Straight Town: Chapter 3

By Wesley Bracken -
published July 25, 2019

Kevin knows something isn’t right, living with his wife and sons in a trailer park. Frustrated, he finds his thoughts drifting towards troubling desires.

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It had been a week, now. That wasn’t true of course. It had been years. A lifetime, is some ways, but in Kevin’s mind, it had been a week. He clung to that, for some reason, marked it with some sort of importance, even though that morning had been like every other morning–just like this morning too. Waking up with a hangover, one he sought to get over as quickly as possible by downing a beer from the fridge and chain smoking two cigarettes. Michelle was in the living room, watching TV, the kids were gone off who knew where–they were all latchkey kids for the most part, since Kevin was working at the garage most days, and Michelle was working as a waitress at the diner. Neither of them really cared that much, honestly, and nothing bad could happen to them here. This town…for everything it wasn’t, it sure as fucking hell loved its kids–that much Kevin knew. But him? They freaked him out, somehow. Unnerved him. That day, a week ago, he’d barely even been able to recall his kids’ names. Just these three little strangers who all knew him, who all looked a bit too much like him. But then, a week ago, he’d barely been able to look at himself in the mirror, or…or do much of anything.

Had things gotten better, or worse since then? He could look at himself now, he supposed. He was looking at himself now, in fact, after taking a piss in the toilet, cigarette hanging from his mouth, staring his reflection down. Bloodshot eyes, his disheveled mullet and ragged beard, a smear of grease still across his cheek that he hadn’t bothered to wash off from the day before–or maybe the day before that. He hated this. He hated this life. He was supposed to hate this, but what else was there? He was supposed to hate this, and yet, also do nothing to change it. It felt like a cage. He had built it himself, hadn’t he? All of those choices down the road, all of those shit decisions had led him right here–stuck in a double-wide with a wife that hated his guts most days, three kids he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about, and a job as a mechanic slowly grinding his body down to nothing. He’d been…free, once. On the road. He could remember a car, sometimes, but he knew it had been a motorcycle–that’s all he drove, after all.

Was it a breakdown? No–he wasn’t having a fucking breakdown, that was idiotic. Nothing had changed, nothing was wrong, everything was exactly as it should be–but then, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was so…angry. He was angry at something, at something locked away in his head, at something he could barely grasp at, like a dream, but it was there–and so…he was angry at everything. Angry at his kids. Angry at Michelle. Angry at work. Angry, angry, angry, it felt bottomless. Not enough to…hurt anyone. He knew none of them deserved it, so he took it out on walls, on himself. Drinking, smoking, anything to dull it, to distract him. It hadn’t been there a week ago, this anger. It was new, and it made him feel…new too. Different, than he had been. He wanted to let it go, he hated holding onto it, but it was the only thing that was giving him…something. Hope? No, that was a ridiculous idea–there was no hope for him.

He needed another beer. He should take a shower, but a shower couldn’t do what beer could. He left the bathroom and went back out to the kitchen. Michelle was on the sofa, watching TV–her soaps, probably, maybe the news. He didn’t give enough of a shit to pay attention. She was also on the phone, and as he pulled out another beer, he listened in on her side of the conversation.

“Yeah, he’s still fucking here–I know, he’s…You think I like it, Ron?” She said, and shot Kevin a glare–making sure he knew who she was talking to. It was his boss, down at the garage, probably wondering where in the hell Kevin was, since technically, his shift started a couple hours ago. He wasn’t exactly known for timeliness of course, but a couple of hours was even more than usual. “Yeah, he’ll be there–you wanna talk to him?…Alright, later hon.” Michelle hung up her phone, and looked over at Kevin. “He’s been calling you all morning–you gonna go to work, or just hang around here like a fucking loser all day?”

“Get off my fucking back,” Kevin growled back at her. He wondered, for a moment, how Ron had her number at all–he’d never given it to her. Probably best not to think about that too hard, he supposed. “I’m goin’, alright? Fuckin’ hell…”

He chugged most of the beer down, and headed back towards the bedroom, where he started digging through some of the dirty laundry there, piecing together some gear that wasn’t completely filthy yet.

“Ain’t ya forgettin’ something else?”

He looked behind him, and there Michelle was, robe open, staring at him. She’d always been a big girl–that was how Kevin liked them, but the years since they got together, she’d only gotten thicker. Not all of it fat, either–she could hold her own against him, and if she ever put on heels, she’d be taller than him by an inch. She even cut her hair shorter than his, of all things, and with the tattoos and the clothes she usually wore–well, tomboy was one word, but butch was better, in all honesty. It made it easier, somehow, but there, in her robe half naked, breasts and pussy out, he still felt…disgusted with himself. And disgusted by her. It wasn’t fair, and he didn’t…want to feel that way, but for a week now, it had been a struggle, giving her the fucks she wanted. Once a day was required–twice was best.

