Chapter 2
Johnny Boyd is about to learn what happens when you cross an unruly twink. Normally, I can tolerate him. Now, I want to purge the contents of my stomach directly onto his lap.
We’ve been in this fucking truck, driving to Lake Flaccid, for hours.
Is Lake Flaccid the lake’s actual name? Fuck if I know, because I was given zero warning of this trip.
Since we live in Bumfuck, Nowhere, I don’t even have enough signal to look it up.
Stupidly, I asked Johnny to hold my unlitjoint as I buckled myself in, forgetting to ask for it back when I was all buckled up.
An hour later, when I finally remembered, the son of a jerk smirked and admitted to throwing it out the window fifty miles back. Asshole!
Why are we even going to another lake? We live right on a lake already, so I have absolutely zero clue why we’ve been in the car for two hours.
They’ve been belting out Garth Brooks’ alleged greatest hits the entire time, talking about friends in low places, and being too damn young to feel so old, but it all sounds like horseshit to me.
Bubs asked me if I wanted to pick the music, so I could sing along with them, but I haven’t sang a single note since my acapella band’s disastrous performance at Pretty Boy Prison a few months ago.
We practiced so hard for so long, I just assumed we would sound amazing.
Apparently, that wasn’t the case. The prisoners laughed at us.
The moment we started singing, their judgment rang out louder than our voices through the sound system.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been more humiliated in all my life.
That’s when Barbara, my psychic spirit guide, came to me.
She knew I was sad and scared, and so fucking embarassed, and she wanted to make things better.
She’s an odd duck, our Babs. I can’t actually see her, but I feel her presence like a warm hug during the coldest night in winter.
It almost feels the way I’d imagine a mother’s hug would feel like, but I wouldn’t know, because my mom died when I was six.
Dad married his secret mistress two days later, and she hated my guts, so I never got any hugs from her either.
When I woke up earlier, Bubba and Johnny were already out of our shared king-size bed, getting dressed. I asked where they were going, but Johnny, smug bastard he is, informed me they were doing straight-guy things.
I’m not one to invalidate people’s self-identified sexual orientations, but that’s a line I’m willing to cross with Johnny.
Let’s call a spade a spade, the man is a raging bisexual.
Or maybe he’s pan. Who knows, who cares, because he’s part of the same rainbow I’m on, which means he’s just as queer as me, but because he grew up in some hick town with no access to the outside world, he didn’t even know being gay or bi was a thing.
God help me if I have to explain the difference between bisexuality and pansexuality to him, because the hillbilly himbo will have us here all week.
As Trisha Yearwood once sang, he’s in love with the boy.
My boy. My Bubba. The man I platonically follow around like a lost little lamb.
Johnny’s in love with him, but his sexual orientation is so repressed, he doesn't even realize it.
The way he looks at Bubba leaves no room for interpretation.
Johnny loves Bubba, and since Bubs is my meal ticket, it leaves me with only one option.
Johnny must be stopped. Then I can have Bubba all to myself. Not for romantic reasons, obviously. He just tends to my every need and provides for me financially. There’s nothing naughty or tawdry about it.
As they got ready for their men’s trip without me, I stomped my foot so hard it made the trailer shake.
When you live in a trailer house stacked on top of a log cabin which only acts as a solid foundation for half the home, the last thing you want is to feel it shaking beneath your feet.
Any other day, I might have cared. On this day, however, I wanted to bring the piece of shit tumbling to the ground.
I went as far as threatening to burn our DIY-commune to ashes in their absence, but it just earned me a spanking for what Bubba referred to as “terroristic threats.”
Threat my ass. It’s a fucking oath.
After an unnecessarily lengthy journey, we pull up to a lakeshore.
Bubba slides out of the truck and turns to face me.
He says nothing, just stands there looking like a fucking snack, his mouth parted, breaths coming quickly.
There’s sweat forming on his brow, which doesn’t make any fucking sense, because it’s not even hot outside today.
He touches our foreheads together and closes his eyes and smiles. “I’m glad you came today, Ezzy.”
I swallow, nodding, unable to hold his gaze because of its intensity. “Okay.”
He chuckles as he lifts me out of the truck.
Normally, I’d insist he put me down, but after the way Johnny tossed my joint out of the truck and into the wilds of Redneck Hell, I kind of want to get him back.
