Page 10 of The Trailer Park Twink

After I found it, before I knew the truth of what the site is for, I told him I was proud of him.

He just blinked at me and said most dads wouldn’t be proud of their son masturbating for strangers.

After he explained it to me, it took everything in me not to break his phone so he couldn’t log on anymore.

Instead, I told him no son of mine was going to beat their meat to earn a quick buck. Not in my house, he won’t.

He don’t have to worry about bills or anything, so I have no idea why he keeps using the damn website anyway.

I pay for his school. I buy his food. I give him everything I can, but he still feels like he has to sell himself for pocket money.

Doesn’t he know I’d give him my last dollar if he asked?

Fuck, I’ll get a second job if I have to.

Closing the browser, I bring up our text chain. The left side of the screen is filled with one-sentence messages I’ve sent him, and the right side is filled with picture after picture of his gentle smile. I guess we’re adding another, because I type out the same message I always send him.

Me: You better not be jacking off for those freaks again!

Within seconds, a picture of Austin pops up on my screen, and thank the Lord, my boy is fully dressed, indicating he ain’t been stroking it for creeps.

My heartbeat steadies the longer I stare into his big brown eyes.

Though his smile is locked in place, something is different.

His eyes are red, and his cheeks are wet like he’s crying.

I normally just call him on the phone to scold him, but the sight of his tears is breaking my heart, and I need to see them gone. I do the only thing I can. I initiate a video call.

He answers on the first ring like a good boy. “Hey, Dallas.”

“What the fuck are you crying for?” I blurt out, skipping pleasantries. He’s staring down, his eyes refusing to look at me. Yeah, I’m not having that. “Eyes on me, boy.” His eyes snap up, locking with mine. “Did she say something to you again? Do you need me to handle it?”

“I’m fine,” he whispers, but clearly, he isn’t. Clearly something’s got him upset.

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, bringing my voice down because I know he hates to hear agitation in my tone.

Do I get a little animated in my delivery sometimes?

Yeah, but we both know it ain’t ever directed at him.

I can’t stand to see him like this. “Please, don’t lie to me, baby.

I ain’t mad at you. I ain’t gonna make anything worse, I just need you to talk to me.

I can’t fucking focus if I know you’re sitting at home, sad to the point that you’re crying. ”

“Daddy?” he whines, stopping me in my tracks. Jesus Christ, he sounds so fucking broken.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you, and I ain’t letting go. So, whatever it is, it’s okay. Just talk to me.”

He’s quiet for a while, and I don’t push him to fill the silence.

“She said that word again.” He sniffles and looks away. “Last night at the table. Then she said it again when she found me sleeping on the couch this morning. She told me you were sick of me. That you didn’t want a filthy faggot following behind you like a shadow. I’m sorry if I—”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me. Not for this.

” My blood is boiling. It was already steaming when I called, thanks to how fucking hot it is, but knowing she’s called our son that filthy fuckin’ word again has pushed me past the boiling point.

I’ve had enough. I may have loved Shelly once, but all she fuckin’ does is wreak havoc on those around her.

She mists out misery like a can of Dollar Store air freshener, stinking up the goddamn room with her filth.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he whispers into the phone.

“Never. I’ll never be mad at you. I’ll finish my shift and then me and you can go do something special.

Then, I’ll handle it.” It’s all I can say.

It’s all I can think. This man—this sweet, gentle soul—has been the biggest, brightest part of my day since the day I met him.

He’s half my fuckin’ heart, and no one gets to hurt him again. Not even family.

He shakes his head rapidly, his beautiful brown hair rippling around like waves. “Don’t. Please? I don’t want to make things worse. Just . . . come home. Okay? Just come home and then me and you can go somewhere until she calms down.”

Fuck.

If I leave work early, she’s going to give me an earful.

The second she hears my truck’s exhaust roaring into the trailer park like a level four tornado, she’ll be out the door, raising hell on the porch for the whole damn trailer park to hear.

But what’s gonna happen if I stay at work and leave him there alone?

She ain’t gonna hit him, I know that much, but I’ve seen her mood swings before.

One second, Shelly will be the sweetest, kindest soul you’ve ever met, but it can change on a dime, leaving us with a hellhound, come to bring about the end times.

I ain’t leaving my son to listen to that.

“Give me twenty minutes. Just let me tell my boss, and then I’m on my way.”

Relief washes across his face and his head seesaws up and down slowly. “I’m sorry to drag you into all this.” He sniffles, and the sound of it sends my blood boiling again. “I know I’m just making things worse. Maybe next semester I should stay in the dorms.”

“The fuck you are,” I bark, panic spiking in my chest. He shudders the same way he does every time I raise my voice. “If you think I’m letting you loose on a college campus, just so you can snort cocaine off a grown man’s dick, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Huh?”

I’m sure my cheeks must be redder than a stop sign, because they’re burning something awful at the moment. “I saw it in a movie. That ain’t the damn point, though. You ain’t moving, so you can get that thought out of your head.”