“I thought Ron needed me at the garage,” he said, still sorting through clothes.

“Yeah, but I need you first–get on the bed. We can be quick.”

“Not…today, I need to get going.”

“A minute ago you couldn’t seem to give a shit about going there, and now that I’m fucking horny, and want you in me, you can’t wait to get out of here–is that how it is?”

“I’m too fucking tired, and fucking hungover.”

“You were just as hungover yesterday and you did just fine.”

“I fucking said I don’t fucking want to fuck you!” he shouted at her, “Fucking hell–maybe I just don’t want to fuck, is that fucking alright with you?”

She stormed over, pushed him back onto the bed, and started stroking his cock. The truth was, he was horny–he was always horny, and his cock had a hair trigger. Pretty much anything would get it up, that’s how it had always been. He tried to push her off him, but not fast enough to give him a massive hard-on. “Well someone disagrees,” she said, “Now get in me already.”

“Fucking hell, I don’t…I don’t want to fuck you!” he shouted, feeling a bit of that anger slip through, and once there was a crack, everything just came pouring out. “You fucking…fuck! I don’t fucking know why, but you fucking disgust me sometimes, and just fucking looking at you makes me want to–fuck!” he said, getting off the bed and pulling on some grease stained jeans, skipping the underwear. “Just leave me the fuck alone today–I can’t fucking deal with this right now.”

She just stared at him, shocked for a moment, but she started gritting her teeth, balling the sheets up in her fist, “You think…you think this is fucking easy? You think I don’t fucking disgust myself, when I look in the fucking mirror, when I think about what I fucking want you to do to me? I fucking hate it! I fucking hate you!” She started throwing shit at him then, pillows at first, and then shit off their nightstands, and Kevin, surprised by her sudden outburst, just grabbed the closest workshirt and fled backwards from the bedroom down the hall, as she advanced, just howling at him now. “Why the fuck did it have to be me! I was fucking happy before I met you, you know? You think I want this anymore than you do? But we don’t have a fucking choice now, do we? Fuck you!”

She turned around and stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut, leaving Kevin clutching a greasy shirt in one hand, confused–but still more angry than he was confused. He threw on the shirt and his boots, and got out of the house before she could storm out in whatever mood she might be in. As he was leaving, he thought he heard her moan–the same sort of moan she gave off when he was fucking her, and figured she was probably taking care of herself. Good–a fuck is probably what she needed. Probably what they both needed, in all honesty, but not…not with her. He didn’t even know who–but not her, he couldn’t face it today.

He climbed on his motorcycle and headed for town. He should at least make an effort to show up today–Rod had patience, but not limitless patience. Of course, it helped that Kevin could fix just about anything on a car or bike, no matter how old or beat up. He had the touch, as Rod told him, more than once. Too bad he didn’t have the touch in the rest of his life–it sure would help. He sped up, going sixty on the little road into town–well over the limit, but what did he care? He just wanted to feel this for a second, feel like he was moving somewhere, anywhere. That he wasn’t just trapped here like a fucking rat in a cage, or worse. He wasn’t sure what would be worse, exactly, but it felt worse than that. He got closer to town, and eased up a bit where the deputies liked to hang out and form a speed trap to help fill the town coffers–though they usually were kind enough to let the locals off. After all, no one around here had much in the way of cash, though the town was booming–at least, if you counted population. Sometimes it felt like there were more kids than adults running around the dang place–it freaked him out, in the same way his own little buggers freaked him out sometimes, like a week ago. All that shit he’d said to them, while Michelle tried to calm him down…He’d done his best to apologize, but none of them were looking at him the same–especially not Bud, the eldest at thirteen. He knew exactly what his dad had said to him–and Kevin…fuck, he was just making a mess of everything.

The garage was attached to the only gas station in town, and Rod owned them both. When Kevin rolled up, he could see that both bays were full, and Rod was bent over one old station wagon–probably the Jenson’s–cursing a bit. Kevin found himself staring at Rod’s ass, filling up the back of his coveralls, thinking about…about what, exactly? He was hard–but then, what else was new? He wasn’t a faggot though–he…he knew that, didn’t he? He knew it the same way he knew everything else, he supposed. Knew that Michelle was his wife. Knew that he lived here. Knew how to work on cars. Knew how to ride a bike. Knew he wasn’t gay. But he didn’t feel any of them as facts, they all felt…hollow. Like if he knocked on any one of them too hard, they’d all fall apart together–and that scared the shit out of him, somehow. He got off the bike, still looking at Rod’s ass, still thinking about it, wondering if it was soft or firm, wondering how it might compare to Michelle’s. He gave his head a shake, feeling his beard whip around a bit, and headed towards where Ron was working.

