Furs and Hides

"Girl? What girl's finger was broken?" I asked.

"That girl ya'll done run over," Charlie said.

"And you're saying something about it now?" I asked but she had already closed the door.

Pulling up to the trailer park, I parked in front of Lot#17. I own two trailers; live in Lot#15 and keep my tools and materials and four deep freezers in the single wide on Lot#17.

Vickie had smirked when she found out, after our divorce, that I now live in a double wide trailer. She kept the colonial style two story house we used to call home and truthfully? Good riddance to it and the eight hundred and fifty four dollar mortgage every month and the shitty neighbors.

I own both trailers outright and pay a modest fee for leasing the two lots. I decide I don't like my neighbors? All I got to do is move my homes to another park.

Plus that, my neighbors? They see everything. A fly can't land on the screen door of Lot#15 and the neighbors don't know about it. And they'll come over and find out what that fly's business is with Lot#15 and that fly had better have a good reason to be bothering with Lot#15.

The old neighborhood? Our house was broken into twice and the neighbors to the left and the neighbors across the street saw it happen. But they didn't call the police. They didn't bother getting a good look at the punks or the vehicles the punks were driving.

"Shit, for all I know, they was hired move some stuff for them," the asshole across the street claimed when the police interviewed him.

"If I had hired them, you dumb sack of shit," I screamed. "I would have given them a key, not told them to kick the fucking door in."

"Tray, come on," was Vickie's response.

So, yeah, I live in a trailer. It's clean, it's comfortable, and it is secure. The neighbors are good, honest people that welcomed me the first hour I had clamped down my trailers instead of peeking out at me from behind their light-blocking curtains. Instead of sneering at my Ford Ecoline and pointing out how superior their __ vehicle is, guy that lives in the trailer four down bragged about putting three hundred and forty thousand on his Chevrolet cargo van.

(In the space of __, just insert the name of whatever douche bag vehicle you want. Shit head across the street drove a Jaguar. Seemed to drive it mainly from driveway to repair shot. Shit head to the left had a BMW and actually sobbed when a drunk t-boned him. And the cocksucker on the corner, the one that kept 'bumping' into my wife Vickie whenever she went grocery shopping drove some kind of electric car.) I wonder if the little asshole still 'bumps' into her, now that Vickie has come out of the closet.

After I unloaded my van into the trailer on Lot#17 and double checking that it was locked up securely, J.J. came out of trailer #16. I smirked at his impeccable timing. He waited until I had finished with the heavy lifting before coming over to offer a hand.

Through J.J. I found out that the above ground swimming pool had developed a leak. Marlene down in Trailer #5 had her baby; it was a little girl.

And black? Black as coal, hear?" J.J. whispered. "I mean, ain't got nothing 'gainst that kind stuff, mind you, but..."

So I pulled a couple of venison steak out of my freezer and brought them down for Marlene. While I was there, I cooed and fussed over Virginia Lee, told Marlene her baby would be a real heartbreaker in a few years, then left.

After seven hours of sleep, I got to work on the orders we'd netted over the weekend. Looking at my material, I could see it was almost time to go hog hunting again. Pig skin makes an excellent sole for my boots and shoes, even better than cow's leather. It is durable and is more flexible.

In the state of Texas, it is always open season for hunting feral hogs. They are quite plentiful statewide as well, so I don't even have to make a long journey.

By Thursday, I had finished all the orders. Dropping the numerous packages off at the local post office, I checked my business's PO Box.

There was an official looking letter from some law firm in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. I found out that Ms. Patricia Louise Lipscombe had sustained one broken finger as well as severe bruising to her coccyx. She was suing me for two hundred dollars, the amount not covered by her mother's insurance, as well as ten thousand dollars for 'emotional pain and suffering.'

Todd Robinson is my attorney. He's not actually my attorney, but Percy Ward would have charged me four hundred dollars for this simple matter.

So, in simple matters like this, Todd Robinson is my attorney. He's my attorney mainly because he lives in Trailer # 7 in the same trailer park. I use him only for legal documents, notarizing the few things I need notarized, etc. I would never use him in a court of law; I am sure he'd show up piss eyed drunk and turn a simple traffic ticket into a capital case with me on the losing end.

Through Todd, I dictated a letter to the legal firm that was representing Ms. Lipscombe, threatening to sue her for twenty thousand dollars, for loss of business caused by her liberal rants. I included the $200 for her medical bills, though. I don't know what kind of money her mother has, but I did feel that I bore some responsibility for Trish's injuries.

