Pimp My Ryder
by TGIBriday
The old trailer sat at the end of a dirt road that seemed to apologize for existing.
It leaned sideways beneath a pair of pine trees, its aluminum skin stained with rust and mildew, as though the humid Southern summers had been slowly chewing it apart for years.
Inside lived eighteen-year-old Ryder Mason and his mother, Caroline Mason.
Most people called her Carly.
Most people called her worse things when she wasn't around.
Back in the little church town where she'd grown up, Carly had become a cautionary tale before she was old enough to legally buy a cigarette. The story everyone preferred was simple: Carly was a drug-addicted slut who had thrown her life away.
The truth made people less comfortable.
The truth was that Carly exposed an inconvenient fact. She had been the kind of person the town liked to believe couldn't exist. She was blonde, blue-eyed, born into a churchgoing family whose ancestors had been buried beneath neatly trimmed cemetery grass for generations. Yet she stole from relatives, lied without blinking, disappeared for days at a time, fought in parking lots, and fed every addiction that crossed her path.
People were willing to forgive almost anything until they were forced to admit she looked exactly like them.
So they threw her out.
By thirty-two, Carly had burned through nearly every relationship she'd ever had.
The only person left was Ryder.
She had no idea who his father was.
There had been a few possibilities back then, but the names had blurred together over the years. All Carly really knew was that Ryder had inherited remarkable looks from somewhere. At eighteen, he had blond hair, sharp features, clear gray eyes, and the sort of effortless good looks that made strangers stop for a second glance.
People often assumed he must have been popular.
They were wrong.
Life with Carly had left him too tired for popularity.
Too cautious.
Too eager to please.
Ryder loved his mother with the desperate loyalty of someone who'd been conditioned to believe love was measured by sacrifice.
If Carly needed money, he found money.
If she needed groceries, he got groceries.
If she got herself into trouble, Ryder somehow ended up cleaning the mess.
He'd spent so much of his life rescuing her that he barely understood what it meant to have dreams of his own.
Carly, meanwhile, viewed him less as a son and more as a resource.
Not because she consciously hated him.
The sad truth was worse.
She simply never learned how to love anyone properly.
Sometimes she'd look at Ryder across the trailer and wonder what had happened. She'd remember being fifteen, terrified and pregnant, sitting in a church pew listening to sermons about sin and punishment.
If she'd been less frightened back then, she often thought, she would never have had the child at all.
It wasn't a thought she shared.
Not because it would hurt Ryder.
Because admitting it aloud would make it real.
And reality was something Carly avoided whenever possible.
That summer was particularly brutal.
The air carried enough humidity to feel like wet cloth pressed against the skin. The trailer's air conditioner had died months ago. Every day felt like surviving inside a metal oven.
Ryder worked odd jobs across three counties.
Mowing fields.
Repairing fences.
Hauling scrap metal.
Cleaning out abandoned sheds.
Anything people would pay cash for.
Every dollar seemed to vanish the moment he earned it.
Some went to food.
Most disappeared into Carly's problems.
One afternoon he returned from loading lumber for a local contractor and found a stranger's pickup parked outside the trailer.
His stomach sank instantly.
Not because he knew the man.
Because he knew his mother.
When Ryder stepped inside, Carly sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. Across from her sat a broad-shouldered man wearing mirrored sunglasses indoors.
A bad sign.
"Ryder," Carly said with forced cheerfulness. "You know Mr. Tucker."
Ryder didn't.
But he immediately understood.
Debt.
Again.
The man smiled.
It wasn't friendly.
"Your mama owes me money."
Ryder nodded slowly.
"How much?"
Carly stared at the table.
The answer told him everything.
Too much.
Always too much.
For a second, something inside him twisted.
Not anger.
Exhaustion.
Pure exhaustion.
He suddenly saw his future stretched out before him like the dirt road leading from the trailer.
Five years.
Ten years.
Twenty.
Still cleaning up after someone who never intended to change.
Still sacrificing everything.
Still waiting for gratitude that would never come.
The realization hit him harder than any punch.
Mr. Tucker continued talking, but Ryder barely heard him.
His attention drifted to the window.
Beyond it lay endless woods.
Pine trees.
Creeks.
Miles of open country.
A world larger than this trailer.
Larger than Carly.
Larger than every mistake she had turned into his responsibility.
For the first time in his life, Ryder wondered what would happen if he left.
Not for a day.
Not for work.
Forever.
The thought frightened him.
Then it excited him.
Then it frightened him again.
