FoA S3 Chapter 7

You and a hesitant Joey follow Vicky up to the trailer, where Vicky knocks roughly. You’re all rough in every possible way. Dirty, tired, and ****.

The door opens and weed smoke billows out of the trailer making you cough while Vicky and Joey breathe it in gratefully.

The woman who stands there is a lot to take in. She’s curvy with a big smile, wearing a Paisley silk robe in greens and blues. The robe is open, revealing her pale, freckled skin and everything else. Her thick bush is the same shade of sandy brown as the curls that cascade over her shoulders. Her makeup is bold to say the least and she has a sun and moon tattooed on her tummy.

“Hi,” she says, peering curiously down at the three of you.

No one says anything. No one knows what to say. Vicky takes the lead.

“We’re in trouble,” she announces.

The woman nods. She looks around with a frown.

“Well,” she says with a yawn. “You obviously ain’t cops.” She lets you in. You pile into the camper as the wind chimes sound outside. The smell is misleading. The interior of the camper is by no means modern, but it’s clean and cool with the AC running. The appliances that you see are new. This home, if that’s what it is, isn’t quite as poor as the exterior wants you to think.

The woman seats herself on the bench of the breakfast nook.

“What’s your story?” she asks.

“We fucked up,” Vicky tells her simply. “Do you have a phone we can use?”

“Ain’t no service or Wi-Fi out here, Sweetheart.” The woman grins, picking up her blunt.

“Shit,” Joey says, running her hands through her crazy hair.

The woman’s eyes have found their way to the obvious bulge in your too-tight shorts. She’s noticed Vicky too. Vicky looks at you.

“Can you tell us how to get to… whatever is closest to here?” Joey asks.

“Go left,” the woman replies.

“How far?”

“Oh, about four miles.”

You cringe. That’s pretty far on bare feet. “Do you have something we can wear?” Your situation is dire enough that your pride just doesn’t exist.

She looks thoughtful. “I do, actually. Got a whole box of clothes that’s been left here. What you got to trade?”

“Not a damn thing,” Vicky says.

“Hmm,” the woman replies. She rolls her eyes and takes a puff. “When I did have service I watched this thing. Girls playing soccer. Lotta girls are better hung than the men round here. Only girl I know like that don’t know how to use it.” The woman’s gaze is on you as she says this.

Vicky does not hesitate. Zero hesitation. She flings her arm around your shoulders and yanks you close.

“We’re worth your while,” she announces.