Trashy

Trashy

A M
é
nage Romance

Penny Lam

Copyright © 2016 Now and Wren Publishing

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover by
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This book is dedicated to my Coffee Squad. You’ve kept me sane when I needed it most, and we’re going to be friends for life.

Shep

Buck’s locking eyes with me as he blows his load down my girl’s throat. The sounds of her greedy sucking fill the living room. Buck shrugs as if to say “I don’t know how this happened,” but we both know how it happened. And that it shouldn’t have.

Jealousy is a hammer smashing in my chest. My fists clench, but my cock stiffens in lust. Vickie moans as she licks him clean. It’s then she notices me, standing in the doorway, her birthday cake still in my hands. Her chocolate brown eyes widen and her cheeks pink. Her lips, puffy from Buck fucking her face, fall apart a little like an invitation.

Fuck me
.

I wish I could say that I’d never have guessed that the events of tonight would lead to one young, innocent girl on her knees in my trailer’s living room with my best friend’s come beginning to crust on her lips. But I’ve been dreaming of her for years. Dreaming of all the dirty, nasty things I wanted to do to her.

Guess she won’t be innocent much longer.

Vickie

(earlier that day)

There’s a wrapped gift for me. Sure, it’s wrapped in the funnies from yesterday’s paper instead of real wrapping paper, and there’s no bow, and the note on it is scrawled in Sharpie:

Happy 18th, Victoria.

Love, Mama
.

But it’s a gift. A real present. Last year, when I turned seventeen, I got a used bra from Goodwill. It wasn’t wrapped, and it was three cup sizes too small. The year before had been a carton of cigarettes, and I’d reminded her that it was eighteen, not sixteen, to be be legal.

That had earned me the silent treatment for two weeks. My mother wanted me to feel punished for not liking her gift. I don’t even smoke, so I gave it to the guys three trailers down. Now seeing them?
That
had been a gift. Shep and Buck share a trailer in our park. It’s one of the nicer ones too, because they’re always doing maintenance and handy stuff to it. Not like mine, which is falling apart. I’m also pretty sure we’re getting mold.

They were nice when I gave them the carton. I’d dreamt about it for months after. Shep’s got this black beard and dark, shaggy hair like a lumberjack. I like how muscular his forearms are. The veins pop out and everything. He’s serious, and he has blue eyes that make me ache in a shameful way. And Buck? He’s cute too, with medium brown hair that falls in his eyes and gets streaked with gold in the summer. He works as a mechanic and is always covered in a little bit of grease. It makes his white teeth seem whiter.

When they’d spoken to me, all nice like, it’d been a dream come true. But then Shep patted me on the head like I was a kid. At sixteen, I felt grown enough, but I think they’re in their late twenties or early thirties, so I guess I’m still a kid to them.

If only they knew that my thoughts about them are anything but childish.

My eyes are glued to the gift on the table. My heart flutters. It can’t decide if it should be elated or worried, and I end up feeling a little nauseous.

The trailer creaks and my mama comes in, the smell of stale cigarettes following her. I hate it. Her voice, aged and worn from years of smoking, croons at me. “Happy birthday, Vic.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

“Well, aren’t ya gonna open it?” There’s an edge to her voice, and that heart flutter shifts fully to fear. She’s staring at me and the gift.

“Should we wait for Lloyd?” I don’t want to wait for Lloyd. He’s Mama’s boyfriend, and sometimes he makes these eyes at me that make me want to hide. But my stomach is clenched in warning, and I’m willing to stall.

“He’ll be along shortly,” she rasps. “This was his idea, anyway.”

Uh oh
. My fingers tremble and don’t feel like my own as I tear the paper slowly. It pisses Mama off, I guess, because she barks, “You don’t even read the goddamn paper! Just open it already!”

I do, and there’s a clothing box. It’s thin and feels fragile. Lifting the lid, my mood falls. Inside is a slip. It’s pale pink, silky and thin. It’s new, which is surprising. I take it from the box and alternately marvel at the smooth feel of the fabric and fight myself to not cast it away. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned.

It’s sexy underwear, and it was Lloyd’s idea.

“I don’t understand,” I finally say.

My mama gets close. So close it’s hard to breathe. She’s like that. A presence that sucks all the thought and strength from you if she gets to close. “Let me spell it out for you. I’ve been payin’ for you for eighteen years. Today you’ve got three choices. Pay me six months of rent in advance; get the hell outta my house; or put on that fancy little outfit and work for Lloyd.”