I want Johnny to see who he’s up against. He needs to know the lengths I’ll go to in order to win Bubba’s platonic favor.
Luckily, he’s right beside me, sitting in the car, his hand on the door handle, staring at us, frozen in place as he watches me steal the heart of his BFF.
Bubba tries to set me down, but I just tighten the grip my legs have around his waist.
“Baby, you’ve got to let me put you down. We have to get the tacklebox while Johnny Boy rents the boat.”
“Don’t care. I’m not walking on this damn gravel. You kidnapped me, you can carry me.”
Bubba stares down at the ground, not a pebble to be seen, and nods like my request makes all the sense in the world. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No one kidnapped you, and there’s no gravel,” Johnny growls. “It’s just sand, bro. Besides, you’re wearing shoes.”
I blink at Johnny. “I’m wearing heels, you sadist.”
Johnny stares down at my feet. “You’re wearing cowboy boots.
” He cocks his head to the side, studying my shoes like he’s never seen them before.
I don’t know why he’s so surprised. He was right beside me when I bought them a few weeks ago.
He’s quiet for a moment, but it’s not an awkward silence, which is a little surprising, because everything about Johnny is awkward. “I like those. They’re pretty.”
The fuck?
“Thanks, I guess.”
He nods. “Your clothes ain’t awful, neither.”
“I know,” I agree. “But thank you for saying it.” I narrow my eyes. “Your newfound kindness kink changes nothing between us. Die. Die twice, actually.”
Sighing, Johnny flings open the door and hops out of Bubba’s jacked-up pickup truck “Well, fuck me for trying to be nice.”
I wouldn’t fuck him if he was the last man on Earth. Wanting to make sure he knows it, I look over at him, unable to speak as he bends over the side of the truck, reaching for something in the truck bed, because holy fuck.
For someone so hideous on the inside, Johnny sure has a lovely outside.
Particularly that ass. It’s perky as fuck, and I just know it has to be super cute without underwear covering it.
I’ve only ever seen him in boxer-briefs and the shirt he sleeps in at night.
I did get to see his chest once, back when we first moved here and his buddy Clint gave them an at-home tattoo. It wasn’t an awful sight.
With the sun warm on my skin thanks to my rainbow tanktop and purple short-shorts, I snuggle up close, burying my face in Bubba’s neck, because I know it’ll piss Johnny off.
“We have lake at home, Bubs.” I mumble against his neck.
“Why the fuck did we leave there just to travel here? How much gas have we wasted?” He tickles my side.
I know he likes it when I call him Bubs.
I don’t understand why, but I know it’s true, and I already take so much from him, what does indulging him hurt?
“We were in the car for hours. Think of our carbon footprint. Not to mention how much of your hard-earned money you’ve just wasted on gasoline. ”
“We were in the car for an hour, and it’s my gas to waste. You ain’t got to worry about any of that,” he says, probably trying to reassure me, but I’m feeling a bit prickish, and I kind of want to fuck with him for forcing me to be cooped-up.
“Your money is my money, therefore, your gas is my gas.”
His mouth quirks into a sly grin. “I ain’t very gassy these days, thanks to that diet you’ve got me on, but I’ve got a lot of cum. You’re welcome to every drop.”
I scoff. “Don’t want it. Don’t wanna touch it. Don’t wanna taste it.”
“Don’t want me to slip it inside your hungry hole with my finger, little guy?”
I whimper when he drags a finger down my cloth-covered crack, and then I realize what a depraved slut I must sound like, so I quickly pull away and glare. “The spirits are with me, Bubba.”
“They sure are, buddy,” he agrees, sounding like a proud parent.
I roll my eyes. “No, I just mean, if you don’t shut up when you’re talking about fucking your cum into my hole with your finger, I’ll have them open up a portal and drag you straight to Hanell like in that movie we watched with the lady and the button and the demons coming in at the last second and dragging the woman to Hell. ”
“Drag Me to Hell?”
I shake my head. “Mariah Carey’s Glitter.” I gently pinch his arm. “Don’t ever threaten to fuck your cum into me again. Do you hear me?” I say the words loud enough for Johnny to hear, because I know it’ll piss him off.
“He did what?” Johnny shouts, and when I finally pry my eyes away from Bubba, I realize Johnny is storming toward us like a tsunami of testosterone, glowering. “Put him down. We have to rent a fuckin’ boat.”