Page 18 of The Trailer Park Twink
“Nothing.” I point at Clint as I pull away from him. “I’ll go tell him what I want to get.” I take a step forward before pausing, looking back at Dallas, my body a bundle of nerves.
“You’re okay,” he assures me. “Clint is good people. You’ll like him.”
Hesitantly, I make my way over to Clint, but he’s so deep in concentration, I don’t want to interrupt. I look back at Dallas, because I need him to do something. I don’t even know this big, scary-looking man, yet he expects me to initiate a conversation. Dallas knows how nervous I am tonight. He said he wouldn’t put me in any uncomfortable situations.
“Clint,” Dallas hollers. “Get your eyes off Johnny’s ass and acknowledge my fuckin’ son.”
My legs go a bit wobbly, and I have to grab the bar for support, inadvertently shaking Johnny’s leg, messing up thetattoo. Clint startles, turning his attention to me, not paying any attention to the tattoo he’s drawing. That doesn’t stop his arm from moving though, and I watch in horror as he inadvertently pushes the needle harder into Johnny’s back, completely fucking up the tattoo.
“Mph,” Johnny moans. “Harder, Daddy.”
Alright. Well, that’s to be expected. No one with that nice of a bubble butt can be heterosexual. It just isn’t humanly possible, because it’s an absolute waste of a perfectly fuckable ass. I mean, maybe. I guess there’s always pegging. I’ll have to remember to ask Johnny if he enjoys a little toy play with the ladies, provided he doesn’t shoot me in the head for permanently staining his back with a big black stripe up the center.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, covering my mouth.
Clint shakes his head. “It’s fine bro. I like to improvise. Watch this.” I stare in wonder as he turns the long, unintentional slash into a detailed outline of a man’s cock. He even tattoos spurts of semen flying from the tip. In the end, it’s outlandish and ridiculous, and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything.
“Jesus. That’s incredible.”
“What can I say? I’m good under pressure.” Clint flicks the tattoo gun off and looks up at me, smiling, batting his lashes like an adorable blue-collar puppy. He’s precious. “I’ve heard a lot of good stuff about you, bro.”
“You have?”
“You’re all he ever talks about at work. It’s always ‘Aussie this’ and ‘Aussie that.’ I’m surprised he ain’t got your name tattooed on his ass with as much as he brags about you.”
“Funny you should say that. Dallas said you’re the guy to talk to about getting a tattoo.”
Again, he turns off the gun, but when he looks up at me, he’s beaming. “Lay it on me, little man. What do you have in mind?”
Once I’ve told Clint what I want, I head back over to where Dallas is standing. Dallas spots me, lifting a finger, motioning for me to give him a moment. He guzzles the rest of his beer in one giant swallow before handing it to Bubba and asking for another. Once Bubba’s gone, I slip back where I belong, right by his side.
“So, you still don’t want to tell me what you’re getting?”
I tap the tip of his nose with my finger. “Patience, Daddy. I promise, it’s totally worth the wait.”
Bubba returns, holding a beer in one hand and a wine cooler in the other. “Hope you don’t mind, kid. D-Bag sent me a text earlier saying you liked fruity drinks. I told him that sounded awfully homophobic, but then he said he just meant for me to get you a bottle of juice to sip on, because you ain’t allowed alcohol.”
I look up at Dallas and glare. “I’m twenty-two.”
“Yeah, and if you want to live to see twenty-three, you better not take that drink.”
I crinkle my nose playfully. “What are you gonna do about it, Daddy?” Not giving Dallas a chance to respond, I reach for the bottle in Bubba’s hand. The bottle he hands me says “fuzzy navel” on the label, and I smile, remembering how fuzzy Dallas’ navel was last night. I really hope I get the chance to see it again soon.
As Dallas takes the beer from Bubba, I sip the peach-flavored wine cooler, practically purring as the taste bursts through my mouth. Dallas keeps glaring at me each time I take a sip, but he’s guzzling his drink for all it’s worth, so who is he to judge? His throat works as he downs his beer, and he doesn’t stop for air or anything. The sight leaves me with a mental image of him knelt beneath me, his ruby-red lips spread around my cock, taking me down to the base.
Dallas hands the bottle back to Bubba before winking at me. “Beer me. I’m going all-in tonight. You don’t mind, do you, Aussie?”
“I don’t mind!” I shake my head emphatically, because Drunk Dallas is one of my favorite variations of Dallas Johnson. Last time we got drunk together, I ended up cradled in his lap, my head resting against his heart while watching television. I know it’s probably not safe to have a repeat of that night, but maybe I can get a few hugs out of the experience.
“Can I get drunk with you?”
He eyes the fuzzy navel and considers before slowly nodding. “Three drinks, max.”
We continue watching Clint work his magic, and at one point, someone brings a blunt into the mix. Dallas takes three hits when it’s his turn, then turns and stares at me like he’s contemplating his next move. I’ve never smoked with him, but he knows I’ve smoked before, so I’m not sure what the holdup is. Rolling my eyes, I snatch it out of his hand, taking in a lungful of smoke before he has the chance to stop me. The left corner of his mouth curls up into a smirk.
“Did I tell you that you could do that?” he asks, but since I can’t speak at the moment, I just shake my head, holding the smoke in for as long as I can. “Bad boy.” He moves even closer to me, brushing the side of my hand with his pinky. He takes the blunt from me, then takes a step back. I open my mouth to object, but Dallas isn’t having it. He holds a hand up, twitching his finger back and forth, teasing me.
I blow the smoke I’ve been holding directly into his face. “I wasn’t done.”
