Page 22 of The Trailer Park Twink
I place my hand over his mouth and quickly jerk my head back and forth, insistent. “It’s not. That’s not gross at all.” It’s fucking hot, I think, but I can’t really say that out loud.
“The way he can work the head with the tip of his tongue . . .” Bubba adds, staring dreamily into the distance. “Fuck. I came on the spot, my prick untouched, the first time I saw it.”
My eyes bulge. “You watched?” I ask, my heart racing.
When Bubba doesn’t answer, Clint nods. “Like we said, it’s his party trick. Pretty good trick too. I tried it once, but I almost broke my damn back.”
“Wait . . .” I say, dramatically holding my hands in front of my chest like I’m about to barter for something. “Thefirsttime you saw it?’ Does that mean you’ve seen it more than once?”
Clint clicks off the tattoo gun and stares up at me, blinking slowly. “Why do you keep repeating everything we say, but make it sound like a question? Are you fuckin’ with us?”
I shake my head rapidly, and it feels like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. They got to watch Dallas. They got to see him in a way I never have, and it makes my blood boil. I lean closer to Dallas and thump his forehead as hard as I can.
“Motherfuck! What the hell was that for?” he drunkenly groans.
“I want to go home,” I say, folding my arms in front of my chest. “Wanna go home because I’m fucking furious with you, Dallas.”
Panic spreads across his face, and his hand touches my cheek, his grip firm, but not uncomfortable. “What’s wrong? You were happy a minute ago.”
I bite my cheek hard, needing an outlet for all my jealousy. As I do, every eye is on me, and I watch, one by one, as realization settles.
Clint’s lip quirks in the corner.
Johnny drunkenly gives me a nod.
Bubba, however, is the only one who takes action. He puts a hand on Dallas’ back, pulling his attention away from me. “I think little bro is just curious about how that works, D-Bag. It ain’t every day you meet someone who can suck their own schlong.”
Schlong? Ugh. Kill me.
Dallas’ eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them I can’t quite read. He’s drunk as fuck, so the look could mean anything, but it has that same fatherly care to it I’m so used to seeing from him. “I . . .” He takes a deep breath, and he inches up the table, just a little bit closer. “I can show you sometime. I don’t mind.”
My heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”
Bubba claps his hand against my shoulder, startling me. “Hell yeah, he will. He’ll show it to anyone who asks. Ain’t that right, bud?”
Dallas shrugs noncommittally to the question. I don’t even know if he understood the words, because he isn’t looking away from me. “Especially you.”
Before I can respond—because how can anyone ever respond to something like that?—Clint stands from his stool and motions for us to do the same. “Alright, boys,” he says, grabbing his phone. “Tattoos are done, let’s get a picture. Turn around and drop trou.”
My eyes bulge. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll take a picture and send it to both of you, so you can see.”
I lock eyes with Dallas, letting him choose. I’ll do whatever he wants. However he wants. Whenever he wants. “What do you say?”
He smiles drunkenly, slurring his words when he says, “Your butt’s gonna be on my phone.”
“Your butt’s gonna be on my phone too,” I remind him. “It’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
He scoffs. “It ain’t like you’re pulling your cock out and stroking it for me, buddy.” His lip slips between his teeth, and he bites down as he stares at me. “Like last night.”
My cheeks are warm, but I try not to let that stop me. “I thought we were just pretending that never happened. Or that maybe you forgot.”
“Oh, buddy,” he says, his voice warm and sweet. “How could I ever forget—”
“Guys?” Clint interrupts, and I kind of want to stab him for interrupting. “You can either let me take this picture, or you can keep eye-fucking each for the rest of the night.”
“I’m fine with either,” Bubba says, palming his cock obscenely. When he winks at me, I realize he’s just teasing, but the tent in his American-flag shorts tells another story entirely. Alas, it’s a story that will need to be told another day, because this is my moment. Not his.
