Trashy

by Penny Lam

  Last night I slept with two men. I let them take every hole in my body. It didn’t feel like work, though. I couldn’t tell you what makes the difference. Am I paying for a roof with my body? Maybe, but it doesn’t feel like it. The sex feels liberating instead of binding. Like I get to chose, right here and now, to not be my mother. It’s something I can relish.

  Buck is snoring. Twisting slow, so as not to wake him, I lay on my side, facing him. In sleep he looks boy-next-door cute to the extreme. Younger, maybe. Both Buck and Shep have lines on their faces. Shep’s are deeper, though. Buck’s are those laugh-lines. They’re softer in sleep, like they’re in on the joke.

  My whole body hurts. My mouth is sore from cocks and bruising kisses. My pussy and bottom? Aching. Was it worth it? Yes, yes, yes.

  Something changed last night. The blowjobs were, well, maybe not given with my best intentions. I was horny, and two men wanted me. I think maybe I felt like I had to say thank you, though. So I let them do that to me.

  But they could’ve taken the blow jobs and kicked me out. Or had sex with me right then and there. I would’ve let them, too. There were so many times for the other shoe to fall. That’s what Mama always told me happens with men. She’d say, “Give them a shot between your legs and they’ll take it and and leave.”

  Maybe that’s why I kept my virginity so long, way after the girls at school lost theirs.

  I gave them a little of me, and they gave me all of them. I meant what I said to Shep: I’m happy here. The happiest I’ve ever been. Because Shep and Buck wear everything on their sleeves, and right now?

  They want me.

  Prying myself free from Buck, who snores harder and rolls over, I look in Shep’s closet and grab a white t-shirt. My suitcase is still in the living room and I don’t want to walk through the house looking like a harlot.

  Pulling it over my head, it smells like him and I hope he doesn’t mind. It’s buttery soft, an undershirt that’s been worn for years. Is it crazy that I’m jealous it got to be so close to him for so long?

  Shep’s not in Buck’s room or the kitchen. I peek in the back, third room. It looks like they’ve set up a small gym in here, which explains their chiseled bodies. Sweet Lord, I bet if Mama had men with their bodies coming to her each night she wouldn’t be so bitter.

  Vickie, that’s a nasty thought.

  It is, and I banish it quickly. Bitterness is something that comes too easy to folks in the park. It makes those little rays of sunshine brighter, like the Taylor twins running through with sprinklers on the fourth of July, or when the grocer let me take milk and bread home even though I forgot my wallet. I want to be like that, too.

  In the kitchen I find some cereal and milk and help myself. The day looms in front of me and it’s becoming painfully obvious I don’t know what to do with myself.

  The linoleum floor creaks as Buck comes in. “Sleep well?” He’s got this goofy grin plastered on his face that warms me up.

  “Not really, two rowdy men kept me up all night.”

  He whistles and goes to the coffee maker. My eyes are glued to his movements so I can learn how he likes things like coffee and breakfast. “Is that so? Well, was it worth it?”

  “Hell yes, it was!”

  Buck stiffens and crosses over to me in a flash, his hand gripping my jaw. The green of his eyes is dark and dangerous. His fingers squeeze painfully and my mouth opens a little with a squeak. Buck shoves two fingers of his other hand into my mouth, all the way back, and with a surprise I struggle. He holds me firm.

  “Watch that mouth, baby girl, or I’m gonna have to wash it out with soap. Good little girls don’t cuss, do they?”

  The rough pads of his fingers presses my tongue down. Slowly, he slides them in and out, never breaking his punishing stare or painful grip on my jaw. Fear causes a thrill to run through me, starting at the nape of my neck and ending, not in my stomach, but in my pussy.

  This is a side of Buck that I caught a peek of last night, but I can see clearly now. He wants to be rough with me. It scares me, but I’m interested, too. Like the danger is calling to me, a song I can’t ignore.

  “Shep’s not here, so you’re gonna have to listen to the rules I lay down. Are you listening, sweet thing?”

  I nod, because I can’t talk with his fingers sliding in and out of my mouth, mimicking his cock.

