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The birth of my obsession - My clown.
Passing a mum, whose toddler is crying and shaking with fear, I sneak around the back of the tent. I’m dying for a fag. I can still hear the silly carnival music, and the laughter as the crowd responds to whatever stupid antics are going on inside the ring.
I told mum I was going for a piss; I’m sure she knows exactly where I’ve gone. I walk around the tent, the blue and red stripes are dirty, with smudges and scuff marks showing just how old it is. It looks so shiny and pretty from town, but up close it’s grimy and dilapidated. Pulling my squashed packet of cigs from my pocket, there are only four left, now I will have to nick money from mum’s purse to get more.
Laughter roars inside as I light it, dragging the filth deep into my lungs. All the guys at school are smoking now, I don’t even like it, but it’s a way to stay cool and off the bullies radar, so I do it. Blowing smoke rings and walking along the striped barrier I can hear applause as another stupid act comes to an end.
The tent flies open just ahead of where I am and a clown exits. He is ripping his shirt off and his suspenders hang at his sides, the damp grass sticking to his shiny, black and white shoes. He rubs his hand down his face. Smudging his face paint makes him seem sinister, like something from a scary movie.
I stand against the tent so he doesn’t see me staring, I can’t look away somehow, at the way he is built. I am suddenly self-conscious of my silly, skinny boy body, and scrawny arms.
He climbs the two steps into a gypsy-looking trailer, slamming the door shut behind him. The whole thing jostles as he moves about inside. I’m drawn to the man with the painted face in a sick sort of way, a way that makes my stomach knot and turn. A way that makes me feel sleazy, and I know I’m doing something wrong. Dropping the butt of my fag to the ground I stand on it, snuffing it in the wet grass and mud beneath my sneaker.
Looking up I see a lady in a sequinned leotard, which leaves nothing to my imagination, glancing around as she opens the door to the clown's trailer. I know I shouldn’t be looking but her tight body and muscular legs have my dick hard, and I just want a small peek.
Shame washes over me as I stand on a rickety chair behind the trailer, glancing around to see if anyone can see me, but it's just an open field back here. The windows are filthy so I can’t see clearly, except where there is a small hole where it is cracked in the corner, like a little spy hole just for me.
I can see right where her bum is showing out from under the sequins, the vivid pink shines in the dull light and I want to see more, the rest is blurry through the glass but I can see the outline of the clown standing against the wall farthest from me. There is a dirty cot-bed between them and I can spy the grey sheets through my little vantage point. Sweat stains and makeup are smudged on the crinkled pillow. It’s so disgusting that it is beautiful.
The shadows move in the blurry side of my vision, and a hand cracks against skin. I know that sound, the sound that I hear when dad hits mum. The sound is followed by a low moan and whispers I can’t decipher through the walls.
The lady in the sequins falls down on the bed, her eyes look so sad under the shimmering glitter on her lids, like they’re dead inside. They are beautiful, windows to view inside her, a way to see beyond the shining exterior. Her mouth falls open into a perfect round and her white teeth show under the bright red of her lips. A tear slides down her cheek, washing the white paint away with it, leaving a little line of who she really is showing through. His big hand is curled around her delicate throat with the smeared makeup making an imprint on her pallid flesh.
The scrap of sequins she wore is flung to the floor beside her and I can see the side of her breast where it is being pushed into the dirty mattress beneath her. She is lifted up by her long hair and her ample chest is exposed to me as her body is shifted to the top of the bed, her face forced down into the filthy pillow, hiding her eyes from me. I can view her whole body now. There are blue, purple, and even yellow bruises down her ribs. Her bottom is so round. It’s making me want to touch myself even with the raised red handprint I can see on it.
I pop the top button on my jeans and grab my dick as he hits her there again, this time closer, closer to her lady parts. Parts I’ve only ever seen in Gavin’s dirty magazines, the ones he steals from his dad’s bedside drawer. She has hair there, they don’t have hair in the books. I squeeze myself hard as I watch the clown, the way he touches her body and how she moans and cries.
