Page 2 of The Trailer Park Twink

“Hey, Daddy,” I rasp. “How’s work?”

His breath catches in his throat the way it always does when I call him that. “Hey, buddy.” He sounds tired. “Why ain’t you in class?”

“How do you know I’m not in class?”

“You’re online.”

“I have to make money somehow. It’s not like I can just get a part-time job after school. Me and the boys have rehearsal.”

He sighs. “You ain’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you? Dammit, Austin! I don’t want you on that site anymore. If you need money, all you have to do is ask. ”

“It’s not just about the money,” I say, wrapping my hand around my shaft. “I do this for the fans.” A lie. Oh, well.

“The fans?” he barks, sending a pulse of pleasure up my spine. “I swear to God, if you don’t shut down that account—”

“You won’t kick me out, will you?” Of course, he wouldn’t. I’m just a sucker for drama. “Please don’t make me leave.”

“Austin,” he says with a sigh. “Buddy, I ain’t ever gonna kick you out. I’m just worried about you. You don’t know who these men are. They could be killers or rapists. What happens if one of them finds your address? What if they show up at the house? It would kill me if someone tried to hurt you.”

“They won’t,” I promise. “I’m really careful about hiding my identity.” Just the sound of his voice has me leaking like a faucet, and it doesn’t take long before the sound of slick friction fills my tiny bedroom.

“Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing,” he says with a sigh. “You know how I don’t like when you jack off while I’m on the phone with you.”

“And you know when I’m online, I’m performing.

You’re the one who keeps interrupting my shows.

If you don’t want to hear it, then stop calling while I’m in the thick of it.

” Wanting to tease him a little, I add, “MikeLikesToMasturbate39 just told me he wants to be in the thick of it too. Should I invite him over?” I would never.

Not just because I only have eyes for Daddy.

No, I think the man may be stalking me. I have no proof, but MikeLikesToMasturbate39 knows things about me I’ve never told anyone.

Well, I don’t really have any proof of that accusation either, considering he literally never speaks to me.

He doesn’t comment on my videos. He doesn’t like my posts.

He just shows up as I masturbate, then sneaks off like a thief in the night once I come.

But there’s something going on there. I can feel it.

“You tell MikeLikesToGoFuckHimself92 that if he steps foot in our house, he’ll be leaving in a body bag.”

“But his profile picture is so cute. I mean, I think it’s AI generated, but I’m sure he asked it to make it look just like him. He could be the man of my dreams, Daddy. Or maybe one The Dream Queens?”

"The who?" he asks.

“They're a gaggle of gays who follow my profile on a joint account. I’ve told them it isn’t nice to piggyback at my expense, but they told me they like to get together and worship my cock like a deity while they mutually masturbate.

It’s like a religious experience for them, and who am I to deny their praise and worship?

Not the point. Mike seems like a really sweet guy.

He might be your future son in law, for all we know. ”

“Over my dead body,” Daddy growls, making me all tingly inside .

“He could also be one of those proud boys, slipping and sliding into the DMs of unsuspecting homosexual youth, only to physically assault them when they meet up. I’ve seen the videos on Reddit, buddy. When they go, they go hard.”

“I’m going hard right now,” I admit, stroking faster, making the slick sound even louder.

“Can you hear it?” I know I’m pushing him to his limit right now, but I can’t help it.

Just the sound of his voice alone is usually enough to make me spill over, but I need more today. I need connection. I need Daddy.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” There’s no anger in his voice.

He almost sounds amused. I can’t say I blame him.

If I had a loved one masturbating on the other end of the phone, I’d probably find it a bit humorous as well.

I just hope one day he can see it as erotic rather than amusing.

“Are you almost done? Because there’s something we need to talk about, and I’d prefer if you had a clear head when we do. ”

“Yeah. So close. Just need a second.” I’m panting and my voice is basically manic at this point, but he doesn’t call me out on it. I want him to say more so that he can unintentionally pull me over the edge, but we’ve come to a standstill, and the only sounds are our heavy breaths and wet friction.

“Buddy?” he says, making me miss the awkward silence.

At least when he was silent, he couldn’t object, and the tone of his voice makes me think he’s about to do just that.

To tell me I have to stop masturbating every time we talk on the phone.

To finally admit that my creepy behavior has driven a nail into our familial coffin.

One so deep, it can never be pulled out.

I open my mouth to apologize and plead my case, but he doesn’t give me a chance.

“Come on. You’ve got this, Aussie. I know you can do it. ”

“Daddy,” I whimper. “I don’t think I can.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to. Do you hear me? I believe in you.”

My lip trembles, and I have to bite it to keep it steady. I stroke myself sloppily, letting the sound of slick friction and my heavy breaths fill the silence. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, Aussie?”

I stare down at my cock, the head a vicious shade of red. “I love you.”

He swallows, the sound thick through the phone. “I love you too, baby.”

That’s all it takes. My eyes roll back in my head, and I explode, raining down cum on my chest like a summer shower.

I’m making ungodly sounds—whimpers and roars, and garbled variations of his name—and the entire time, Dallas is coddling me.

Telling me I’ve got this. Praising me endlessly. Calling me his good boy. His best boy.

