by Gillian Zane
Chaz
They called us the “Trailer Park Twins” when we were kids.
It was a name started by a fat, obnoxious boy from the Las Vegas Girls & Boys Home, and it stuck. The fat kid knew Raz and I had been ripped screaming from the same trailer park during the same raid, even though I didn’t know my best friend at the time. I only knew the dark, smoke-filled world of my life in the Sunset Vista Mobile Home Park. At seven-years-old we had been placed in the back seat together when child services had accompanied the police raid that took out Raz’s father’s meth lab. It was conveniently located right next to our trailer park which supplied most of his customers. One of those regular customers was my mother.
Raz had slipped his hand into mine and whispered, “It’ll be okay, I swear.” Since that day we’d been inseparable. It hadn’t been okay, not by a long shot, but he had made it seem like it just might. Maybe one day.
Raz’s dad got a life sentence, with no eligibility of parole. It was his third felony conviction. In Nevada, the three-strike rule meant you he was never getting out. They had even considered the death penalty since his last batch had led to a mass overdosing of users, but that was thrown off the table at the last minute. Juries don't feel sorry for junkies and the DA thought they wouldn’t vote for the death penalty. My mom was one of ten junkies that had been found dead. The bad batch had been an instant death sentence. Paramedics had been able to revive only two, and those two weren’t ever the same. Getting high while cooking product wasn’t a good idea.
Raz’s mom had died not long after he was born, it was why he wasn’t as scared. He was used to the system. I wasn’t, this would be my first time and with no close relatives probably my endpoint.
I had asked my mother on numerous occasions about daddies and aunts and grandmothers. I had wished for a family like the other kids had. When she was lucid enough to speak, she told me tall tales of lost princesses with magic powers and forbidden romances that led to death and fear. It led to my father’s death. It was all made up. My father had probably been another junkie or a guy that she exchanged drugs for sex with. My mother was definitely not a princess.
Raz and I spent two years in the home. There wasn’t a family that would adopt us. No one wanted a skinny Israeli boy and a weird-looking albino girl with drug addict pedigrees. I wasn’t really albino, but the translucent look of my skin, not marred by one freckle or mole, and the weird sheen of my strawberry blond hair always made people do a double-take. My mom had always told me I had the coloring of my father, that I reminded her of him, the magical man from the forest. Her eyes would get shiny when she told me those stories. As a child, I was fascinated, but now looking back I took them for what they were; fantasy stories from a woman whose brain was damaged from drug use.
We lived in a group home, not that much better than a prison for kids. Raz became strong from the constant attacks by the bigger kid and I learned quickly about how to manipulate my way out of anything.
When the woman from the ballet studio came to our home, offering free lessons to the poor, impoverished orphan kids, I had begged and pleaded with Raz to take classes with me. I wanted to put on those funny shoes and make my body do those beautiful moves like the videos on the internet. At that time, Raz would do anything I asked him. I don’t think he had let go of my hand since that car ride. Even the matron at the home allowed us to bunk together, my nightmares only quieted by Raz’s presence. My biggest fear at that young age was when we reached the age of ten and aged out of our current home. Once you reached the junior homes they became same-sex.
Our closeness had confused a lot of the other kids, we were teased. Some thought we were actually twins so whispers of incest and jeers about trailer park and kissing cousins followed us everywhere, even though we were only babies and knew nothing about the world, or what those insults meant.
At first, we had tried to fight it, the sibling thing, not the weird sexual innuendos, but then we stopped. Sure, we were twins. Whatever you say. We let it go and we accepted it was what we were, the Trailer Park Twins.
When you’re a girl who never met her daddy, and whose mother was a dead meth head, who was best friends with a boy whose dad was serving a life sentence and could care less about your existence, you picked your battles. Bigger things to worry about.
Like tonight’s payday, which was going to be a monster score. Rent and electricity if we were lucky and that was only the “show-up” fee. That didn’t include the tips or if we decided to make a little extra for some one-on-one time. I doubted that would be on the table for this party though, private dances were scoffed at when half the other dancers were offering up their bodies for some quick cash. Why pay for a lap dance when Kiki the two-bit whore was doing two for one blow jobs in the back trailer?
“Game face on,” I gripped Raz’s hand as we walked the path to the picnic area where they were setting up the stage. Raz looked over at me and rolled his eyes and smacked his gum like the trailer trash he was. Raz had grown up from that skinny, pale, scared kid to a very striking adult man. The years of dancing and fighting had honed his body into an impressive array of muscles and lean lines that stood almost a foot taller than me.
And though I wouldn’t admit it to his face, he was prettier than me. I mean much prettier. He had that exotic Arabian look to him like he was hiding a lamp and a flying carpet somewhere. His hair, a lush chestnut brown hung to his shoulders in big waves, his golden-brown skin accentuating his big brown eyes and his very full lips. He grew a slight scruff to downplay his prettiness, but it only added to the exotic look.
The women went crazy over him, and so did the men.
Not that I had any trouble attracting either sex as well, I was an eight to Raz’s ten. Not bad if you ask me, and it helped with the tips. Especially when we danced together, which we were going to do tonight. My pale skin and red hair were in stark contrast to his exotic beauty. He could lift me and do crazy stunts because of our difference in size. I was tiny, all the weight concentrated in my tits and ass, something I was pretty proud of. Nothing like double Ds on a 5’1”, one hundred-pound pixie. No surgical enhancement either, this was all-natural.
Tonight my boy Raz was rocking that Prince Ali look, hair down and messy, white linen shirt unbuttoned to his belly button and leather pants. I would be playing the part of his Princess, dressed in my belly dancer get up, a bright blue ombre wig covering up my short red pixie cut. It was the closest I would get to being a princess. The straw I drew in life made sure of that.