That night, while Carly slept on the couch beneath the flickering television, Ryder sat outside on the trailer steps.
The woods buzzed with cicadas.
Heat lightning flashed on the horizon.
He thought about all the years he'd spent believing his purpose was saving someone who didn't want saving.
The realization felt almost like grief.
Because no matter how selfish Carly could be, she was still his mother.
The person who had raised him.
The person he'd spent his entire life trying to protect.
From inside the trailer came the muffled sound of her snoring.
Ryder stared into the darkness.
For the first time he allowed himself a dangerous idea.
Maybe surviving wasn't enough.
Maybe there had to be something more than dragging another person's burdens behind him until they crushed him.
The dirt road disappeared into the woods like a ribbon of darkness.
Somewhere beyond it waited an unknown future.
For eighteen years, Ryder Mason had lived hand to mouth, carrying mistakes he hadn't made.
Sitting there beneath the Southern night sky, he finally began to imagine setting them down.
And once that thought takes root, it becomes very difficult to kill.
Days went by listlessly though …
The trailer rattled whenever a truck passed on the distant county road.
This “home” was something to despise. The floor sagged in places. The kitchen counters were scarred by cigarette burns and water damage. Half the blinds hung crooked. Outside, pine trees stood like silent witnesses over acres of Southern backwoods where poverty and bad decisions seemed to grow as naturally as the weeds.
Once again thirty-three-year-old Caroline “Carly” Mason sat alone at the little kitchen table smoking a cigarette she'd promised herself she wouldn't buy.
A battered radio crackled beside her.
The local preacher's voice drifted through the static.
"...and every morning the Lord gives us another chance to become something better than we were yesterday."
Carly rolled her eyes.
Normally that sort of thing annoyed her. Preachers had spent most of her life reminding her of everything she was doing wrong.
But today something felt different.
Maybe it was because the trailer was unusually quiet.
Maybe it was because Ryder wasn't home.
Or maybe it was because, for the first time in eighteen years, she genuinely wasn't sure what came next.
The realization settled over her like a weight.
Her son was eighteen now.
An adult.
A man.
And someday soon, probably sooner than she wanted, he was going to leave.
The radio preacher kept talking.
Carly barely heard him.
Instead she found herself staring out the kitchen window.
What exactly was she supposed to do if Ryder left?
For years she'd never seriously considered the question.
Ryder was simply... there.
Always there.
The boy brought money home from odd jobs.
The boy fixed things.
The boy hauled groceries.
The boy dealt with people whenever Carly owed money or needed a favor.
The boy solved problems.
Her problems.
The thought made her uncomfortable.
For a brief moment, a rare and unwelcome moment of honesty, she wondered if she'd wasted her life.
Thirty-three years old.
No job.
No savings.
No real friends.
No plans.
No future she could clearly picture.
Just one collapsing trailer and a growing collection of regrets.
The preacher's voice crackled again.
"God can change any life willing to change itself."
Carly laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh.
It was the bitter sound of someone who didn't quite believe that people could change.
Still...
The idea lingered.
What if she actually tried?
What if she got a real job?
What if she cleaned herself up?
What if she made something out of the years she still had left?
For several seconds she entertained the fantasy.
It felt strange.
Almost exciting.
Then her attention drifted back toward Ryder.
A thought occurred to her.
What did the boy actually want?
She frowned.
The answer didn't come.
In fact, she realized something embarrassing.
She honestly didn't know.
Not really.
He'd always seemed so focused on helping her survive that she'd never paid much attention to what might be happening inside his head.
Did he want college?
Did he want to leave the state?
Did he want a family someday?
Did he want to join the military?
Become a mechanic?
Start a business?
Travel?
Something.
Anything.
Carly couldn't say.
The realization stung more than she expected.
Not because she suddenly felt guilty.
Guilt required a degree of emotional investment she wasn't accustomed to.
Rather, it unsettled her because it highlighted how little she actually knew about the person she'd lived with for eighteen years.
Ryder had always been extraordinarily handsome.
People noticed him wherever he went.
Sometimes they noticed him before they noticed her.
That had annoyed Carly when he was younger.
Now she simply accepted it.
The boy looked like he belonged in movies rather than hauling scrap metal and fixing fences in forgotten corners of the South.
Women (and men) of every age stared at him.
Men tended to like him immediately.
Employers trusted him.
Strangers helped him.
Life seemed to open doors for Ryder.
The funny thing was he never appeared to realize it.
He still carried himself like somebody expecting rejection.
Maybe growing up around Carly had done that.