When it’s done and I’m nothing more than a weeping mess who’s been baptized in cum, he says, “That sounds like it was a good one, son. ”

“So good,” I admit. Normally, I feel mortified when the post-ejaculatory haze lifts, but not this time. Not after he walked me through my orgasm like he was walking me down the aisle. “What was it you were wanting to talk about?”

“It’s about our trip.”

The world goes still around me, and it feels like my blood’s gone cold. I know what he’s going to say before he’s even said it, and the unspoken words linger in the air, giving the room an all-around foreboding feeling.

“No,” I whisper. “Dallas, you promised.”

“I’m sorry, Austin. You know I wanted you to come. You mom just wants to spend a little one-on-one time with me.”

I bite my tongue to stop from unloading on him, but it doesn’t work, and the words fly out like machine gun bullets.

“She has all the one-on-one time with you! She gets you every night. You promised. You swore we could—” My words end on a cracked sob.

I’m not even playing dirty, I’m genuinely heartbroken. “It’s supposed to be—”

Us .

It’s supposed to be him and me. It was always supposed to be us, and my goddamn mom is ruining it again. Hasn’t she taken enough? Doesn’t Dallas know I need him too?

“You promised,” I whisper again, wiping my eyes. “We were gonna go swimming in the lake.”

I won’t win him over this way. I won’t convince him that I’m his other half by blubbering like a baby. So, I focus on what I can do. I set my sights on a new target. Sniffling, I dry my eyes, but he must think I’m still heartbroken, because he tries to soothe me.

“Ah, hell. Don’t cry, baby. You know what that fuckin’ does to me.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll be okay. It’s okay, I promise. I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

Of course not. Of course I don’t mean it. “Yeah. We can plan something later. Just me and you. If you still want to spend time with me, I mean.”

“I always want to spend time with you.”

Just not enough to take me to his week-long trip to Minnesota.

He’s been planning it for over a year, scrimping and saving to afford a trip to his family’s cabin on the lake.

His parents left it to him when they died.

He told me there’s a casino in the next town over and everything.

We were going to play penny slots, drinking bottomless, watered-down margaritas while Mom crashes in the hotel room, sleeping off the effects of a five-or-six-day meth binge.

He said it was supposed to be a special trip with his special boy.

Fixing a smile on my face—because Dallas always says you can tell when someone’s really smiling on the phone—I tell him, “I know you do. I’m sorry for getting a little emotional. Don’t be mad, okay? I just got a little bummed out because I was really looking forward to spending time with you.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Let me talk to your mother when I get home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. If it’s upsetting you this much, it’s my job to handle it. Maybe you could clear out for a few hours, though. I don’t think you should be there when I talk to her. I don’t want to risk her flying off the handle again.”

“I can go over to Ezra’s house before you get off work.”

“Good,” he says, sounding relieved. “That works out perfectly. Just give us a few hours before you come home. I’ll text you to let you know the coast is clear. I love you, buddy.”

“I love you too. Don’t get overheated at work. Stay hydrated, then come home. I’ll see you tonight.”

Once I end the call, I lie back in bed and try to steady my racing heart.

I’ve been looking forward to our trip for a year.

My mother might think she’s stopped me from spending a week of uninterrupted fun in the sun with her husband, but she’s about to find out she fucked with the wrong one. Dallas is mine.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and when I look down, Ezra’s name and smiling face are stretched across my screen .

“Hey, Ez,” I say once I’ve answered. Lifting my leg, I close my laptop’s lid with my toe and lie back on the bed. “What’s up?”

“My blood pressure. We were supposed to rehearse after class. What the fucking fuck, Austin?”

Shit. I totally forgot. Ezra landed our acapella group a gig at an all-queer prison unit.

A special-housing-something-or-another, he called it when he pitched the half-formed idea.

I don’t care what Ezra says on the matter, the only reason he agreed to the gig is because former famed Tallulah-verse drag queen—the illustrious Ms. Sukki Cox—was recently sentenced to twenty years, and Ezra has had a massive crush on Sukki-slash-Brandon since they met at Manhole, the only gay bar within a forty-mile radius of Tallulah, Texas.

I don’t know if he plans to literally back her into a corner just for a moment of her attention, but Goddess help us if he does, because I’ve personally witnessed Sukki bust a beer bottle over a man’s head for talking during her set.

She’d snap Ezra like a twig. Whatever his reasoning, we still have twenty songs to learn over the next three weeks, and here I am, skipping out so I can jack off while my stepfather listens.

“Are you still free? I’ve got a few hours to kill. I can come over and we can practice in your apartment.”

“Yeah. We can do that. I need you to take this a little more seriously, though. This entire acapella group was your idea. It would be nice if you’d show the same amount of initiative as you do with seducing your dad.”

“Stepdad,” I remind him, but who am I kidding? Dallas could be my full-blooded father, and I’d still be down to ride the D. My moral compass is long past busted, and I’m done apologizing for my disgraceful kinks. “Alright. Round up the boys and I’ll meet you at your place in twenty.”

I end the call and wipe some of the cum off my chest before slathering it on my lips, because Dallas will probably get a kick out of it. He responds in seconds, sending me a water droplet emoji and a laugh-slash-cry emoji.

See? I know Dallas like the back of my hand. Hopefully one day he’ll know what that hand feels like.