Trailer Park Trixie Pt. 01

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters are over the age of 18. As always, check the tags! This story includes CFNM and cheating.

Trailer Park Trixie, Pt. 1

It was a very nice day in late April of 1986. I'm certain of the date because the meltdown at Chernobyl had just happened and it was on every news report for weeks and CNN nearly 24/7.

It hadn't gotten Jesus-Christ-it's-fucking-hot yet, which is something we never take for granted in Florida. I'd just gotten my grade for the one course I was taking in tech school. An "A" if you're wondering, in my AC circuits class.

I had turned my twelve-speed Raleigh touring bike into the Live Oaks Trailer Park, the place where I'd been hanging my hat for the last six and a half years. As trailer parks go, it wasn't... great. If we'd had train tracks nearby, this place would have been on the wrong side of them.

I didn't choose it, it's where I was placed for the last four years of my time in the foster care system. I finished high school, turned eighteen, and signed up for selective service. My foster "parents" gave me a graduation card with fifty bucks in it and just like that, I was on my own. So, I moved away. About four trailers away.

Live Oaks was set in, yep you guessed it, a big stand of live oak trees. Which was in the town of Lakeview, about thirty miles north of Tampa. Calling it a town was a stretch at the time and it was also affectionately referred to as Snakeview, or for the folks who enjoyed looking down their noses at poor folk, White Trashview.

When I left my foster home, I was invited to move into a double-wide with a married couple in their mid-thirties. I knew almost everyone in Live Oaks and had done yard work for lots of them, so many knew my situation. There was no funny business, at least at first, and I was sort of their live-in maid and caretaker. In return for a rent-free roof over my head. They were two very busy folks. Whatever they did for a living wasn't an eight-to-five gig, so it worked out for all of us for about two and a half years.

That's where I was headed when I turned the corner and found the double-wide surrounded by sheriff's squad cars. Six of them, all with their light bars flashing like mad. I hit the brakes and skidded to a stop in front of Trixie's single-wide mobile home, next to her late 70s Chevy Malibu wagon.

The couple that I lived with/worked for, were Penny and Jim Horton. I sighed deeply as I watched them both get led out of the home in handcuffs. Jim was struggling quite a bit, and two big deputies had a hold of him while he was screaming about his rights as an American entrepreneur. He and I had gotten along well for the first two years or so, but for the last six months, he seemed to have taken a dislike to me. I suppose it was understandable, as I was fucking his wife with some regularity, though I doubt he had anything more than a suspicion about it.

I looked around and all the neighbors were outside watching the drama unfold. Just then a county impound wrecker showed up and backed up behind Jim's Ford pick-up. I knew they'd find plenty of evidence in that. I looked nervously across the street and was happy to see there were no cops near Chrissy, my pride and joy.

Chrissy was my 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass. God, I miss that car. It had a 350 V8 with a four-barrel and rally wheels. It was Viking Blue; the prettiest color to ever roll off a Detroit assembly line. I bought it after graduation from a retiree who couldn't drive anymore, with forty-five thousand miles on it, for seven hundred and fifty dollars. I kept it parked across the street from our trailer, in an empty lot.

I was weighing my options (none) when I heard a hiss behind me. In Florida, we take hissing noises seriously. In that area and at that time, rattlers and water moccasins likely outnumbered the people.

I did a sort of jump turn and my bike fell to the ground. All I found was Trixie smiling at me from her kitchen window. She motioned for me to approach the screen.

"Hey, Matty, you should probably come in here before one of the looky-loos spots you and mentions it to a cop."

I hadn't thought of that. I was sure I knew what Penny and Jim were being arrested for, and I wanted no part in that action. I stood my bike up against the trailer, opened the door, and stepped into Trixie's trailer, a place that I had fantasized about for quite some time. It was surprisingly clean. A Felix the Cat clock was on the wall, smiling at me. His curled tail wagged from side to side. The swing left was tic, and the swing right was tock.

The walls were covered in faux-wood paneling, in a white and black dogwood pattern. And like a lot of rental trailers, there was no carpet, just kitchen linoleum in every room, in a blue and white china pattern that didn't match the walls very well.

