The Clown and the Clown
The Club
The Gay Spider Strip Club opened its brass handled doors on a cool November Saturday at 4PM. Sage needed to make six hundred tonight, or his cat Pickles would be killed. He rolled his 2009 Camaro over the puddled parking lot at 3PM, he felt extra naked from his Brazilian waxing earlier. In a jean and Garfield t-shirt, he carried his thong and leggings in a Nike duffle bag. Redrum the bouncer perched on a stool dropped his book like barbells.
“What’s up”
“Hey Redrum, how are we this evening?”
“I am reading “The Things They Carried” by Tim O’Brien.”
“Any good?”
“I don’t know—I can’t read, maybe that’s why I’m a fucking bouncer. Ha. Ha.”
Sage split a fifth of vodka and peppered his nostrils with coke last summer when Redrum’s eight-inch monster cock slid down his throat. Redrum wanted so bad to bury it in Sage’s bubble ass in the backseat of his RX-7 but Sage sucked and fondled his balls quick enough to swallow him in the front seat—a one-time thing that both men shrugged off.
“I need to make six hundred big ones, Redrum.”
“You might have to put out your ass on the line—the Circus is in town. We don’t expect too many tonight.”
“Because of a fucking circus?” Sage said.
“People get fucked up and watch those elephants and trapeze girls.”
“You’re sick.”
“…and you love it.” Redrum smacked Sage’s tight Levi’s on his right cheek as he vanished in the black crevice.
Sage answered his phone in the grey dressing room. “What?”
“You have until noon tomorrow to pay.”
“Stop talking to me like suadiye escort that.”
“You are late by two weeks.”
“I have known you for ten years Mike!”
“You never been this out of control. I will skin Pickles!”
“Don’t hurt him! I will have the money!”
Sage called his favorite client, Becker Godson.
“Becker!”
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Your favorite stripper!”
“Gemini?”
“Sage”
“The bubble ass?”
“Yup.”
“I don’t know. Going to the circus with cousins.”
“Come here. I will make it worth your while.”
“Oh yeah?
“Yeah.”
“You better do some hot ass shit.”
“Just come.”
Gemini strutted in with a whiff of Gardenia. “The boss man does not want you here.”
“Huh?”
“He said you owe him; no stage time.”
“For fuck sake!”
Sage climbed the purple stairs to boss man’s door. He knocked and the gold stars shimmied up and down.
“Come in.”
“I am not sucking your cock for stage time.”
“Sit.”
Sage sunk his jeans into boss man’s cold black sofa.
“I heard you owe that piece of shit coke dealer…and you owe me.”
“That piece of shit has Pickles.”
“How much you owe?”
“Six hundred.”
“And you owe me four.”
“I called Becker.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because the fucking circus.”
“Bad timing?”
“You know my partner Bill?”
“Sure.”
“You let Bill’s son fuck you, he will kill that drug dealer, rescue your cat…and I will forgive the four hundred.”
“Just yakacık escort fuck one guy?”
“You ever snort more than you can afford…”
“When; what’s his name?”
“Now—Before the circus. His name is Sean—a midget clown.”
“How is a midget going to kill Mike?”
“Who?”
“My coke dealer.”
“Sean is a Ninja.”
“Okay?”
“I think he throws Chinese stars into people’s necks.”
“Okay.”
The Circus
Sage rolled his car over lumps and splashes. His car looked like survived a chocolate milkshake car wash. The clown tent appeared; he braked. A midget clown sucking a candy cane like a cigar approached. “Hotter than I expected,” Sean said.
“Thanks”
“Okay to fuck in the backseat?”
“Here? Now?”
“Why not. I like your car.”
They climbed in the backseat. Sage laid on his stomach and Sean ripped down his jeans. Sage looked back—a small man carrying a white round face, a nose like Rudolph’s, painted eyes staring down, still as a statue. “Now that is a fucking ass.”
“Stop clowning around,” Sage said.
“Prop it up.”
Sage lifted his chest using his elbows as stilts. His bubble butt, bare and light-blue from near dusk. Sean peeled off his own yellow gloves and caressed Sage’s wobbling behind. He continued to slide off his red thong to mid-thighs.
Sean’s clown suite— a one piece came off unzipped from neck to groin. The midget stood on the backseat, naked, with white face and neck, and a seven-inch cock curved to the rooftop like a mid-summer day’s sunflower.
“Ready şerifali escort Hun?” Sean said.
“Yes.”
“You know my dick can’t reach?”
“What do you want me to do?” Sage said.
“Crawl out on the dirt. Let’s fuck in the broad daylight.”
Inside; clowns hovered a green felt table tossing cards until Big Chuck rushed in flopping his massive red shoes. “Guys. Sean is fucking some guy right outside the tent.” They ran out. There was seven people in jeans, long hair, sucking brown beer bottles and watching.
Sage’s shirt bundled by his breasts; jeans and thong wrinkled around his knees. Sean with palms plastered on Sage’s lower back, his cock like shiny marble sliding deep inside. Each time his dick vanished, a large flesh smack occurred, followed by wobbling cheeks, and then a perfect continuation to prevent any resting pause between the waves. Rhythmic smack-fuck-smack-fuck played outside—cold fucking, in a Florida wind tunnel of Jasmine and citrus. Sean smelled the sweet breeze as he plunged his hard cock deeper—burning before the explosion of seamen. This swollen erection made Sage tremor in the sands like a beached Sea Turtle covering a nest.
“That feels good. Oh Yeah,” Sean said.
Sean squeezed each cheek as his cock flooded inside Sage. White fluid spilled out all over his bubble ass. Sean breathed hard. “Fuck yeah! Let the circus began.”
“What about my problem?” Sage said.
“What problem?” Sean said.
“My money problem, my cat ransom problem…hello?”
“Oh yes,” Sean said. “Here is six hundred. Tell everyone I killed your dealer. Ha, Ha, Ha.”
“Thanks.”
Hours later, Sage sunk in his sofa with a big mac, feeding Pickles French fries. Both watching The Empire Strikes Back.
“Mike…I got this guy meeting me at the club tonight…can you front me two hundred?”