Mrs.RaspberryJam

Ten minutes until showtime.

It was a Friday night and his trailer was quiet aside from the hum of his refrigerator and the distant whine of a truck down the highway. Joel sat on the edge of his bed, mattress springs groaning under his weight.

He rubbed his calloused palm over his stubble. Construction dirt was ingrained in his skin, under his nails. He'd taken a quick shower after work, but after so many years, it simply became a part of him, present no matter what he tried.

He shoved his laptop across the bed, the screen flickering to life. It illuminated his room— mostly unidentifiable clutter, such as a coffee mug and a pack of cigarettes that he swore he'd quit five times now. He never had.

The sight of the adult cam website greeted him. It was familiar by now, but the knot in his stomach it gave him never really went away.

Joel had started this a year ago. He'd been so desperate for cash at the time. Bills kept piling up week after week, while his construction work paid him less and less. He had to make ends meet, and fast.

He'd taken on normal jobs at first. A handyman, a janitor, a security guard. But he had to quit each job not long after starting them due to the incompatibility with his construction work schedule, and the fact they paid like shit.

Joel had been out of options. But one day, as he was reading a news article about how much the adult cam industry paid, he knew he had to give it at least a try.

He'd hated it at first. Something about having a bunch of strangers watch you jerk off made his skin crawl. He swore he'd never do it again, until he saw how much just half an hour had made him. And ever since, JM went live twice per week.

"Alright," Joel— or in this case, JM— muttered to himself. "Let's get this shit over with."

He adjusted his webcam, making sure it was low. Always showing just his chest and below. No face, that was his rule. The last thing he needed were people he knew in real life stumbling across him jerking it.

The angle framed the worn khaki flannel shirt he'd thrown on, unbuttoned just enough to show the patch of grey hair on his chest. He leaned back against a bunch of pillows, making himself comfortable. He wasn't young anymore and neither was his back.

The chat was empty for now. Truth to be told, he never quite read the chat besides donations. The more he read the things overly horny people threw at him, the less he wanted to keep doing this.

11:00 PM.

Joel hit the 'Go Live' button. The tiny red dot blinked, and a rush of adrenaline spiked his veins, cold and sharp.

The viewer count was zero for now. He took a breath, letting it out slow. He nervously scratched the fabric of his jeans, waiting for the first notification to roll in.

"Evenin' folks."

The viewer count jumped. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. Within a minute the room was packed, at least to Joel's standards. The chat rolled at such a fast pace the text became a blur of grey text and colorful usernames.

Joel leaned forward a little, making sure his face stayed out of frame.

It was easy money, he kept telling himself despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs. The numbers don't lie.

"Alright, alright," he rumbled, the microphone picking up his deep voice. "Settle down. Y'all are especially restless tonight."

He glanced at the donation section. A few were already dropping in; five, tens, twenties. A generous fifty from someone with the username SilverFox. That one alone would cover the electricity bill for the week.

Joel shifted, the denim of his jeans brushing the sheets beneath him. He took a quick look at the requests scrolling past.

Take off the shirt.

Show us your muscles.

Talk to us, daddy.

He let out a grunt, the sound low in his throat. His hand reached for the top button of his flannel shirt. His fingers felt rough, the skin dry as they fumbled with the tiny plastic disc.

"Patience," he said, voice dropping as he slipped into the persona they craved. He didn't rush, he never did. He made them wait. "We've got plenty of time."

He popped the first button. Then the second. The fabric parted slowly, revealing a sliver of his tanned, hairy chest and the white tank top he always wore underneath.

Joel leaned back, pushing his chest out. The camera captured the definition and width of his shoulders perfectly.

"See somethin' you like?" he asked, watching as the chat exploded in response. "Y'gotta speak up if you want somethin' more."

He let his hand linger on the third button, waiting for the next wave of donations to hit before he gave them what they all wanted.

The chime of incoming tips rang out like a damn slot machine payout. He didn't rush, as he knew the value of anticipation and the way the chat seemed to like it more if he took his sweet time.