She yells for more but it’s muffled by the way her head is pinned to the pillow, her fists gripping the grey sheets. I’ve never actually looked at a man’s dick before, god it’s huge compared to my little willy. He holds it in his hands and rolls her over on the bed, their faces are both smeared and her face is stained with tears. Holding her by her hair, which is now matted and messy, he kneels over her chest, his pants open at the fly exposing himself to her face. I blush fire-red as he shoves his penis in her face and she turns her head towards me. I know the minute she sees me, her eyes go a little wide, but I can’t move, I’m rooted in this moment of lust, my body is afire by their liaison.
Her face is yanked forward and the moment lost. I expect her to say something to him, but before she can he shoves his cock into her mouth, so deep I’m sure it touches her tonsils.
I’ve heard the senior boys talk about blow-jobs, bragging about getting sucked off, though seeing it in front of me is something else entirely. I fist my cock in time with the way he is rocking in and out of her mouth, trying to quieten my ragged breathing. It feels so good, yet so bad. Dad would beat me if he knew I was playing with my willy. I’ve done it before, just never like this, in the open. Or looking at someone. I usually do it in bed, imagining Emma from sixth form with her buttons undone. This is unique. I can see it, hear it, almost feel it, and the excitement of knowing how wrong it is or that I may get caught only makes me want it more.
Her makeup is running down her cheeks as her eyes water from being starved of air while he thrusts over and over into her mouth. I jizz all over the side of the trailer, but my dick is still hard.
A vicious twinge of jealousy comes over me and I wish I was that clown. I want to be him. I want to feel that, I want to make her cry and moan, I want what he has. We learned about sex in school and mum had a half assed chat with me about condoms and shit, but until now the actual reality of it had remained elusive.
Her body bends in half as he shoves her knees back to her ears, the flexible circus body bows so beautifully and her fanny is exposed to him - and me. I feel a disgusting, shameful lump in my throat, as I stare at her like that, his rough and dirty hands touching her, probing inside her — making her buck and moan.
When he puts his mouth on her I almost want to vomit, but it makes me even hornier. The black and white paint from his face sticks to her skin and she writhes against him seeking something more. More of his face wipes off on her and I can almost see his skin now, his spit makes her flesh shine like her glitter eyes and I am mesmerised. I move a little so I can see her face again and she is looking at me, she knows I am watching, I should run away but I don’t want to.
When I look back to him I see him shove his cock inside her, just like in health class only real, and without the condom on it. Her whole body bends to meet him and I am amazed that it all fits inside her. I wonder if it hurts? She isn’t acting like it does, in fact I have never seen someone’s face look like that, pure bliss washes over her expression. Her sad eyes dance with light and as her body shudders beneath him I watch as he pulls out of her, slick and wet, shooting his cum all over her pretty breasts with a snarling smile on his sad half-painted face, and I too ejaculate at the erotic image before me, messing on my jeans and my hand, but I don’t even care.
I can hear the music again as I come out of the trance of what I witnessed. Pulling my fly up I lean my back against the trailer, still standing on the rickety chair, and try to breathe like a normal person.
That was the day that changed me. I went back every single day until the circus left and I watched the clown fuck the gorgeous girl with sad eyes. She knew I was watching and never said a word, but oftentimes our stares would lock and it was like she was talking to me with nothing but her gaze.
I wished I was that clown every day for years after. I still wanted to be him, with his bulging muscles, painted face and manly cock. I dreamed of being the one to touch her, to make her body bow and eyes water. I was jealous.
