11-24-2025, 07:31 PM
THE DAY I STOLE TIMMY'S BAD SOCKS
My name is Jake, I'm 13, and I live in a tin can on wheels, better known as a trailer, in the middle of nowhere in Alabama. Some people call it a trailer park; I just call it home. I live here with my mom and my two younger siblings.
It kind of stinks, there's trash everywhere, and it's full of crazy poor people, but it's better than nothing, I guess. Mom says we're just barely getting by, which is just her way of saying we're broke. But I'm not complaining—there's always something to do or see. Like I said, it's not much, but it's my home.
I'm a redhead, by the way, just like Mom—pale as a ghost, with messy red hair that just won't stay in place. I'm not too tall, not too short, kind of in between. I have these big, dark green eyes that girls seem to like, despite all the freckles on my face. Oh, and I have braces, so I have to grin like a metalhead until they come off.
I don't have any hair yet either, so that's something. Mom says I look good, but I guess that's just what mothers say. Anyway, I don't want to bore you with any more useless stuff. I actually want to tell you a funny story that happened a few weeks ago.
It was one of those scorching hot mornings when it felt like the sun was frying everything. I was hanging around the caravan when I saw Mrs. Thompson, Timmy's mother, out in her garden getting ready to do laundry. She was completely absorbed in her work, so I seized my opportunity.
I crept over to her laundry basket and found a pair of the most disgusting socks I'd ever seen. They were discolored from white to a nasty yellow, especially at the toes, and completely crusted over. I knew they had to be Timmy's socks. I ran off and stuffed the stinky socks into my backpack when I heard giggling behind me.
I turned around and saw Mrs. Thompson grinning at me with her arms folded. Mrs. Thompson is a tall, very white woman in her forties with legs that look as if they could run faster than a racehorse. She is wearing a summer dress that flutters in the wind and is barefoot, as she usually is.
Her feet were pretty, but also covered in dirt from walking around outside all day. Her long brown hair fell down her back. She had really big blue eyes.
I froze, but she just shook her head and laughed.
"You're a real little rascal, aren't you?" she said, giggling. "I wouldn't mind if you took those stinky socks and threw them somewhere. Timmy wore them so often that they made the whole apartment stink. If I'd washed those disgusting things, I would have gotten a terrible case of athlete's foot on my fingers."
She laughed warmly at me and smiled heartily. She was always joking and laughing. Then she said:
"Tell your mom we're having a barbecue tonight. You, your brother, and your sister should come over. Timmy would love to hang out with you, and it would be good for everyone to have some fun."
I grinned and left with Timmy's smelly socks in my backpack. And yes, Mrs. Thompson was the BEST! I'll tell you more about her soon.
When I returned to the caravan, I saw Mom grabbing her bag and looking at her watch. She looked like she was in a hurry.
She's a nurse, and although she's in her early forties, she's a real stunner. She's tall but fit, with strong, white legs and a rather impressive bust. Today she's wearing the same nylons as last night, which reminded me that we haven't done laundry in a few days. Her curly red hair is pulled back, and she has this professional yet tired expression on her face.
I told her that Mrs. Thomson had invited us to a barbecue.
Mom sighed. "I can't go, Jake. I have to go to work, and there's no one to look after your siblings."
I begged her: "Come on, Mom, please? I really want to come along. It'll be fun!"
She hesitated for a moment and then said, "All right, you can go, but only if you take your brother and sister with you. You have to look after them while I'm working. Deal?"
I nodded eagerly. "Deal!" I said, already thinking about how I could get Emily and Tommy to behave.
"Anything else?"
Mom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Yes, the toilet is clogged again. If you could take a look and see if you can fix it before I get back tomorrow morning, I would be very grateful. I'm fed up with dealing with the thing."
With that, she was out the door, leaving me with the children and a potential plumbing disaster. I chuckled to myself and went inside.
