Furs and Hides

"Then how, who?" Vickie stammered.

"There anything else? I'm going on a hunt; will be out of pocket for a couple of days," I said and waved to J.J. and Cheryl.

"Achu's pregnant," Vickie said. "But if you didn't get a reversal..."

"Well congratulations!" I cheerfully said, waving to Monique as she took her two titties for a walk around the trailer park. "I'm sure Achu will be a great mommy."

"Fuck you," Vickie snarled, ending the call.

I had a good laugh. I gave Monique's bikini top one more look, wondering where her mother was, then pulled out of the trailer park.

The hunt was a good one. After cleaning and preparing the hide, I remembered I had turned off my cell phone after Vickie's call. There were the usual ones from Trish; she loved me, she missed me, she was just thinking about me.

Stewart, according to Trish, had treated Trish like shit. I am sure he had been somewhat immature; we all are at that age. But if Trish harassed him the way she harassed me, I could almost understand his treatment of Trish. She was a clinging vine, slowly strangling, choking me.

Achu had also called; she was pregnant, she was thrilled that she was pregnant. But Vickie, for some reason, was accusing Achu of fucking someone else, behind Vickie's back.

No. 'Fucking' is not the word Achu used. I'm sure 'Fucking' is the word Vickie used, though.

I called Achu. I couldn't wait to throw some more gasoline onto that flame.

"Congratulations," I said when Achu answered her cell. "Now. The reason Vickie says you fucked someone other than me? About two months before she met you? You know, when she left me?"

"And I am sorry for that," Achu said, sounding sincerely sorry for stealing my wife from me.

"Water under the bridge," I smiled, waving to J.J. and Cheryl. "Anyway, right before that? Vickie had ordered me to get a vasectomy."

"A what?" Achu and J.J. both said.

"A vasectomy," I answered them both.

"Ain't no way no one's fucking with my boys," J.J. said, hand going to his crotch.

"My boys," Cheryl said, reaching and patting J.J.'s crotch.

"Vickie had you get, she knew you, but then how did, Travaughn, did you get a reversal?" Achu stammered. "And Vickie knew you'd had a vasectomy. She knew that, and yet she told me, she set this all up."

"Uh huh, but, no, I didn't get a reversal. I told Vickie that," I said. "Now, there anything else? Again, congratulations. I know you're going to be a great mommy."

"You had you a whack job?" J.J. asked as I put my cell phone into my pocket.

"Nope," I smiled widely. "I want kids. I've always wanted kids. Figured, Vickie's one don't want kids? Let her get her plumbing fucked with."

Cheryl burst out laughing. She even did a little dance in the middle of the gravel drive. Then she waggled a finger at me.

"Tray Lott, you are a devious man," she accused.

"Uh huh," I smiled, pulling my phone out again so I could call Trish.

A few days later, Achu showed up at my trailer. She had a few bags with her. It would seem that Vickie did confess that she did not want kids, had never wanted kids, and cannot stand kids. And, in a rare moment of honesty, admitted that yes, she had known about my vasectomy when she had suggested that I be the sperm donor.

And, Achu left the house. Or, Vickie kicked Achu out of the house. Does it matter which one is true?

"It, this is just until I get back on my feet," Achu assured me as she unloaded her Lexus.

"And here comes the shit storm," I said as Trish's little Nissan rounded the drive.

To Achu's face, Trish was smiles and sympathy. Then, the moment we were alone in my work trailer, Trish exploded.

"That cunt is not staying here," Trish snarled. "Hear me? I don't care if she is pregnant."

"She's also gay," I said and I began to form Becca's quilted python boots.

Trish had called her boots 'patchwork' but what sounds better? Which sounds worth more bucks; 'Quilted' or 'Patchwork' python?

"She's what?" Trish asked, head swiveling to look in the direction of my home trailer.

"Gay. Lesbian. Homosexual. Rug muncher. Likes eating at the Y," I said. "Has absolutely zero interest in stealing me away from you."

