Five Trailers, Lot D

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft spell-check. You have been forewarned.

*.*.*

Sydnee Thompson and Angela Gernaud left the trailer at Lot C and walked across the narrow strip of clam shells. The steps in front of the trailer at Lot D were made of metal grating. Sydnee could see that the steps needed painting; a mottling of rust was starting to appear on the grating.

The pretty red headed cheerleader did not know why Angela Gernaud, the head cheerleader of Cabrini High School was following her. Usually, the few times Angela had come to her home, the haughty blonde made disparaging remarks about trailers, trailer parks, and the people that lived in them.

"That magic show was so stupid," Angela sneered as Sydnee opened the door of the trailer. "And you believe that midget? Actually bowing when Samuel told her to take a bow? Dumb ass!"

Linda Thompson looked up from The Rodney Prejean Hour television show as her daughter and that stuck up 'my-shit-don't-stink' friend of Sydnee's came in. Linda did not like Angela's attitude even as the girl tried quite hard to ingratiate herself to Linda.

"Hi, Mrs. Thompson," Angela called out.

"Hey," Linda called out to her daughter. "Going in at six; supper's on the top shelf."

"Oh, okay," Sydnee said, walking to her room.

Inside Sydnee's room, it was Angela that closed and locked the door. Sydnee stopped in the process of shrugging out of her Cabrini school uniform. Closing the door wasn't that unusual, but locking the door did make Sydnee wonder what Angela had in mind.

Sydnee also wondered why Angela seemed to be sweating. It was fairly cool in her room; Linda liked the air conditioning set at seventy two. And Sydnee's ceiling fan was moving at moderate speed.

"Hey uh, I uh, you ever try..." Angela said, stepping uncomfortably close to Sydnee.

It was uncomfortably close for Sydnee; she was now in just bra and panties and long socks.

Despite her discomfort, Sydnee's nipples constricted and her pussy began to get wet as Angela's hand touched her arm. Sydnee was gay, and had harbored a major crush on the head cheerleader for the past three years. So far, Susan Gerrard, her best friend and neighbor from Lot C was the only one that knew of Sydnee's homosexuality. Sydnee had not even told her mother.

"...little of this?" Angela asked, showing Sydnee a small plastic bag with some powdery substance in it.

"I uh, no, uh, what is that?" Sydnee asked, her initial excitement evaporating as she looked at the small bag in Angela's left hand.

"Meth. Snort it; won't believe how fucked up you'll get," Angela giggled, more sweat trickling down her face.

Peter and Paul Broussard, Angela's connection in Lot F, Sydnee's neighbors had let Angela know, get Sydnee using the stuff? Let the sexy little red head know where she could get the magic? They might quit going ass to mouth on her.

Angela's boyfriend Gary Pasteli, the Cavaliers' star wide receiver, had turned Angela on to snorting the stuff. Riddled with low self-esteem, Angela had been ripe for the plucking.

Gary's cousin had gotten Gary hooked on the stuff, had even fucked Gary's virgin hole when Gary wanted more of the stuff. Then Ronnie had been arrested, leaving Gary with no connections.

Peter and Paul recognized the signs and had let the star wide receiver know they were a source. When he ran out of money, ran out of things he could trade, Peter had been the one to suggest that Gary let his girlfriend try some of the powder.

"I mean, hey man, bitch's got money, right?" Paul had smirked.

"Yeah," Gary agreed, having no idea if Angela had money or not.

"And if she don't? Well, my man, she's got something you don't," Peter had smiled smoothly.

With their curly blond hair and chiseled bodies, Peter and Paul looked like models. With their charming smiles, Peter and Paul looked like angels.

But their bland good looks were masks. Both Peter and Paul were ruthless sociopaths caring only for their own pleasures and not caring whom they hurt to achieve their own enjoyment.

Angela was hooked almost instantaneously. And she was broke within a week.

For a few lines of meth, she was an enthusiastic cock sucker. She even sucked the fat cock of Bobby Broussard, the father of Peter and Paul, even if the man was kind of creepy.

When Peter and Paul decided that fucking her face wasn't good enough, Angela was happy to drop her plain white cotton panties and let the three men in the trailer pump her pussy full of their baby juice. Angela prayed fervently that she not become pregnant; she'd be expelled from Cabrini if she did happen to be with child.

"Shit, suck cock okay, but you are one dead fuck," Paul complained.

"No shit. New thing, cunt. Called moving. Try it sometime, huh?" Peter agreed.

