Page 60 of The Trailer Park Twink
I lift a hand and shake my head. “Hold your horses. This is important.” I look down at Ezzy from my perch on Daddy’s hip. “Do you want to come with us?”
His eyes bulge. “What? I don’t... You would let me move with you?”
I shrug, trying to downplay my excitement. “There’s an extra bedroom. You slept there.” I glance over at Bubba. “With him.”
As Ezra blushes, the warden clears his throat. “That’s quite enough. My boys have been waiting ages for this show. We have a countdown calendar and everything. You can discuss living arrangements when the show is over.”
I give Ezra a hopeful look. “We’ll figure something out. Promise.”
Along the wall to my right, spread out amongst four levels, there are about roughly forty cells, each with a large floor-to-ceiling window. The rooms have pink walls, hot-pink bunk beds, and flatscreen televisions. Some rooms have desks with computers, while others have makeup stations that look to be filled to capacity. Probably. I mean, it’s pretty far off, and I can’t really tell, but with stations that chic, it would be a crime to leave them empty. Then again, this is prison.
Prison. Is this where Daddy’s tax dollars are going? Because if so, I wholeheartedly approve.
“Austin,” the warden says. “I’ve talked to the boys in advance. They know they’re not allowed to make you feel uncomfortable. There will be no caressed crotches or firmly squeezed buttocks. Not on my watch, son. You have my word.”
Fucking weirdo.
There’s movement ahead of us, and I look up to see heads poking out of their cell doors, watching us. There are men of all ages. Most are younger, some are older. It’s a little bizarre, because none of them are coming out of their cells. They’re just staring at us like frightened fawns.
One by one, their eyes find mine, and there’s a collective whisper amongst them. I’m feeling a little self-conscious, because they won’t stop looking at me. Did I accidentally get cum on my face when Daddy made me shoot in the lobby bathroom?
Maybe it’s just because of my new hair color. I dyed it pink at Ezra’s insistence after he claimed it would give me a Jem and the Holograms vibe. Despite being born in the early aughts, Ezra has always had a fondness for Jem, even when we were little. His mother had a collection of Jem dolls from when she was a child, and once she gave them to him for his tenth birthday, his fondness forged the flames of obsession, and now his entire bedroom is drenched in neon-haired cartoon icons, each more lovely than the last.
I hear a couple of people whisper, “It’s him,” but I’m not sure if they’re talking about me.
The warden leads us to a small pink stage in the corner of the common room that looks freshly painted, and he flips a switch on a small, mechanical console beside the platform. It’s not a very tall stage, just a step up off the floor. Beside it, there’s a retractable banner plastered with all our faces. Ezra must have had it commissioned and delivered before we got here. There’s a single microphone stand, and the warden taps his finger on the mic, testing it, I guess.
“Dust in the wind,” the warden sings in a rather sultry voice. He sings a few more bars before giving the microphone a proud nod, like he’s praising it for doing its job.
Again . . . fucking weirdo.
Much to my heart’s content, Daddy continues softly singing the song into my ear, whispering the melody just for me.
“Hello, Daddy, my old friend,” I sing to him. “Nice to fuck you in the ass again.”
He snorts so loud the sound echoes off the hot-pink concrete walls. “That’s not the same song, baby. You’re mixing up Simon and Garfunkel with Kansas.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to Kansas. Ever.”
“I hate to correct you in front of your boy, bro,” Bubba interrupts. “But ‘Dust in the Wind’ is actually a Bette Midler originalcomposition.”
“Boys,” the warden says in a calm, peaceful voice. “It’s alright, you can come out. We talked about this, remember? These are the men we invited to sing for you. The group is here, and they’ve got some great songs planned for you. I’ve told them all about you, and they’re just dying to meet Papa Bear’s good boys.”
“Papa Bear?” Ezra mouths to me.
“Come on, little guys. Come introduce yourselves.” Slowly but surely, the inmates shuffle in. Like the concrete walls, their jumpsuits are hot-pink, and most have been cut off to create hotpants and crop tops. As they move closer to us, the warden leans in, whispering, “They’re skittish around new people, but just give them a little time and you’ll never be able to shut them up.” He smiles at them as they approach. “We had an issue a few months ago. Four inmates lied about their sexuality to stay here, and one of them hurt one of our boys. It really shook them up. We’ve been trying to heal from it with our group therapy sessions, but it’s been a hard-fought battle.”
“Okay,” I say, because I didn’t really ask for a lore lesson.
“They’re even more nervous than they normally are, but that’s just because of our newest inmate. He rejected the advances of one of our boys. It tore my boy up inside, and he let the feelings fester for weeks until he finally snapped.” The warden snaps his fingers for emphasis.
I look at Daddy. “What the hell is going on right now? Who asked for any of this information?”
Ignoring me, the warden continues. “Now he’s got three-fourths of Pretty Boy Prison believing the new inmate is, in their words, a fake gay.”
I open my mouth to scold him for boring me to half to fucking death, but the men are getting closer, and they’re all staring right at me. Well, aside from the man leading their charge. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and unlike the rest of the group, he’s not paying me a single second of attention, focusing his attention on Dallas. He’s making fuck-me eyes at my Daddy, but I don’t call it out, because who can blame him? Dallas Johnson is a snack, and this man has been in prison for God knows how long. It doesn’t hurt anything to let him appreciate the view.
“I love your work,” he whispers, blushing as he shakes Daddy’s hand. What work? Has he seen the stuff Dallas welds at the machine shop? Is this man an undercover oilfield fabricator?
