Your best friend Sam's trailer park.

It will definitely be more spartan than what your accustomed to, but the few times Sam was willing to invite you over to his "house" it was at least clean and seemed like a close knit community. Sam always reminded you that these were the "nice" trailers that were attached to the ground and the size of small houses, which is a mansion compared to the flop house you got no sleep in last night.

You call up Sam after carefully considering what you can tell him without giving away your sissy spring break secret and land on something that resembles the truth enough to not sound like total bullshit. "Hey, Sam, I need your help, Dirk trashed my house after getting me crazy high and so I can't go to the cops or tell my parents without getting in even more trouble. Can I crash with you for a little while?"

Luckily Sam trusts you, but you still think he suspects there is more to the story, but he likes you enough to let it lie. Besides, suddenly you aren't the rich friend with all the unearned privileges you still managed to whine about. You realize with a blush that Sam has always been a better friend to you than you have to him, and you vow to make it up to him.

"Hey, Brian, sorry to hear about your house. I'll tell you what, my asshole dad's still out of town. Let's play hooky and think of a way to convince him to let you to stay. Here, have some hair of the dog and I'll help you get your stuff packed." You pull Sam into a tight hug with tears in your eyes, you can't put into words how grateful you are for him helping you so unreservedly. You feel a bulge brush against your leg as he squeezes you back a little tighter, but you figure you must be imagining it due to your sordid week, and you put it out of your mind as he breaks the embrace and hands you a packed pipe before leading you back to his cramped, but cozy room.

You take a hit and sink into Sam's beanbag chair, feeling an invisible, oppressive weight slough off you. Sam sits on his bed and sets your pack on the floor, motioning for you to finish the bowl. You know you still have to figure out how to convince his dad, a brutish trucker with a short temper and long list of assualt convictions, to let his son's loser rich friend stay. The weed and Sam's kindness make you feel hopeful and calm. So calm in fact, that you start popping a noticable stoner boner.

Sam must have gotten a headstart because you see he has an even bigger one bulging in his tight jeans. Not as big or thick looking as Dirks from what you can tell, but you bet it could reach your sissy g spot and pound a spurt out of it. You are licking your lips and wondering if it would taste even better than Dirk's when you catch yourself. You look away blushing and mutter, "Sorry, dude, just spacy and tired and stoner boned."

Sam blushes as if he was the one caught checking you out, "oh hey no problem. Why don't we take a nap? I was up all night...uhm...playing games. So do you want to share my full or sleep in the beanbag?" You must be really high and sleepy, because it totally sounds like he's hitting on you. His bed is barely big enough for one. You'd have to spoon under his Batman and Robin sheets to avoid falling off. And you know exactly who would be the little spoon.

Maybe you are just too horny to think straight, maybe he's just being a good host. Then again, if you are going to keep things from getting weird, maybe it's safer to take a shower and hit the beanbag instead?