"You know, I could get you out of having to pay that," Todd slurred. "Oh! Hey now! That a steak you brung me?"

I then loaded up for a small hunting trip. Two days later, I returned, van weighing over two thousand pounds more.

And, as usual, J.J. waited until I was finished before coming to offer me a hand. His wife, Cheryl, smiled and waved before closing the door of their trailer.

Through J.J., I found out the leak in the swimming pool had flooded part of the parking lot. That did get management off their ass and they fixed the leak. Monique, the daughter in Trailer # 21 showed up to swim in a bikini, might as well been wearing nothing at all, her momma was plenty embarrassed, plenty mad about the whole mess. Marlene's boyfriend, the baby daddy was trying say wasn't his baby so Todd was suing for a DNA test.

I told J.J. we were having pork ribs Sunday; let everyone know they'd be ready by four o'clock. In our trailer park, there's two ways get a message out. Telephone, or tell J.J.

Then I drove to the visitor's parking spaces of our trailer park and hosed out the interior of my van. That was one thing I absolutely love about my van. I don't need to worry about vacuuming, buffing, polishing. A simple garden hose and the beat to shit old broom are all I need to keep the thing clean.

Sunday, bright and early, I loaded up the huge pit someone had made years earlier with a few logs and a few bags of charcoal. No one knows who built the cinder block pit, but I know I've put lots of meat on the cast iron grill, and so have a few of my neighbors.

By three o'clock, the meat was smelling mighty good; the beer was flowing, the neighbors were out, laughing and chatting.

Marlene brought Virginia Lee and a few of the women were cooing and fussing over the baby. A few of the neighbors were kind of prejudiced and pretended they didn't see Marlene, didn't see the baby.

I was one of the few men that saw Marlene, saw the baby, and greeted them both. Marlene happily let me hold Virginia Lee and that little girl just gazed at me with those big brown eyes. I love children and most seem to reciprocate that affection.

Just as I was pulling the pork shoulder off so that Cheryl could turn it into a mess of pulled pork, Kelvin DeGoso, Marlene's ex-boyfriend, Virginia Lee's daddy pulled up, car booming and rattling that crap he calls music. He got out, screaming at Marlene, waving Todd's letter.

Suddenly, Kelvin found himself staring at a wall of men. Some were old, pot-bellied, stumpy legged men. One or two were bone-thin, sunken chested guys. One or two of us could have given Kelvin a bit of a go for his money. Collectively, though, he didn't stand a chance.

"Son?" J.J., our unelected leader said, not smiling. "Need get back in that car, turn that music off, and just get on out here, hear?"

That's what I love about living in a trailer park. One or two of those men did not cotton at all to Marlene, a plain faced flat chested big butt red head having her a black baby. One or two of them thought she ought pack up her trailer and leave the great state of Texas altogether.

But wasn't none of them about to sit by and watch any woman get abused by no man. That just wasn't done around here.

My old neighborhood? Where Vickie and Achu now lived? Those so called men would have been both blind and deaf to the slaps and the punches and the screams. Not a single one of them would have stood up for any woman. Not even their own wives or daughters or mommas.

Kelvin then did one of the stupidest things he could have done. He marched to his car, bent down and retrieved a length of pipe. When he turned around, he saw no less than twenty six handguns pointed right at him.

"God damn it! Mine's in my purse," Monique complained, feeling around for her handgun.

"Like I said, son, need get in that car and get on out of here," J.J. ordered, his .38 pointed at Kelvin's head.

"Ya'll? Anyone want make themselves a sandwich, pulled pork's ready," Cheryl said, as if there wasn't a gunfight just about ready to break out. "Hot sauce's in the red bottle; sweet's in the yellow, hear?"

"Said ain't your baby," Marlene said as Kelvin got into his car. "Ain't your baby? Then just take the test, nigger."

Two weeks later, I was again at the Oklahoma center. Kelly was marching around, showing off his python underbelly boots and matching jacket. Charlie was sporting a half shirt of red patent leather with denim skirt, bright red patent leather belt and again, her red patent leather pumps. Leaning against the counter, Charlie smirked over her shoulder at me, then playfully flashed me her bare buttocks and cute little red bush.

