Page 53 of The Trailer Park Twink
“What will you do?” There’s a strange, queer, bitter sting in my chest that I can’t put into words. It’s not pain or agony or anything like that. It’s confusion with undertones of . . . disappointment? I can’t be sure. I’ve wanted her gone for as long as I can remember, and now that she’s going, it feels like I’m losing a part of myself. The little boy waiting at the window each day, wondering when Mom was coming home. The scared teenager who was feeling so many new feelings, and didn’t know where to turn. Most might turn to their mother,but mine was never there, and when she was, she wasn’t much for advice or motivational speeches. I raised myself up the way she never could. Could I have benefited from a happy home life? I’m sure. But there’s no point in dwelling on if-onlys. I have the mother I have, and no amount of dreaming or hoping for maternal affection will change that. He’s still with me though. I’ve tucked him away in my secret heart, protecting him from pain all these years, and now he’s clawing his way to the surface, demanding to be heard.
“Why couldn’t you just love me?” I shout, but it’s done as a means of being heard, not to convey my anger. The wind is whipping through the trees around us, shaking their limbs, sending golden leaves raining down from above. There are so many of them, I feel like I’ve just been told I won a television talent contest, and this is the moment where they rain down dazzling sparks, illuminating every inch of darkness, and I’m standing right in the center, claiming my prize. I’ve won, so it’s apropos, but it doesn’t feel like winning, and this doesn’t feel like a celebration. It feels like a death. She pauses ahead of me, and I slowly step forward, worried I might scare her off like a frightened doe. Once I’m close enough that I no longer need to scream to be heard, I quietly ask, “Did you ever love me?”
The question catches her off guard, judging by her expression once she whirls around to face me. Her mouth is hangingopen like she’s trying to form words, but nothing is coming to her.
After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she answers my question with the very same question, asking, “Didyouever loveme?”
I have to pause and think about it, because I can’t remember a single moment not spent despising her. The way she would go MIA for weeks on end, leaving six-year-old me to fend for myself. How she chose her drug of choice over her son’s safety every time the choice presented itself. Worst of all, stealing the only forms of happiness I’ve ever known. My Dallas and my dogs.
Then I remember the only birthday I ever celebrated before Daddy came along. I just turned eight, and I was obsessed with the neighbor girl’s Barbie dolls. When Debbie and I used to hang out at her house on the other side of the trailer park, we would dress them in stunning gowns and exquisite shoes. We mixed and matched their ensembles endlessly, never actually playing with the dolls. Then I would go home and tell Mom all about it. She always rolled her eyes at me like I was less than nothing for being a boy who played with Barbies, but she never actually teased me for it. Not out loud, at least. On my birthday, Mom surprised me with a Barbie birthday cake. Though we’ve never been huggers, she hugged me that day.She loved me that day. Two hours later, she relapsed, and I’ve never seen that version of her again.
Neither of us answer the other, not that we expect it. Our relationship has always been built on bitten tongues and unaddressed resentment, and I don’t think this is going to be the place where we finally air our hurt for the creatures of the surrounding forest to hear.
“Have a safe trip,” I say when the words I want to say won’t come. I place a hand on her shoulder and gently squeeze.
To my surprise, she lifts her hand and places it on top of mine, squeezing me back. Then she breaks our connection, heading toward the truck, and it’s almost like I can feel each cord of her maternal tether snapping, splitting slowly down the middle.
I wish I could have known her when she was at her best, before drug addiction and festering resentment settled in her soul, deep down to her blood and bones, spreading like cancer, malignant and unrelenting. Most of all, I wish she could have known me. Who knows who we might have been had we not spent the past twenty years at war.
She cranks the ignition, then—as she’s done so many times before—my mother leaves me in a cloud of dust and emotional unfulfillment.
A strong pair of arms wrap around me from behind. I didn’t even hear Dallas come outside. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, because I don’t think I am. I will be, though. Soon enough, I’ll be a happy boy again, but for now, I’m going to wallow in my resentment. Leaning back, I melt into his embrace.
“What do we do now?” I whisper.
He kisses my neck. “We live happily ever after.”
My boy is happier than I’ve ever seen him. When his momma left three hours ago, I stood behind my son and held him, hoping to ease his weary soul. He took an emotional beating earlier. One he wasn’t prepared for. One I don’t think he really deserved.
