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Trailer Park Trash Trixie's Turkish Torment

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When the Opportunity Center staffers heard of Trixie’s outstanding school record, they asked if she was interested in continuing her education. The girl laughed and asked how long they had been in Branchwater – there was no more education – nor jobs to use it. The staffers cheerfully responded that there was an excellent “Technical School,” just ten miles away in the county seat of Evergreen, the South Alabama Technical Institute. The Institute had programs leading to associate’s degrees in many areas with good job opportunities.
Trixie was initially blown away by this news. A way to get out of Branchwater and get a real job, in an office, using her brains, not her body to earn a good living. However, a moment later she came down to earth. These posh women from the big city had no idea what life was like here in Branchwater. No wonder they had trouble finding clients!
“I haven’t a job or money. I couldn’t pay tuition or even afford the bus fare,” she admitted sheepishly. The two girls looked at each other and both nodded. They weren’t going to let their best prospect in over a month (in fact, the only real prospect they'd met) walk away without a fight.
“Look, Trixie,” said the older (maybe twenty-four), “don’t give up so easily. You sound like a girl with a lot of drive and we want to find a way to make this work for you. Could you come back tomorrow and we can show you what we can do?”
Trixie was in awe of these two, educated, and confident older (compared to eighteen) women, and impressed that they took a real interest in such as she (with great effort, she suppressed thinking the TPT words). Therefore she politely agreed to stop by the next day at three PM. After all, she thought to herself, I've nothing better to do 'cept prep for another 'dream date.'

The two women spent the afternoon and all next morning on the phone to the Congresswoman’s offices in Montgomery and DC as well as contacts that those offices supplied at DOE, DOT, and DOL. When Trixie arrived at three sharp the next day, they greeted her with broad smiles. They sat her down and went through what they had to offer. The package was most impressive.
Tuition at the Institute would be paid by a grant from the Department of Education’s Rural Development Initiatives program. The Department of Transportation’s Rural Mass Transit program would kick in bus vouchers. Trixie’s eyes almost burst from her head as she heard the news. Then they asked her if she needed money for room and board. The girl blushed charmingly fearing they would learn details about her home life. “Oh No!” she quickly answered. “I live with my mother and I don’t have to pay rent.”
“Excellent said the younger staffer. “Though we might have been able to get a rent voucher from HUD.”
“There is one very serious requirement,” said the older girl. Trixie felt her heart skip a beat. Was this all too good to be true?
“You are required to hold down a steady job to qualify for all these benefits. And, of course, to have pocket money for miscellaneous expenses in Evergreen.”
Shit, thought Trixie. A job? Around here? Feeling her heart almost breaking at the thought and her eyes watering, she started in her mind to consider the offer to strip at Clem’s father’s place.
“Now, you shouldn’t worry about finding one.” continued the staffer with a sympathetic look. “We can arrange for one at the Institute working in the Bookstore or Library or such.” Trixie’s face brightened like the sun. The girl saw it and hastened to control her expectations. “Of course, it’s low-level work and forty hours a week. You will have to juggle a lot of time in classes and homework with the job and your travel time back and forth. I'm afraid it will only pay minimum wage, $7.25 an hour.”

$7.25 an hour! Most ‘jobs’ in Branchwater ignored minimum wage. Trixie had inquired and learned bargirls were supposedly paid $4 an hour, though the bar owners often simply cut that in half at will, saying, “You don’t like it? Find another job you ungrateful slut!” Or they demanded sexual favors in order to give the full $4. Of course, there were tips. But those mostly depended on how willing the girls were to be constantly grouped and pinched and to give out kisses to foul-breathed men. Many bargirls could not sit down after an eight-hour shift.
Trixie jumped up and hugged and kissed each of the staffers, thanking them over and over for making this wonderful opportunity for her. She promised that she would work as hard as she could and wouldn’t let them down. The girls giggled and smiled at each other and felt a great sense of reward for delivering their first “opportunity.”
 
