Page 59 of The Trailer Park Twink
The man approaches, eyeing Ezra curiously. “I recognize that voice. You were just in the bathroom, weren’t you?” Ezra’sknees wobble, and he sidesteps until he’s behind Bubba, burying his face in his shoulders, trembling.
“I don’t want to go to prison,” he whines.
Since Ezra is absolutely useless in a crisis, I guess I’m going to have to right this wayward ship. Donning a ridiculous English accent so the man from the bathroom won’t recognize me, I confidently state, “CO Shitsalot, I would like to use my sixth amendment rights,” because Daddy watches a bunch of those weirdos on YouTube who go around filming post offices and getting sassy when asked to leave. If it gets them out of a bind, maybe it’ll get us out of this one.
“My name isn’t CO Shitsalot. You can call me Warden. And I don’t know what the hell any of that just was with your stupid accent, but I know I don’t like it.” The man’s face is like a marble statue, stoic and unfun. He’s got a really bad tan that makes him look like an Oompa Loompa, his white hair—balding around the crown—is slicked back with enough oil to get my heart beating a bit faster, because if there are any flaming twinks in this special housing unit, he’ll probably combust. “Also, I think you mean the fifth amendment. The sixth is about your right to a fair and speedy trial.”
I gape at him. “Trial?” In a panic, I look into Daddy’s bloodshot eyes. “Dallas, I think he’s arresting me. He’s talking about a trial and said he’s gonna go do some speed; probably to celebrate taking down a gay man.” My lip quivers as an image of me being ripped from Daddy’s arms plays out in my head. I turn to the man and choke out, “Please don’t arrest me. We didn’t mean to cause a ruckus. I just have a strong aversion to the sound and scent of bowel movements. I don’t wanna hear it or smell it, and you just wouldn’t stop pooping. Daddy was only trying to protect my sensitive stomach. You can’t be mad at him for it, it’s not fair. He probably wouldn’t even have punched the damn door if stupid Ezra hadn’t drugged him.”
“Yes. I thought I heard something about drugging.” He cringes. “I heard quite a few things I didn’t particularly want to hear in that stall. I recall, ‘oh, Daddy. Oh, Daddy. Oh, Daddy,’ being an overarching theme.” To my surprise, instead of laying into me with claims of public indecency, he tilts his head and gives Ezra a warm smile. “You slipped THC oil into his soda, right?” Ezra shakes his head frantically, opening his mouth to speak, but I reach back and cover it with my hand.
“It was improv,” I blurt, because it’s the only thing I can think of. “We’re artists. See, we’re doing a show for the special housing unit and we were thinking of making it more of a cabaret.” I’m practically pissing my pants with nerves, my voice a plea. “Life is a cabaret!”
The warden turns to Deirdre. “Is he alright?”
“Rarely.” She bites her lip and bats her lashes. “Listen, Daddy, I’m sure this was all just a big misunderstanding.”She moves a little closer, curling herself around one of his arms. “I love a man with a healthy colon.”
The warden’s orange cheeks burn, and a subtle smile curves on his face as he gives her a quick nod. “I take my fiber every morning. I really hate to turn you down, lass—”
“Lass?” I mouth to Daddy, but Daddy just stares vacantly at me with the stupid, sexy smile of his.
“But I’m a happily married man, and I take those sacred vows quite seriously,” the warden says, attempting to let her down gently, I guess. “You don’t know how much I appreciate the compliment though.” Turning to Daddy, every trace of kindness slips away from the man’s face. It’s kind of jarring, honestly. “I oversee three-thousand prisoners, son. I have seen things you could never even imagine. I have seen shit-slathered walls with threats of physical harm to my person scribbled within the mess. I have borne witness to sexual acts so heinous, I truly believed they were being fucked to death.” He looks at me and gives me a shrug. “Turns out, Milo is just a power bottom. Who knew?” Giving Daddy another stern glare, he drives a finger into his chest. “I am not a man you want to cross, son. Do not test me.” He drops his hand from Daddy’s chest and takes a step back. “As for the drug use, if you have anything on you, I expect you to hand it over now.” He holds his hand out expectantly, and Ezra whimpers, sounding panicked. Tomy surprise, the warden leans in and squeezes Ezra’s shoulder. “It’s okay, little guy. You’re not in trouble.”
“Warden,” Bubba warns. “Hands off.”
The warden opens his mouth to object but Ezra stops him, softly whispering, “It’s okay, Bubs. He’s not hurting me.” As Bubba nods and takes a step back, Ezra reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle with a pot leaf on the label, handing it to the warden. “I’m really sorry, Warden.”