I feel clammy. I might throw up. “What do you mean, ‘work for Lloyd’?”

“I mean he’s got someone real interested in those big titties of yours. And takin’ your cherry.”

“Mama!” I gasp, shocked and humiliated. “How do you--”

“I know,” she sneers, “And I don’t give a damn. Personally, I want you outta the house. I don’t need competition from some teenaged, perky-tittied whore. But Lloyd says the money he can get for your pussy means I don’t have to work anymore, and so I’ll allow it.”

We’ve never talked about Mama’s relationship with Lloyd. I always knew she did things I wasn’t proud of. In a park community and town as small as mine, you can’t be a whore and keep it a secret. Lloyd didn’t give a crap about Mom’s job, so they became an item.

I didn’t know he’d been pimping her. Now they want to pimp me.

I thrust the lingerie back at her. It hurts, because I actually like it a lot. My clothes are all second hand and tend to be too small and childish. This nightie is a woman’s outfit, and it would have been nice to feel like a woman-- behind closed doors. Alone.

Or with Shep. Or Buck
.

But I’m not gonna be a whore. “Fine, how much do you need for rent?”

I’ve been saving. There wasn’t a chance to work much, not with school, but I’ve saved up about four hundred dollars from pet sitting, babysitting, and cleaning around the park. It was for community college, but I’ll use it for rent if I have to.

“Three thousand dollars.”

I gape. “That’s almost five hundred a month! The rent is only six hundred!”

“Well, aren’t you smart.” Mama’s eyes narrow. “You know how much Lloyd can get for your cherry? Five thousand dollars. You give me and him three of that, and you can have what’s left.”

Two thousand dollars. That’s more money than I’ve ever seen. With money like that, I could move out. If I got a job, I could take night classes. She’s right. I’m a virgin. It isn’t that I’ve been saving it for any special reason, it’s just… I don’t know. Sex scares me a little. Not the act, but what I want.

I don’t admit that the only men I’ve ever wanted to lose it to are too old and way outta my league.

Is giving up my virginity really such a bad thing? I don’t have any other options. There’s nowhere for me to go.

“Okay,” I say softly. “I’ll do it.” My whole body is hot with shame and my eyes are glued to the floor. Mama thrusts the nightie back into my hands, which, to my mortification, I snatch greedily to my chest.

“Good,” she says and pats my hair. “Good. Well, you’ve got a few hours to get ready.”

“Wait, tonight?!” I can’t believe it.

“Sure. Clay Highwater will be here to pick you up at six. Lloyd paid for a hotel for y’all, so at least you don’t have to do it here.” She says it like it’s a gift, a nice thing. Maybe it is for a prostitute. I don’t know.

Mute, I run to my room. Our trailer is a single, so I get there quick and slam the door, tears already running down my face. It was a setup. They knew, and they planned it. My mama and Lloyd made sure I’d have to say yes.

Mama’s never been the best. I didn’t grow up with sleepovers, cookies, or hugs when I got hurt. Mostly I grew up forgotten, which wasn’t so bad. Ignored meant I could be alone, read, and dream about life outside of the trailer park. This, though…

This hurts.

I spend my few remaining hours of not-whoredom packing a suitcase. I don’t have much. I pack seven pairs of panties, the three shirts I have that don’t have holes in them, some jeans that are a little too short at the ankles, a pair of shorts, the three books I own, some sneakers with the soles still intact, and my hairbrush. It’s the thing I’m the most protective of.

I put the four hundred dollars in the suitcase too. Soon I’ll have a little over two thousand dollars, and that’s enough to get the hell out.

Then I change. The silky feel of the nightie is like water on my skin. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to wear a bra with it or not. Probably not. When I stand in front of my mirror, a woman I don’t recognize stares back.

Her long, platinum blond hair tumbles down her shoulders. Her chocolate brown eyes peer out from under long lashes. Those are my best features. My thick hips and thighs are tan and obvious. My breasts, which have been embarrassingly large since sixth grade, press against the front, my nipples clearly visible. The pink in my cheeks matches the pink of the nightie.

It has a little frilled hem and ruffles on the cups of the top. It looks like cutesy and sexy ran into each other.

That’s you in the mirror, Vickie. That’s you, and you’re gonna sell your body tonight
.

Collapsing on the bed, I cry until there’s a knock at the door.

Shep

It’s late, and I’m blowing smoke rings on my front steps. The air is crisp, mixing with the cigarette smoke in my lungs and making them burn. It feels nice. Like a reminder that this moment is happening and I need to be present for it.