Anal sex had been a true nightmare. Paul just spat on her tightly clenched pucker, used his spittle to lubricate his cock, then rammed it home. And when that wasn't humiliating enough, Bobby had rammed his cock into Angela's bruised, raw anus a few times, then pulled out and pressed his slimy cock to her mouth.

"Taste that?" the man guffawed as Angela screwed up her face. "Know what that is? That's ass. You tasting ass, slut."

Now, if Angela could get Sydnee hooked on their meth, Peter and Paul said they might let her have some without going ass to mouth. After all, they'd have Sydnee and Sydnee would let them use her in Angela's place.

Linda did not know what had made her put down her glass of vodka and cola and hit the 'mute' button on her television remote. She did know she needed to put the vodka and cola down anyway; it was coming up on time for her to leave for her evening sift at the Elgee Wal-Mart. She could not afford a DUI, could not afford to lose her driver's license. She also could not afford to lose her job at Wal-Mart, and if that fat ass Patrick Fontenot even suspected that Linda was drunk, he'd not hesitate to fire her.

The moment the two girls entered Sydnee's room, though, Linda hit the 'mute' button. And she heard the unmistakable sound of the noisy privacy lock being clicked shut on Sydnee's door. Teenagers and locked doors meant trouble. Angela Gernaud was a sure source of trouble. Linda was not fooled in the least by the girl's blonde angelic looks, or her syrupy sweet tone of voice.

Linda got to wobbly legs and cursed. Obviously, she'd drank more than she'd thought. After Linda got that little bitch Angela out of her house, she'd make herself a cup of instant coffee.

The privacy lock on Sydnee's door was not functional; it just took a hard twist clockwise, then a sudden twist counterclockwise to pop the flimsy button. Linda did the twist/reverse twist and pushed the door hard.

"Thud!" the door smacked against the wall, hard.

Angela and Sydnee looked at the open doorway. Angela looked horrified. Sydnee looked guilty.

"Thud!" Linda heard and froze, a long ago memory paralyzing her for a moment.

*.*

Linda Waters was pretty and she knew it. Waist length dirty blonde hair, 34DD breasts, 27 inch waist, and 32 inch hips, with the perfect heart shaped ass. She was popular with all of the jocks at DeGarde High School. Whenever there was a party, Linda was there, right in the middle of it.

Graduation came and another wild party followed. Somewhere around four in the morning, Linda found herself walking along Highway 19. There were no streetlights on the two lane strip of asphalt but the moon was half-full. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other foot, just following the faded white line.

Just as a car came up behind her, Linda realized she was walking in the wrong direction. If she wanted to go home, she needed to be going south. Instead, she was travelling north, toward Kimble.

It just made sense to Linda, if she was travelling north along Highway 19, she needed to go to the other side of the road in order to travel south. So Linda walked right in front of the car.

Thankfully, Ralph Thompson had seen Linda walking, plodding along. He had been in the process of stopping, to ask the fellow classmate if she was all right, if she might need a ride.

He knew who Linda Waters was. Ralph was also sure that Linda Waters had no idea who he was. Even though he had sat directly behind her through Sociology class, and American History, and had even helped her study for her Algebra tests when they were both in their sophomore year.

"Sorry, sorry," Linda mumbled when she heard the screech of brakes.

"Linda! Hey, I uh, want a ride?" Ralph called out.

"Huh? Yeah, sure, why not," Linda now giggled.

She got into Ralph's 1971 Ford station wagon. Still in a drunken stupor, she reached over and began to play with Ralph's erection through his jeans.

"Soooo," she purred. "Taking me Huvall's Levee?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Ralph squeaked and groaned as he blew a load into his briefs.

At Huvall's Levee, Linda cleaned Ralph's cock with her mouth. Then she urged him to lie on top of her. Ralph was too inexperienced to notice that Linda's pussy was already leaking semen; he'd been the ninth man to enter Linda's pussy that night.

Linda giggled and cooed as Ralph bounced energetically on top of her, then groaned in frustration when he came before she was ready. She was sound asleep by the time Ralph pulled up in front of her home.

Of the twenty nine students that graduated from DeGarde High School in 1995, four were still in DeGarde, Louisiana seven weeks following their graduation. Carvel Walmes was just waiting to get the 'all clear' from the free clinic on Banks Street so that he could go in to the Navy. Melanie Luquette had graduated simply because the St. Elizabeth Parish educational system didn't see any benefit in making the twenty one year old woman repeat school yet another year.