The warden nods and slides it into his pocket. “Good boy.” He lifts a laminated keycard to a sensor on the wall beside us, and there’s a loud pop when the locks disengage. He holds the door open, ushering us forward.
We walk through an ugly gray hallway for what feels like miles, taking alternating stairwells that lead fuck-knows-where. When we reach the bottom floor, I count seven layers of prison cells, each with a Daddy more delicious than the last. They’re making all kinds of noise, probably trying to scare us, but I hold close to Daddy. For the entire duration of our long walk, the warden is yammering on about his good boys in cell block C, and how proud he is of each of them.
The hoots and hollers die down as we reach a large pink door. There’s a small rainbow painted in the middle, and underneath that, in glitter marker, someone has slathered, “Welcome to Pretty Boy Prison.”.
“Pretty Boy Prison?” I ask.
“My son was gay,” the warden says with a nod, even though I’m not really sure what the hell it has to do with anything. “And he was a prisoner here about ten years ago. This place failed my boy, and I fought like hell to ensure that never happens again.” To my abject horror, he slides off his suspenders and unbuttons his slacks. Oh, for the love of a princess, is he going to flash us? Because I’ll look at any dick when waggled right in front of me, but I don’t really want to see this guy’s. He isn’t ugly or anything, he’s just old enough to be my grandfather and his sense of style is severely lacking.
Kicking off his shoes, he shimmies out of the utility belt and trousers, but he’s not bare beneath the fabric. For some reason, he has a pair of casual khaki shorts underneath. “The boys don’t like when I wear my work outfit. It makes them nervous.” He points at a small wall safe with a numerical keypad. Lifting his hand, he taps a code into the pad, but it’s just 1, 1, 1, and 1, and it’s written on the wall beside it. “I leave the gun out here, because it makes my good boys just as nervous as the slacks. They really are sweethearts, criminal histories aside, and I try to keep them calm and happy however I can. I’m doing everything I can to ensure they receive the rehabilitation they deserve.” He doesn’t even close the fucking safe, I have to do it for him. Dear God. This man is walking chaos.
He twists the knob and pulls the door open, and there’s a collective gasp from our party, because the place is breathtaking. The doors open into a large communal area, each brick on the wall painted a different shade of pink. There are a rainbow flags hanging from the rafters, and a large fan is aimed upward, making them flutter in the breeze.
Glossy pink tables litter the common room, and in the middle of each table is a rose-themed centerpiece. The whole place smells like roses, probably stronger than it should from a few floral arrangements. Maybe they use rose-scented air freshener. I don’t know, I don’t live here, so it’s anyone’s goddamn guess. At the back of the room, there’s a large wall that extends about halfway across the room, and a small curtain at the side, hiding away the room inside. Maybe the communal showers? Who knows.
“Aussie?”
I look up at Daddy from my perch on his hip. “Yeah, Daddy?”
“I just want you to know how proud I am of you, Austin. This takes so much courage. I don’t know if I’d ever have the guts to do what you’re about to do.” He pulls me to his chest in an almost unbearable hug. “When this is over, we’re going home to the cabin. Just you and me.” He kisses my neck. “We can try to make it big in the content creation world. I don’t mind the camera, and maybe if we play up the stepdad angle,we can really rake it in.” His lips leave a trail of kisses up and down my jawline, making me tremble. “If it don’t pan out, I can land another job welding, but I think I want to try.” He closes his eyes and sighs, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m so damn tired. Tired of the damn heat in that damn shop. Tired of burning my eyes. I’m just so fuckin’ tired, baby.” When he opens his eyes, it feels like we’re the only ones left in the room. There’s no sound. There’s no sight except his eyes. It’s just us, the way it’s been since day one. “If you don’t want to do this—if you want me to get a real job so I can really support you—it’s okay. I will. I’d do anything for you. I’d crawl through fuckin’ glass if you asked me to.”
“For the record,” I say, feeling quite breathless. “You could ask me to live in a lean-to tent and I’d still be a happy boy.”
“I’d never make you live in a lean-to.” Our noses brush back and forth, and the longer it goes on, the more dizzy on Dallas I feel.
“What about me?” Ezzy roughly whispers, pulling me out of the moment. “You’re just going to leave me in the dust? You’re supposed to be my friend, Austin.”
Does he want to come with? Yes to that!
Before I can respond, the warden says, “If you two are finished doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing, I’d like to move this along.”
