Page 4 of The Trailer Park Twink

I dig my nails into the cheap kitchen table she bought at Wal-Mart when I was a kid.

“I found someone of my own. I found him long before you sunk your grubby little claws into him. I’m the one who stalked him.

I’m the one who talked to him first.” The words don’t have much of an effect on her, because she just laughs to herself and turns to walk away.

“I’m not going to let you win,” I call out, stopping her mid-stride.

“I’m not playing fair anymore. The gloves are off. ”

She cocks her head to the side and smiles condescendingly at me. “Baby, they’ve never been on.” She winks at me. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

My jaw is quivering worse than it ever has, and it’s all down to Dallas.

I can’t stand the thought of him fucking her again.

I can’t listen to it. Every grunt he makes, every thrust that sends his bed squeaking is like a gunshot wound to the chest. I need to see him.

I have to see Daddy. To beg him not to do this. To save himself for me.

I walk into the bathroom, not bothering with knocking.

The maroon bath curtain hides him from me, but he’s got one arm in the air, peeking out over the pole that’s holding the curtain up.

When he’s done lathering his left armpit, he moves to the right, lifting his other arm high to the sky.

There’s a towel hanging over the shower rod that’s embroidered with the words “World’s Best Dad.

” I got it for him for Father’s Day last year, and he’s used it for every shower since.

He’s singing that old Ronettes song that I love so much.

As he belts out that he wants me to be his baby, I close the lid on the toilet and take a seat.

If I can just come up with a way to keep him out of Mom’s room until she passes out, we’ll be home free.

They haven’t fucked in weeks, and I’ll be good-goddamned if they reignite that burnt-out candle tonight .

The shower cuts off and my entire body jolts. His towel disappears from its place on the shower rod, and then the sound of the metal hooks sliding back makes me shake.

“Aussie?” His voice is soft. Filled with affection and warm like cashmere.

“Hey, Daddy,” I whisper, unable to look up.

“Buddy, what are you doing here? What’s the matter?”

You , I want to say. You’re what’s the matter. Standing in here, scrubbing the stink of the day off your big, beautiful body, just so my jerk of a mother can dirty you up again.

I can’t stand the thought of him fucking her. I just can’t. So, when he’s only a few inches in front of me, I throw my arms around his waist and press the side of my face to his wet stomach. “Please?”

“Oh, Austin,” he says in a voice that shatters me. “Baby, don’t cry. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Just tell me.”

I can’t. How can I mention it without mentioning it all?

How can I ask him to save himself for me without laying myself bare?

I don’t think he’ll hate me for harboring feelings—especially considering I’m pretty sure he harbors them, too, even if he doesn’t realize what those feelings are yet—but I could be wrong.

Without Dallas, I have no one left. I can’t risk losing him.

“Do you want to go play a video game?” I plead, the side of my mouth making contact with his stomach. It almost feels like I’m kissing him, and panic hits, because what if this is the closest I’ll ever get to kissing him? “I’ll let you win and everything.” I look up at him with wet eyes. “Please?”

His hand touches my cheek, and he’s staring at me with a concerned expression.

“Did your ex call again?” His jaw works left to right, then back again, his teeth grinding loudly in his mouth.

I know for a fact if I told him that was the case, he’d stay with me all night, just to make sure I’m okay.

The thing is, I don’t want to win his heart by trickery.

I might push the boundary lines of truth and fiction from time to time, but I’d never want to flat-out lie to him.

I respect him too much for that, and there’s no way we’ll ever forge any form of relationship that way. “What did he say to you?”

“I haven’t talked to Tatum or the Bens,” I assure him, shaking my head. “I’m just feeling a little lonely.” I look up at him, blinking back my tears. Can’t he see how much I want this? Doesn’t he know I’d give him everything he could ever hope for?

His brows furrow, and he studies me like he’s trying to read my mind. He must not be trained in the art of clairvoyance, because instead of dropping his towel and offering himself to me, he just grins like the Cheshire cat.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he finally says. “Once I’m done . . .” He turns and looks at the door, clearing his throat. “Once your mom is asleep, we can play all the games you want. We’ll stay up half the night. Just you and me.” He reaches down and tweaks my nose. “What do you say about that?”

