Page 19 of The Trailer Park Twink

Jesus actual Christ on the actual crucifix.

Dallas showed me his cock. No. More than that, he showed me his cock coated in my cum. He asked me to keep his sex toy lubed with my leftover load. Challenge motherfucking accepted, Daddy.

“I have to go,” I say, launching up from my seat on the sofa and grabbing my keys from the coffee table.

My best friend Ezra has been trying to teach us the harmonies to some obscure Britney Spears demo he found online.

The song sounds like shit, the words are stupid, and I’ll be good-goddamned if he thinks I’m stepping foot on stage to sing this garbage.

And the costumes. Dear God, the costumes.

I know Ezra fancies himself a fashionista, but these clothes are fucking atrocious.

The moment I got here, he shoved a see-through bodysuit with a hula skirt sewn onto the midsection, a gargantuan stuffed snake across the shoulders, and a green bikini top at me.

I don’t know why he felt the need to sew any of this together when I could have simply worn the bikini top and hula skirt as-is, and held the snake with my hands the way Britney did on television, but no, because apparently, my alleged BFF has zero faith I would be able to sing and hold a plush snake stationary on my shoulders.

Ezra styled Brian in Britney’s iconic red catsuit from her “Oops!...I Did it Again” music video, and it’s fairly obvious which outfit he spent the most time on.

He’s bedazzled the entire outfit, fixing hundreds of ruby-red rhinestones across the PVC fabric.

Unfortunately, the outfit has done nothing to ease Brian’s swollen ego, because he’s been checking out his ass in the full-length mirror in Ezra’s foyer for the past half hour, nodding to himself and mouthing, “Nice,” every five seconds like a goddamn narcissist. The only reason he’s even in the band is because Ezra wants to mount him.

He can’t even sing, he just mimes alongside us, looking cute.

His real goal is to become an actor, but since we’re in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, it isn’t like he has a whole lot of options .

The outfit Ezra selected for Jamie, the shy, insecure gayby of our group, is even worse than mine.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jamie wear shorts, much less a plaid miniskirt.

The stupid scrunchies meant to hold his hair in ponytails are absolutely useless, considering Jamie has a buzzcut due to his unsightly bout with male-pattern baldness, but Ezra is apparently holding no punches, because he’s duct-taped them to Jamie’s scalp.

Last, but absolutely not least, is Deirdre.

I’ve known her since we were little. She’s from the nicer part of town, but we forged a connection when I chose her during a rambunctious round of Duck, Duck, Goose.

When it was my turn, one of the little shits in my class shouted out for me to “Pick a girlfriend,” and I idiotically pointed at him and said, “You.” He looked completely disgusted, so I shifted my arm to the left at a pretty little girl with her hair pulled up in a ponytail.

There were these pink and blue balls attached to the elastic band, and I thought it looked a bit like cotton candy.

Gently, I touched her head. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

Deirdre isn’t wearing a costume at all. She’s glaring daggers at an all-denim ensemble meant to match the one Britney wore to the American Music Awards. How do I know this? Because, through the years, Ezra has forced our friend group to watch every Britney Spears retrospective on YouTube.

Deirdre looks at the denim, then at Ezra, her usual cheerful smile having faded completely. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her seething with rage, and each time feels like a religious awakening. She made my momma cry once. It was pretty fucking awesome.

“Take it away. If you value your life, you will take it away, and we will never mention this again.”

Ezra swallows. “But it’s Britney, bi—”

Deirdre quickly shakes her head. “And if you value the lives of those you love . . .” She darts her eyes at Brian. “You’ll stop while you’re behind.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, staring at his feet. “It’s just—I made that one special. It’s always been my favorite.”

“Then let it be your favorite in the burn barrel. It is an abomination, Ezra. Who the hell wears double denim?” She wads it into a ball and throws it at him, and he stumbles back to catch it.

“And if you think you’re leaving me alone with these three, you’re sorely mistaken. Get your ass back on this couch, Austin.”

Dammit.

Ah, hell. And now Ezra’s watching. His eyes find mine, and I swear to God, for a second, it almost looks like they’ve turned red like a cartoon character.

“Not on your fucking life,” Ezra says, pushing his swoopy brown hair away from his eyes.

He marches toward me like a man on an unstoppable mission, then drives his bony finger into my chest .

“Ouch!”