He worked the rest of the buttons, letting the fabric fall open.

His flannel slid down his arm and landed on a heap on the floor next to him. The exposure made his skin cooler. The white cotton of his tank top clung to the damp heat of his skin, reading the scrolling text without really taking in the words.

More.

Take it off.

Joel hooked his fingers into the hem of the tank top. It was a tighter fit than his flannel was, hugging his broad shoulders and the slight softness of his middle. He pulled it upward, the friction dragging against his hair as he peeled it over his head.

His hair was a mess now, sticking up in tufts. Not that he cared or bothered to smooth it down— these people couldn't see his face anyway.

There was definition in his chest. His pecs, the ridge of his sternum. But it was all buried under a layer of lived-in softness. His stomach wasn't flat like it had once been. It rounded out slightly over the waistband of his jeans, proof of the cheap beer he liked to drink after a long day at work. Even so, beneath the softness were cords of muscle that came from hauling lumber and concrete since he was a teenager.

A thick dusting of salt-and-pepper hair covered his chest, narrowing into a thinner line that eventually disappeared into his jeans.

Joel leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. He flexed his muscles, watching as the comments flood in. Praise for his dad bod, the hair, the bulk. He never would've thought his aging body would attract any kind of attention on this website, but he had been wrong. It was paying off.

"Y'all likin' the view?" he asked, voice low. He ran his hand through the hair on his chest, scratching his nails against his skin. "Been a long day. Still got some dust on me from work."

Glancing at the donation goal, he saw it was inching closer and closer to the mark for the 'main event' to begin.

"Who wants to see what's under this denim?" he growled, fingers dropping to his belt buckle. The metal clinked loudly in the otherwise silent room. "Y'know the drill."

The banner flashed across the top of the screen seconds later, a bright gold: goal reached. The cheerful chime that accompanied the banner felt absurdly out of place.

Joel let out a huff of air through his nose. "There we go," he murmured. "Knew you folks would come through."

He shifted his weight, bringing his hands to his waist. The belt was a heavy, worn thing, a thick leather that had definitely seen better days, cracked and chipped in places.

He worked the buckle with ease, the metal clack loud in the room. He didn't pull it out of the loops, instead just letting the ends hang loose, the tension around his midsection vanishing.

Next came the button. It was tight— these jeans were his oldest work pair and he hadn't bothered to buy new ones in a while. It still fit and it wasn't torn, so he saw no reason to replace them.

He popped the snap, the relief immediate. Soon after that the zipper followed, teeth parting slowly with a low rasp.

Joel spread his thighs wider to fill the camera angle. The denim fell open, revealing the front of his boxers— grey cotton, definitely way too thin. The outline of him was clear, a heavy, resting weight that pressed against the fabric.

He didn't take his jeans off, though. Not yet. He liked the tease, the way the denim would frame his hips. So instead he brought his right hand to his crotch, cupping the entire bulge in his palm. It was warm, heavy. Promising.

"Well, look at that," he grunted, voice dropping even lower. He squeezed, digging his fingers into the flesh, feeling the blood start to pool, the familiar heavy throb of waking up. "That's what yer payin' for, ain't it?"

He kneaded the fabric, thumb brushing over the head still trapped inside the cotton. He felt the twitch, the way his hips jerked involuntarily against the friction. He tried not to focus on the chat too much, finding it easier to get aroused that way.

Joel rubbed his hand up and down the length, the knot of arousal tighter in his gut. The cotton dragged over the sensitive skin, coaxing him to full hardness to fill the space.

"Gettin' there," he muttered, half to the audience, half to himself. He squeezed the base, groaning softly as the pressure built. "Just gotta warm him up."

He lifted his hips, the effort making his breath hitch audibly. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, dragging the grey cotton down over the curve of his ass.

He didn't take these off either; simply pushed the bundle of denim and cotton down until they bunched around his upper thighs.

Gravity did the rest.

