her at all? I didn’t properly meet Aussie until he was eighteen, but I saw him around the trailer park from time to time. Always on his own. Never a friend to play with. I felt for the kid, but what could I do? It’s not like I was his dad. Not back then, at least. Now, he says I am, and damn if it doesn’t make my heart swell with pride. I’ve never been much of a romantic. I didn’t seek out a whole lot of partners before I met Shelly. Honestly, I didn’t ever feel the need to. I’m okay on my own. Better with Austin, but I can manage alone. I survived the year we spent apart, after he left me to live in domestic bliss with his boyfriend, Tatum and two other men they added to the mix, Benji and Bennet. Sweet kids, but none of them really gave Aussie the attention he deserves. I think that might be why I’ve been showing him so much affection since we both moved home. He told me the last boyfriend they added, Benito, can be a real jerk sometimes, so I’m thankful my boy got out of there before I had to fuck a twink up for being cruel to my Aussie.
I haven’t loved my wife in years. But I’ve stayed. I’ve cared for them, because that’s what a husband does. He sticks it out. For his wife. For the kids. For my boy. If I left, who was going to look after him? Who was going to act as a buffer, reining in his momma when she has too much to drink? So, yeah, I stayed for my boy, but that don’t mean I want to be miserable for the rest of my life. Me and Shelly, we have to get back what we had at the start. It’s the only way this family survives. No more liquor. No more shopping sprees that drain whatever savings we might have had. And, most importantly, no more meth. It’s a fucking disgraceful drug, and Shelly claimed to be ten years clean when we got married. She lasted another year before relapsing, and since then, it’s been one binge after another. The fact that Austin had to grow up around that shit makes my blood boil to the point I think I’m gonna blow. A volcano of rage, ready to burn our home to ashes.
I’ll be the first to admit, when Austin came out to me, I didn’t take things well. Looking back, he’s always been an obvious twink, but I just sat there, glaring at the walls of our dilapidated trailer house, fading into the wallpaper when I should have been supporting my son. He needed me, and I let him down. While Shelly was ranting and raving, telling him she didn’t want to hear about his deviancy again and that she’s warned him about mentioning it in her presence already, I finally looked down at his tear-stained face, and I saw he wasn’tfocused on the hateful words she was saying, he was staring at me. Like my silence was a betrayal. Like my disappointment wounded him more than Shelly’s outward cruelty ever could. Then he opened his mouth to whisper my name, and it was like every bit of fog that had been spreading around me cleared. His voice had been my lighthouse, guiding me out of the dark and back into his light. “It’s okay, Aussie,” I told him, because it was. “It’s okay if you’re gay.”
It ain’t like I’ve ever been a bigot or nothing. It’s just, when you’re raised around homophobia, it’s easy enough to ignore. If it doesn’t affect you, it doesn’t have to affect your everyday life. Austin’s sexuality forced me to confront things I ain’t ever given a second thought to, and I like to think I came out better because of it. Because of him.
Now, it feels like there’s something else I’m questioning, but that’s too scary a thought to even entertain. Aussie is my buddy. My pal.