The first thing I did was go to my "room"—it's just a small cubicle with a door, just big enough for me, a tiny mattress, and a few of my things. I quickly took off my sneakers… and my feet smelled awful. I hadn't been wearing socks this morning, and I wondered if Timmy's socks smelled worse. So I got them out of my backpack and started examining them. And boy, was I shocked to find that Timmy's socks smelled worse than my damp feet.
I wished I had time to mess around a bit, but I was determined to get the whole thing done before dark. So I simply put the pair of socks with the other things I had stolen in a shoebox I had hidden under my mattress.
Now for the dirty work: cleaning the toilet. Most of the guys I know would rather take a long walk down a damn high mountain than deal with a clogged caravan toilet, but honestly, it doesn't bother me that much. I mean, it's just my mom's, my brother's, and my sister's poop. Not that I'm cleaning up other people's shit.
First, I grab the old plunger from under the sink and get to work. It's not the cleanest tool in the world, but it's been through a lot with us. I start stamping, pushing up and down with all my might, trying to dislodge whatever is causing the blockage. The pipes groan and gurgle, and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to sweat.
After a few minutes of hard work and a fair amount of muscle power, I decide it's time for reinforcements. I get out the drain cleaner, making sure to follow the instructions exactly so I don't do more harm than good. I pour it in and let it work its magic while the chemical bubbles and hisses, doing its job. While I wait, I scrub around the toilet with a brush. That's when I notice the mess inside: bits of corn, pieces of hot dog, and what looks like a small lake of urine. It's like a disgusting buffet of leftovers from the caravan park. And I'm pretty sure my sister has diarrhea again, because only she can produce the most disgusting, filthy brown stuff. I can almost hear her excuses in my head—"I didn't mean to, Jakie!"—as I try not to gag while cleaning. I did tell Mom the hot dogs didn't smell right. It's a disgusting job, but someone has to do it.
Once I'm finished, I give myself a quick pat on the back. Hopefully, Mom will be happy to come home from work and can take a nice long poop in this clean toilet! I bet she'll be thrilled.
I go over to see what my little brother and sister are doing. They'd already eaten lunch before Mom left, so they're dozing on Mom's big bed. We all sleep together at the end of the caravan – it's kind of cozy, even though it's cramped.
I sneak into the room and see them lying stretched out, like a couple of angelic little gnomes.
Eight-year-old Emily is wearing a faded pink T-shirt with a cartoon cat on it and worn shorts with colorful polka dots. She is hugging her beloved teddy bear tightly, and her hair is tousled from her nap.
Tommy, 10 years old, is wearing a simple blue T-shirt and old, frayed denim shorts. His shirt is pulled up a bit while he sleeps, and his hair is a little disheveled. One arm hangs over the edge of the bed, as if he's fast asleep. They both look like they've had a long day and are enjoying their nap, even if the bed is a bit cramped.
Then I noticed something that made me smile. Her feet—especially the soles—were filthy. She'd obviously been running around barefoot after school. Dirt and grime were everywhere, and you could even detect a hint of that typical children's foot smell. Other people might find it kind of gross, but it's just part of our little life in the caravan park. I decided to take a quick shower outside before making us a snack and heading over to Mrs. Thompson's. I grabbed my towel and some "clean" underwear—because, let's be honest, we don't exactly have a lot of clean clothes lying around.
The outdoor shower isn't much, but it does the job and feels quite nice on a hot day. I had just stepped outside after my shower when I spotted Timmy and his best friend Becca.
Timmy is a bright little guy, three years younger than me, who always runs around barefoot and makes a mess. His feet are covered in dirt and he has this mischievous look in his eyes. He wears ripped shorts and a T-shirt with a superhero logo that has definitely seen better days.
Becca is just as wild and looks exactly like Pippi Longstocking. Her bright red hair is tied back in two messy braids. She is barefoot and covered in dirt, wearing a worn-out overall that is now more mud than fabric.
"You were all at the mud pit, right?" I tell them. They just giggle and run off holding hands.
