Page 16 of The Trailer Park Twink
With a sad expression, he shakes his head. “I’m real sorry, little man. Objectively, you’re a goddamn snack—”
“Bubba,” Dallas warns.
Bubba lifts his hands in surrender. “But I don’t think you’re my type.” He sounds genuinely upset by the revelation.
“Are you saying my son ain’t good enough for you? Oh, you cocky son of a—”
“Don’t mind him,” I tell Bubba, rolling my eyes. “He goes a bit caveman when anyone hurts my feelings. You should see what he did to my ex-boyfriend, Benito’s tires after I told Daddy how mean he was to me.” I lift my hand and mime like I’m stabbing a tire, making popping sounds with my tongue each time I bring my hand down. “Best daddy ever.”
“Good man,” Bubba says, giving Daddy a prideful look. “That’s why you’re my number one.” He smiles at me. “Damn good worker, your daddy. He’s got a job for life if he wants it. Anyway, my point is, I wasn’t saying my son is queer in a bad way. I’m just proud of him, is all. Living his life openly. That takes strength. Courage.” He claps a hand to my shoulder and grins. “Are you looking for a boyfriend?”
“Are you asking on behalf of your son? Does he look like you?” I eye him up and down, and, yeah, I don’t hate the view. He’s not as beautiful as Dallas, but, really, who is? Bubba’s justas big and muscly as Dallas. Maybe even bigger. He’s got on a tank top with super long holes cut into the sides, revealing a rather hairy tummy. Lower, he’s wearing a pair of shorts with an American flag design, and there, right in the center, is the largest bulge I’ve ever seen. There’s no way this man is wearing underwear. I can see the entire outline of his penis. He’s circumcised, and he’s got a plump mushroom head. Beneath, two low hangers swing back and forth. “Because, Daddy, please.” I’m teasing. Mostly. Because Dallas is the only Daddy—slash maybe-one-day boyfriend—I’ll ever want. The only one I’ll ever need. I look up at him, surprised to see his lip curled up in a sneer, looking like he’s ready to pounce. He’s staring at Bubba like a lamb being led to slaughter. Wanting to calm him down before we end up in a kill-or-be-killed situation, I let go of his shirt tail and press my hand against his stomach, hoping it doesn’t weird Bubba out too much. “Calm down, papa bear.”
He looks down at me, studying the scene before him. The longer he stares the more self-conscious I become, because the way I’m touching him isn’t the way a stepson holds his father. My arm is around his back, gripping loosely at his hip. I’ve got another on his tummy, but—god-fucking-dammit—it’s roaming up and down, caressing him the way a lover might. And then there’s my face, staring up at him with what can only be interpreted as the look of a love-struck fool.
He slips to the side, gently easing out of my grip. I won’t waste time saying it doesn’t hurt, because it does. It stings like a motherfucker, but I don’t let that feeling linger. Just push it down into a little ball to come back to later.
Bubba stares at the front door, then back at us. “You ought to see the tattoo Johnny’s getting. I convinced him to get a twelve-inch ruler above his ass that says ‘you gotta be this tall to ride.’ He’s had half a liter of vodka since he got here, so we could probably ask him to do anything at this point.” He turns his attention to me. “You want some dick tonight, kid? Johnny would probably be up for it.”
Dallas sidesteps and stands in front of me like he’s trying to hide me from the world. “Austin?” He’s not even looking at me, just staring ahead, probably giving Bubba the evil eye.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t even think about it.” Is that a twinge of jealousy I hear in his voice? It sends a spark of hope igniting in my heart. I know it’s a bit of a risk, but I still take a step forward and wrap an arm around him, holding onto him like a backpack.
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” I tease. I stand on my tiptoes and peek over Dallas’ shoulder. “Bubba? Is Johnny cute?”
Bubba sucks his cheek in, lost in contemplation. “I already told you he was my bi awakening. Well, my heteroflexible awakening, I guess.”
I lean closer, bringing my lips to Dallas’ ear, whispering, “Don’t worry. I’m only teasing.”
His body sinks into mine, tension fading, his breathing steadying. “I ain’t risking it. You stick by my side all night. You hear me?”
Embarrassingly, my cock swells to life in my skinny jeans, and I know Dallas feels it against his ass, because his entire body tenses. “Yes, sir,” I mumble. “I’ll be on you like glue.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s a good boy, baby,” He reaches behind and pats my hip. Well, he probably meant to pat my hip, but I see what he’s doing before he does it, and I shift to the side. When his hand connects, it touches my hidden erection. He gasps softly, and then his fingers curl around it, not aiming to please me, more as a means of comfort, I guess. I don’t know, like I said, Dallas is an enigma, and there’s no telling what his reasoning is at any given time. “Let’s head inside.” He pats my cock softly before letting go, leaving my heart racing in his absence.
Bubba leads us into the trailer, and the first thing I notice is a drunken sloth lying on the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. There’s a man with tattoos that cover every inch of his skin from the neck down, sitting on a barstool, tinkering with a tattoo gun. He’s wearing a white tank with American flag board shorts, just like Bubba. The sight of him makes my stomach churn, because he looks like one of the big,scary, homophobic men I was picturing in my head on the ride over. I grip Dallas’ shirttail and hold on for dear life, my hands shaking.
“A pussy or a bussy, it really don’t matter,” the tattooed man sings in an off-key tone. “Just make me nut, fuck my butt, and I’ll return the favor.”
I have no idea if that’s a real song, but the words are ridiculous. They don’t even rhyme. The man’s putting the final touches on the ruler tattoo Bubba mentioned outside, so I’m guessing the drunkard on the bar lying face down, ass up, is Johnny. If so, it’s quite the ass. High, tight, and perky as can be. His shorts are pulled halfway down his cheeks, giving me an unobstructed view of paradise. It doesn’t hold a candle to Dallas’ ass though. His is quite possibly the finest butt ever to have been gifted by God. It begs to be worshiped, and given the chance, I’d part his cheeks the way Moses split the sea, and ravage his hole with the full strength of my tongue.
I peek up at Dallas and a chill runs down my spine, because he’s staring at me, his eyes darting back and forth between me and the guy’s butt. Another growl rattles inside him, and despite the bloodthirsty look in his eyes, he forces out, “You like his ass?”
Oh, Daddy’s definitely jealous. “Yes, sir,” I tease, mainly because I want to see what he’ll say. If I’m hoping this will be the moment he says “fuck it” and pledges his undying loveto me, I’ll need to keep waiting, because Dallas just closes his mouth and looks away from me like a petulant child. I bump my shoulder against him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, not sounding fine in the slightest.
There are three other men in the living room, all huddled around this Johnny fellow, and as we approach, they break apart, offering us room to join. I’m standing next to a man in a pair of denim shorts—ugh—and a pink Polo shirt. He’s cute, questionable shorts aside.
“You’re D-Bag’s kid? The gay one?” His voice has a tone of annoyance to it, which I don’t really understand. He eyes me up and down, shaking his head, looking confused. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” I’m not sure what that comment means, but I don’t take time to ask for clarification because . . .
I cock my head to the side, staring at Dallas. “D-Bag?”
“Ah, hell,” Daddy says, scrubbing his face with his hand.
Bubba nods. “Biggest D-Bag we’ve ever met, this guy.”
