Date: Sun, 6 Dec 2009 13:50:30 -0800 (PST)
From: Noone Special <nonespecial@ymail.com>
Subject: Trailer Park Fairy Tale

The following story is a work of complete fiction, written solely for
entertainment.  Be warned that it contains explicit sexual activity
involving minors.  No part of the story should ever be reenacted in any
means other than the imagination.

The author invites feedback and criticism.  It does not need to be positive
to help me improve.



Trailer Park Fairy Tale
By NoOneSpecial



Once upon a time there was a boy named Bobby Crane.  He lived in a trailer
with his mother, and while he always tried his best to be a good boy, his
life was no fairy tale.

His mother was only sixteen years old when she gave birth, and she refused
to name the father.  Poor Bobby was premature and underdeveloped.  To this
day, he is smaller than other boys his age.  He is neither fast nor strong.
He has asthma and glasses.

His mother, Jennifer Crane, is not the kind, benevolent mother that the
poor child deserves.  She both smoked and drank during her pregnancy,
although her age prevented a steady supply of either substance.  She
continues in these vices to this day despite the constant concern of others
about their affect on her son's health.

His grandparents are not as big a part of his life as he or they would
like.  When they found out about his mother's pregnancy, they kicked her
out into the streets.  She was forced to drop out of school and find a job.
Without assistance from the state, she wouldn't have been able to make ends
meet and afford to move into the most luxurious trailer park in town.
After Bobby's birth, her parents tried to reconcile, even offered to let
her move back in, for the child's sake, but she would have none of it.
Their involvement was limited to birthday and Christmas gifts and the
occasional surprise visit.

Much of Bobby's early rearing was done by Miss Elizabeth, a kindly old
diabetic who lived two trailers down.  She was always very nice to him, and
she likely saved his life on numerous occasions by taking him to the
emergency room when his asthma acted up.  She kept the majority of these
visits a secret from his mother, who often ignored his symptoms or gave him
his treatments and told him to "get over it."  Bobby loved her with his
whole heart, which makes the beginning of this story all the more tragic.

When he was six years old, his mother left for work early one morning,
leaving instructions for him to go over to Miss Elizabeth's.  However, her
door was locked--her trailer had been looted a few months before and the
culprit had never been caught--and his knock went unanswered.  He knew that
she had no plans for that day and her ancient Volvo was parked in the exact
same spot it had been for weeks.  He sat on her stoop for an eternity.
Finally, he went back home and cried into his pillow.

When his mom finally came home--three hours later than she'd promised and
wobbling uncontrollably--he told her what had happened.  Unfortunately, she
was too drunk to care.  He repeated his concerns to her when she awoke the
next morning, and she reluctantly accompanied him to the silent trailer.
Once again, there was no answer, but Miss Elizabeth had given Jennifer a
spare key shortly after she began locking her door.  The mother and child
wandered inside and found Miss Elizabeth half-naked on her bathroom floor.
That horrifying sight would haunt Bobby's dreams for years to come.

Bobby blamed himself, as children often do, finding himself responsible for
something over which he had no control.  Miss Elizabeth had been dead long
before he'd even woken up that morning, but nobody passed this knowledge on
to little Bobby.  His mother had always been emotionally distant and
remained so when he needed her most.  He had lost the only person he could
share his childish hopes and dreams and fears with, and the vacancy left
him empty.

Jennifer also felt the hole left by Miss Elizabeth, although her mourning
came more from financial distress than emotional loss.  She could not
afford to send her son to daycare, and for a while was actually considering
accepting her parent's longstanding offer and sending the boy to live with
them.  Unfortunately, before she became desperate enough to actually give
into her desperation, she had a conversation with one of her neighbors.

Mr. Vincent lived with his son on the other end of the trailer park.  He
had often approached Bobby and offered the little boy candy and attention,
but Miss Elizabeth had always chased him off or offered some excuse to
leave and take her charge with her.  However, Jennifer held none of her
former nanny's concern for Mr. Vincent's character, and she readily
accepted his offer.  Mr. Vincent also worked during the day, but his
thirteen year old son, Brian, was readily available for babysitting duty
for the paltry sum of two dollars an hour.

