Page 43 of The Trailer Park Twink

I shake my head and point at the door. “Stinks, Daddy. Just wanna go. Wanna go to the lobby, away from the smell of his rotten guts.” I rush forward and hop into his arms. “It smells like human decomposition.”

Daddy removes his hat and hands it to me. “Here you go, baby. Put it over your face and breathe, just like you used to do after you thought I was asleep.”

I gape at him. “You knew I used to smell your hat?”

He nods proudly. “I heard you once. Thought you were a home intruder. I walked into the hall with my gun, ready to kill if someone was touching you. Then I saw you. Aussie, you were breathing Daddy’s scent like such a good boy.”

“I love the way you smell,” I whisper. “I just loved you so much. I’m sorry if it was weird. ”

He shakes his head. “Never weird. Go on, baby. Put it up to your face and breathe.” As I do like he asked, he cradles me against him and wobbles us out the bathroom door and into the lobby.

If he’s stoned, maybe I shouldn’t let him carry me around like this.

He might fall and draw attention to himself.

I try to squirm my way out of his arms, but his grip is relentless, holding me firm against him.

Peeking up past the hat, I notice Bubba, Deirdre, Brian, and Jamie standing near a set of reinforced doors I’m assuming lead into the belly of the judicial beast. I put Daddy’s hat back on his head.

“It’s about time,” Deirdre says, typing something into her phone, pausing long enough to look up at Ezra. “Has it kicked in yet?”

Ezra nods. “Yeah. I don’t know how much difference it’s going to make though. He basically bashed a bathroom stall door because someone made the grave mistake of defecating in public.”

Deirdre scrunches her nose in disgust before looking over at Daddy. “Warranted. Who does that?”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “You knew Ezra drugged him?”

“He did what now?” Bubba asks. His eyes dip down the tiny twink, pausing at his crotch as he licks his lips. “That’s okay, baby. Daddy forgives you.”

“You’re not my Daddy. Shut up,” Ezra says, scoffing.

He glares at me. “Knew? She orchestrated the entire thing. I only went along with it because it kind of made sense, and I didn’t want you to have to spend the rest of your life without your daddy.

If you want to be mad about it, be mad at the problematic prick to my right. ”

“If you ever try to throw me under the bus again, I’ll drive that bus over your skull until it pops like a balloon.”

“Funny you should mention balloons,” Ezra says, reaching into his pocket.

Son of a stupid skunk. If he’s brought more of those goddamn semen-filled water balloons into a maximum security prison—I mean, maybe?

I’m not really sure, I didn’t read the sign out front—I’m going to pop it on his fucking face.

How the hell does he hope to explain why he has cum on his person during the pat down?

What’s he going to say; that he has a protein deficiency, so he hoards semen the way diabetics keep hard candy in their purses and pockets in case their sugar drops? Actually, that would probably work.

“If you even think about splattering me with your disgusting cum-stuffed balloons, it’ll be the last thought that crosses your mind. Do you want to meet your maker, Ezra? Because I can make that happen.”

“Can I have one?” Bubba asks.

Ezra arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

Bubba shrugs. “I’m just feeling a little peckish. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I snacked on you. ”

Ezra blushes. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Don’t ever eat my semen. Not under any circumstance.” Clearing his throat, he looks away as he pulls a small balloon out of his pocket and hands it to Bubba.

“Aussie?” Daddy’s calm voice whispers, and when I turn my attention back to him, he’s giving me this goofy love-drunk look. He pulls me even closer to his chest.

I love him, but he’s got me fucked up if he thinks he’s exempt from my wrath.

“I’m threatening his life. Please don’t interrupt me mid-terroristic threat.

” I poke Ezra in the chest. “Maybe I’ll cum in a couple of balloons too.

How would you like that? How would you like me to burst my cum-bubble on your head? ”

He shrugs. “Your cum tastes pretty good. I wouldn’t mind.”

“When have you ever tasted my load?” I ask, because clearly, he’s lying.

“I found one of your condoms in the bathroom at the cabin. And before you get mad and try to make it into something it isn’t, I was thirsty, Austin. Positively parched!”