His cock sprang free, slapping heavily against his lower abdomen with a fleshy sound. He was impressive, not pretty in the usual sense but rather long and thick, the shaft a flushed red color that stood out against the tan of his stomach.

He was manly. His foreskin a puckered hood that still half-concealed his tip, glistening where a bead of fluid was gathering, shaft slightly curved upwards and with a dense patch of salt-and-pepper hair curled at the base of it all, thick and unkept. His balls hung low, heavy and full, settling onto the denim bunched beneath him.

Joel looked down at it, a low rumble vibrating in his chest.

"There he is," he muttered, voice thick. He wrapped his right hand around the shaft, fingers barely meeting around the girth despite his large hands. He squeezed, hard enough to make the head flare and push fully out of the foreskin, shiny crown emerging red and angry.

"Big enough for y'all?"

He gave himself a slow stroke, pulling the skin down to the root and letting it slide back up slowly, friction wet and audible.

"He's hungry tonight."

He shifted his legs wider, planting his feet on the mattress. He angled his hips up to give the camera a better angle of what he was working with between his legs. The chat was a blur of praise and desire, but he tried not to pay too much attention.

"Alright," he grunted, spitting into his right palm to slick up his length. "Let's get to work."

The rhythm he set initially was heavy, a friction that nearly bordered on too tight. Joel never went for light, teasing touches; instead gripping the shaft like it he was holding a jackhammer, palm calloused against the slickness of his skin.

"Shit," he grunted, the sound tearing from his throat as his fist hit the base. His hips lifted up, a thrust that drove his cock upward through the tight circle of his fingers.

He settled back down only to drive up again, meeting his own strokes halfway. The wet slap of skin and his breathing were the only sounds in the room.

The head emerged from his foreskin, redder and angrier each time with each stroke up, leaking a stream of pre-come that slicked his grip.

"Look at 'im," he growled. "Look how damn hard he is for ya."

His left hand drifted lower, away from his shaft and instead towards the heavy sack beneath. He cupped the weight of his balls, rolling them between his thick fingers, tugging them down away from his body. His breath hitched at the sensation, a sharp intake of air that whistled through his teeth.

"Fuck," he hissed, accent thickening. "Tha'ss it."

The pace increased, just a fraction. Joel could feel the heat coiling in his spine. The chat was scrolling too fast to read, but the money kept pouring in, and it motivated him to keep going.

"Yeah, y'want this, don'tcha?" he rasped to no one in particular, voice dropping to a whisper. He squeezed the base hard, cutting off blood flow slightly, making the head swell purple.

"Wanna make this big ol' cock spill for ya."

He leaned his head back against the pillows, exposing the thick cords of his neck to the camera, face just out of frame. "Gon' make a mess soon," he muttered, slurring. "Gon' cover everythin'."

The sound of his fist jerking off his cock was loud and obscene, filling the small room. His breathing had turned into a ragged noise, chest heaving as he worked himself up and down the rigid shaft. He fucked up into his own hand, driving his hips up off the bed with every downward plunge of his wrist.

"Jesus," Joel gritted out, head falling back. "He's so fuckin' wet."

Pre-come leaked from him in a steady stream, pouring over the swollen tip and slicking his palm until his hand was just a blur of motion. It was dripping down his knuckles, matting the hair at the base.

"Look at that," he growled. He stopped for a fraction of a second to pull the foreskin all the way back, exposing the glossy, now purple head to the camera.

"Look at 'im. Swollen as a damn tick."

He wrapped his hand back around it, squeezing tight, forcing another drop of pre-come from the slit.

"Yeah, y'want this," Joel spat. He was sweating now, beads of it rolling down his temples and tracking through the hair on his chest. "Y'wanna see me empty these?" His left hand squeezed his balls.

He picked up the pace, the wet slap of his sack against his thighs audible even over the sound of him fisting his cock. He was utterly hard now, the curve of his stiff cock rigid. At his age it took him longer to get like this, but when he got there, it was worth it.