I turned toward the kitchen to find Trixie standing there with a hand on her very shapely hip. Trixie was the sort of woman that no wife wanted to see move in next door. The single, middle-aged floozy. She was a little over fifty I figured and worked as a stylist in a local salon. And God, she always looked so good. She kept trim and had curves in all the right places, and she showed them off. Remember how Peg Bundy dressed on Married with Children? With those tight pants and animal print tops and high heels? Make her a peroxide blonde and that's Trixie, to a T. She was also rumored to be loose as a goose, but I knew of no one who could attest to that from experience. But in my heart, I always hoped it was true.

She was standing there in a bright pink body suit, athletic shoes, and a pink terrycloth headband. Her blonde hair was put up in a high ponytail, that bared her neck beautifully and made her look years younger. I glanced at the floor model television to find Richard Simmons frozen on the screen, mid-oblique crunch.

I looked up at her eyes quickly because I knew I would stare. She waved me over to the counter and she turned to the debacle outside. I walked over and leaned over the counter next to her. After Penny and Jim were put in separate squad cars, eight guys in street clothes went in there with crowbars. In no time they were making a hell of a racket in there.

"I wonder what they're looking for in there?" Trixie said, with her pleasant southern drawl. We were so close our hips were touching, and I could smell her cinnamon chewing gum. I knew exactly what those cops were looking for.

Jim was the owner of a small wood furniture refinishing shop. It operated out of an old barn down on Dixie Highway. But I wouldn't say that was his job. He probably spent about three hours there every week, tops. He employed three or four other guys who dealt with customers and did the work. I found out what Jim and Penny actually did, by accident.

One of my jobs at home was laundry. Yeah, I didn't dig folding his boxers, but on the other hand, I did get to fold her panties. So, a silver lining, ya know?

One day, on my second week staying with them, I found a full cannabis leaf in the dryer. It was folded up but still whole with a stem. That's when it dawned on me. The dirty clothes they always came home in had made me think they had a nice garden somewhere or something like that, but no. They were growing pot. Back then there were thousands of square miles of undeveloped land crisscrossed with dirt roads, and it wasn't a secret that a lot of pot was being cultivated out in those woods and swamps. Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I tossed the pot leaf in the trash and kept my fucking mouth shut. This was a good gig for me. No need to screw things up by poking my nose where it didn't belong.

Penny and Jim were nice and treated me like an adult. I had a decent-sized room and there was cable TV with the Playboy channel. They would even occasionally take me out to restaurants that were of a higher quality than Denny's. They always paid in cash, but back then that wasn't so strange. But there never seemed to be a lack of it. They shopped at department stores, not thrift stores, but never to the point of standing out. Their truck may have looked old, but it was a well-maintained machine.

I wasn't surprised when the cops took exactly nothing out of that double wide. They came out sweaty, tired, and empty-handed after about two hours.

While they worked, Trixie and I talked. She sat me down in the kitchen with a glass of sweet tea. Trixie had a pose she always did. Not on purpose, it was just habit. Until last year, she was a smoker, which she had done outside. She would stand out there with a cocked hip, with her right hand up to hold the cigarette and her left hand holding her right elbow. She assumed that pose now.

She looked at me sympathetically. "So, ya got a backup plan, Matt?" Trixie also knew my situation. I shook my head.

She grimaced and looked around as if she were looking for her cigarettes. When she remembered she'd quit, she frowned even harder and then threw her gum away and unwrapped a fresh piece. "Well, shit. I guess... I guess you can stay here. For a while at least."

I looked at the beautiful woman in her body suit. Those curves. Her tits were on the larger side but in perfect proportion with her hips and amazing ass. I had always admired her and fantasized endlessly. Penny had always wondered how the woman stayed in such nice shape. The jazzercise videotapes had answered that question.

My eyes shot up when she pointedly cleared her throat and snapped her fingers at me. "Eyes up here when I'm talking to you, boy. Do you get me? I'm offering you a place to live, the least you can do is keep your eyes off my tits for five minutes."

I could feel my face flushing in embarrassment. "I'm... I'm sorry, ma'am."