Charlie is one very sexy young lady. Even if her boobs are store bought, her buttocks are real. I do love hammering her from behind, love squeezing them plastic titties.

Problem is? Sooner or later, Charlie starts talking. Charlie has no real ambition. She is attending a college, but is taking the most mediocre classes, has an undeclared major. Her conversations are about this celebrity or that rap artist and their pissy little problems. As if their problems make a shit in the real world.

Kelly returned to our booth. Charlie again flashed me her cute rear, then went to stroll the aisles. I know there's a husband and wife team that are selling antique jewelry of pretty good quality close to the entrance; that was most likely Charlie's destination.

Suddenly, there was a mountain of a man in front of me. Like I said, I'm six foot four and this guy had at least three or four inches on me. He was also at least forty pounds heavier than me, but wasn't none of it fat.

"You the fellow sold my Becca some boots?" he asked.

"Most likely," I said.

"Was going slap her into next Tuesday, throwing my money around like that," he said, even slashing at the air to demonstrate slapping someone. "But then they come in? You do some good work, hear?"

"Do men's shoes too," I offered.

"Was fixing ask that," Rick Strickland said, smiling.

Kelly stepped out of the cabinet, dressed in another outfit. He looked at the giant man and froze.

"Damn, what kind boots are those?" Rick asked.

"Alligator," I said, looking over my shoulder at Kelly.

"Boy, you ever even been on a horse?" Rick sneered at Kelly.

"No sir," Kelly admitted, and gave Rick a cute pout

"But he has been on quite a few saddle horns," I muttered to myself.

Rick looked at my selection of boots, at my selection of hides and tried to bicker about prices. We both smiled when I pointed out that he had already admitted to wearing a size 14 triple E. Finally, Rick ordered a pair of ostrich as well as a pair of alligator.

"Fourteen? Twiple E?" Kelly lisped.

"Uh huh, and you know what they say about men with big feet, huh?" Rick asked Kelly as I prepared a pan of gel.

"No. What?" Kelly giggled.

"They wear big shoes," Rick said, standing in the gel.

When the gel hardened, I sent Kelly to the van with the pan. Kelly almost told me to take the pan myself; he was too busy fawning over Rick Strickland. But, with a cute little huff, he did turn and scamper away.

Rick bent to the task of pulling his socks on, and lacing his work boots. When I turned around, Trish Lipscombe was in front of me, waving her right hand in my face. I looked at her, wondering how old she might be.

She had her strawberry blonde hair in a ponytail, but the hair was joined together on the top of her head, instead of at the back of her head, or at the nape of her neck. I remember seeing pictures of my mother and her friends from the late seventies, early eighties, a few girls used to pull their hair into a ponytail on the side of their heads, which was a stupid looking style, in my opinion.

Trish's top and shorts matched; a deep forest green, which again made the girl look quite young. Her feet were jammed into some plain white canvas sneakers, and her socks were a deep forest green, which matched her shorts and top.

I saw that her eyes were a beautiful shade of green. I saw that she'd applied some lip gloss, making her mouth very wet looking. And, even with her hair piled on top of her head, her hair reached to the small of her back.

"Look!" Trish yelled at me. "Look at my hand! They had to tape it up."

"Would rather see what your severely bruised coccyx looks like," I said.

Trish's mouth dropped open, then her cute little mouth tightened. Her eyes narrowed into angry little slits on her cute face.

"But it does look like they did pretty good work," I commented, taking Trish's hand and turning it from side to side.

"Hello Trish," Rick said, standing up.

"I uh, hello Mr. Strickland," Trish stammered, and again, I wondered how old Patricia Lipscombe might be.

"Becca here?" Rick asked, stepping around the counter.

"Yes sir; she and Holly are over, um, there, by the door," Trish pointed.

"You got the two hundred I sent you?" I asked Trish.

"Yeah, but what's this shi...stuff you suing me for twenty thousand?" Trish demanded as Kelly returned to the booth.

"Why don't we call it even?" I said as another potential customer stepped up to the counter.

"Hey, boy," Rick said to Kelly. "I uh, you uh, you ever want come out, ride couple horses, give me a call, huh? Got a few thousand acres could really get lost on, hear?"

"Oh!" Kelly actually shivered.

The customer pawed through my selection of braided belts, returning time and again to the snakeskin belts. Seeing that I was finished paying any attention to her, Trish gave me a huff and stomped away.

"You think it's twue?" Kelly whispered to me.