Ralph Thompson had some inside help and had been hired on at Baggett Mattress Factory, the local mattress factory. His dad assembled the frames for the box springs and had been assembling the frames for the box springs for almost thirty years. Edward Baggett believed in rewarding employee loyalty, so when Moe approached Ed about giving his boy a chance, Ed simply told Moe to have the boy fill out the forms.

Linda Waters looked around and wondered where everyone had gone. She had been the most popular, well, one of the most popular girls in school. And now, there was no one around. There was no one telling her how pretty she was, no one buying her an ice cream at the Dairy Queen.

"Who?" Linda asked when her mother said she had a phone call.

"I uh, Ralph, Thompson. They uh, want go to the Joy Four?" Ralph stammered when Linda did pick up the phone.

Without alcohol and whatever else she'd ingested the night of their graduation, Linda looked at the scrawny red head, looked at his dorky car, his dorky clothing and resolved to keep her legs together. Linda didn't know how, but somehow, she'd picked up a reputation of being easy among their peers.

Ralph was a total gentleman, even letting her pick the movie after a dinner at Hop Kim Chinese restaurant. By the ending credits, Linda decided Ralph deserved a blow job.

After their third date, Linda decided Ralph deserved to have some pussy.

That was the night Linda accepted Ralph's proposal, agreed to marry him.

Seven years later, as they waited for the Baggett Mattress Factory to be rebuilt after the horrible fire, Linda started a fight with Ralph. What the fight was about wasn't important. It was just important that she have a reason to leave the trailer, leave Ralph and their three children for a few hours.

Linda loved Ralph Aaron Junior, whom they called Aaron, loved Morgan, who at four and a half years old was very nearly a clone of Linda, and Sydnee, the third red head in the trailer. Sometimes, she even loved Ralph. But often, Linda felt claustrophobic, trapped in their single wide trailer. She felt claustrophobic, trapped by their life. Get up, have breakfast with her husband, make sure the kids were up and fed, get Aaron and Morgan ready for the bus, do housework, defrost something for supper, wait for Aaron and Morgan to get off the bus, help them with their homework; who would give a first grader and a kindergartner homework? Have supper, bathe the kids, get them ready for bed, let Ralph eat her pussy to orgasm, then let him hump on her for a few minutes and fall asleep.

That had been stifling enough when Ralph would leave, would go to work, giving Linda a few hours of freedom. But since the horrific fire at the mattress factory, Ralph was constantly there, constantly in her face. It seemed like the new factory would never open.

Jack's Bar had a few pool tables, had a jukebox that played three Country & Western songs for a quarter, and ice cold draft beers for a dollar. Linda wasn't looking to get picked up; she just wanted a few vodka and colas. She just needed a chance to not have to be a mom and a wife for a few hours.

She was sipping her third drink, tapping the glass along with an Alan Jackson tune when the rumble of a powerful motorcycle was heard. Jack, the owner/bartender's face got ghastly pale when the motorcycle stopped.

"Brenda! Need check stock," he hollered out.

"Huh? Oh, all right," the rotund woman said, walking to stand behind the bar.

"Where's Jack?" a huge man growled at Brenda.

Brenda's face took on the same ghastly pale cast and mutely pointed toward the stockroom. The burly man tried the knob and found it locked. The man reared back and kicked the flimsy door in.

Linda sat, mouth open in shock as they could hear the sounds of flesh being struck. They could hear the burly man's gruff voice demanding that week's money, could hear Jack's voice whining, pleading.

A moment later, the burly man stepped out of the stockroom, shoving a wad of money into the front pocket of his filthy jeans.

"Hey, uh, aw, damn, know you, know you, DeGarde High School, right?" the burly man suddenly said, looking at Linda.

"Uh, yeah, class of ninety five," Linda agreed.

"Uh, damn, uh, Lisa, right?" the biker smiled.

"Linda," Linda corrected.

"Lisa, Linda, what the fuck ever," the man sneered. "Buster. Probably remember me as Ronnie? Ronnie Farmer?"

"No shit," Linda said.

Ronald Farmer had been a few years ahead of Linda. He had never paid her any attention; he was older, ran with the older students. But she did remember him; he'd rode a motorcycle to school. And had been arrested after attempting to rob the Taco Bell in Elgee, Louisiana. That arrest had happened at DeGarde High School; Linda and her classmates had watched, goggle-eyed as the hulking Ronnie was led from the school in handcuffs.

"Come on," Buster ordered Linda.

"Come on? Where we going?" Linda asked, actually following Buster out of the small bar.