“Now you listen to me. I’ve had it up to here with the way you constantly abandon us,” he says, pointing at the ceiling. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Dallas sent me a text—” He pokes my chest again, harder this time, making me squeak. I slap his hand away and take a step back, but he just takes a step forward, bridging the gap.

“Dallas, Dallas, Dallas. It’s always Dallas.

You’ve been doing this for months, and it’s not okay.

For God’s sake, this entire acapella ensemble was your idea, yet the moment Daddy Big-Dick needs you, you leave us in a lurch.

It’s fucking rude.” He points at Brian. “I told you this would happen, didn’t I?

I told you he was going to try to leave us high and dry again.

Everyone, get your letters out. This ends right here, right now. ”

“Letters?” I ask.

He nods, and there’s this unhinged smirk curling in the corner of his mouth. “We’ve had enough. Tell him, Jamie.”

“Ez, I don’t really know about this—” His words end abruptly when Ezra gives him the same cartoon-villain eyes he just gave me.

“I’m sorry . . . What was that?”

Jamie swallows, shaking his head nervously as he pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it.

“Dear Aussie,” Jamie whispers, he’s holding the sheet of paper right against his face like he’s trying to hide behind it.

“When I moved to Tallulah, you were the best friend I could’ve hoped for.

” He peeks over his paper, mouthing, “ You still are. Don’t tell Ezra I said so ,” before clearing his throat and continuing.

“Then you started masturbating for strangers on the internet, hoping your stepdad would subscribe to your OnlyFans. You shoot load after load, hoping it will eventually rain on Daddy, but that endless cumstorm is clouding your vision. You’re lost in an endless t-t-t .

. .” He stares up at Ezra, his eyes looking more confused than I’ve ever seen them.

“Tsunami,” Ezra clarifies.

“Tsunami,” Jamie says slowly, then nods. “You’re lost in an endless tsunami of depravity, and your friends are supposed to be your raincoat, but we can’t keep you dry if you forget us at home. It’s not that we don’t fully support your unhealthy obsession with a man who’s twice your age—”

“He’s literally not.”

“—We just can’t support your blatant disregard for your prior obligations,” he finishes, and I know he didn’t write a single word of his letter, aside from the sassy masturbation quip, because the poor boy is simple.

He doesn’t know big words. I don’t know if there’s a twink version of a himbo, but if there is, that’s our Jamie. A twimbo, perhaps?

I scowl at Ezra. “Did you write that for him?” Jamie nods, but Ezra just shakes his head and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“I will annihilate you. You should be on your knees, thanking the stars I’m not pulling out my laundry list of complaints about you.

I could have Deirdre read it aloud for the class and everything. ”

“I will,” she says, her eyes narrowed into slits as she stares at the disastrous double denim. “And after trying to force me to wear that piece of shit, I’ll do it with a fucking smile. I am not Double-denim Britney. I’m obviously Toxic Music Video Flight Attendant Britney.”

“For fuck’s sake. Stick to the plan, people. We’re losing the plot. Deirdre, read your letter.”

She pulls out a piece of paper, taking her time unfolding it, then stares at its contents with pride. When she flips the page around, it simply says, “Hard pass.”

Ezra groans. “Do you know what? Fine. Fine! If you want us to look like absolute fools on stage, then this is on your head. I want you to remember that.”

“And I want you to remember that if you ever speak to me in that tone of voice again, I’m telling your full-blown father that you used to sniff his underwear while you masturbated as a teen.”

He gapes at her. “I told you that in confidence!” With scarlet cheeks, he clears his throat and aims his gaze at Brian. “I know you’ll have my back. Read yours, Bry.”

“If it’s anything like the last one,” I interrupt, “I don’t want to hear a word of it.

What the fuck even is this? You’re just talking shit about me in an open forum.

It’s hateful. You don’t hear me telling people you have an unhealthy kink for ejaculating into condoms and throwing them at cute guys like water balloons. ”

He narrows his eyes. “There’s one in my pocket right now, and if you don’t sit your ass down and listen to these heartfelt letters, I’m gonna pop it on your face.”

“You keep your stagnant fucking semen away from me!”

“Dear Aussie,” Brian interrupts, and when I turn to face him, he has tears pouring down his face. He wipes his eyes and sniffles. “Your addiction to all things Dallas has impacted my life negatively in the following ways—”

When it finally clicks—when I realize what the hell the shitshow unfolding before me really is—I gape at Ezra. “Wait. Is this an intervention?”