Listen, I know what my boy did was wrong. Contrary to popular belief, I am fully capable of being objective when it comes to Aussie and his problematic behavior. It ain’t nice to drug someone, stuff them in a toolbox, and drive them across state borders, but it happened, and the past is inthe past. No, he didn’t apologize, but what good would an apology do anyway? What’s done is done.
Aussie and Ezzy—a cute nickname coined by Bubba—have been practicing their singing skills for the last hour, practicing their routines. I feel like a proud father as my son comes alive in front of me. They’re really giving the songs their all.
Unfortunately, their “all” ain’t all that much. God help them, the poor boys can’t hold a single fuckin’ note. They sound like the two cute guys in a boy band who always perform with their microphones switched off, like Tallulah’s own Phillip Firecracker, former boyband member and current pain in the town’s ass with his new proposition to ban all carbs from the Lone Star State.
While their singing leaves a lot to be desired, what can’t be denied is their agility on the dance floor—well, on the living room floor, at least. The men dip and pop and twist and twirl to their heart’s content, never a step out of time. As Aussie looks me in the eyes and belts out that I ought to “Loosen up his buttons, baby,” his hips roll side to side. There’s an old pink cowboy hat hanging on the coat rack, and when Aussie playfully puts it on, I can’t tear the smile off my face. He looks so damn precious like this, all innocent and carefree like heain’t got a goddamn thing to be worried about. I guess he doesn’t. His mother is out of the picture, and he’s got me all to himself. The road it took to get us here has been paved with depraved intentions, but as I stare at Aussie sashaying my way, I realize I’m just as depraved as him, because my hand is on my bulge before the action even registers, caressing my package.
My cock is half-hard at the sight of him, and if he keeps looking at me like that, it’ll be standing at attention in no time. I know I ought to take my hand away from my denim-covered cock, but how can I when he’s staring at me like he wants to shove my jeans down and swallow me whole, onlookers be damned.
“Daddy,” he says in a low, seductive tone like he’s trying to fuck me with the words. When he reaches the sofa, he straddles my lap, grinding gently against me. “How was our rehearsal?”
I rest my hand on his ass and squeeze. I know I can’t break my baby’s heart by telling him the truth, so instead, I give him what he needs. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard such a beautiful sound. You were breathtaking.” It ain’t a lie or anything. While his tone is probably off-putting to most, I love it. I love how perfectly imperfect he sounds when he belts out pop hits of yesteryear. I kind of want to save up a little money so I can book a recording studio and have Aussie record an off-key album meant for me and me alone. Something I can listen to when I need to hear him. If I hadn’t given Shelly my truck in exchange for our freedom, I’d even blast it at full volume as I drove the streets of this small town, potentially deafening every man, woman, nonbinary person, and dogwithin a nine-million-mile radius. They’d probably cuss and fuss about it, and maybe even get me on the HOA’s bad side, but fuck the HOA. Fuck anyone who isn’t Austin Snowden.
“You mean it?”
“I fuckin’ swear it, baby.” I grind against him, just needing a little bit of friction. The moment his lips touch mine, I’m a goner. Social decorum flies out the window as he fucks his tongue into my mouth, repeatedly spearing in and out. He’s got a hand on my chest, but it feels like he’s got my heart in his palm, and he can either nurture and protect it or shred it down to ribbons.
“Dallas. I can’t—I’m too . . .” He bites his bottom lip and whimpers as he rocks faster against me. I don’t even realize he’s hard until pre-cum spreads through the fabric of his underwear and my t-shirt. “Take me to our room. Please? I’m sorry, Daddy, I know we just fucked earlier, but I’m so hard for you right now.” To prove his point, he takes my hand and guides it between us until it’s resting on his cock. I give it a few quick strokes before making my decision. Bubba and Ezra are going to need to find something to occupy the next thirty minutes of their lives, because I’m about to fuck my son until he can no longer remember his name. The only name he needs to know is Daddy, and I want to hear it carried away on the winds of a needy moan.
“Bubba, find something to keep Ezra entertained with. We’ll be right back.” As I shift in my seat, preparing to stand, Bubba puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“You boys ain’t got to go to the bedroom.” He eyes us up and down, and when Austin shifts back a few inches, Bubba’s gaze lands on the promised land, and I have to bite back the urge to deck him for blatantly staring at the outline of his erection. “Do it here. We don’t mind.”
Ezra gapes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just give him the greenlight to fuck my best friend in front of us?”
I cock an eyebrow and pull Austin closer. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near his dick, you’re about to learn a hard fuckin’ lesson. Don’t ever look at his erection again. You ain’t got the right to look at him like that.”