"Gon' make it hurt," he rasped, hips bucking erratically. He roughly tugged on his balls with his left hand, pulling them away from his body to delay his release, groaning at the jolt of both pleasure and pain it earned him.

"Gonna milk every last drop outta him."

Joel grunted, a deep sound that bordered on animalistic. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment— not that the audience could tell— as he got lost in the friction of his own fist.

"Talk to me," he demanded, babbling more than that he actually meant it. "Tell daddy how bad you need it."

The coil in his gut snapped tight, pulled to a breaking point.

"Yeah, fuck—!"

Joel's hips jackknifed off the bed, abs crunching hard as the first wave of his release hit him. It was an explosion, his hand moving as if on autopilot, jerking his shaft hard and fast, dragging the pleasure out of him by force.

"God damn—"

The first shot was a heavy, pearly white rope that arced through the air, landing with a wet splat on his upper chest, right in the center of his salt-and-pepper hair. He couldn't stop. His hand kept squeezing, demanding more of himself.

"Fuck! Take it, fuckin' take it..."

Another spurt followed, this time painting a line onto the soft curve of his belly, pooling in his navel. It felt hot against his cooling skin.

Joel grunted again, a deep sound that vibrated through his body, his head thrown so far back that his muscles strained.

"Yeah... Fuck yeah..."

The intensity evened out, cock pulsing in his grip, spilling a messy flood that dribbled over his calloused knuckles, dripping down his shaft and eventually matting the pubic hair at the base.

His strokes slowed, fist milking the last few drops out, breathing ragged. He looked down at himself through lidded eyes, sweat dripping down his temple to mix with the mess he'd made at his collarbone.

"Look at that," he breathed. His voice was wrecked, barely even above a whisper. He slowly released his grip, hand falling away to rest on his thigh, strings of come stretching between his fingers before snapping. "Fuckin' drowned me."

Joel sat there for just a moment, staring down at the screen through half-lidded eyes the audience could not see. The post-nut clarity hit him like a wave, as it did each and every time he did this. The adrenaline faded fast, leaving him with just the sticky, cool reality.

The mess on his stomach was cooling rapidly, turning tacky and uncomfortable. Joel stared at the chat, a waterfall of praise, heart emojis and a whole bunch of words in caps-lock. It meant very little to him beyond the numbers that would appear in his bank account soon.

He couldn't help but laugh at himself internally. Fifty-six years old and jackin' it on the internet.

A pang of vulnerability shot through him that made Joel want to pull the plug and call it a night. But he hid it, wanting these people to return next time.

He tilted his chin down, allowing just his stubble and a forced smirk onto the screen.

"Alright, that's all she wrote, folks," he drawled, voice slowly regaining its strength, though slightly more tired. "Y'all drained me tonight."

His eyes glanced at the top donation. "Appreciate y'all, as always."

Joel leaned back, stretching his arms wide one last time, showing off the sticky mess one last time.

"JM signing off. Go do somethin' productive with yerselves."

The red light died, screen going black. The silence of his trailer rushed in again accompanied by the hum of his refrigerator.

The sun is scorching as the breeze felt like dragon’s breath stirring up the desert sand, your light pink umbrella duck taped to little white table wobbles but does its job keeping your preferred beverage cool in the makeshift cup in the jelly jar. Inside? Your older sister and her man fight, throwing around the word divorce like a tennis match but you knew they’d never do that…

You push your sunglasses up your nose, enjoying the sun but alas, the rattling of a creaky screen door slams against the neighboring trailer and out stumbles your knight in stained jeans and a ‘Love fist’ shirt with the sleeves cut off.

You smiled and wave at him with a giddy expression. “Hi trev! You’re up early today” you say, usually he only gets up at 3pm and it’s 12 now…

Trevor spits on his porch and eyes you with bloodshot eyes, clearly hung over as a slow grin pulls at his lips now.