After meeting little Timmy, I just couldn't help myself. I had to go to my room and sniff his stinky, crusty socks until I jerked off really fast and hard, spraying my pillow. I simply turned it upside down, cleaned myself with one of Timmy's disgusting socks, and put it back in the shoebox.
When I finally got out of my room, Emily and Tommy were slowly waking up. Emily was already crying, rubbing her tummy, and saying she really needed to poop. I had to giggle, remembering how I'd told Mom the hot dogs would cause trouble. I helped my little sister up and into the bathroom. The poor thing had ruined the toilet I'd just cleaned and cleared.
I simply had to let her do her business while Tommy went outside to wash himself.
I went into the kitchen and made them something to eat. We didn't have much, and hot dogs were out of the question, so I just spread some cheap cheese on bread and put it on the table for them to help themselves when they were finished.
I spent the rest of the time playing on Mom's old phone until the sun went down. Then I helped Emily and Tommy get dressed, trying to pick out the least smelly clothes I could find.
Then I had a funny idea. I went to my room, grabbed the shoebox, and took out Timmy's disgusting, crusty socks. They were so yellow they looked like they'd been through a forest of cheese and back a hundred times. And one of them was still damp with my semen. I waved it in front of Tommy and said, "Hey, look what I've got for you!"
Tommy's eyes widened and his nose wrinkled. "Ew, they're so disgusting! I can smell them from here! Phew!"
I laughed and said, "Hey, that's all we have for you right now. Just put them on!"
Tommy grimaced and said, "Absolutely not! They smell like old milk!"
I nudged him with a grin. "Come on, don't be a scaredy-cat. We're already late!"
Reluctantly, Tommy put on the socks. As soon as they touched his feet, he grimaced and squirmed. "Ew! They feel all slimy and disgusting!"
I noticed how dirty Tommy's feet were, especially between his toes. They hadn't been washed at all and looked even worse with the dirty socks. I smiled to myself, knowing that Tommy was the laziest person ever to wash their feet!
Tommy just shook his head, still grimacing. He put on his old sneakers, and we finally set off for Mrs. Thompson's.
My name is Jake, I'm 13, and I live in a tin can on wheels, better known as a trailer, in the middle of nowhere in Alabama. Some people call it a trailer park; I just call it home. I live here with my mom and my two younger siblings.
It kind of stinks, there's trash everywhere, and it's full of crazy poor people, but it's better than nothing, I guess. Mom says we're just barely getting by, which is just her way of saying we're broke. But I'm not complaining—there's always something to do or see. Like I said, it's not much, but it's my home.
I'm a redhead, by the way, just like Mom—pale as a ghost, with messy red hair that just won't stay in place. I'm not too tall, not too short, kind of in between. I have these big, dark green eyes that girls seem to like, despite all the freckles on my face. Oh, and I have braces, so I have to grin like a metalhead until they come off.
I don't have any hair yet either, so that's something. Mom says I look good, but I guess that's just what mothers say. Anyway, I don't want to bore you with any more useless stuff. I actually want to tell you a funny story that happened a few weeks ago.
It was one of those scorching hot mornings when it felt like the sun was frying everything. I was hanging around the caravan when I saw Mrs. Thompson, Timmy's mother, out in her garden getting ready to do laundry. She was completely absorbed in her work, so I seized my opportunity.
I crept over to her laundry basket and found a pair of the most disgusting socks I'd ever seen. They were discolored from white to a nasty yellow, especially at the toes, and completely crusted over. I knew they had to be Timmy's socks. I ran off and stuffed the stinky socks into my backpack when I heard giggling behind me.
I turned around and saw Mrs. Thompson grinning at me with her arms folded. Mrs. Thompson is a tall, very white woman in her forties with legs that look as if they could run faster than a racehorse. She is wearing a summer dress that flutters in the wind and is barefoot, as she usually is.
Her feet were pretty, but also covered in dirt from walking around outside all day. Her long brown hair fell down her back. She had really big blue eyes.
I froze, but she just shook her head and laughed.