Our next show was in Oklahoma City. Trish rode there with Charlie and Patrick and myself. She stayed at the booth with me as Patrick and Charlie worked the floor.

Charlie had changed into her braided leather top, the red white and blue one with the brass ring. Playfully, she lifted the flap of the red leather skirt, flashing her buttocks at me. Trish's little face scrunched up and she started after Charlie.

"I'm going beat her ass too, showing her ass at you like that," Trish growled, small hands formed in fists.

"Wasn't flashing me," I said, grabbing Trish's collar. "She was flashing you."

"She what?" Trish gasped.

Her face went from anger to shock. Then her face morphed into anger again.

"Whatever Becca told you guys? That didn't happen," Trish declared.

"I believe you," I assured Trish as a potential client was approaching, in deep conversation with Patrick.

Returning home, I got busy on the orders. Trish helped where she could, and blathered in my ear nonstop when she could. It seemed that the only time she was quiet was when Achu was around. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Achu wasn't around much.

After our Austin show, Trish packed everything, including my Dallas Cowboys tee shirts into the back seat of her absolutely filthy Nissan. Then she gave me a passionate kiss, in front of Achu.

"Listen," Trish said as we watched Achu drive away. "This back and forth? Killing my car. I mean, it's what? Four hundred miles, round trip?"

"I uh, oh. Okay," I said, suddenly feeling very tired, very weak.

"That's it?" Trish asked, looking up at me.

"I uh, well, shit, you're right," I agreed.

Trish released me and jumped into her car. I watched as she drove away. Suddenly, I needed to sit down, so sat on the steps of the trailer.

I had to get busy on my orders. David Boudrine, Brad Paisley's worst fear had ordered some alligator boots and had asked that I emboss the shaft with guitars. I had stencils for a Fender Stratocaster, one for a Gibson Les Paul, and one for a Martin Dreadnought. He had decided on both the Fender and the Martin.

When my ass started to feel numb, almost as numb as my brain, I wearily got up. I completed all of my orders, working at a feverish pace. Then I loaded my van and left for a hunt.

I returned two days later, stored the meat, started on the hides. Achu came home and greeted me. Then she asked where my little girlfriend was.

She wasn't being condescending when she asked about Trish. She and Trish had developed an uneasy friendship at first. Then, finding out that Achu is vegetarian, Trish asked her about this. Achu shared recipes and soon had Trish helping to prepare their little meals. Trish still ate meat, but admitted she liked some of Achu's stuff.

"Said driving back and forth is too much trouble," I said wearily.

"So, when is she moving in?" Achu asked.

"Moving..." I said, the light bulb clicking on in my tiny brain.

My call went immediately to Trish's voice mail and she'd changed the message from her stupid little greeting to 'If this is Tray just drop dead; don't bother leaving a message you asshole.'

So I drove to Oklahoma. Becca answered her phone and told me that Trish didn't want to talk to me. God damn, I'd forgotten, they were just nineteen years old, and thought this was still high school. No, Becca wasn't going to tell me where Trish lived. And I'm an asshole.

A search for Ginger Lipscombe gave me an address. BPS gave me point by point directions on how to get there.

They lived in a trailer park that gave trailer parks a bad name. The trailer closest to the highway looked ready to slide off its cinderblocks. The screen door leaned outward, the top hinge wasn't even attached to the splintering door frame. The next trailer's steps leaned out; there was a gap of nearly two feet between door and step. The truck looked ready to collapse and the car was up on blocks.

The sun was setting, so I'd seen all of this by the headlights of my van. The place was an eyesore. I was depressed just looking around, searching for Trish's little Nissan.

I found her car sitting in front of a camping trailer. It wasn't even a single wide home trailer; it was one of the ones you hooked up to the back of your station wagon and took the wife and kids to a week-long hell of the Grand Canyon. You know, the vacation where the wife rides your ass for three hundred miles over a wrong turn back in Arkansas. The boy's bored; there's nothing to do. The daughter's bored; why couldn't she have stayed at home? And you're in the driver's seat, praying for an oncoming cement mixer to end this miserable excuse of a life.