“You just said the thought of someone eating your cum recreationally was the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard of,” Bubba says, popping the bottom of the balloon with his fingernail and pressing it to his mouth.

As he squeezes my best friend’s load into his mouth like it’s Go-Gurt, I have to look away.

I think I might be sick, but not because of Bubba or the balloon.

My best friend ate my cum. Dear God, why? “You found a condom? And you drank my cum?” A horrible mental image pops into my head, and in a rage, I aim a finger right at his shoulder and jab him as hard as I can without hurting him. “That could have been my Daddy’s cum!”

He quickly shakes his head. “It wasn’t! I promise.

I knew it was yours because the condom was so small.

Dallas uses the big neon-green ones. He comes a lot, but I’d never eat his load.

Not unless it was a life-or-death situation, like if we were stranded on a frozen mountain, and even then, I’d feel really bad about it. ”

“I appreciate that,” I say as my cheeks blush ten-thousand shades of red, but then I realize he’s just insulted my size. “Hey! Not nice. It is not small! Take that back.”

“I’m not going to lie to make you feel better.” He rolls his eyes. “So, you have a mediocre penis. So what? Who cares? You should take pride in your penis, Aussie. It’s a very lovely little cock.”

Unable to stop myself, I reach forward and pinch his nipple, twisting it tightly. “Stop talking about my penis.”

He hisses in pain and slaps my hand away.

“I’ll do what I want, when I want, and you don’t get to stop me.

I don’t know why the hell you’re so mad.

I eat Brian’s cum all the time, and you don’t hear him complaining.

” I cock an eyebrow at Brian, who is simply nodding like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“It makes him feel closer to me,” Brian confirms. “I don’t mind. He has abandonment issues, Aussie. We can’t fault him for it.”

“Exactly. It’s like when I jack off to your videos, I’m not doing it for sexual release, as far as I know.”

“As far as you know?”

“Well, I’m not a licensed psychiatrist. Maybe there’s some underlying issue making me act out in depraved ways, or maybe not.

Maybe I do it to compensate for the love my father never gave me as a child.

Or maybe I’m just a sexual deviant. It’s anyone’s guess.

I don’t have the proper training to make that diagnosis. ”

“Oh, it’s absolutely the latter.”

“He’s a grown man,” Brian says, giving me a half-hearted shrug. “If he wants to eat our cum or masturbate to the shirtless selfies we post on Instagram, what’s the harm? All we can do is be the best friend group we can possibly be and support our sis.”

He has a point. Ezra is grown, and I believe in freedom of speech, but he basically called me an inch-long loser.

Does his free speech have to be so hateful?

And in front of Deirdre, no less. Now she’s staring at me like I’m deformed, and it makes me curl tighter around Daddy, burying my face in his chest, and I tighten my legs around his waist. “Make him stop.”

Dallas chuckles and kisses my forehead. Trying to change the subject, probably, he asks, “Are you gonna sing Daddy a real pretty song?” but I don’t have time to answer, because the bathroom door swings open, and a disgruntled man with bad hair and what seems to be a bad attitude marches out, eyeing everyone in the lobby.

“Who the hell was just in the bathroom? Who shamed me for shitting in the stall?”

I gag, almost puking all over Daddy, because there’s been far too much talk of poo for my liking.

I bury my face in his neck, breathing him, because the foul bathroom stench clings to the other man, permeating the room, stinking the whole goddamn place up.

He has what appears to be a long-sleeve black uniform shirt draped over his arm, and he’s wearing this ugly golf Polo shirt with tropical hues and a couple of palm trees popping up in inconsistent patterns.

It’s a goddamn mess. Even worse, he’s wearing these dark, black slacks with suspenders, and there’s a toolbelt with guns and gadgets and a huge walkie-talkie. I’m guessing he’s a guard. Shit.

“He went that way,” Ezra blurts, pointing at a wall without a door. The man just stares at him like he’s stupid, which... yeah. Valid.

The man approaches, eyeing Ezra curiously. “I recognize that voice. You were just in the bathroom, weren’t you?” Ezra’s knees 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.