He didn’t bother apologizing, and Rod had long since stopped expecting one. He just told Kevin what was up with the other vehicle–an old truck that seemed to be having some transmission trouble, and he got to work. Work was easy, at least. Cars were easy. Sure, they might look imposing, but they were all the same basic machine. They all spoke the same language. If you could talk to one, you could talk to any of them.

“So how’s everything goin’ Kev?” Rod asked, breaking the silence as they worked.

He didn’t reply, and just kept fiddling with the engine.

“Michelle was–look, she’s worried about you. I’m worried about you,” he stood up from the car, wiping his hands on a rag. “I can’t do anything if you won’t talk about it.”

“There’s nothing fuckin’ wrong,” Kev said, taking a moment to light a cigarette, trying to keep his hands from shaking with rage. “She doesn’t know shit.”

“Hey now, she’s a fine woman, and she cares about you, more than you probably know.”

Kevin didn’t reply, but thought about how Rod somehow had gotten Michelle’s number. Thought about his youngest boy Davie, thought about how his nose kind of had the same hook as Rod, thought about how he was always at the tavern until it closed, coming home late, everyone already in bed, thought about how Rod almost always got dinner at the restaurant after work, when Michelle was in the middle of her shift. Thought about how angry he was. Not that Rod was probably fucking her, but that…that what? That Rod wanted her, and not him?

He turned back to the engine, moving too fast, and nicked himself on some metal, gritted his teeth, and ignored it. Ignored all of it. He didn’t want to have this conversation, he didn’t want to talk to any of these people. He hated this–but what else could he do? He wasn’t fucking qualified for anything else in town–engines and cars and motorcycles was all he knew, at least, the only legal stuff he knew, and he’d promised Michelle he wouldn’t…do any of that other stuff anymore. So he had to suck it up and deal with it–what else could he do?

He could shove Ron into that back office, and tear those fucking converalls off of him. He could smack him around if he tried to say no, he could bend him over that desk of his and slide his cock up and down his crack, the way he liked to do with Michelle, when he could talk her into it. Could fuck him. Fucking a guy didn’t make you a faggot, right? No–just…taking cock. Yeah, he wasn’t a faggot for thinking about this, not really. “Fuck, cut myself, give me a second,” Kevin said, and headed for the restroom around the back of the building. He washed his hands, checking the cut, and then looked at himself in the filthy mirror again, and then dropped his pants, sat on the toilet, and rubbed one out, thinking about fucking his boss to bits in his own office, thinking about taking back what he wanted, thinking about taking himself back from…from…

He exploded all over his hands, and his pants–but with all the grease, no one could even tell what was anything anyway. He washed up again–the cut had stopped bleeding, and he felt a whole lot better with that load out of him. He went back out, and kept working–Rod was smart enough to avoid the subject of Kevin’s lateness for the rest of the day, and Kevin worked an extra hour alone in the garage, to help make up for it–that, and because the thought of going home and facing Michelle after what had happened that morning turned his stomach. Locking up that night, he was in the back office, where Rod hung up his coveralls and kept his boots, and Kevin jacked off again, spraying his cum across the seat of Rod’s coveralls, thought about taking a piss in his boots, but contained himself. Is this what he was reduced to? The big bad biker, riding from town to town, fearing no one, living nowhere–this is who he was now? Jacking off into his boss’s clothes while he was probably, right now, banging his wife in his truck at the diner? He could catch them in the act. He could catch them, and haul him off of her, beat him to a pulp in the parking lot and then take his ass and make her watch, show her what he really wanted, what he…fucking hell.

Something was wrong. Something was different. Something was broken in his head, it felt like. One week, and it wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse, these thoughts were just getting worse and worse, and he didn’t know what he would do if he had to try and keep them all inside him for the rest of his god damn life. He’d kill himself, probably. Do everyone a favor, and just be done with it. He thought about it. Thought about riding his bike out on the highway, crossing over, and ramming into a fucking semi like a bug on the windshield. Instead, he headed for the tavern. Drinking was slower, he supposed, but more fun in the meantime.

