Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I would absolutely be skeptical of any religion where the Shaman-in-charge smokes hashish on a regular basis, but I managed to bite my tongue. After all, there’s no upside to needling Bertha. It would only get me in trouble, and clearly, my parents are on a new path.
But the result is that I’ve been living in the trailer park on my own for two years now. I speak with my parents occasionally, but I haven’t seen Bezimba and Trekko since they left. They didn’t even come back for my high school graduation. When I crossed the stage in my cap and gown, my parents were at a meditative retreat somewhere in the jungles of Neglati, although they said they’d pray for me.
But it’s okay. I’ve found that I don’t mind the solitude, and I’m not really alone alone. I work at McDonald’s during the day, and while the pay isn’t great, my co-workers are fun. We sometimes experiment with the milkshake machine to whip up bizarre concoctions. The whole “Grimace” milkshake that’s so popular right now was actually our idea. Yes, me and my co-workers were putzing around with food dye and the milkshake machine, and came up with the purple monster’s signature drink. Now, our employer’s making a fortune, although corporate’s not exactly sharing the largesse with us.
Nonetheless, the job is enough to make ends meet seeing that my parents are still paying me a stipend. Plus, my neighbors at the trailer park are friendly. Okay, the men are more than friendly. There are a lot of hot guys living here, and I’ve taken up with a few of them. What can I say? They don’t seem to mind sharing my curves, and the sensuality is through the roof.
A lot of people would probably say that I’m only doing this to “act out.” That I’m engaging in some kind of “teenage rebellion” and “making myself heard” by being promiscuous. But I don’t think that’s true at all. For one, I’m always safe. I’m on the pill and everyone’s been tested five ways until Sunday, so I’m not having risky sex with nameless, anonymous men.
Secondly, these guys are my neighbors. I literally see them when I haul my laundry to the laundromat, or when I’m taking a walk to stretch my legs. They’re not unknown quantities who use me and then lose me. Not only that, but everyone in the trailer park knows them, so if someone gets up to no good, it’s everyone’s business.
Of course, I’m not in a relationship with any of them per se. But I also know that if I needed help, I could call upon Tom Jerrity, John Rigand, Ryan Hunkle, or Bart Coleman. They would respond because they care about me. The men know I’m living alone, and so what if we like to spend our nights together? So what if I enjoy dating four men at once? The men know that I’m sleeping with other guys at St. George, and it’s not like we get together and have orgies. Instead, it’s more of a round robin. I rotate between their trailers, and the bed springs are squeaking every night.
But I have to admit that I’d like to have a boyfriend. Someone to call my own, and who would be my “person” in case of emergencies. My only person, and not a list of four guys. He would be handsome, athletic, tall, tanned, toned… and oh wait, here comes a potential prospect now.
I bite my lip because Carl Jonsson just pulled up to his trailer in his truck. He moved to the park about a year ago, and the mysterious man keeps to himself. I know he works for Crenshaw Lumber like a lot of the other guys, but he hasn’t become friendly with any of them. Instead, he likes to tinker with his bike and work out with weights on the reg. Other than those two hobbies, he keeps to himself.
Of course, I’m burning with curiosity. Any woman would be because Carl’s gorgeous with ebony hair, tanned skin, and penetrating blue eyes. He’s built like an Olympian with brawny shoulders, a broad chest, and powerful arms that are aptly called “Thunder” and “Lightning.” There were a couple times when he whipped off his shirt while working on his bike, and I damn near fell to my knees at the sight. His skin was bronzed and glistened in the light, with a defined six pack, and thick pecs like slabs of marble. I would love to lick his chest someday. I wonder if his skin is a musky mix of salty and sweet.
Suddenly, Carl looks up while getting out of his truck, and our eyes meet. A flash of awareness shoots through my limbs, and I’m rooted to the spot like an animal caught in the headlights. My insides go soft and loose as Carl stares at me, before turning that bright blue gaze away. What is he thinking? Does he know who I am? Does he know that I live at the trailer park too?