  “You’re gonna clean the house. You’re gonna make breakfast, pack us lunches, and have dinner ready at night. You’re gonna keep that body clean and ready for whenever we want to fuck you. However we want to.” His words make my nipples tighten and sends butterflies flittering inside of me. “You’re gonna be a good girl. No cussing. No sexy clothing for anyone but us. No flirting with other men. No looking at other men. You’re ours, our little girl, and we’re gonna protect you.”

  Heat is flooding through me and I feel so hot. Burning for Buck. I should be outraged, but it’s like he knows me better than I know myself. It’s everything I never wanted to admit I wanted. To be cared for. To be a man’s servant and woman. Now Buck’s telling me these things, like he’s got secret access to my darkest fantasies. It makes it feel dirty in the best way.

  His fingers pull all the way out. “If you can’t do this, I’m gonna have to punish you, baby, and I don’t want to do that.”

  “What kind of punishment?” I can’t hide the tremor in my voice.

  “Hmmm…” He thinks, smiling and stroking my hair. “I think for small infractions, spanking. For something bigger, my belt or a switch.”

  My skin breaks out in goosebumps and I’m sure these things are supposed to make me scared, but they just make me curious. And horny.

  “Bad girls might get sent to bed with no supper. Bad girls might have to spend all day on their hands and knees, like a puppy instead of a girl. Bad girls might have to clean with a toothbrush and be called all sorts of bad-girl names. How do these things sound?”

  Buck’s pupils are huge, the green barely visible. What is visible is the hard tent of his cock in his sweatpants.

  How did it sound?

  I wanted it all. As scary and despicable is it sounded, it also sounded like heaven. Mute, I nod. Then my hands reach to pull his dick out of his sweatpants. After all, good girls don’t let their boyfriend go to work all riled up!

  Buck

  Work is golden. I’m high as a fucking kite on life. Never needed drugs before, but if they’re anything like Vickie, I can see how people get hooked. Because I’m hooked on her.

  What a fucking dream last night was.

  It’s more than just Vickie, too. It’s Shep. We’ve been close our whole lives. My parents were deadbeat drug addicts and his disappeared. When your family isn’t there, you make a new one, and that’s Shep. A brother. When his grandma let me move in, it felt even more true.

  We’ve been inseparable since day one. I taught him how to fight. Poor Shep was a scrawny kid. You’d never guess, now that he tops six feet and can bench like a motherfucker. He was tired of getting his ass kicked, so I taught him how to kick it right back.

  We learned how to fish together, because there was no one to teach us. Our first hunting trips? Together. He was the first one to clap my back when I took out an eight-pointer. We taught ourselves everything. How to clean the carcass and tan the hide. How to survive on what we killed or foraged when money got too tight.

  We learned how to survive together, and it came at a price: I need him. There’s nothing worth doing if he isn’t there. We share everything.

  So is it crazy that I always envisioned us this way? Sharing a girl, too? Look, I know where we live. I know how people think about things. The way they think? It’s dumb as hell. Old fashioned and outdated.

  Shep’s a good looking dude, and he’s my best friend, and I love him. I don’t mean I want it to be just me and him. I don’t mean I dream of him every night, because I don’t. But the way I care about him--

  I don’t know.

  It’s like-- like there a
ren’t rules for us. Labels. We’re rednecks. We’re dirt poor, gruff, rough around the edges. We’re trouble, and sometimes we’re dumb. We’re so much more, though. Like Shep makes me feel special. Smart. He makes me feel like I’m worth something, especially when I’m with him. All my cockiness, all my swagger I get from how I feel being with him. I just can’t tell him that, because Shep’s the kind of guy to get weird first, knee jerk, and then maybe repair things.

  I can show him though. Last night proved it. He was game. Hell, he let me use his bed. That’s one step away from perfection. Perfection is the three of us, all skin and tangled limbs. Being able to act on all my desires, not just the ones I get high-fived for.

  One step away. All my dreams under one trailer roof.