The thought crossed her mind briefly before she pushed it away.
Some truths were easier not to examine.
Outside, a pickup truck growled down the road.
Carly flicked ash into an empty soda can.
For a few minutes she sat silently listening to the preacher and considering possibilities.
Maybe she could change.
Maybe she could find work.
Maybe she could learn to stand on her own two feet before Ryder finally walked away.
For perhaps the first time in years, the future didn't look entirely impossible.
Then reality returned.
She glanced around the trailer.
The unpaid bills.
The empty refrigerator.
The leaking sink.
The debt collectors.
The requests for money she'd inevitably make once Ryder returned home.
The hopeful feeling faded.
Changing required effort.
Effort required discipline.
Discipline required becoming a different person.
And Carly wasn't sure she wanted to become a different person.
The preacher finished his sermon.
Country music replaced him.
A few moments later Ryder's pickup appeared through the trees.
Carly watched him climb out.
Tall.
Strong.
Exhausted.
The young man grabbed a toolbox from the truck bed and headed toward the trailer.
As always.
Working.
Providing.
Solving.
The brief moment of clarity disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
Still, a small part of Carly couldn't shake the question.
The boy had dreams.
Surely he did.
Everybody did.
As Ryder approached the door, she found herself wondering for the first time what those dreams actually were.
Not because she loved him enough to ask.
Not yet.
But because she was beginning to suspect that one day he would leave to pursue them.
And when that happened, Caroline Mason would finally be alone with the life she had made for herself.
When Carly Mason was working hard at getting a nursing degree, her son Ryder was still in high school. She figured out by this time that the lad’s father was a man she'd known as Richard. A guy she hardly remembered sleeping with. When he discovered he had a son, he surprisingly invited both Carly and Ryder to move in with him.
And they both did. But Carly had plans. Plans that depended on Ryder lying.
He told a school counselor that his father had been mentally and verbally abusing him for years. In the months that followed, Carly watched silently as the process unfolded, evaluating the cost of her next move.
The authorities weren’t taking any chances… so her son was removed from the home for eleven months. Carly herself was in the process of getting a divorce but Ryder was not allowed to return home until after the hearings regarding his father were completed. This despite the fact that he was now eighteen years old.
Although Richard Whelk was charged with four felony counts, the prosecutor’s office decided it would be a difficult case to win in court because of lack of physical evidence. He had limited his activities to oral sex so there was no clinical evidence to support the claim. They elected to offer a plea bargain that would at least give him a felony count of abuse on his record, for which he would receive two years probation.
Carly and Ryder fell on hard times when a family member they were staying with (Richard’s mother) asked them to leave. They wound up living in a tent, moving from campground to campground. In the winter they opted to stay in a hotel. Then a serious car accident put mother and son in a Jarlsonville hospital. This same car accident sparked Carly’s dependency on the drug OxyContin.
Carly and Ryder came to Washington County in August to stay in a homeless shelter that could accommodate them both. Then they moved to a rented two-bedroom home in Olympia. To KEEP this home… and to satisfy her drug dependency … Carly decided that she and her now grown son would both go to work.
“I have no skills, mom! How am I supposed to make enough money to support your habit?” Ryder asked, tears in his robin’s egg-blue eyes. OxyContin is a prescription painkiller often given to cancer patients. If chewed, snorted or injected, it produces a quick and potentially lethal high. And his mother had been a fan of the narcotic ever since he’d been given a prescription of it for a back injury the year before. So much of a fan that he’d go to rather extreme lengths to get more of the drug. “I have nothing to offer anyone in today’s job market!”
Ryder’s mother took her son’s hand and led him to the hallway mirror and what the eighteen-year-old boy saw was a beautiful young man with flowing curls all blond and shining. his broad chest was magnificent and his muscled legs and thighs could crack walnuts. Then there was his feet. They were huge size 14 gunboats with perfectly shaped toes and smooth soles. .
“Boy you got what it takes to get whatever I want. Now strip, so I can get you set up before heading out on my errand.” Said Miss Carly Mason.
So Ryder stripped … and then clamped on heavy wrist chains.
And before his mother left on her “errand” she tied the now naked young man’s wrist chains to rings in the wall in front of him so her only child could not move backwards. The older woman then rammed a latex dildo into his fettered eighteen-year-old son’s mouth, and shoved another where the sun don‘t shine. She even placed clamps on each of Ryder’s man-nipples.