Her face stayed hard for about fifteen seconds and then softened. "Men. Always thinking with their cocks." She glanced out the window at the cops and then back at me.

"Okay. Here's the plan. When the cops leave, you go get your shit. Hopefully, they haven't trashed everything." She looked at me and motioned with her head toward the back of her trailer. "C'mere."

We walked to the back, and I fought my nature by keeping my eyes off her ass. Halfway there she looked back at me as if she was trying to catch me looking, and smiled when she didn't. She walked through the living room and down a short hallway with three doors. In order, guest room, bathroom, and master bedroom at the end. She opened the guest room and gestured inside. It was small and furnished with a trundle bed with no mattress, an end table, and a small chest of drawers.

Trixie frowned. "Sorry, these came with the place. If you've got a mattress over there, you might want to bring it over." I did and I just prayed the cops hadn't run it through a woodchipper in their search.

***

By dinnertime, the cops had left after extensively examining the outside of the home and grounds. Happily, they never seemed to connect Chrissy with that trailer. A piece of crime scene tape had been left across the front door along with an "unauthorized entry is a felony and punishable by blah, blah, blah," document taped at eye level.

I had Trixie's laundry basket under my arm. Like a lot of the trailers in the park, Penny and Jim's backyard was surrounded by a six-foot stockade fence, and inside it, a sixteen-foot above-ground pool. It was something Jim had enjoyed and was something I wasn't required to keep up. He always said that there was everything he needed in that little backyard, as he'd often relax on a pool float with a couple of cold beers. Usually with his cute little brunette wife sunbathing on a chaise in the grass.

I popped the latch on the gate and saw that there was no police tape on the back door. I let myself in with my key and listened intently before stepping into the home.

The place was wrecked. The walls had been pried open. Similarly, the furniture, the television, and Jim's top-of-the-line, Hi-Fi stereo system. The kitchen appliances were unplugged and pulled out. I made a mental note to clean out the pantry and freezer before I was done here. I knew from experience that by morning this place would be ransacked by locals under the cover of darkness, so I made haste. My clothes were in piles on the floor of what had been my room. My boom box and clock radio were smashed open. I gathered my clothes, and personal belongings until the basket was filled, then grabbed Penny's clothes basket, and filled that.

In less than an hour, I'd made four trips, grabbed my stuff, and the food, and I was on the last trip with my mattress. The mattress had been cut open, but I was pretty sure I could stitch it back up. We orphans are resourceful that way.

I looked at the pool. I knew that between the hot weather coming, falling leaves, and Spanish moss from the live oaks, this would be as green as Army camouflage in no time. And then it would become a mosquito breeding ground of epic proportions.

I grabbed Penny's garden hose and dropped the end down to the bottom of the pool. I started sucking on the other end until I got a siphon going, then dropped the hose. The pool began draining onto the ground. There were only woods behind the trailer so I knew the water probably wouldn't bother anyone. I smiled after doing my good deed for the day, grabbed my mattress, and was gone.

***

That night I sat watching cable television with Trixie. She had a satiny robe over her nightgown. She looked over at me. "You gonna miss Penny?"

I cocked an eyebrow at the question. "Umm... yeah, I guess. She was nice enough."

Trixie laughed out loud. "Nice! Yeah, I bet she was."

When I didn't rise to the bait, she gave me a smug look. "C'mon, I know you were banging her. I watched her husband leave one afternoon, and an hour later I saw Penny pull the bedroom blinds while wearing a sexy little black negligee. I'm pretty sure you were home at the time."

I frowned and blushed again. I just shrugged in reply, and she laughed even louder. Then she was quiet for about a minute. "Was she a good fuck?"

I looked at Trixie with her knowing smile and I couldn't help but smile, myself. "Yeah, she was," I said, knowing Penny wasn't the only wife I had fucked in this trailer park.

I know that these days, a stay-at-home mom is a rarity, but back then, it was common. Even in a trailer park. Stay-at-home moms need something to do when their husbands are at work and the kids are at school. Occasionally, that something-to-do was me. At that time, I was nearly twenty-one years old. I rode my Raleigh everywhere to save on gas money. I was in good shape, five foot, ten inches tall, and broad in the shoulders and chest. Occasionally, I was asked to come inside for a minute to move a piece of furniture or hang a decoration. And then a glass of lemonade or a beer was offered, a little small talk, and then I'd end up balls deep in that married trailer park pussy.