"Is what true, Kelly?" I asked.

"What they say about men with big feet?" Kelly asked.

"How the hell would I know, Kelly?" I said, taking the woman's credit card.

Charlie returned, clutching a cloth bag in hand. I smiled, knowing she'd most likely spent her commission before even earning it.

"Oh, my God," she shrilled. "My mom? Had this necklace? Lost it oh God, maybe three, four years ago? Found one just like it! She is going to die!"

"Oh hey! That's cute; where'd you get that top?" the woman asked her.

"Travaughn made it," Charlie said, pointing at me.

So, the woman now pawed through the materials she could have a half shirt made from. As she was at least thirty to fifty pounds overweight, I almost thought of talking her out of the purchase. Almost. Hey, Tray's got to eat.

"Buckskin? So comfortable," Charlie advised as she gathered her next outfit together.

The woman's credit card was smoking by the time she left my booth. With a giggle, she told me she still had at least half of the booths to look at. With a smirk, I reminded her it was only Friday; there were two more days until we left.

Saturday, Trish was again at my booth, yammering at me. She had on a halter top, showing that her breasts were little more than a handful, and that her skin was very pale. Her belly was nice and soft looking; she didn't seem to aspire for the emaciated look. Her jeans were the same distressed looking jeans that Kelly loved to parade around in. I still think it's a stupid look, even on a pretty girl.

"Oh, your hair, I kind of liked it, you know, piled on top of your head like you had it yesterday," I said when Trish took a breath in her harping.

Becca giggled at Trish's consternation, then proudly showed me that she was wearing the python boots. I told her that her father had been by yesterday, complaining about how much her boots had cost him.

She smirked and told me her father was a millionaire; she could buy a thousand boots and he'd never notice. I pointed out, he had indeed noticed her credit card activity.

"Hey!" Charlie greeted Becca.

"How many these things you do anyway?" Trish groused at me.

"This particular one? Open third weekend of every month," I said and nodded as a woman that had followed Kelly to our booth. "Usually do two to three shows a month except in the summer."

"What happens in the summer?" Trish demanded.

"Try do one every weekend; get while the getting's good," I said.

"That bull whip; my husband's been wanting one," the woman asked.

"Yes ma'am, any idea how long he wants it?" I asked, taking the whip down and handing it to her.

"Uh, forever," the woman said, clearly confused. "Why? You only rent them?"

"Uh, no, I uh, I meant, what length does he want?" I asked, trying damned hard not to laugh.

The woman laughed, a good healthy belly laugh. I let myself enjoy a laugh as well. Trish did smile at our levity, but when she saw that I was glancing at her, she replaced her smile with a glare.

The woman decided on a good twelve foot long whip of standard leather and I took down her information. I let her know the fall tip would be of horsehair, and I would include a replacement fall tip with the whip.

"Mister, you really made them boots?" a new customer asked, pointing at Becca's boots.

Telling the girl the price for a pair of python boots discouraged a sale. She did look, with real interest at Charlie's python tank top, but again, the price discouraged a sale.

"These belts are a little less pricey," Trish suggested, showing the girl the python belts. "And he's got these buckles over here."

The three of us went to a good steak house that night. The waitress fawned over Kelly, acknowledged me only because I was the one with the wallet, and pretty much ignored Charlie. The steaks were good, damned near fork tender, the dessert was also quite good.

Charlie followed me into my motel room; for once, I didn't mind. Because she's a full foot shorter than me, we didn't do sixty nine. She sucked me off, then squealed happily when I threw her onto my bed and dove between her legs. She was already quite wet; Charlie really does love sucking cock. She claims she once had an orgasm just from sucking off four guys at a party.

She uses her lips, her tongue, her hands, and her suction power. Unlike Vickie, Charlie swallows. When I commented on it, Charlie said she didn't see any reason to put in all that work if she wasn't going get the goodies at the end.

I love the way Charlie's pussy tastes. It's a good, musky taste. Vickie used to clean herself to the point of being without any flavor at all. I wonder if Achu enjoys that lack of flavor. Or, has Achu managed to make Vickie change her fanatical cleanliness?

As usual, Charlie argued when I rolled a condom on my erection. I reminded her that I knew she slept around and she knew I slept around. The condom was there to protect her just as much as it protected me.

(It especially protected me from having to pay Charlie child support for the next eighteen to twenty one years.)