I spend most of my nights on the front steps. This is the last smoke of the day, though. I’m trying to cut down.

The trailer park is quiet this time of night. It’s dinner time. Most folks are in their homes, sitting in front of the TV with their microwave dinners. Me? I’m waiting for Buck to get home. We’ll drink some beers, watch some MMA, then hit the hay.

And I’m waiting for her. Her mom’s trailer is a few down, but from my steps I can see in her room. I’ve watched her silhouette pacing back and forth, shoulders shaking like she’s crying. Little Vickie Sampson.

The gravel crunches as Buck pulls his truck in. He nods to me and heads in, then comes right back out with a coupla beers and sits next to me. It’s easy between us. Always has been. I don’t believe in soul mates, I don’t think, and I sure as hell wouldn’t say a guy was mine. But my grandma called Buck a ‘kindred spirit,’ and that feels about right.

Kindred spirit.

“Damn, I wish she’d open up her blinds,” Buck mumbles to himself.

I throw him an elbow. “Fuck you, man, she’s too young. Underage.”

He shakes with silent laughter. “Sure, and that’s not why you’re out here every night, lookin’ at her window.” He’s got me and he knows it, so I take a big swig of beer. “Besides, man, she’s gotta be eighteen by now, or close to it. Remember when she brought that carton to us? That was her sixteenth birthday present, and that was ‘round two years ago. Legal’s legal. You think I gotta chance at hittin’ that?”

I want to growl at him and high five him at the same time. Yeah, I remember when she came to give us her carton. What a shit birthday present. Girl don’t even smoke. She was all large, brown eyes and rosy cheeks. Her boobies pressed tight against her tiny t-shirt. I’d had a hard time not gawking, and later Buck and I lamented that we were old pervs checkin’ out a sixteen-year-old girl.

We’re still old pervs, but in our defense, she hasn’t looked underage for awhile.

“Nah, you’re too old for her, even if she’s legal.”

“Man, we’re not even thirty yet.”

“You will be in a year.”

“And you’ll be in two. So what? Don’t you miss that sweet, young pussy?”

My cock grows stiff and uncomfortable in my Wranglers. I miss
any
pussy. It’d been a dry spell for me, and I don’t pay Buck’s dating habits much mind. He doesn’t bring girls home, and I appreciate that. Our shared trailer is a sacred space for us, given to us by my grandma when she passed away.

A girl would have to be extra special to be invited in.

Headlights flash in the park and an old Chevy rolls in. Clay. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone. He’s pulling in to Vickie’s home. And, because it’s a small town, we all know what Vickie’s mom, Anne, does for a living. The world’s oldest profession.

“Haven’t seen Highwater visit Anne before,” Buck mentions casually. “Looks like he decided how to spend his lottery money.” We all play it, and the paper even wrote a story about how Clay won over ten grand a few weeks ago.

“Reckon so.”

Clay looks nervous as all get out when he knocks on the door, wiping his hands on his pants and lookin’ around. If he looked close in our direction, all he’d see is the orange glow of our cigarettes.

The door opens, and my mouth along with it. It’s little Vickie at the door. Only she’s dressed in this slip that leaves little to the imagination. I’ve always admired her long, platinum blond hair. Now it’s curled and falling real soft around her shoulders.

“Goddamn,” Buck hisses. “I can’t decide if I’m excited or disappointed.”

I knew what he meant. Excited because, well, she was too young for dating, but if she was working…

Disappointed because that was another sweet, young girl lost to this park and this poor shithole of a town. Buck and I have our own plans to get out, but plans take time and money. Vickie seemed smart and always had her face in a book. I just assumed she’d blow this dump as soon as she was able.

Clay takes her hand and leads her out of her trailer. The light goes off, but I’d bet money her mom is watching.

Just like you are
.

Before they even get to the car, Clay’s got his hands on her. He’s grabbing those lush, round hips and yanking Vickie against him. In no time he’s pawing at her, trying to kiss her, and all I can see is red. Because the girl clearly doesn’t want it.

Buck’s up with me, and when her “Stop it!” rings through the park, we’re racing to Clay. He’s a nice enough guy, but I’m not about to stand by when she obviously doesn’t want him touching her like that.

“Get the fuck off her, man!” Buck grabs Clay’s shoulders and pulls him. My hands find Vickie’s waist and I tug her to me, away from him.