"You're a real little rascal, aren't you?" she said, giggling. "I wouldn't mind if you took those stinky socks and threw them somewhere. Timmy wore them so often that they made the whole apartment stink. If I'd washed those disgusting things, I would have gotten a terrible case of athlete's foot on my fingers."
She laughed warmly at me and smiled heartily. She was always joking and laughing. Then she said:
"Tell your mom we're having a barbecue tonight. You, your brother, and your sister should come over. Timmy would love to hang out with you, and it would be good for everyone to have some fun."
I grinned and left with Timmy's smelly socks in my backpack. And yes, Mrs. Thompson was the BEST! I'll tell you more about her soon.
When I returned to the caravan, I saw Mom grabbing her bag and looking at her watch. She looked like she was in a hurry.
She's a nurse, and although she's in her early forties, she's a real stunner. She's tall but fit, with strong, white legs and a rather impressive bust. Today she's wearing the same nylons as last night, which reminded me that we haven't done laundry in a few days. Her curly red hair is pulled back, and she has this professional yet tired expression on her face.
I told her that Mrs. Thomson had invited us to a barbecue.
Mom sighed. "I can't go, Jake. I have to go to work, and there's no one to look after your siblings."
I begged her: "Come on, Mom, please? I really want to come along. It'll be fun!"
She hesitated for a moment and then said, "All right, you can go, but only if you take your brother and sister with you. You have to look after them while I'm working. Deal?"
I nodded eagerly. "Deal!" I said, already thinking about how I could get Emily and Tommy to behave.
"Anything else?"
Mom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Yes, the toilet is clogged again. If you could take a look and see if you can fix it before I get back tomorrow morning, I would be very grateful. I'm fed up with dealing with the thing."
With that, she was out the door, leaving me with the children and a potential plumbing disaster. I chuckled to myself and went inside.
The first thing I did was go to my "room"—it's just a small cubicle with a door, just big enough for me, a tiny mattress, and a few of my things. I quickly took off my sneakers… and my feet smelled awful. I hadn't been wearing socks this morning, and I wondered if Timmy's socks smelled worse. So I got them out of my backpack and started examining them. And boy, was I shocked to find that Timmy's socks smelled worse than my damp feet.
I wished I had time to mess around a bit, but I was determined to get the whole thing done before dark. So I simply put the pair of socks with the other things I had stolen in a shoebox I had hidden under my mattress.
Now for the dirty work: cleaning the toilet. Most of the guys I know would rather take a long walk down a damn high mountain than deal with a clogged caravan toilet, but honestly, it doesn't bother me that much. I mean, it's just my mom's, my brother's, and my sister's poop. Not that I'm cleaning up other people's shit.
First, I grab the old plunger from under the sink and get to work. It's not the cleanest tool in the world, but it's been through a lot with us. I start stamping, pushing up and down with all my might, trying to dislodge whatever is causing the blockage. The pipes groan and gurgle, and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to sweat.
After a few minutes of hard work and a fair amount of muscle power, I decide it's time for reinforcements. I get out the drain cleaner, making sure to follow the instructions exactly so I don't do more harm than good. I pour it in and let it work its magic while the chemical bubbles and hisses, doing its job. While I wait, I scrub around the toilet with a brush. That's when I notice the mess inside: bits of corn, pieces of hot dog, and what looks like a small lake of urine. It's like a disgusting buffet of leftovers from the caravan park. And I'm pretty sure my sister has diarrhea again, because only she can produce the most disgusting, filthy brown stuff. I can almost hear her excuses in my head—"I didn't mean to, Jakie!"—as I try not to gag while cleaning. I did tell Mom the hot dogs didn't smell right. It's a disgusting job, but someone has to do it.
Once I'm finished, I give myself a quick pat on the back. Hopefully, Mom will be happy to come home from work and can take a nice long poop in this clean toilet! I bet she'll be thrilled.