Brian was tall for his age; athletic and strong as well.  He had been a
star on his seventh-grade basketball team, and his tan skin, blond hair,
and general good looks gave him a vibrant social life.  He was therefore
understandably upset when his father informed him of his duty as little
dweeb's caretaker until school started next month.  What would his friends
say if they saw him hanging out with a short, pasty little black-haired kid
who wore glasses and couldn't go anywhere without his inhaler?

Bobby wasn't too happy about his mother's selection either.  He and Brian
had a long history of wedgies, Indian burns, wet willies, purple nurples,
and cruel, childish pranks.  When he'd protested to her, she'd scolded him.
When he persisted, she slapped him and gave him a spanking.  He stopped
complaining after that.

Brian's first day of duty passed uneventfully enough.  They spent most of
the day in Brian's trailer watching PBS.  Brian wanted to go over to a
friend's, but was afraid his friends might ridicule him for his dragging
his new ward along.  For the duration of their visit, Bobby was teased and
tortured and treated like Brian's personal butler.

The next day began little better, but shortly after noon Brian got tired of
being cooped up inside without cable.  They ventured into the bright
sunlight.  Brian temporarily forgot both his vast superiority to the
younger child and the incredible nuisance he was to be considered and
treated him like a semi-legitimate playmate.  Unfortunately, most of the
games in Brian's repertoire were rough and tumble and not the sort
well-suited to a frail six-year-old and often resulted in tears from Bobby
and taunts from Brian.

The next day, the outdoor adventures began and ended earlier.  Brian led
the younger boy into the woods to show him the remains of an old fort the
teen had made in his youth, but while crossing a stream on an old, rotten
log, Bobby's foot slipped and he fell into the muddy bank.  The boy emerged
wet and muddy and cold, and even worse, his glasses had fallen off.  After
a fifteen minute search, in the process of which Brian became almost as wet
and muddy as if he'd fallen in the stream himself, they finally found them,
but they were bent and covered with mud.

The teen led the crying child back to his trailer.  Without much thought,
Brian stripped them both naked and brought the six-year-old into the shower
with him.  The warm water washed away the evidence of their mishap.
However, the close quarters and bare skin brought another problem to the
forefront of Brian's mind.

Perhaps Brian is not to be blamed for his reaction.  He was, after all, a
healthy thirteen year old boy, with uncontrollable hormones rushing through
his veins and granting him an insatiable libido.  He'd been masturbating
almost thrice daily for the last two years, and had not yet managed once on
this particular day.  While he tried to keep his fantasies "normal" and
"healthy" and "pure," occasionally the odd image or memory would slip into
the bunch, but he'd always pushed them aside quickly enough and returned to
the images of his classmates and crushes.  For the most part, he usually
managed to avoid thinking about the sources of those odd imaginings.  After
all, it had stopped a while ago.  But now he was on the other end of a
situation he'd found himself in years ago, and history was set to repeat
itself yet again.

"Why's it like that?"  Bobby asked, interrupting Brian's deliberations by
poking the teen's pulsing erection.  The contact was brief and somewhat
unintentional, but it shattered the thirteen-year-old's inhibitions.

"Because it wants you to kiss it," the teen answered, surprised to find his
voice just a little bit husky.  Bobby giggled, but then looked up to find
that his caretaker was not kidding.  Grabbing the wet and slippery boy by
the ears, Brian rubbed his crotch against the little one's face.  Bobby
struggled a bit, trying to push the teen away and escape, but couldn't get
free.

"Open your mouth and suck it," Brian insisted, and the boy resisted.  This
carried on until finally Bobby slipped free and managed to escape the
shower stall.  A short, wet, naked chase ensued and ended with the only
possible result.  Brian pinned the squealing child to the floor, twisting
his arm in a practiced method of childhood coercion.