  “Someone got laid last night.” My manager, Jay, comes over and hands me keys to my first engine of the day. An old Honda Odyssey. I fucking hate working on minivans and he knows it.

  Good thing I’m in such a goddamned good mood. Snagging the keys, I shrug. “Ain’t nothing new. Some of us can get ass whenever we want.” Jay’s been married to his high school sweetheart coming on thirty years. He’s got one of those marriages you have to see to believe.

  He loves his wife, she loves him. They’ve got fucking five kids together, and he smiles every day at work. I envy him. I want that for me, but I want it for me and Shep.

  “Yeah, yeah. I should ditch my wife. Trade her in for a newer model.” This is a running joke between us. He’ll never do better than June, because she’s his world. How do you do better than your whole world?

  You don’t. “Yeah, get on that. Some sweet, just-legal pussy, dude. Nothing like it.”

  “Naw, I don’t go for the young ones. Bessie’s comin’ on seventeen years old. It’s just creepy. I like my women with a little more experience. Let them show me the ropes.”

  My smile is ear to ear. Jay’s an easy guy to work for, even if he gives me the minivans. “That’s where you’ve got it all wrong, my friend. You want them young enough to train, and then you put them in ropes. All tied up like a hog.”

  He turns pink and shakes his head and walks away. “You’re too much, Buck. Now get on, we got a line up today.”

  “Fuck you, it’s my half day.”

  Now he shrugs, his apology a cloak of protection. “It was your half day until we got a pile up. Now I need you.”

  This sours my mood real quick. I’d been planning on getting home and balls-deep into Vickie as soon as I could. After all, I still need to sample her sweet pussy. Shep could take her backdoor.

  This fucking sucks. I pop the mini van's hood and start diving in, my cock frustrated and hard in my jeans and no relief in my near future.

  Vickie

  The trailer is quiet. I can’t remember the last time I was this alone. See, Mama’s work is in the trailer. So when she’s got a John, I usually just go walking around the park. Before I graduated high school I did homework or read in the chair swing next to our trailer, trying not to hear her busy at work.

  I could close my door in the trailer, but the walls are thin and space is limited. You still hear everything. You can feel everyone’s presence, even if they aren’t in the same room as you. It’s little things, like the creak of steps, or the whine of doors. The way the whole trailer shutters when someone plops on a couch or bed.

  It’s nice, actually. Comforting. Most people may not think much of our homes, but there’s always that-- you never feel alone.

  Except now I do. The whole trailer is silent. Shep’s at work. Buck said Shep gets off from the mines around six. Today is Buck’s half day, though, so he said he’d be home around two.

  The thought of being alone with him makes me ache in anticipation and dread.

  Buck’s so different than Shep. He seems more at ease. Funnier. More inclined to smile.

  Scarier.

  I wonder if he’ll try some of those punishments on me. I wonder what Shep will say. Is he into the kinky stuff, too?

  Buck didn’t tell me what to do while he was gone. He’s mentioned cleaning and cooking, so I guess I better get to it.

  Snooping around the kitchen, I find some toilet cleaner and a few sponges. But there’s not much in the way of cleaning products. More peering in closets proves they have a broom, but no vacuum or anything for the rugs in the rooms. No washer or dryer or lines outside.

  Each room is an exploration. My heart pounds, because while they’ve invited me into their home, Shep and Buck never said “Please go through all of our things.” It feels like an invasion of privacy.

  Then again… did these boys know anything about privacy? Because it seems like their whole lives are strewn about on their floors. T-shirts and jeans lay around with flannels and empty cigarette boxes. Old magazines. Like, two or three years old. Beer cans and bottles hidden in corners. A film of dust on any surface they don’t regularly spend time on, like the bed or the couch in the living room.

  The blinds on the window are dusty, too, and some of them are bent. No curtains anywhere. I know this used to be Shep’s grandma’s, because she lived here still when I was real young. Once or twice she’d sneak me a butterscotch.

  The only reminders of her are the floral pattern on the couch and the robin’s egg blue of the vinyl chairs around the kitchen table. Everything else has been usurped by man. It’s gross, but maybe a little endearing, too. The camo and the hunting knives speak to something inside of me. Shep and Buck can hunt. They know how to provide.