The bright globes around the mirror flicker to life and I stare at my reflection, the red and blue stripes on the walls make the room too dark to paint my face without the lights. White first, the base. I use a special sponge and apply the theatrical paint to my skin, covering every bit, down my neck to where the ruffled collar meets my throat, closed eyes to cover my lids. When it’s all covered evenly I open the small pot of black and red, picking up a tiny brush as I paint my ‘face’ on. The downturned mouth, ending in two fine points at my chin, makes me seem eternally sad, the deep red of my nose blood-like. The single tear on my cheek and the animated eyes that surround my own. The ritual is always the same, when I look in the mirror I see him, not me. I see my clown. The way his face was painted burned in my mind and it took me a long time to get it perfect.
The woman who answered my add for a girl into role-play is dressed in a sequinned leotard that I got at a vintage store. It clings to her and shimmers just right. Her arms are bound to the trapeze swing that hangs from the high pitch of my garage roof. Show lights dance and twirl around the room as I slip on the shiny black and white wingtip shoes that are two sizes too big. The satin pants rub against my hard cock as I pull the suspenders up over my naked shoulders and walk over to her.
Glitter eyeshadow, red lips and pale face, almost perfection. I smile but my face stays sad because of the paint on it, the very action is a contradiction. The exact circus tune plays softly, filling my ears with the hum and pleasure I desire to take from this night.
Circus nights are what I live for now, these moments when I can be my clown, where I am him. I take my time to enjoy the way her body responds to my pleasure, combined with the distinct fear of the clown dress. People are afraid of clowns — thanks Stephen King for making it hard for me.
She shivers as I touch her, my hands rubbing the wrong way against the sequins, like sandpaper, as I pull her against me. She hooks her free hanging legs around my waist, and I inhale the smell of her sweet perfume, my kisses leaving paint marks on her bare shoulders as I work my way to those plump lips. I kiss her until her red is replaced with my black before I slowly cut the leotard from her body with antique sewing scissors.
The sound of the fabric being destroyed mixes with the tune that repeats over and over; the soundtrack of my fetish. With her in nothing but fishnets I step back to admire my pretty little trapeze artist, before I ruin her forever. Her chest rises and falls. I look into her eyes, waiting for that moment when we connect; it never comes, but I always look for it, look for her.
Kneeling down I wrap her legs over my shoulders so she hangs with me supporting her weight. Her fanny is in my face, it’s wet with desire and terror; dripping for me to perform for her. I taste her. She clenches her thighs until my makeup smears the inside of them, and when her orgasm subsides she dangles limp on me, her head lolled back, her body shaking.
It’s then that I bow her body back and bind her beautifully so her feet meet her wrists. I lock the swing so it no longer moves, loosening my fly and freeing my cock. I made mine better than my clown’s. It grew to be the big one I was so envious of, but the piercing in it just made it better than his; I wanted to be better than him.
“Point your toes.” I tell her exactly what I want. “Lean your head all the way back and don’t move.” She is almost perfect, this one is closer than the others have been, she’s a dancer and her lithe body is nearly what I remember.
She obeys me. I run my hands over the muscles in her legs and the neat six-pack abs she now displays perfectly until my hands find her wet opening. My fingers slip in easily and I move them in and out, slow torture for us both as I watch her weeping in pain from this position and the pleasure I’m pulling out of her.
“Don’t cry. You’ll mess your face up pretty,” I coo in her ear. She is gasping as I stop touching her. “I like your face like this, painted and pretty. Don’t cry.” I yank her head back further, her body in a complete circle.
So stunning. I move so that I stand behind her. Fisting my cock I prepare to fuck her. I can’t do this normally, I can’t get hard unless it’s here. Painted and with a girl like her.
When I’m in here I am free, and I thrust against her until her shrieks are louder than my precious music, until her pleas for me to stop are no longer coherent, and only then can I find my release, cumming all over her perfect skin and arched body.
This is my circus and she is my star act, I am always just the sad clown who makes them happy.
When I’m done I untie her, dress her, and escort her to a waiting cab. I leave her face painted so she can remember the show.
People should be scared of clowns.
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