“Well look at ya! Princess, soakin up the sun like one of those models in my magazines!” He says loudly, standing on his porch and turning his back to piss off the other side. His magazines being the dirty ones you’ve came across scattered in his living room. “And yeah…the screaming match between dumb fuck one and two isn’t exactly a lullaby” He points at your stupidly pink trailer, the flamingos in the yard knocked down and one missing a head because Trevor shot it one night.

“Oh…yeah i suppose your right. They are awful loud” You chuckled some and fan yourself with a magazine, not missing the way Trevor’s eyes are on your chest now after he zips his pants.

“You gonna come over tonight or what?” He asks and you watch as he advances closer, resting his forearms on the chain link fence around your yard.

“Of course I am! It will be late like always” You lean forward in the lawn chair, legs bent some and you put your magazine down.

Trevor pushes off the fence, grinning as he slowly backs away. “Of course you are, princess!” The yelling in your trailer gets louder as bangs can be heard due to items that are thrown about. “Do they ever shut the fuck up?!” He yells and you sit up and huff at him, knowing if your sister seen him out here she’d give you hell.

Why you let her control you? A fully grown young woman, is beyond Trevor. There’s been times he’s actually questioned your age over it.

“Jesus fuck! How old are you?!” He asked after you had snuck into his trailer the first time months ago, you on your knees between his spread bare ones and flushed after giving him the best head he’s ever had.

And you gave him your age, early or mid twenties and he rubs a scarred and tatted hand down his face in relief. “Then fuckin act like it will ya?! You’re a grown woman and tiptoeing around that skank like she’s your own mother” He said and you knew he was right but you couldn’t ever shake the fear of disobeying her.

Trevor has been trying his hardest to break you out of the mindset your chained down to your control freak of a sister but it’s been a hard task but luckily for you, Trevor is a persistent son of a bitch that takes what he wants…

And right now that’s you.

“Trevor! Don’t be so loud! They’ll hear you!” You whisper yelled at him and he mocks your huff dramatically.

“They couldn’t hear the goddamn SWAT team if they came rolling in! Listen at em! In there screaming about their miserable lives together” He gestured at your trailer as you gave him a deadpan look. “Divorce this! Divorce that…Christ maybe if your brother in laws dick wasn’t so micro-sized your sister wouldn’t be hoppin’ on every single one in town!” He laughs at his own joke as if he’s the funniest person he knows.

You know he’s right, again…he always is. And so you pick the magazine back up and fan yourself once more. “Oh hush…She’s not that bad…” you try to defend her, she’s your own blood after all.

“I’ve met hookers with lower body counts then her” He says with a laugh and leans back on the fence. “Hey! There’s her a job! She’d be livin’ in her dream double-wide then if she did that!” You giggled and hide it behind the magazine as you shake your head at him.

“Trev! Knock it off…” You say through giggles and he gives you a look over again. “And stop staring at me like that!” You blush and he only keeps doing it, smirking this time.

“Sure you can’t sneak into my humble abode right now princess?….” He asks, genuinely wanting you in there right now. You can tell by the way a very familiar and noticeable bulge forms in his dirty jeans stained with questionable substances.

“Trevor! Knock it off!” You say and just then your brother in law barges out of the trailer and you jump, pulling your legs up against your chest as he gets in his jacked up truck and starts blaring Metallica on high blast, crying as he pulls out of the driveway fast….

Trevor watched with a sort of cringe expression on his face. “He’s a bigger pussy than I thought…” He mumbles and now your sister came out and starts smoking, shorts basically like panties as he tube top is hot pink and Trevor backs off the fence some.

Not because he’s scared, oh no, he couldn’t give two fucks what she thinks of him. But because he knew she’d try to get in his pants and he knew that would only lead him down the road of every sexual transmitted disease known to man.

“Mr Phillips…What are you doing all the way over here?” She rasps out, smokers voice thick as she’s already fixing her dyed platinum blonde hair, eyebrows drawn on dark and thick as her mascara was smeared.

“Ah…you…I just came by to uh, suggest some sunscreen to your sister here” He backs off the fence and hides his boner as he adjusted himself.