“Let go of me!” Clay bellows, and he must not be thinking clearly because he tries to throw a punch at Buck. That’s a dumb move. Buck and I both top six feet easy. We work out, and we work manual jobs. It means we’re big and we’re tough.

On top of that, Buck’s the one who taught me how to fight. It’s how we met, actually, but that’s another story. The point is, Buck’s eyes narrow and he clocks Clay easy.

He’s holding back. I can tell because Clay is still standing, holding his nose. “Y’all’ve got no right!” He gurgles through spouting blood. “I paid for her time, fair and square. I paid dearly, and I’m gonna have what’s mine!”

Vickie’s shaking in my arms. Her nightie ain’t enough protection against the chill of the spring night, and I can feel the soft curves of her body, her titties pressing on top of my forearm. My cock is hard as iron in my pants and I know she feels it, but she doesn’t move away.

I growl in her ear, “This true?”

She nods, but then whispers, “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do it.”

Clay looks pissed despite his broken nose. “What did she say?”

“She said she doesn’t want you,” I answer. “She’s backin’ out.”

He shakes his head. “I paid ten grand for that cherry. It’s mine!”

She stiffens in my arms, but she doesn’t need to worry; I’m not gonna let him have her. Some deep, primal instinct in me is already snarling “
mine
.” There isn’t time to question it.

“She said ‘no’, Clay, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off.” Buck moves to my side, to remind him what he’s up against. Two of use versus his scrawny ass. “Talk to Lloyd, or Anne, but Vickie’s not workin’ tonight.”

The door to her trailer opens, and Anne leans against the frame, cigarette hanging from her lips, tits drooping under a shirt with no bra, and her eyes flashing with rage. “Y’all need to get your hands off my daughter.”

I don’t. Instead, I tuck Vickie closer. My cock is wedged in the seam of her ass, but she lets me. Buck puts his hand on her shoulder, as if baiting Anne by adding as many hands to her daughter as possible.

She releases a stream of smoke from her nose, a mama dragon, except I know she ain’t protecting her young. I’ve ‘bout figured out what’s happening here and it makes me madder than hell. “Y’all haven’t paid-- Clay has. Vickie’s gotta do this, or she ain’t comin’ back in this house.”

This is the lowest of the low. My body feels like a wire about to snap, every muscle on edge. Everyone in this town has it rough. Everyone in this damned trailer park has a story, and none of them are pretty. But this? This is exploitation, and I won’t fucking stand for it.

Leaning in, I whisper in Vickie’s ear. “You can go with Clay, or you can come with us. Tell your mom what you want to do.”

She’s crying now, these soft, whimpering sobs that tear my heart apart, but she nods. She heard me. “Mama,” her voice starts, cracking some from the tears, “I’m not gonna do it. I don’t want to.”

“I meant what I said, Vickie,” Anne warns, her voice filled with venom. “You can’t come back here.”

“Then I won’t.”

Anne glares daggers at Buck and me. She throws her butt at us, its burning orange tip sparking at my feet. My steel toe work boot stomps down, putting it out. I don’t blink as I grind it to the ground.

“Go on, honey, and grab your things,” I say to her. But Anne stops Vickie.

“Nuh uh. I said what I meant. She ain’t comin’ back through this door.”

This is outrageous. Buck’s done. He marches up the steps and gets in Anne’s face. “Move,” he snarls. Anne’s shakin’ but she doesn’t move. Time for some back up. Letting go of Vickie, I stomp up and shove my way in. Anne tries to grab at me, but Buck pins her back. Their trailer’s set up like ours, but it wouldn’t matter. I know exactly where I’m going.

Her door is open and I step in and pause in disbelief. No posters. No TV. No computer, or dolls, or whatever the fuck girls want decorating their space. There’s nothing in here but a small bed with a bad dip and her closet. Sticking out of the closet is a suitcase, and I realize Vickie wasn’t planning on making working for her mom a permanent arrangement. My chest squeezes and it’s uncomfortable; I haven’t felt things like this in a long time. Things like the pain of a parent disappointing you.

Grabbing the suitcase, I get the hell out. Buck and I leave to the soundtrack of Anne’s harpy screams. Lights are popping up all through the park. Fights like this are better than TV and I can’t be mad, because Buck and me live for shit like this. We just prefer not to be the ones participating in the drama.

Buck grabs Vickie’s hand and drags her with us to our trailer.

“You dirty slut,” Anne yells, “Shacking up with those two men!
Slut
!”

It’s the last we hear before I kick the door shut behind me.