When the Opportunity Center staffers heard of Trixie’s outstanding school record, they asked if she was interested in continuing her education. The girl laughed and asked how long they had been in Branchwater – there was no more education – nor jobs to use it. The staffers cheerfully responded that there was an excellent “Technical School,” just ten miles away in the county seat of Evergreen, the South Alabama Technical Institute. The Institute had programs leading to associate’s degrees in many areas with good job opportunities.
Trixie was initially blown away by this news. A way to get out of Branchwater and get a real job, in an office, using her brains, not her body to earn a good living. However, a moment later she came down to earth. These posh women from the big city had no idea what life was like here in Branchwater. No wonder they had trouble finding clients!
“I haven’t a job or money. I couldn’t pay tuition or even afford the bus fare,” she admitted sheepishly. The two girls looked at each other and both nodded. They weren’t going to let their best prospect in over a month (in fact, the only real prospect they'd met) walk away without a fight.
“Look, Trixie,” said the older (maybe twenty-four), “don’t give up so easily. You sound like a girl with a lot of drive and we want to find a way to make this work for you. Could you come back tomorrow and we can show you what we can do?”
Trixie was in awe of these two, educated, and confident older (compared to eighteen) women, and impressed that they took a real interest in such as she (with great effort, she suppressed thinking the TPT words). Therefore she politely agreed to stop by the next day at three PM. After all, she thought to herself, I've nothing better to do 'cept prep for another 'dream date.'

The two women spent the afternoon and all next morning on the phone to the Congresswoman’s offices in Montgomery and DC as well as contacts that those offices supplied at DOE, DOT, and DOL. When Trixie arrived at three sharp the next day, they greeted her with broad smiles. They sat her down and went through what they had to offer. The package was most impressive.
Tuition at the Institute would be paid by a grant from the Department of Education’s Rural Development Initiatives program. The Department of Transportation’s Rural Mass Transit program would kick in bus vouchers. Trixie’s eyes almost burst from her head as she heard the news. Then they asked her if she needed money for room and board. The girl blushed charmingly fearing they would learn details about her home life. “Oh No!” she quickly answered. “I live with my mother and I don’t have to pay rent.”
“Excellent said the younger staffer. “Though we might have been able to get a rent voucher from HUD.”
“There is one very serious requirement,” said the older girl. Trixie felt her heart skip a beat. Was this all too good to be true?
“You are required to hold down a steady job to qualify for all these benefits. And, of course, to have pocket money for miscellaneous expenses in Evergreen.”
Shit, thought Trixie. A job? Around here? Feeling her heart almost breaking at the thought and her eyes watering, she started in her mind to consider the offer to strip at Clem’s father’s place.
“Now, you shouldn’t worry about finding one.” continued the staffer with a sympathetic look. “We can arrange for one at the Institute working in the Bookstore or Library or such.” Trixie’s face brightened like the sun. The girl saw it and hastened to control her expectations. “Of course, it’s low-level work and forty hours a week. You will have to juggle a lot of time in classes and homework with the job and your travel time back and forth. I'm afraid it will only pay minimum wage, $7.25 an hour.”

$7.25 an hour! Most ‘jobs’ in Branchwater ignored minimum wage. Trixie had inquired and learned bargirls were supposedly paid $4 an hour, though the bar owners often simply cut that in half at will, saying, “You don’t like it? Find another job you ungrateful slut!” Or they demanded sexual favors in order to give the full $4. Of course, there were tips. But those mostly depended on how willing the girls were to be constantly grouped and pinched and to give out kisses to foul-breathed men. Many bargirls could not sit down after an eight-hour shift.
Trixie jumped up and hugged and kissed each of the staffers, thanking them over and over for making this wonderful opportunity for her. She promised that she would work as hard as she could and wouldn’t let them down. The girls giggled and smiled at each other and felt a great sense of reward for delivering their first “opportunity.”
"... delivering their first “opportunity ..." - and the journey of life for our wide-eyed girl begins ...
 
South Alabama Technical Institute

Hey, look me over
Lend me an ear
Fresh out of clover
Mortgage up to here
But don't pass the plate, folks
Don't pass the cup
I figure whenever you're down and out
The only way is up
And I'll be up like a rose bud
High on the vine
Don't thumb your nose
But take a tip from mine
I'm a little bit short of the elbow room
But let me get me some
And look out world
Here I come

- Sung by Lucille Ball in the Broadway Musical, Wildcat.

Though many would regard Evergreen, the county seat of Conecuh County as a small hick town, to Trixie, coming from the grinding backward poverty of Branchwater, the place was like the Emerald City. It had movie theaters (more than one!) a theater company, a few high-rise buildings (the tallest was eight stories), an art museum!, and an imposing antebellum County Courthouse. Passing by the city was an honest-to-gosh Interstate, I65, with cars and trucks roaring by at 75 mph between the State Capital, Montgomery, and the major port of Mobile. Most importantly to Trixie was the new campus of the South Alabama Technical Institute. Six years earlier, a major grant from the DOE as part of the Obama administration’s economic stimulus had allowed the construction of a brand new campus for sleepy little Conecuh County Community College. As part of the change, the new, more ambitious name was applied and expanded offerings were added in both vocational training and office skills. The glow of the upgrades still lingered with the faculty and staff who were very proud of their institution.