We would drive them wild like we always did and then we would take the next couple of days off. Like we always did. We had been doing this since we were sixteen and had perfected the act. We didn’t like it, but you do what you have to do. At some point, we wouldn’t have to do it.
“Oh, oh, oh, fuck yeah you gorgeous fabulous bitches.” Dominick the stage manager, was at the end of the path looking impatient. He had set this entire thing up like he did most of the pop-up panty parties that were now the hottest invite in the area. They were perfect for Vegas, since no one ventured inside anymore when there was a crowd, and the weather was hardly ever an issue in the desert.
“Holy shit, you two are bringing it tonight, if I didn’t like dick so much I would try to fuck you.,” He grabbed my hand and spun me around.“ And have you thought about my offer?” He winked at Raz who shook his head and tried to pull me away. Raz and I had been waxed, shined, plumped, and tucked and I knew we looked great. The skin shined, the asses were tight, the lips juicy, and there wasn’t a stray hair to be seen.
“Stop lying Dom, you know you’d fuck me just to get to Raz.”
He rolled his eyes again and shook his head feigning embarrassment.
“Fine, guilty, but I would have to imagine you were a Jonas brother or something,” he laughed.
“What’s the set-up?” I interrupted because this shit could go on for hours if I didn’t stop it. Fake flirting could kill me if I let it.
“B’ness, b’ness,” he
sighed and beckoned us to follow him. The setting was gorgeous, right at the foot of a large mesa, in what was called a Life Zone. There was a great big clearing with footpaths that shot out from different directions. It was the beginning of a hike that went up the mesa. Some you could take to the top of the giant rock, others led to deeper spots in the desert. The party was here in the clearing though. Dominick had a stage set up along the rock face and a bar that ran along the brush. Comfortable chairs had been placed at nice socially distanced intervals.
“Since our last five pop-ups have sold out weeks in advance, I got to raise the price this time, and they still went like hotcakes, here’s your cut.” He handed both of us a stack of bills and I tried to keep my face stoic to not show Dom that I was a greedy greedy bitch.
Raz took the money out of my hand and put it in his overnight bag. I knew he would sneak off and put it safely in the car when Dom wasn’t looking. Not that we didn’t trust him, we didn’t trust anyone but each other.
“Fifty tickets sold at one K each, and this is a couples-only event because I didn’t want any funny business like last time. Couldn’t get in without a bitch on your arm, male or female of course.” He was referring to the sausage party that was the last event where the guys got a little worked up and started bidding on who got to fuck the dancers, even though no one had consented to any kind of sexual activity. When the dancers refused, the customers got mad and one of the girls had gotten hurt by accident. Dom had whipped out his trusty .45 and threatened to shoot someone’s dick off if they didn’t leave. It worked like a charm, the security managed to get everyone out of there and all was good. But, he wouldn’t have let single males into our parties for a while. Couples always worked better, it worked the guys up, they started doing their own exhibition show and the customers ended up fucking each other and leaving the dancers alone. One of the dancers had bitched that maybe two guys would pretend they were a gay couple to get in together, but most had laughed off her worries. If they were going to fake being a gay couple, let them.
“What other dancers are coming out?” Raz asked.
“Laila, Kiki, Diamond, Dragon, Buddha, and of course Kane.” He smiled a big shit-eating grin, he had a huge crush on Kane. Kane liked pussy, or so he said over and over again, his words not mine. A case of the lady doth protest much, or whatever that saying was. I was pretty sure he was fluid. Or he was fluid if the money was right.
“You’re the first here, my little prompt princesses.” He smacked me on the ass and I glared at him. If he wasn’t keeping me well fed I would have punched him.
“Hand’s off, Dom.” Raz pointed a finger at him and mumbled under his breath to me, “hand, bite, feed.” I got his point.
“Fine, fine, go oil up, same set-up as usual, usual line-up too. You are dancing together, they love that shit.” That meant we were finishing up the set. We would have time to get ready properly.
#
About the Author
Gillian Zane is a bestselling author, known for her NOLA Zombie series. Zane is the pen name of a prominent blogger in the publishing industry, which will remain a mystery unless you Google it. Since she can remember her goal has been to become Master of the Universe and has decided to focus first on the literary world. Things are progressing nicely.
Zane has been a freelance writer for the last ten years and has published a few non-fiction works, none of which were very exciting. Zombies, ghosts, and other paranormal creatures are much more exciting. When she isn’t stockpiling MREs (Meal’s Ready to Eat) or researching how to build a cistern on a budget which will become quite handy when the zombie apocalypse hits, she’s taking care of her little family and exploring the city that she loves, New Orleans. You can find Gillian Zane on twitter @GillianZane.
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Books by Gillian Zane
The Karma Inc. Series
Cheat (Karma Inc. Book 1)
Shark (Karma Inc. Book 2)
Liar (Karma Inc. Book 3)
Creep (Karma Inc. Book 4)
Crook (Karma Inc. Book 5)
The NOLA Zombie Series:
SHTF (NOLA Zombie Prequel)
RUN (NOLA Zombie Book 1)
FIGHT (NOLA Zombie Book 2)
LIVE (NOLA Zombie Book 3)
JUSTICE (NOLA Zombie Book 4)
HONOR (NOLA Zombie Book 5)
Cajun Zombie Series
Survive
Stand Alones:
The Haunted Sultan
Charged (Reverse Harem)
Contemporary Erotic Shorts:
Pink Bikini Bliss