And as he stares down at me with his big brown eyes—as my heart cracks into a million tiny pieces in my chest—I let him go. I give him to her, knowing what it’s going to cost me, emotionally.

Sniffling, I shake my head. “It’s okay.” I lean in and press my lips against his belly button, puckering them and blowing a raspberry, because if I really kiss him, he’ll know.

He’ll know, and everything I’ve ever wanted will slip away.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I can manage my emotions.

” I squeeze his hips with both hands, then I pull away, feeling lost without him as my tether.

I smile my biggest, brightest smile at Daddy, because that’s what a good boy does.

He makes Daddy’s life a little easier. He gives more than he takes. “I love you, Dallas.”

His chest makes a strange rattling sound and his eyes narrow like he’s trying to read me.

I guess I must be a master of emotion, because my heartbreak doesn’t even register.

But he still takes the time to say, “I love you too, Aussie,” before kissing my forehead, then leaving me all alone in this cold old bathroom, taking what’s left of my heart and leaving behind all the broken pieces.

I don’t leave the bathroom, because it’s the furthest room from theirs.

It’s where their voices will be the quietest, should Mom follow through with her threat.

I can’t stand the thought of listening to her screaming out in pleasure, so, I do what I always do when I know they’re going to fuck. I tune them out.

Pulling open the drawer on the counter beside the toilet, I grab a pair of old earbuds I use whenever I need to drown out the noise.

Once music starts playing in my ear, I lean back against the toilet and bring up my gallery, flicking through images trying to find the one we took last summer at the apartment I shared with my exes.

When Tatum found the place, I was stoked, because there was a public pool inside the gated community.

Dallas and I must have swam at least three times a week for months.

Then summer shifted to fall, and it was too cold to swim, so we didn’t see a whole lot of each other after that.

When I find the picture, I stare at his face, soaking in the sight of him.

His farmer’s tan. The light brown hair that hangs down past his eyes when he doesn’t have it pulled back.

That sexy cowboy hat he wears at all times, looking like the biggest, sexiest trailer-trash cliché I've ever seen. The way he’s smiling so fucking bright, right at me, makes it seem like I’m his sun and moon and stars, and he’s just happy to bask in whatever light I provide.

And then there’s the way his shorts cling to every nook and crook thanks to the pool water.

I can make out the base of his cock in the photo, and I’ve stroked myself staring at it more times than I could ever hope to count .

I keep an eye on the doorknob, because there’s no lock on the bathroom door, and Mom has a habit of barging in unannounced, thinking I’ve hidden her stash in here. I wouldn’t because I don’t give a fuck how much she takes.

I back out of my phone’s gallery until I’m scrolling through the videos I’ve got stored.

There’s an old clip on my phone that never fails to guide me to completion.

In it, a drunken Dallas is singing karaoke at Manhole, the gay bar where I used to work.

He came out with me and a few of the boys a couple of weeks before I moved in with Tatum.

When he told Mom he was going to the bar with me, she looked at him like he was stupid.

That night, Tatum clung to me, and every time I would make eye contact with Dallas, his jaw would clench, and he would grip his beer bottle so tightly, I worried it would shatter.

I think part of the reason I started dating Tatum was to see how Daddy would react.

While he was never cruel to Tatum—or any of my other exes, for that matter—he was standoffish to the point of making things uncomfortable.

That night, though, Dallas looked like he was ready to rip Tatum’s head off every time he touched me.

When Dallas drunkenly announced to our party that he was going to sing a special song for his special boy, it felt like I was floating on air.

Of course, I was drunk on lemon drops, but I think I would have felt it anyway if I was sober.

I set the phone on the bathroom counter, tilting it against our toothbrush holder.

When I extend my legs, my feet touch the baseboard on the wall in front of me, because our bathroom is microscopic.

I slide my pajamas down until they’re resting around my ankles, and I wrap my hand around my half-hard cock.