Walking around the immaculately groomed campus and entering the stylish, modernist Administration Building, Trixie had to pinch herself. How could TPT (she couldn’t escape the thought) Trixie Thomson from Branchwater, nowhere, deserve to be in these gleaming halls of higher learning?
The staff was friendly and courteous and directed her to the Guidance Counselor’s office on the second floor. There, on the door marked 203, was a nameplate, “Beatrix Sullivan, Guidance Counselor.” Oh my God, Trixie thought, we have the same first name!

Beatrix Sullivan proved to be a very friendly and stylish young woman of about thirty-five and welcomed Trixie to SATI with enthusiasm. She small-talked about their names, modestly accepting Trixie’s glowing compliments on her dress and position. The wide-eyed, bubbly eighteen-year-old instantly charmed the Counselor. The brand new, yet slightly over-revealing outfit that Trixie had worn caught Beatrix’s eye immediately. However, she reminded herself to maintain a professional demeanor despite a definite attraction. Sullivan moved seamlessly into a discussion of Trixie’s goals and expectations for her education.

Beatrix looked over the girl’s school record and congratulated her on her work and accomplishments. “With your brains and hard work, Ms. Thomson (no one had ever addressed her so formally), you have your pick of what we offer. What kind of career are you hoping for?”
Although Trixie had come into the interview with no specific plans, Ms. Sullivan artfully probed her interests and aptitudes and in short order, it was decided that Trixie would train for the Legal Secretary Associates Degree. Ms. Sullivan did warn the girl that this was the most demanding course track at the Institute and that local jobs were not always plentiful. Trixie promised that she could work as hard a required and would take her chances on employment. The idea of being a Certified Legal Secretary seemed like a ticket to heaven to the simple girl.
When the interview ended and both women rose, Trixie, unable to restrain herself, bounded around the desk and gave her Counselor a big hug, and thanked her gushingly. As the very desirable High School girl pressed her body into Beatrix’s, the older woman felt a surge of dampness between her legs. Stammering and blushing slightly (something Sullivan hadn’t done since her teenage years, she wished the girl all success at SATI.

Two weeks later, Trixie Thomson had thrown herself in her new life at SATI, as the student’s called it. Even though her schedule was murderous (she caught the bus after a twenty-minute walk at 5:50 in the morning and rarely got home before 10:30 at night with homework to do) she was walking on air.
 
Although Trixie had come into the interview with no specific plans, Ms. Sullivan artfully probed her interests and aptitudes and in short order, it was decided that Trixie would train for the Legal Secretary Associates Degree. Ms. Sullivan did warn the girl that this was the most demanding course track at the Institute and that local jobs were not always plentiful
In Turkey, she will have enough practice in legal matters. On her own experience, she learns what lawlessness, injustice is :devil:
 
Well, I suspect you’re saying that in jest, but I do take offense at every jacked up pickup I see. They are hardly limited to places like backcountry Alabama.
You fail to see the striking utility of a jacked-up truck with blindingly bright extra headlights. When your driving on a back road at night and get stuck behind some slow-poke woman driver in her new white Toyota Corona, you can see over her (and have your high beams shine over her roof) to see if anyone is coming. That way you can peel out, pass the slow bitch in a flash (and, incidentally, but rewardingly spray her prissy car with mud and gravel), and leave her a half-way decent chance to not end up in the ditch where she probably belongs.
Ah, it's non-linear storytelling!
So that's the technical term for what I've thought was my dyslexic failure to understand how to maintain time sequence in a story. Non-linear here I come!!!
Heartwarming! :)
I thought so. It even managed to thaw (for a few seconds) the permafrost cockles of my hard and pitiless heart.
After all this background, I'm sure we will appreciate Trixie's encounters in Turkey with heightened emotion.
My purpose precisely old friend. The more we care for poor Trixie and root for her success, the more tragic will be her inevitable fall (this is cruxforums after all). And as my last three stories (Praetorian, Flogging the Silurian Princess and Goth Girl) show, I am capable of extreme falls for my heroines, even unto tortuous death!
 
My purpose precisely old friend. The more we care for poor Trixie and root for her success, the more tragic will be her inevitable fall (this is cruxforums after all). And as my last three stories (Praetorian, Flogging the Silurian Princess and Goth Girl) show, I am capable of extreme falls for my heroines, even unto tortuous death!
As you wrote earlier: "That being said, abandon hope, all ye who read further!"
 
When we speak of Barb`s little Toyota,
Are we referring to her white motor.
To be realistic,
Is this euphemistic,
We need her to speak, so we can quote her.
My orgasmic exclamations and sounds of pleasure are not for public consumption here!
 
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