“I’m twenty-two. It’s not as if you can stop me.”

It’s my turn to raise a brow, because we both know that’s not true. “Want to bet?”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows, and I notice beads of perspiration forming on his neck.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Try and stop me.” There’s a smile quirked in the corner of his mouth, and my God, the sight of it is enough to make my knees wobble.

He ain’t been happy like this in months.

He ain’t ever happy like this with anyone else.

Knowing I’m the person he’s comfortable letting loose around should make me sad, because it means I’ve failed to teach him proper socialization skills .

. . but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes my heart beat faster, because this man—this small, waifish little guy—is mine. My son. My buddy. My heart.

“Get dressed. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He bites his lip and stares at me through the screen. “Do you think I should sneak outside and meet you by the road?”

I roll my eyes. “A man don’t hide from his problems, Aussie.

” I watch as he cringes, and it hits me that he probably took that as a slight on him.

That ain’t how I meant it. I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad for hiding in his room to avoid her.

When I say shit like that I ain’t talking about him.

I ain’t never talked bad about him. “I meant me, buddy. I wasn’t talking about you. ”

He shakes his head, not looking me in the eyes. “I’m a man too. I know you don’t think of me as one, but I am.”

“Of course you’re a man.” I wait for him to look me in the eyes, and when he does, I try to make my voice as calm as I can manage.

It ain’t easy when all I wanna do is shove my thoughts inside his head so he knows how highly I think of him.

I wish to God that I could, because these little miscommunications between us aren’t anything new.

It seems like I’m constantly sticking my foot in my mouth around him.

“When I say stupid shit like that, it ain’t because I don’t think you’re a man.

I say it because you’re my son. Maybe not flesh and blood, but you might as well be.

I look at you and I still see that same scared, closeted little guy I met, four years back. My boy.”

“I wasn’t a boy. I was eighteen.” He stares at me, his eyes pleading, but I have no idea what he’s begging for.

I wish he’d just spit it out, once and for all, because trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong makes my stomach churn.

Anything he ever wants is his. He knows that.

All he has to do is ask. “I’m a man, Dallas. ”

I nod. “You are. I’m really sorry for hurting your feelings.

I promise, I won’t say nothing like that again.

” I clear my throat and look at the clock on my dash.

It’s only a few minutes after one, so leaving now means forfeiting six hours of pay.

That’s almost two-hundred bucks I ought to be saving for our future, but I’d gladly live in squalor for the rest of my life if it meant keeping Austin happy.

“Alright, just give me a few and I’ll pick you up. We’ll go do something special, okay?”

“You spoil me,” he says sheepishly as pink clings to his cheeks.

“And I’ll keep on spoiling you for as long as I want. Get dressed, okay? And stay the fuck off that website.”

Hopping out of my pickup, I head back into the machine shop and find Bubba welding at his station. When he sees me approach, he turns off his torch, lifts his helmet, and wipes the sweat off his face with his sleeve. “D-Bag?”

I roll my eyes. “The one and only. I need to go. I’m real sorry, buddy. Aussie is going through some shit right now, and he needs me.”

Bubba waves me off dismissively. “You haven’t left early in months. You’re fine, bro.”

Johnny approaches with a bottle of water and hands it to Bubba. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah. Aussie needs me.”

“Well, if you guys want to get out of the house tonight, we’re all meeting up at Bubba’s. Clint’s doing tattoos. It’s probably going to be an all-nighter.”

Bubba nods. “Clint and Queerbait are taking my boy’s room. He’s with his momma this week. Johnny was gonna take the sleeper sofa, but we can probably fix a pallet for him instead.”

Johnny blushes. “I could just stay with you.”

For the first time since I’ve known him, Bubba blushes too. “We can do that.” He turns to me and grins. “You’re doing your party trick tonight.”

My eyes bulge. “Not with my son in the room. Have you lost your mind? ”

“Bro, he came in front of you last night. He ain’t gonna be offended or anything. Hell, he’ll probably be proud. Fuck knows I would be, if you were my old man.”

I shake my head emphatically. “No. I ain’t playing. Don’t even mention it to him. That stays with the Core Four. No one else needs to know.”

Rolling his eyes, he relents, motioning for me to go home, so that’s what I do.

Heading out, I send Aussie a text, letting him know I’m on my way.

I pull up his profile one final time, once I’ve started the truck again.

He’s lowered his membership price to six bucks.

That’s less than a pack of Shelly’s cigarettes cost.

I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been curious about what’s behind the paywall. He has hundreds of pictures, and way too many videos, but there are no previews at all. I don’t know what the heck he’s showing these people, and it’s driving me crazy with worry.

It’s not like I’m seeking out my son’s content, I’m just trying to keep him safe.

That’s what I tell myself as I take a deep breath and confirm my new subscription.

I’m not going to look. Not yet, at least. Not until there’s reason to worry. The option is there if I need it. To keep him safe. To protect my boy.

So why is my finger itching to bring the page back up?