"If you say you'll suck it, I'll let you go," the older boy promised, and
after a few minutes Bobby finally relented.  He'd long since learned that
those older and bigger than him almost always got their way.  Brian
loosened and readjusted his grip so that it was no longer painful, while at
the same time making sure that the young boy couldn't get free.

"It's really not so bad," Brian promised, "and if you do it good,
I'll--I'll take you to the poker game tomorrow, okay?"

Of the dozen or so children of the trailer park, half of them engaged in a
weekly game of poker; the other half was either deemed too young or too
stupid to participate, mostly just to make the participating members feel
superior.  The prospect of being allowed to partake in such an elite and
sacred ritual did much to garner Bobby's enthusiasm.  And so, while he was
still reluctant and nervous and just a little bit disgusted, it was with a
little bit of excitement that the little boy leaned forward and let the
teen's shiny purple head slip into his mouth.

"Cover your teeth with your lips so that you don't bite it, and swirl your
tongue around it, and bob your head back and forth, and--"

After a few more instructions, Brian fell silent, aside from the panting
and moaning that escaped his lips despite his attempts to remain silent.
Bobby was young and inexperienced and clumsy, but Brian was young and horny
and insatiable, so that didn't matter.  It didn't even matter that Bobby
was half his age, or that he was male, or that he could get in trouble for
this, or anything else.  All that mattered was that Brian had a hot pair of
wet lips around his throbbing member.  Of course, it couldn't help but
remind him of the last person who'd performed this taboo act for him, but
he did his best to shove that out of his mind.

Brian was a young and horny boy, and so naturally it didn't take Bobby very
long to complete his task.  As he approached his climax, the older boy
clasped his small friend's head tightly, thrusting as the throes went over
him.  He'd been shooting for a few weeks now, and so he made a small, salty
deposit inside the unsuspecting six-year-old's mouth.  Disgusted and
horrified, the boy spit it onto the floor and wiped his mouth with his arm
once the teen finally released him.

"Don't worry, it's not pee," Brian reassured, remembering his own lessons
once upon a time.  "It's big- boy juice.  It's good for you, it makes you
grow up big and strong and puts hair on your chest."

Bobby looked up at his mentor with unbelieving eyes and wiped his mouth
again.

"We're still all wet, and we should probably clean up this mess," Brian
suggested, indicating the sopping disarray that had resulted from the
earlier bedlam.  "And we should probably get dressed too."

Bobby said nothing, but followed the older boy's instructions.  Brian leant
him a shirt that fell down to his knees so that they could return to the
boy's trailer and get him dressed properly without anyone calling the
police.  Afterwards, they returned to Brian's home and spent most of the
afternoon watching PBS.

A change had occurred.  Brian was no longer teasing or torturing his young
companion, nor was he forcing the boy to fetch refreshments or perform
other such tasks.  In fact, the teen even allowed the future-first-grader
to sit on his lap--he even kind of cuddled with him!  Bobby found the
change of heart most welcome, completely oblivious to the prurient motives
behind it.  Finally, around two O'clock, Bobby brought up the promise that
had been made roughly three hours earlier.

"Can you teach me to play poker now?"

Brian grinned wickedly, his hand rubbing the boy's chest.  He'd been hoping
for this opening.

"I never said I'd teach you to play, I just said I'd let you watch the
game," he clarified, and he watched the younger boy's face droop in
disappointment.

"But, but, but--"

"If you really, really want to learn, I guess I could be convinced," the
teen suggested.  "If you're willing to convince me."

It took a second for Bobby to catch on, and he frowned heavily once he did.
"You want me to, to--"

"Yeah, I want you to suck my cock again."

"But I just, you said--you promised!"

"I did promise I'd take you to the poker game if you sucked my cock, and
now I'm telling you that I'll teach you to play if you do it again.  That
sounds pretty fair to me, don't you think?"

It actually didn't seem fair at all to Bobby, but then again, he really
wanted to be included in the poker game.  And the last time hadn't been so
bad, kind of awkward and weird, but not as disgusting as he'd thought,
except at the end, of course.  He could still taste the faintest taste of
Brian's semen on his tongue, despite the PB&J the teen had begrudgingly
prepared for lunch.  It really wasn't that bad, but it kind of made him
think of the cleaning fluid Miss Elizabeth used to use.