You shake your head and sigh before going back to your drink, you hated how she flirts with every man she meets, but you especially hate how she tries banging your man.

“He’s super busy Trisha! Hes not interested and your married!” You snap at her and she shoots you a death glare, one that you knew meant punishment was already set in stone and you look away with a frown now.

And Trevor has always been known as a man who can’t contain his anger, he snaps, acts, and doesn’t ever think. “I’d rather stick my cock in a radioactive waste hole then rather then the Chernobyl between your legs!” He yells angrily and approaches the fence, wanting to unleash hell on her but you shake your head.

“Trevor! Stop! Go home!” You say in the soft, wavering voice that somehow gets him to listen and he pushes off the fence and storms across the dirt road separating your trailers, one that a four wheeler flies down and the driver yells at Trever for not watching where he’s going.

“Suck my fuckin dick you motherfucker!” He flips them off and yells loudly before marching up his porch steps and slams the door back shut, then rips it open again and storms to his truck, remembering he did still have business today.

You watch as he flips your sister off and speeds away after tossing a piss filled bottle out of the truck and at her feet as it shatters and she gasps loudly.

You laughed at the sight and she storms back inside and you laid there to finish sun bathing.

It’s 3 something in the morning as you hoist yourself up into Trevor’s kitchen window, falling to his dirty floor with a yelp and you push yourself to sit on your knees as you see Trevor watches from his stained old couch.

“Well damn…already in position and you just came in…” He jokes and stands, walking over to look down at you on your knees. “You alright princess?” He asks with surprising quietness, gently holding under your chin as you smiled sweetly and nod.

“I’m alright, I’ve had worse falls” you giggled out and slowly stand up as you dust your bare knees off, since you’re in pale pink sleep shorts.

“Noo…I mean are you alright after what you said to bitchzilla today?” He asks again and you huff at that, look away as you shrug and make yourself at home in his trailer, going to sit on the sofa.

“Yeah, she just didn’t give me any dinner is all! She made something she knows I can’t eat” You say as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, but Trevor was already seeing red and you catch on quick.

“Please don’t do anything crazy! I’ll eat later! I’ll eat this!” You held up his near molded pizza box and he takes it from you and throws it against the wall, knocking poor mr raspberry jam off the end table.

“That’s five weeks old! You haven’t ate today? She didn’t feed you?! Motherfucker! She’s worse than I thought!” He paces and you sigh while standing there, hands on your chest.

“Trev baby please…calm down it’s fine” You say softly and he shakes his head.

“It’s not fine! Those assholes dine like fuckin kings and you eat shit! I’ll kill them, I’ll cut his micro-dick off and beat her to death with it then stomp her motherfucking head in!” You grab his arms and he stops pacing as you push him to sit on the couch and you fall between his open legs, working his belt off fast as he shakes his head.

“That’s too merciful for her! I should fuckin….fuck…fuck princess” your mouthing at his boxers, eyes on his as you pushed his jeans open, feeling him become hard rather fast as you kept kissing and sucking through fabric.

You knew how to get him distracted, that’s for sure. You rub up his thighs and slowly hook your fingers in the waistband to pull them down and his once clenched fists are now splayed over the back of the couch as he rests his arms up there.

“Let me take care of ya…please trev? Can I?” You ask sweetly and he can never say no to you. So he nods and looks down at you as his cock springs free, hitting his lower stomach as it’s tented with a red/pink hue, tip already oozing precum as he sighs and his hips move up some.

“Yeah princess, suck it..don’t be shy and take all of it in, I know you love my big dick doncha?” You nod with a blush and felt heat pooling in your belly as you stroke him, starting at the base and slowly tugging up as you gnaw your bottom lip.

He groans, head falling back as he weakly thrusts up into your hand, cock twitching when your wet and warm tongue laps up the precum on his tip.

“Fuck…Fuuck yes just like that, doll…” He praises and looks down at you and his cock jumps again as you suck on the tip, perfect lips wrapping around him as your tongue works that slit…fuck he loves when you do that.