“Be back in a few.” Said his mother as she patted Ryder’s shapely latex-stuffed hindquarters and left him there to suffer. The artificial penis in his mouth was pushing deep into the back of his throat making him gag and the penis in his posterior was thick and long and made him think the most horribly “wrong” thoughts.
He should have been mortified AND terrified... but instead he began to wish that the penis wasn’t just buried in his nether-region, but was thrusting in and out of him fast and hard. It wasn’t though and the disappointment was as great a torture as the ever-increasing weight on Ryder’s tortured backside. The clamps bit his nipples hard... relentlessly... pleasurably. Cream began to leak out of his penis and down his thighs. It was then that Ryder heard his mother shouting and could see her leading a small parade of well-dressed men into the bedroom.
Ryder felt himself smiling… even with the dong in his mouth. He realized that he liked his mother’s idea… that he would love to have a parade of men use him. He couldn’t wait to get started. Consensual physical abuse was much better than the verbal and mental abuse his own father had inflicted on him for most of his eighteen years.
Miss Carly Mason was pointing at him and said to the men, "Here he is, boys. This strapping lad is certainly different from the one you have at home. And he’s only $500 a night."
All the men ooh-ed and ahhh-ed at Ryder as they made sure to point out the penis juices that were dripping down his thighs. Ryder just groaned and sucked his artificial penis harder. he tried to shift his hips to get more of the penis inside him even though he knew everyone was watching. The movements caused him to howl in pain.
A man named Alberto Garcia bought Ryder that day. A man who couldn’t even speak English.
As soon as he shut the bedroom door Garcia pulled out a knife from his coat and threatened to cut his throat. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he had paid for the youth, therefore eliminating the need to take him forcibly. Unable to speak English he mimed putting the knife in his mouth so Ryder understood this to be a threat in case he cried out. The brute pushed the eighteen-year-old to the ground and surprisingly took his FEET!
The Mexican dug into his pockets and pulled out blackberries … not the tech device, ACTUAL BLACKBERRIES! He then flipped Ryder onto his back and placed the blackberries on the youth’s perfect toes.
"Delicioso," The Latino said as he started to eat the blackberries off the boy’s shapely digits. One-by-one, dark blackberries started to disappear off Ryder’s pale pinkish-white toes.
"la mielllllllllll," the Mexican man sang as he started to giggle. He then pulled out a butter knife, a jar of honey. He opened the jar, dipped the knife in the sweet stickiness and put the honey on young Ryder’s soles, toes, and heels. The eighteen-year-old could only assume that ‘la miel’ was the Spanish word for ‘honey’.
"exquisito," the Latino man said as he started to lick the honey off the blond boy’s toes. After he cleaned Ryder’s toes, he started lick his soles. The Mexican ran his tongue up and down the eighteen-year-old’s soles, cleaning his feet. A few more sole licks, then the Latino started to lick the boy’s ultra-smooth heels. He ran his tongue in little circles getting the honey off the lad’s huge size 14 feet.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…." the Mexican man said as he completely cleaned the boy’s feet. Then he drenched Ryder’s soles and toes in honey. "Delicioso!"
Once he’d tongue-cleaned the lad’s feet all over again, the Mexican took Ryder and slowly kissed him, his penis growing steel-hard as his tongue slide into his mouth. After a few minutes of French-kissing, the Mexican lay the boy down on the bed and moved on top of him. He slowly let his hands run down Ryder’s legs, dragging on those smooth bumps as they moved down.
He rolled Ryder slightly on his side. As one hand continued to move up and down his broad, smooth chest, the other lightly pinched at Ryder’s buttocks, rubbing at his posterior, sending more pleasure through him. Ryder withered under the Latino man’s touch as he continued to manipulate himtowards arousal. He let his hands slide up each of his legs and then lightly tickled his ball sack. Ryder gave an involuntary giggle at the unexpected touch, then moaned as he felt the Mexican push his penis into his virginal opening.
Then the lusty Latino began to push himself in and out of his, his rod beginning to stain from the juices produced by his actions and his arousal. he wrapped his legs around the eighteen-year-old, holding him in and pushing him on, urging every shove he made. his muscular legs on his skin seemed to push him on as he used his chest as a handhold. The Mexican continued to push in and out of the boy, the passage his penis entered becoming slicker by the minute. Eventually Ryder gently ordered the Mexican to let go and he did--releasing himself with a cry in a huge orgasm as he shot himself into the eighteen-year-old.
Ryder Mason actually fainted as his insides were flooded with creamy goodness.
When he awoke, the youth gave his current circumstances some serious thought,
Is this what his young life had become? What it always would be?
TO BE CONTINUED