"Okay," Bobby whispered after taking a few minutes to consider it.  "But
don't put that stuff in my mouth at the end."

"No deal, you have to suck it all the way until the end, and you have to
drink my big-boy juice."

Bobby frowned and protested, but Brian remained adamant on this point, and
finally the younger boy gave in.  Brian lifted his hips off the couch and
pushed his shorts down his muscular thighs.  Once it was free, his
five-incher slapped audibly against his abdomen, then stood on its own.
Bobby nervously looked back and forth between the pulsing meat and its
master before at last acquiescing to Brian's requests.

Unlike earlier, Brian seemed to be in no hurry to achieve his release.  He
spoke to the nervous child in a calm, quiet manner, slowly coaxing him
through the desired action.  He taught the boy to fondle and stroke what he
couldn't fit in his mouth, how to alternate between different actions, and
various other tricks of the trade.

It took him much longer to reach his peak this time, and it was further
delayed as Bobby twice stopped to complain that his jaw was getting sore.
Brian managed to convince him to continue with further promises of future
good deeds.  When at last he felt his loins about to bubble over, he warned
the younger boy and reminded him of his promise to swallow.  His load was
no bigger than last time, and Bobby drank it down without taking time to
savor the flavor.

"Will you teach me Now?" Bobby asked impatiently, wiping his mouth again.
The flavor was starting to spread through his mouth despite his hopes, but
he was grudgingly forced to admit to himself that it wasn't too terrible.

"Yeah, just give me a minute," Brian answered, still breathing heavily.
After he'd recovered sufficiently, he pulled his shorts back up and went in
search of a deck of cards.

Most of the intricacies of gambling were beyond Bobby's reach, but he
learned the basics quickly enough.  Faster than Brian had, in fact,
although the teen didn't spend much time dwelling on that thought.  After
their first ten hands or so, Brian had discovered a two-page list of tells
he could exploit, but he let the little boy win the occasional hand
nonetheless.  After all, it's not like they were playing for stakes or--

"Hey Bobby, you know when we play tomorrow, we're going to be betting,
right?"  The teen asked, the plan striking him all at once.  The boy just
gave him a confused look.  "Do you have any money you could use?"

"Nuh-uh," the boy answered, his heart dropping when he realized that his
poverty might prevent his dreams.

"I can loan you five bucks, but you have to do something for me in
exchange."

Bobby shot him a suspicious glare.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to
figure out what the 'something' Brian wanted in exchange was.

"Not right now," he assured.  He could have gone again, but he didn't want
to rush the boy too terribly much.  "Tomorrow before the game, okay?"

"F-fine," Bobby reluctantly accepted. He won that hand, and the next, then
lost four straight.  Eventually they finally lost interest.  Brian realized
that Ms. Crane would be home soon and sent the young tike home.  He still
had at least a half hour before his own father would stumble in, so he shut
himself in the bathroom and furiously masturbated himself to another
orgasm.  He would have three more before he finally fell asleep that night,
at least one of which would be observed and ignored by his drunken father
despite the teen's covert efforts.

Bobby's evening was unremarkable.  His mom arrived home shortly after he
did.  She talked to herself about how awful her day was and made macaroni.
After he'd eaten, she put an ancient Disney movie in the VCR and left for a
date, promising on her way out that she'd be home before nine.
Unsurprisingly, she didn't stumble back in until a quarter after midnight,
when she found her son asleep in front of the TV with a blanket.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That's it for chapter one.  I have plans for future chapters, but I make no
promises that I will get time to write them.

I have two other stories on Nifty, for those interested.  They are entitled
"Portraits of a Boy" and "Secrets in Grandma's Backyard."  Those stories
are in much the same boat as this one, I may continue them, I may not.

Let me know what you think.  There's always a bit more motivation to keep
going when someone will read the final product.