The Trashy Virgin(3)

By: Cassandra Dee


“Hey,” I said, my voice neutral.

Jason turned to me, eyes wary, hands paused on a tin can of food. He didn’t say anything, just turned away again.

“Hey,” I said, more loudly this time. Jason was clean and neat I could see, but yeah, there was a blue tent erected not fifteen feet away and a small pile of garbage off to the side, indicating that the boy had lived here for at least a week.

“You need some help?” I tried again.

And the boy didn’t answer, ignoring me as he devoured peaches straight from the can, so hungry that some of the syrup ran down his chin. I shook my head, walking away, but the next day, getting out early again, I took the same detour and came upon the same boy. My efforts at conversation fell flat once more, but over the next month, we built up a rapport of sorts. Soon, I took him to a diner for a meal and for the first time, he told me his name and story. It was really sad, no child should have to endure what he’d been through. His parents were a mess to the point where he’d left voluntarily, living on his own by the bridge, keeping to himself so that none of his friends realized that he had no one, he’d struck out on his own.

And I felt bad to be honest. I had a solid working-class background, and the union           was looking for some apprentices to begin the next training cycle. So I brought it up with Jason and he pounced at the opportunity.

“That’d be awesome man,” he rumbled, looking down. The boy was clean and fed, sure, but nights were getting cold and that tent was no protection against a freezing Maine winter. So I offered him the opportunity to stay with me, and Jason refused.

“Naw,” he drawled. “I’m good.”

“No prob,” I grunted in return. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

And when the weather got colder, leaves falling from trees, the thermostat crusted with ice each morning, Jason took me up on my offer. So yeah, I set the boy up with a room in my trailer, he’s pretty self-sufficient, we don’t talk much but he seems fine, going to school, keeping up with his work. He’ll be starting an apprenticeship with UAW next fall, and under my tutelage, he can’t help but succeed.

And that leads us to our next roommate, Katy. I’ve known Katy for a while, well, at least knew the girl existed. She’s been living in the trailer park as long as I have, and I’ve watched her grow from a distance. How that female survived is beyond me, having Tina Parks as a mom is no piece of cake. Not only is Tina a certifiable hoarder, that trailer’s got stuff piled up to the ceiling, visible through its slitted windows, but she’s mentally unstable too. All of us know it, we’ve been witness to her outbursts, her crazy wailing and screaming, the paramedics dragging her off that one night.

And the last time that happened, Katy was seventeen, no longer a little girl. But she’d been left standing outside, dazed, like Dorothy awakened from her dream, brown eyes wide, lips trembling. And I took pity on her. The poor thing had nowhere to turn, there was clearly no electricity at her home and she was shivering violently in the cold New England wind.

So I did what anyone would do.

“You need a place to stay?” I asked gruffly.

And the girl nodded, eyes wide.

“Thanks Mr. Larson,” she said in a low voice. “I’d appreciate it.”

And that’s how I ended up with two strays in my home. Except the two kids have changed a lot, grown and matured shockingly fast. In the last year, Jason’s filled out and become a man. He’s taller than I am, his head almost brushing the ceiling, but not as big, not as muscular.

And Katy … but oh god, I should be shot for having these thoughts. Because the beautiful little girl is definitely not a little girl anymore. She’s put on about twenty pounds in the last year, her skinny frame filling out into a lush, voluptuous woman, huge tits that bounce under her t-shirts, a big ass and wide hips that seem to brush both sides of the double-wide when she walks.

And Jason and I have noticed for sure. Who couldn’t? The sweet scent that trails off her skin at all times, the warm brown eyes that you could drown in, fuck … like I said, I should be shot for having these thoughts. And the brunette doesn’t make it easy for us either, tantalizing us in the most innocent of ways.

But I’m a grown man and I’m not going to give into my baser instincts, I refuse to let myself become that dirty older guy. But good intentions are just that, and I’m a man, a man with needs despite everything. I can get women, don’t get me wrong, but it’s left me feeling empty inside lately, you know what I mean? I don’t need another hanger-on who stinks to high heaven of cheap perfume, her breasts saggy and draggy with leathery orange skin. Not when I have the real thing right under my own roof, temptation and innocence wrapped into one, tantalizing me day and night. And it all went to shit one day when I came home from work early, letting myself into the warmth of the trailer, stamping my feet in the doorway, coming to a stop when I saw Katy.

Because the brunette stood at the sink washing dishes in nothing but a tiny camisole and booty shorts, nipples poking out, creamy thighs on display with that huge ass like a shelf.

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