"Who is it?" Trish asked when I knocked on the door.

"Domino's," I said, disguising my voice.

"Dom... We didn't order, who you looking for?" Trish asked.

"Lip balm?" I suggested.

Trish had told me, she hated how some people butchered her last name. Lip balm was a more common bastardization of the name.

"God, it's..." Trish said, flinging the door open.

I grabbed Trish by her, my Dallas Cowboys tee shirt before she could close the door. She gave out a squeal as I yanked her from the trailer.

"Trish? Who, what?" another woman's voice called out.

"Let me go, you asshole!" Trish screamed, struggling in my arms.

"I'm sorry. I am, I was so stupid," I said, squeezing her tightly.

"No shit!" Trish yelled and slapped my face.

It really didn't hurt. She's a girl. She hits like a girl.

"Better put her down and step back," a female voice ordered.

Looking over Trish's wiggling shoulders, I was looking right at a twelve- gauge shotgun. The single barreled weapon was being held by Trish's twin.

"Yes ma'am, I said, putting Trish down on the ground.

"This him?" Ginger Lipscombe asked, nodding at me.

"Yes ma'am," Trish said, glaring at me.

"Want me finish him off?" Ginger asked.

"No," Trish said, still glaring at me.

I apologized again. Trish told me to go to hell. Ginger reminded Trish that she was standing outside, in just her sleep shirt. Trish squealed, pulled the hem of the tee shirt down even more and scampered back into her trailer.

I slept in my van that night. I do it all the time when I'm on a hunt. Truthfully, I'd do it at shows as well, except I usually have helpers and they don't want to sleep in my van.

In the morning, Trish still wasn't talking to me. But she agreed to go to Waffle House for breakfast. I kept my face bland as I detected the hint of a smile on her mother's face.

"We still ain't found no jobs," Trish admitted as we both plowed through an All-Star breakfast.

"So, there anything keeping ya'll in Oklahoma?" I asked, indicating to the waitress that I wanted more coffee.

"You really spent whole night in that van?" Trish asked, nodding when the waitress indicated her cup.

"Well, yeah. Didn't think your momma would've let me stay in the trailer, huh?" I asked.

"No. Probably not," Trish agreed.

"Now, seriously, there anything keeping ya'll in Oklahoma?" I asked again.

"Wasn't nothing keeping me in Texas," Trish said.

The upshot was, since Ginger also had nothing keeping her in Oklahoma, I wound up buying a camping trailer and a Nissan. I don't need a Nissan. I really don't even want a Nissan. When I'm in my van and I put on my blinker to change lanes? People slow to let me over. Put your blinker on in a Nissan? Good luck getting over.

The double wide has three bedrooms. And two bathrooms. Achu keeps assuring me, it's just temporary; she'll be moving out soon enough. And if Ginger finds living with a pregnant vegetarian lesbian objectionable, there is the single wide trailer right next door.

The van pulled the camping trailer with ease. Ginger drove the Nissan, following Trish and myself as we drove to Texas.

E-Z Storage rented out space for both trailer and van. As both Trish and Ginger are 4' 11" in height, the seat had never been moved back in that tiny Nissan. It took brute force, but I finally pushed the seat back far enough to get into the driver's seat.

Oh. Excuse me. They're both 5' 1" in height. In their dreams too.

Achu smiled and welcomed Trish back with a hug and a kiss to her cheek. She welcomed Ginger, eyebrow cocked. Upon learning that Achu was pregnant, Ginger immediately started chattering a mile a minute about what Achu could expect.

"And believe me, took forever lose the weight this one put on me," Ginger said, indicating Trish.

"Well, whatever you did, it worked," Achu said, looking at Ginger's small paunch.

"Now, Achu, we just met. And you going make me call you a liar already?" Ginger smiled.