He can feel the tingles it shoots down his spine, making his hips move up into your mouth some and you twist your fist around his cock and take more in. He’s a big man, girthy so it takes a lot to shove the whole thing in your mouth and he knows it, and he lets you set the pace.

“Cmon…let me feel your throat, princess, let Me fuck it” He rasps out and lets out small whimpers and breathes when you slack your jaw and push down further, halfway in your mouth and his tip is already pushing past your uvula and you gag some, making him moan out as he grabs the back of your head and shoves you down all the way and you squeeze your watering eyes shut as you choke around him before he pulls you off with a grunt.

“Gonna fuck it, you want that? Want ole Trev to fuck this warm and wet cute fucking throat uh?” You nod and he laughs some as he pats your cheek. “Of course you do…I see the way your squeezing those thighs, I bet your wet ain’t ya?” You nod again because fuck…your soaked. Squeezing your thighs together to get some form of friction.

Trevor wipes your eyes and you close them as he pushes your head back down, this time, just holding his hand there on the back of your head so you can do the rest yourself.

And you do, you deep throat him, letting him slide in all the way, then drag out as you breathe and repeat the actions. He moans, whimpers, says your name like it’s a prayer and when you feel him getting close? You push all the way down and stay, swallowing around him.

And those contractions around his aching and sensitive cock is what pushes him over the edge, he lifts his hips off the couch as he came, hot ropes of cum spurts out thick, massively and you have to pull off some so only the tips in your mouth as you swallow it all, coughing some as you pulled off and it dribbles from your lips.

“Fuck!, fuck, fuck!” He pants and then looks down at you, flushed, cum dripping from your mouth and eyes wet. “You alright?” He pants out and you nod and smiled as you wipe your mouth, Trevor sighing contentedly as he pats his thigh.

“Cmere…wanna hold you” You get up, knees aching as you sit across his thigh and he tugs you down, arm around you as your head rests on his shoulder. “You should get the fuck outta there…It’s your life! Not theirs…they can’t tell you what to do” You look at him as he rubs your arm and sigh, wanting so bad for him to be right about this too…

“She’d hate me, she’s the only family I got” He scoffs and shakes his head as he squeezes you in a playful but also frustrated way, shaking you some.

“She already fuckin hates your guts! Just fuckin move in with me already Jesus!” He yells and you laughed as he shakes you.

“Trevor! I can’t move in with ya!” You laughed out and he stood shaking you, easing his old as he frowns, an almost pout on his face as if you just told him he couldn’t ever have sex again. A true horror to him.

“Why not?…” He said it quietly, and you look into his eyes, playing with his thinning hair.

Why not?…you didn’t know, you supposed you were afraid, afraid of change, afraid of having the only family member that wanted you gone and hating you. But he’s right, she already hates you…

And then you realize it’s fear of abandonment, what if Trevor leaves you? Then you have nothing to go back to, no home, no nothing.

“Well…what if you don’t want me anymore? Then my sister hates me and I have no where to live…” You say and he laughs as if that was the most absurd thing he’s ever been told.

“If i didn’t want ya anymore id have you suck my dick and shoved back out that window…but after I take care of that achy little pussy if yours were going to the diner to get you something to eat so you don’t starve…” He makes you straddle him and held your thighs, looking up at you.

And you stared at him with a wave of emotions, happiness, embarrassment at his crude words, and love…something you believed a man like him was incapable of feeling but damn…when he looks at you like this it makes you question all logic.

“Okay….” You say with a grin and he hugs you with a triumphant laugh as he tosses you on your back on the couch and kisses down your chest and belly excitedly.

“Oh princess! You have no idea the shit we’re gonna do, I got ya one of those pink fuzzy blankets on my bed right now! All yours!” He tugs your shorts off and throws them, tearing your panties as you scold him for it but he doesn’t care.

“Just uh…don’t question what’s on it…” He mumbles and dives in like a man starved, sloppy and still so fucking good…