***

That first week went by and Trixie and I got to know each other. She had a raunchy sense of humor that I just loved. She was so fucking sexy. I kept asking her what sort of payment she wanted for my living under her roof. Her answer was, "I'm still working that out."

I planned for my next class at the technical school. It was a pain in the ass taking one class at a time and originally, I wasn't. After my first year, the school was bought by one of those for-profit schools and my tuition tripled overnight. Even working two part-time jobs I couldn't afford more than one unless I wanted to live on ramen and mac & cheese.

One night I woke up with the need to relieve myself around midnight. Trixie was always more of a night owl than I was, as she didn't have to be at work until 10 am. Whereas, the local Albertsons wanted me in, at O-dark-30.

I turned to the right and was about to take a step and I heard a soft moan from behind Trixie's door. I froze. The moan was followed by some breathing that was heavy enough for me to hear ten feet away, through a door. I knew I should turn into my room, but I couldn't. I was afraid she'd hear me if I moved, and more to the point I just didn't want to. My mind was a whirl of thoughts of Trixie masturbating with her legs splayed wide and her cunt filled with her fingers or a big dildo.

Finally, I heard her gasp loudly and then finish with a deep groan. I heard the bed squeak as she relaxed on the mattress. I realized that I now had an even bigger problem. Without her being distracted, it would be harder to sneak into my room and shut the door without her hearing me.

But I was already busted. I was about to take a step when I heard her voice. "Good night, Matt," she said in a terse tone. I cringed and slunk into my room and closed the door. One thing I hadn't considered was that when the carpet was removed and linoleum laid down, it created a nearly two-inch gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. She could see my shadow under the door as I was backlit by light from the streetlights.

But there was no returning to sleep for me. I had a rock-hard erection that needed relief to have any chance of sleep. With images of Trixie in my mind, I stroked it until I came powerfully into a dirty T-shirt. Exhausted, I collapsed on the bed, knowing I had some 'splainin to do' in the morning. And as it was my day off, it would be unavoidable.

In the past, I remember Trixie having a boyfriend. A black-leather jacket-wearing biker, named Dutch. I knew his name because their screaming matches had been legendary. But I hadn't seen him in about a year. I recall her having three men show up a few weeks later, and my mind was a whirl of possibilities on what those men had been up to that night. I saw them leave in the morning, all smiles. I couldn't recall her having a man over since.

I was already up and cooking when Trixie came out of her room for work. She wore a tight pair of blue capri pants, with a lovely off-the-shoulder peasant girl blouse, with three-inch cork wedge heels. Her eyes burned into mine when she looked at me. She walked up to the dinette, and I had a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her with a hot cup of coffee, in an eye blink.

She looked down at the plate. "Is this... for me?"

I smiled shyly and nodded. "Consider it an apology." With an amused smile, she sat down and began eating. A sat across from her and we ate in silence. When she finished and slid her chair back, I stood quickly and grabbed up her plate and cup, took them into the kitchen, and put them in the sink.

I turned and she was standing up and looking at me. "Tell me something, Matty." She lowered her eyebrows and glared. "And tell me the truth."

I nodded with an open look on my face, not really knowing what to expect.

"Did you masturbate after listening to me last night?" My mouth dropped open. I hadn't been expecting that. She cocked her head at me. "Did you?"

I cleared my throat and stammered. "I umm... I didn't... I mean... umm... yes."

To my surprise, she assumed her pose and just looked at me with a weird smile on her face, for like a minute. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Finally, she walked towards me, and I backed up until my ass hit the counter. She stepped up to me, leaned in, and kissed me on the lips with her hands on my chest. She broke the kiss but didn't move her face from mine. "Apology accepted," she whispered and then kissed me again. I felt her tongue on my lips, so I opened my mouth and offered her mine. Our tongues touched gently for just a moment. Then she gave me another peck and stepped back.