  It’s up to me to earn it.

  The fridge is empty, too. Buck said to clean and make dinner, but they don’t have anything here for me to do those things!

  My mind is wandering and my heart is thumping hard and true in my chest. If I had the right tools, this could be a home. A place for all three of us. I’ve never heard of a situation like that and I’m sure the preacher would have plenty to say about it, but just because something ain’t popular doesn’t mean it’s wrong. And I’ve heard the preacher and others say all they want and none of it nice about my mama already.

  A home. I’m not even sure I had that a few trailers down. I had a roof, sure. And a bed. But now I know those things came at a price. Were Lloyd and Mama just waiting until I was legal to sell me out?

  It makes me sick to think about. This time I won’t have blinders on. This time I’m going to be open with my heart, but I’m gonna make sure no one takes advantage of me again.

  The best place to start is showing Buck and Shep that I’m worth keeping around. I think I need to prove it to myself, too. No more studying and dreaming of leaving. Not yet. I gotta pay my dues, first.

  Thank goodness Shep and Buck got my suitcase out of my Mama’s trailer, and good for me for being ready. Inside, I find my hidden wad of money. Four hundred isn’t much, but when you live in the poorest county in the state, it can get you a lot of groceries.

  Fingering the money, I waiver for a moment. It came from Mama. She’d just give me a twenty here and there. Sometimes when I went grocery shopping she’d tell me to keep the change. Surely a mother who never let her child starve can’t be that bad? Because I might have wanted for lots, but never food. The green bills taunted me, making me second guess. What if she’s in trouble and needs the money she thought she’d get from Clay?

  Then I think about her leaning in the door frame. Her sneer as she said I couldn’t even come in to get my things. Maybe I’m just lookin’ for good because things feel so transient right now.

  I take two hundred and put it in the back pocket of my jean shorts. It’s summer out now, and it’ll be hotter than hell biking to the store. Most of my tank tops are a little on the small side and worn thin from being washed and worn so long. But my long hair covers up where my bra peeks through the fabric and it helps me to feel a little more decent.

  Outside the sun is blazing. It licks at my bare skin as soon as the screen door slams shut behind me. I tan naturally, and I can practically feel my skin begin to toast to brown.

&nb
sp; My bike is still at my Mama’s place. I consider knocking and telling her I’m taking it. In my mind, I picture myself, hands on hips and defiant tone. Wouldn’t she be surprised? There’s a car in the driveway, and old Cutlass, and that means she’s busy. Maybe I’m a coward, but fantasies are fantasies for a reason. I stow away the one of confronting Mama and tiptoe to the back of her trailer.

  The grunts coming from inside sound sweaty and crude. How can a grunt sound sweaty? Trust me; hear enough of them and you can hear the moist overtones to the sounds of basic pleasure.

  My skin crawls as I grab the handlebars. The bike is old and a little too small for me. It came from the local thrift, like everything else I owned. I saved for over a year to buy it when I was eleven.

  The plastic streamers spouting from the handlebars washed out long ago. Now they’re coated with a permanent layer of dirt I can’t wash off. The tires were white, once. Now they’re the same clay color as the grounds of the park. It was a knock off brand to begin with, probably came from China, and I bought it well-loved.

  And loved it even more.

  What’s a bike to a kid like me? To any of the kids in a park like this? Freedom, plain and simple.

  It’s what I feel now, peddling out of the park and onto the main road. Three miles straight will bring me into town and I can grab some food for the boys, some cleaning supplies, and maybe some flowers to brighten up the trailer.

  The wind is in my hair and my cheeks are stinging with the pleasant glaze from the sun. No one’s on the road because it’s working hours, so most men are at the coal factory and most women are home with babies or working in the local shops.

  Bike rides are for dreaming. When I was younger and first got this bike, my dreams were big. I’d go to college. Make a million dollars. Back then, before I got breasts, I had a lot of friends at the park. Yes, friends. This is important. Life ain’t all shit and sadness just because you live in a trailer.