Jack, the bartender, saw Kevin come in, and had his usual whiskey double waiting for him at his spot at the bar. It was the regulars tonight, regulars that Kevin all knew by name, knew all their stories and all their jokes. They were all here because none of them wanted to go home–like him–but none of them could talk about it. They talked around it, talked about their wives mostly, complained about them all night long, and Jack just kept pouring. But Kevin knew the truth–they were all terrified. He was terrified too. Terrified of them back at home, terrified of a woman he could barely remember, and three kids, one of him he was now certain wasn’t his own, but three all the same that he could barely look at without getting queasy. Where had they even come from? How could he remember so little of them? The guys though, none of them talked about the kids. Talked about how many there were. None of them talked about the mayor, either, though there was plenty to complain about regarding the sheriff and his deputies, and also plenty of gossip to go around. Who was fucking who now, behind who’s back. Who had just gotten married, who was pregnant again and who the father was this time.

Kevin didn’t talk much, he just drank, throwing them back about as quickly as Jack could put them down in front of him. Thinking about the men he was sitting with, watching them all flirt with Candy as she walked around, bringing drinks to the tables around them, but none of them got too close. They wanted to be seen flirting, it seemed like, but they weren’t committed to it entirely. Kevin didn’t even do that–she disgusted him. Every woman he’d seen today disgusted him at some visceral level, like he was ashamed to even be associated with them. He found himself eyeing the other men on the barstools instead.

There was Jeremiah. Lived on a farm outside of town. Had a whole slew of kids on the farm, most of them working on it, keeping it going. It was rumored that some of them weren’t born from his wife, but from his eldest daughters–by his own hand, maybe, or by another man around town. He was fat, and old, with a trimmed beard and hollowed out eyes. Kevin wondered what he smelled like. Dirt probably. Hint of manure. Sweat. Wondered what his cock was like. Uncut probably. Couldn’t get a good eye on the bulge in those baggy overalls he always wore.

There was Benny. Younger, muscled, toned ass and a bulge you could see from miles off. Couldn’t seem to keep his hands off the young ladies around town though–married or not. He was a bachelor himself, and had probably sired eight or nine, judging from how many little blonde boys and girls there were running around. He was terrified of settling down–as soon as he felt a connection to young lady, he’d break it off and hook up with another. Like if he settled down with one, he’d wake up the next morning twenty years older. Kevin shuddered at the thought.

There was Ambrose. Old, but not as old as Jeremiah. He was the town doctor, and with his wife, Helen, they delivered all the babies in town–and sometimes, it seemed like that was all they even did. Someone once asked him how many he’d delivered, since the mayor had been elected, and he hadn’t even been able to count them–he just asked for another double. He was a handsome man though, a rough voice, always smoked this big bowled pipe. He wondered how the smoke would feel on his cock for a moment, and then pushed that idea well away. He was drunk. Drunker than he could recall being, really. Too drunk to ride, that was for sure, but not drunk enough to kill his damn hard on, god damn it. He did have to take a mighty piss though. He excused himself, and Benny followed after him, needing a leak as well.

No one knows what happened in there for sure. There was a bunch of hollering, the sound of glass shattering (one of the mirrors, it turned out) and then Benny tumbled out of the bathroom backwards onto the floor of the tavern, one lip bloody and his pants pulled down past his ass. Kevin stormed out, shouting about how Benny had tried to touch his cock at the fucking urinal, and Benny screamed back at him that Kevin had tried to yank his pants down, and wanted to fuck him. Kevin denied it, and threw himself at the young guy, starting a brawl that required three guys to pull them off each other, while Jack phoned the sheriff’s office. Two guys held down Kevin, still trying to swing himself free, while Benny broke loose and ran out the back door–and a moment later, the deputy pulled up, and Steve stepped into the tavern, demanding to know what the commotion was all about.

Since Kevin was the only one left in the bar, and no one could say he hadn’t started it, and since he was too drunk to really even stand up on his own, Steve decided the best thing he could probably do for him was arrest him and hold him in jail over night until he sobered up, and they could get a straight story from him and Benny about what had happened. Kevin wasn’t happy about that idea, and he struggled a bit as Steve got the cuffs on him, and then hauled him out and forced him into the back of the squad car, and drove off towards the sheriff station to book him.

But Steve, for the first time that whole week, could feel an outline of that void in his mind, could see someone in the car with him, beside him, as he drove. And Kevin…swore he knew that touch somewhere, swore he knew that face of the deputy sitting in the front seat. As angry as he was at being arrested–that face…was someone he couldn’t be angry at. It was someone he didn’t even know, and that alone was confusing. Everyone knew everyone else in Derryville, so how did he not know him at all? He wanted to say something, but bit his tongue instead. Best to stay silent in situations like these. Besides, what could he say? what could possibly fill the space between them now?

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