He took her to the Dead End, a local biker bar. On the stage, a few girls shimmied and wobbled, removing clothing to songs warbling from a tinny sounding jukebox.

"I don't like beer," Linda said when Buster put a pitcher of beer on the table.

"Look like I fucking care?" Buster said. "Want to drink? It's right there. Don't? Then don't."

After a few hours, Buster drove Linda back to Jack's Bar so that she could get her car. At Jack's, Ronnie pushed Linda into the rear of the minivan and fucked her hard and fast.

A few days later, Linda brought Aaron, Morgan, and Sydnee to her mother in law's home. She claimed she just needed a little 'Me' time. Mrs. Thompson nodded in understanding, but did comment that Linda looked a little nervous.

"Stress. Just stress," Linda smiled. "Thank God Ralph's helping David with that shed; got him out of my hair for a couple of hours."

Ralph wondered why there was a motorcycle in front of their trailer. He let himself into his home and frowned. There was no smell of supper. There were no children clamoring for his attention. There was no vision of beauty smiling at him from the stove or the oven.

There were the sounds of flesh striking flesh, of Linda's little squeaks and squeals. Ralph rushed to his bedroom.

In their bed, a large hairy man was thrusting in and out of his wife's pussy. His wife's legs were wrapped around the hairy man's legs, his wife was urging the man on.

"What the fuck?" Ralph squealed.

"Go away, Junior," Buster said, not missing a stroke. "I'll be done in a minute."

"What? Get, get off my wife, you God damned ape!" Ralph shrilled.

Ralph attempted to charge Buster. Buster did pause his vigorous thrusting long enough to swat Ralph away. Then Buster stiffened and spurted a load into Linda's pussy.

Ralph was getting up when Buster pulled his jeans on. Before Ralph could get to his feet, Buster brushed past him, knocking him over again.

"Thanks for the fuck, Lisa," Buster sneered. "And uh, junior? Don't be too hard on her, huh? Not her fault she just needed be fucked by a real man, huh?"

"Get out of my house, you filthy ape," Ralph screeched.

"Uh huh," Buster laughed.

Ralph stood, breathing hard, pale features flushed bright red. He looked at Linda as she lay in their bed.

Her breasts looked slightly bruised. There was a hickey adorning her left breast, right next to her large areole.

Her pussy was swollen, red and puffy. There was a thin dribble of semen oozing from her gaping maw.

"Kids are at your momma's house," Linda quietly said as they heard a motorcycle rumble out of the trailer park.

Linda then looked away from her husband. A moment later, she looked back and saw her husband was crying. And for some reason, Ralph's tears angered Linda.

"What?" she screamed, getting out of the sweaty bed. "Huh? What? Going fucking cry about it?"

Linda slapped Ralph as hard as she could. Her slap spun his head around. Ralph stood, rubbing his cheek where she had slapped him. Then he turned and walked out of the bedroom.

At the Dead End, Buster sat at the table with Jimbo and Librarian and Wolf. Jimbo was telling them about a 1949 Indian Chief he had just bought. On the stage, an emaciated blonde was gyrating to 'Hurts So Good' by John Cougar Mel encamp.

"Piece of American History there," Jimbo bragged, talking about his newest acquisition.

"Too fucking sweet," Buster agreed. "It running?"

"That uh, aw damn, what was that bitch's name? One had in here other night?" Wolf asked Buster.

"Lisa? Knew her from school. Slut just about fucked anyone said 'hi' to her ass," Buster guffawed.

Suddenly, there was a full mug of beer being thrown into his face. Then someone brought the heavy glass mug down on Buster's head.

Buster's first punch knocked Ralph backward into a chair. The heavy biker sitting in the chair just grunted.

After Buster's punches knocked Ralph to the floor of the Dead End bar, Buster delivered a few hard kicks to the prone man's limp body. Then he used a few napkins to wipe the beer from his face.

"Anyway, little bitch? Said she's got three kids but pussy's still nice and tight," Buster again guffawed, sitting down again.

Someone called the police, reported an unconscious, bleeding man lying on the floor of the Dead End. Of course, no one would admit to being the one that called the police.

As unconscious, bleeding men laying on a floor at the Dead End wasn't that unusual an occurrence, Captain Villeaux almost did not send anyone out. But he did have the niggling thought; an unconscious man at the Dead End might not be unusual, but someone calling in about an unconscious man was highly unusual. So, he accompanied three of his bravest men to the bar to investigate.

"Was just walking, then suddenly fell to the floor," Buster guffawed as one of the uniformed police officers felt for a pulse on Ralph's crumpled body.