Hillbilly Mud Park

"Yes, I have my doubts too. If they're just training him as an entertainer, why would they ask for custody? It doesn't make any sense at all." The woman walked out of the coffee shop, talking on the phone with her friend at the street corner, her expression worried.

Far from home, alone in a strange environment—it wasn't exactly being trapped in a prison, but it was like a lamb walking into a tiger's den.

"But then again, he just turned fourteen last month. If I don't hand over custody, he can't be taken to the US alone. This might be his only chance in life, and I don't want him to grow up and end up like me," the woman added.

"I want to go with him too, but I don't even have the money for a plane ticket to the US right now..."

After talking for a while, the woman put down her phone, lit a cigarette, and paced anxiously.

Then she noticed the hole in her sleeve. That hole was just like the life she and her son were living—fragile, drifting in the wind.

She stamped out the cigarette, seeming to have made up her mind, and hurried back into the coffee shop.

She grabbed her son and pulled him toward the exit.

"Sorry, I can't accept those terms," the woman said without looking back.

"Wait! This can be negotiated. If you don't trust me, I can connect you with some big names and have them become your son's guardians. Young Arthur and Justin Timberlake have both shown interest in your son. I mean, they intend to sign him," Scoot shouted after her.

"Young Arthur, and Justin!" The boy screamed, desperately breaking free from his mother's hand.

And the boy's mother had no choice but to stop.

"Boom!"

A thick plume of black smoke burst from the exhaust pipe behind the pickup truck. With the roar of the diesel engine, the truck gunned it and tore free from the mud. The massive wheels were actually much taller than Ryan, making the truck cab look tiny and delicate, giving off a bizarre impression of a big horse pulling a small cart.

Ryan and the other two stood at the edge of the mud pit. The splashing mud hit a few women nearby wearing Stars and Stripes bikinis.

Ryan heard a few curses in Southern accents.

In the US, big city centers usually had more oddballs, while the suburbs and rural areas had residents who looked more normal—at least on the surface.

Then another "Monster Truck" charged into the mud pit. Its wheels were no smaller than the last one's. This was a uniquely American modified car culture, perfectly matching the rough-and-tumble personality of Southerners. Big Machine Records' logo was a big-foot truck.

This Wild Trucks event felt more like a monster truck mod show, with no real competitions—just something new to look at. Ryan found it fascinating, like watching a giant excavator. Men always had a natural curiosity about rugged machinery.

Taylor and Abigail, on the other hand, seemed distracted. To keep things neat and easy, both had tied up their flowing hair. Taylor's hair was so thick and long that she could only manage a double-bun style.

For a moment, Ryan even entertained the idea of trying out those "handlebars"—classic case of having eyes on the bowl while eating from the plate.

Anyway, both of them were pretty open-minded. As long as he "played his cards right," a threesome wasn't out of the question, right? Ryan thought with a hint of wishful thinking.

Just then, Taylor spotted a four-wheeled dirt bike rental nearby. The two girls dragged Ryan over, ready to go off-roading.

"Can you two ride?" Ryan asked.

"What's so hard about it?" Abigail wrapped her arm around Ryan's, not caring at all that Taylor was right there, and looked up at him. "But I don't want to ride."

Taylor glanced at the nearly three-and-a-half-foot-deep mud pit. She kind of wanted to try, but her somewhat questionable driving skills made her hesitate, and she didn't want to get her new clothes covered in mud.

So, the two girls ended up sitting on Ryan's four-wheeler, one in front and one behind.

Abigail sat in front, held in Ryan's arms, while Taylor sat behind, hugging Ryan.

As soon as they were settled, Ryan tapped the throttle, making the vehicle lurch forward. Taylor, sitting behind, bumped into Ryan's back with the momentum.

Taylor frowned slightly, realizing this was one of Ryan's tricks.

"Try speeding up," Ryan chuckled.

The four-wheeler turned onto a dirt road beside the pit. It had rained the day before, so the road was a bit muddy. The scent of earth mixed with the freshness of greenery and two completely different shampoo fragrances made Ryan feel refreshed.

But Abigail in front wasn't staying still. She deliberately shifted and teased Ryan with subtle movements.

"Ouch," Abigail yelped.

"What's wrong?" Taylor asked from behind.

"Ryan's not behaving," Abigail tattled.

"Stay away from him," Taylor said, frowning.

"Yeah, stay away from him." Abigail half-stood on the footrests, letting the breeze brush her face. It felt amazing.

Ryan didn't bother with the two of them ganging up on him. Instead, he looked around at the roadside. He noticed that the pickup trucks parked by the mud pit stretched all the way into the distance. Roughly counting, there were over a hundred, and a lot of Southern white girls were wearing bikinis today.

They were all farmers' daughters, just like country singer Gretchen Wilson sang in her 2004 hit "Redneck Woman": "I ain't never been the Barbie doll type / No, I can't get my fill of that Miller Lite / Victoria's Secret, well, it ain't my style / I can get the same thing at Wal-Mart for half the price / Barefoot and pregnant in the front yard / I ain't no high-class, I'm just born to be wild / I'll say 'hey y'all' and 'yee-haw'."

They looked young, but they had working bodies—thick thighs, curvy backsides, plenty of sun exposure, healthy skin.

Those were the best kind, Ryan thought.

But what really caught his curiosity was whether there were really that many farms around here, or if every family had seven or eight kids. It seemed a bit off.

Then, as they passed a vehicle blasting music, a woman dancing on it provocatively shook her butt at Ryan twice. Ryan instantly realized that the whole event was also a "party," and there was a party promoter recruiting girls. Even if they showed up in bikinis and did nothing, just having that many people there proved the promoter had a wide network locally.

About twenty minutes later, the three arrived at a deserted area. There was a small, isolated mud pit here, with a forest right next to it. It was very quiet.

Earlier, Taylor had held back a bit because of her celebrity status. Now that she finally had a chance to play, she immediately took off her top, revealing a backless halter-style one-piece swimsuit. Abigail also tossed her clothes onto the grass. The two girls screamed and jumped into the mud, starting a mud fight like kids. Ryan got caught up in it too, so he jumped in as well, and the three of them had a blast.

As evening approached, the three "mud people" headed back and used the public showers to rinse off. As night fell, the event's sound system cranked up the volume, turning the place into an outdoor barbecue party. Ryan's guess was right—with this many facilities and such a big party, it couldn't have been a spur-of-the-moment thing.

And those bikini girls, as insiders, could get in for free, while outside tourists had to pay up. It was clearly a commercial event.

"We're done washing up." Taylor put on her clothes and took off her swim cap, letting her golden hair fall loose again.

Just as the three were about to leave, someone recognized Taylor and immediately shouted, "Yee-haw! That's Taylor Swift!"

Before the three could even react, they were instantly surrounded.