I go over to see what my little brother and sister are doing. They'd already eaten lunch before Mom left, so they're dozing on Mom's big bed. We all sleep together at the end of the caravan – it's kind of cozy, even though it's cramped.
I sneak into the room and see them lying stretched out, like a couple of angelic little gnomes.
Eight-year-old Emily is wearing a faded pink T-shirt with a cartoon cat on it and worn shorts with colorful polka dots. She is hugging her beloved teddy bear tightly, and her hair is tousled from her nap.
Tommy, 10 years old, is wearing a simple blue T-shirt and old, frayed denim shorts. His shirt is pulled up a bit while he sleeps, and his hair is a little disheveled. One arm hangs over the edge of the bed, as if he's fast asleep. They both look like they've had a long day and are enjoying their nap, even if the bed is a bit cramped.
Then I noticed something that made me smile. Her feet—especially the soles—were filthy. She'd obviously been running around barefoot after school. Dirt and grime were everywhere, and you could even detect a hint of that typical children's foot smell. Other people might find it kind of gross, but it's just part of our little life in the caravan park. I decided to take a quick shower outside before making us a snack and heading over to Mrs. Thompson's. I grabbed my towel and some "clean" underwear—because, let's be honest, we don't exactly have a lot of clean clothes lying around.
The outdoor shower isn't much, but it does the job and feels quite nice on a hot day. I had just stepped outside after my shower when I spotted Timmy and his best friend Becca.
Timmy is a bright little guy, three years younger than me, who always runs around barefoot and makes a mess. His feet are covered in dirt and he has this mischievous look in his eyes. He wears ripped shorts and a T-shirt with a superhero logo that has definitely seen better days.
Becca is just as wild and looks exactly like Pippi Longstocking. Her bright red hair is tied back in two messy braids. She is barefoot and covered in dirt, wearing a worn-out overall that is now more mud than fabric.
"You were all at the mud pit, right?" I tell them. They just giggle and run off holding hands.
After meeting little Timmy, I just couldn't help myself. I had to go to my room and sniff his stinky, crusty socks until I jerked off really fast and hard, spraying my pillow. I simply turned it upside down, cleaned myself with one of Timmy's disgusting socks, and put it back in the shoebox.
When I finally got out of my room, Emily and Tommy were slowly waking up. Emily was already crying, rubbing her tummy, and saying she really needed to poop. I had to giggle, remembering how I'd told Mom the hot dogs would cause trouble. I helped my little sister up and into the bathroom. The poor thing had ruined the toilet I'd just cleaned and cleared.
I simply had to let her do her business while Tommy went outside to wash himself.
I went into the kitchen and made them something to eat. We didn't have much, and hot dogs were out of the question, so I just spread some cheap cheese on bread and put it on the table for them to help themselves when they were finished.
I spent the rest of the time playing on Mom's old phone until the sun went down. Then I helped Emily and Tommy get dressed, trying to pick out the least smelly clothes I could find.
Then I had a funny idea. I went to my room, grabbed the shoebox, and took out Timmy's disgusting, crusty socks. They were so yellow they looked like they'd been through a forest of cheese and back a hundred times. And one of them was still damp with my semen. I waved it in front of Tommy and said, "Hey, look what I've got for you!"
Tommy's eyes widened and his nose wrinkled. "Ew, they're so disgusting! I can smell them from here! Phew!"
I laughed and said, "Hey, that's all we have for you right now. Just put them on!"
Tommy grimaced and said, "Absolutely not! They smell like old milk!"
I nudged him with a grin. "Come on, don't be a scaredy-cat. We're already late!"
Reluctantly, Tommy put on the socks. As soon as they touched his feet, he grimaced and squirmed. "Ew! They feel all slimy and disgusting!"
I noticed how dirty Tommy's feet were, especially between his toes. They hadn't been washed at all and looked even worse with the dirty socks. I smiled to myself, knowing that Tommy was the laziest person ever to wash their feet!
Tommy just shook his head, still grimacing. He put on his old sneakers, and we finally set off for Mrs. Thompson's.