I helped Trish unload their clothes and other items from the cramped back seat and the tiny trunk of their, of my Nissan. Ginger didn't help; she was showing Achu her small scar from her C-section. Achu was showing Ginger her unnoticeable baby bump.

I didn't say it as we put Ginger's clothes into the third bedroom, but I very seriously doubted that Ginger would ever sleep on the small bed. Ginger and Achu had gone into Achu's bedroom. And the second time we walked past the door, the door was closed.

"You don't think..." Trish asked, beautiful green eyes wide.

"Don't ask, don't tell," I shrugged.

Later that night, Ginger confessed to Trish that she'd always suspected that she might be, no, she pretty much knew she was attracted to other women. How else would you explain the almost twenty year break since the last man in her bed?

So, now I'm watching as Trish strolls the floor of the venue. She's wearing a black patent leather thong; she really has got a cute coccyx, and the black patent thong shows it off to perfection. Her black patent leather camisole top squishes those pretty cone shaped titties nicely. The hem of the top doesn't reach the waistband of her thong, giving teasing little glimpses of her cute belly button with heart dangle piercing.

On her feet are some platform soled Mary Janes, black patent leather, of course, with cute little ankle socks. With those thick soles, Trish can say she's five feet, one inch with a straight face.

And, yes, she's got her hair up in that odd ponytail style that I like so much. Her mother wears her hair like that fairly often. I know Ginger doesn't wear hers like that for my benefit.

Trish gets lots of attention; she's a beautiful strawberry blonde with a juicy body. I'm not worried about her many male admirers though. When any of them get aggressive, Trish calmly shows them the three carat diamond engagement ring and wedding band, then points to me. My height and build usually scares off most of these punks.

Achu is wearing a python tank top with distressed jeans and python pumps with five inch heels. Ginger is walking around, tight snakeskin pants showing off her camel toe, her juicy rear. A woman asks Ginger about her pants and Ginger smiles and points toward my booth.

Behind me, Harris Neru Shamirni is sleeping in his playpen. He is a cute baby; has his mother's dark hair and dark eyes. You can tell he's my boy, though. Seems addicted to boobs. The other day, he saw Monique taking her titties for a walk around our trailer park and he about lost his mind, fussing and trying to reach out for Monique.

"Sweetheart? I told Ms. Rodriguez you could do this in white," Trish said, leading a customer to our booth.

I talked to Ms. Rodriguez while Trish took some foot impressions to the trailer. While she's gone, the woman that was talking with Ginger about her snakeskin slacks came up. She said she's Miranda Lambert's biggest fear and wants some clothes for her next gig.

"He been good?" Achu asked, looking at her son.

"What? Couldn't hear him? Screaming his head off whole time. God, just got him down a second ago," I said.

"You lie worse than a lawyer," Achu laughed, stepping into the cabinet to change.

Other vendors begin to tear down. Most of them won't be here tomorrow. Personally, I don't understand that; Sundays are usually very good days at these venues.

I let Achu know the day's just about done; no need to change. Ginger comes up and helps me finish the orders with the next female country star and Ms. Rodriguez. Trish returns, put a simple plaid skirt over her thong and helps Achu gather up Harris's things.

The camping trailer is large enough for all four of us. It is not large enough for all four of us to be comfortable in. How comfortable would you be, having to listen to your mother and her lesbian lover as they squeak, pant, moan and grunt in the bed right next to you? And, no. The noise cancelling headphones I bought from Peter Linden really don't work when the noises you want to shut out are less than five feet away.

But I'm sure hearing her daughter scream 'harder, damn it, oh God yes, harder, fuck me, oh God I love it like that' can't be all that comfortable for Ginger. We make the best of it, though.

But, at least I can now say, not every woman in the world hates me. Got at least three of them that say they love me. And I kind of believe them.

THE END.

With much thanks to BeBop3 for his assistance and encouragement. You're a good friend Mr. BeBopThree.