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Gator Tail Trailer Park No. 4
By Bo Dunne
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Previously titled as “Knight Embrace”
~~ All characters in this book are 18 or older. ~~
Delia awoke in the middle of the night to a repeated thumping sound at the far end of the single-wide mobile home where she lived. Her brother Greg, who had returned from an Army tour in Afghanistan a few months ago, had his bedroom there. Concern brought Delia to full wakefulness as she heard her mother’s footsteps hurrying out of the room next to Delia’s.
“Mom?” Delia called out. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” her mom said, with more hope than certainty as she continued up the narrow hallway.
In the warm, humid Florida night, Delia had been sleeping nude. Worried about Greg, who was a hero to her personally as well as to the Army, she swung her long, toned legs out of bed and stood up. The cheap floor creaked under her. Still nude, she opened her door and strode up the hallway, with her shoulder-length blonde hair swaying behind her.
Eighteen years old and in her first year at the local community college, Delia ignored the jiggling her of 36D breasts as she rushed after her mother. Her brother, who was four years older, had bad dreams on many nights—maybe every night. This one sounded like the worst one yet.
“Mom, what’s he doing?” Delia stopped in the open doorway. From the hall light angling into the room, she saw her muscular brother thrashing in his bed. His hands and feet sometimes hit the wall, causing the thumping sound, yet his eyes were closed.
“Not too loud, Delia.” Speaking softly, Mom knelt near the head of the bed, trying to get her arms around him. She, too, was nude. Pretty and busty, Mom was much shorter than Delia, with a classic hourglass figure. She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and ran her fingers through Greg’s short, dirty-blond hair, which now had a few month’s growth from the Army-style cut he had worn when he came home.
Greg, as usual, wore only gray underpants in bed. He had handsome, chiseled facial features. The scars of his shrapnel wounds showed on his torso. He had received a Silver Star and Purple Heart for his actions in Afghanistan.
“He’s still asleep, isn’t he?” Delia asked quietly. During the day, she always kept up a happy tone with him. She didn’t fully understand his suffering, but she deeply wanted to make him feel better, to help him heal.
Mom held up an orange prescription pill bottle. It was mostly full. “He can’t sleep without this kind of help most nights. At least his doctor understands what he’s going through.” She often worked the evening shift waiting on tables at the Grillin’ Gator Bar, just across the highway from the trailer park, and so her hours sometimes kept her up later at night than Delia. Mom knew more about his habits at late hours. “Right now, I don’t think he’s able to wake up. I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself banging against the wall.”
Greg muttered something, then his whole body jerked.
Mom put her arms around his head and held him. Her bare boobs pressed against his face. He seemed to become calmer.
Delia, on the verge of tears, knelt down by the middle of the bed. She held one of his hands. At her touch, his grip tightened on hers.
Mom yawned even as she held his head against her boobs.
“Have you slept at all?” Delia asked.
“I had just drifted off when the noise started.” She yawned again. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Let me keep him company. You get some sleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll take care of my big brother. Promise.”
Mom nodded reluctantly. She stood up. “You’re right, I’m asleep on my feet right now.”
Delia moved up and wrapped her arms around Greg’s head and shoulders, mashing her boobs against his face. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry, okay?”
“All right.” Rubbing her forehead, Mom backed out of the room. “Yell for me if we have to call 911 or something.”