Kelowna Pt 02

Kelowna 2

©2000 Greymead

(I want to inform any christians who read this that I fully believe that the odds are about 666 to 1 that they in no way resemble the kristians referred to in this story)

It has been nearly a year since I was first infected with Klown, but it seems like a lifetime ago. It was shortly before the Kristian Right first began to condemn the victims of Klown as the objects of God's wrath. The message, as I understand it, was that punishment for engaging in animal lust with klowns - an obvious perversion. Some even found passages in the bible that they claimed spoke directly to the issue. My response? "Get thee behind me, Billy G. Cracker - and while you're back there, kiss my bubbly white ass!"

Most of the world was surprised to learn of a virus that turned people into klowns - I learned it in a far more direct way than most, becoming infected when I found myself seduced by a cute little klown who had been harassing some mimes on a street corner downtown. I had made an aside to her as I passed - thanking her for helping to rid the world of mime scum, and the next thing I knew, she was walking beside me, her big shoes slapping the sidewalk with every step. She was a curvy girl, and I presumed that her enormous, balloon-like breasts were part of her costume. I complimented her on them, and she tore her jacket open to show me. I pulled her into the alley we happened to be walking past. "You wanna get arrested?"

"Shit, it don't make no difference to me, Rube!" But I was already distracted by the beauty of her klown white globes. Her nipples were rubbery little red balls that perched much like her rubber nose perched on her face. I reached, unaware of my actions, to touch that nipple and the next thing I knew, I was locked in embrace with the klown. Her hand opened my pants, fishing for my cock.

I was backed up against a wall, and she dropped to her knees in front of me, taking my modest length between her rubbery red lips and inhaling it. My fingers tangled in her red bozo hair. I remember being mildly surprised to find that it seemed to be her real hair. I fucked into her mouth, pushing her down as I pulled her skirt up - somehow choreographing a graceful move into a sixty-nine on the gritty concrete of the alley.

Her pussy was sweet and wonderful, but most amazing was the fact that her makeup extended even to this most private part of her. Unhidden by pubic hair, I had a close-up view of her pussy. The white greasepaint covered every bit of skin in my sight except the bright red lips of her sex and the red and rubbery looking (and huge!) clitoris that strained like a tiny cock seeking a warm place to hide. I feasted on that clit, those lips - sucking up her copious fluids as she wriggled and writhed under my ministrations.

Her mouth made me cum in short time, and soon afterward, she came, too. She pulled her skirt down and I zipped up my fly. We sat against the wall of a building and that is when she told me. I should have been really mad at her, but for some reason, it seemed funny at the time.

She had been infected by some singing telegram guy and now she was apologizing for infecting me. "Not only does it turn you into a klown," she revealed, "but it really hypes up your sex-drive so you lose control. It was unethical of me to infect you, and I know it, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself. You'll know soon enough. I think it is the virus' way of spreading itself to new hosts."

I brought her home with me after I learned that she had lost her apartment after losing her job. I was very fortunate to have a house that was paid for. At that time, there was no program that would help with housing for the victims of Klown, and it was almost impossible to get a job. Now things are starting to loosen up a bit, what with the public awareness of the disease and all that stuff.

Well, we hung together for a long time before we started meeting other klowns - the first two weeks was spent mostly in bed, scratching each other's itch for sex. But eventually, we began to move around again, and started meeting other klowns. It wasn't hard - it isn't like a klown can hide in a crowd. Soon there was a small gang of us. That is when our corner of the revolution started.

We were hanging at the house, watching tv when one of those kristians came on to howl and whine about how the klowns were all marked by God as the sons of Cain and that honest, God-fearing kristians should shun klowns and warn their friends and neighbors about the danger inherent in klownness. Flophouse, a tall, gangly klown began to yell back at the set, warning the preacher that he, too, might be a victim one day - that it was certain to happen if we had anything to say about it. The words rang wonderfully in the room, igniting and uniting us. Someone had an old van that we fixed up to look plain and innocuous. We armed ourselves with a variety of weapons, and set out to find the enemy.

We waited until the next day this pseudopreacher was to address the sheep of his flock and drove to the studio. Pull into the parking lot, we reviewed our plan one last time before Jazzdizzy (that cute little klown who infected me) popped open the door. We moved like a well-trained squad of special forces... naw, I haveta tell the truth... we moved like a poorly disciplined gang of klowns, but somehow, we got into the studio without raising an alarm - we didn't even raise an eyebrow!

What can I say, it was a low-budget station. We looked through a big window and saw the object of our hate, haranguing in the general direction of the camera. In moments, we were in the room, surrounding him. I learned later that the camera never stopped filming the event - dunno why we didn't think of it and take advantage of it at the time!

What can I say, we are klowns.

Jazzdizzy snapped a pair of handcuffs on the guy and Squidlips pulled a burlap sack over his head. We hustled him to the van and took off. Skivvies, the driver, had the van in my garage before the police even responded to the alarm.

It was too easy, but we didn't mind that at all!

I had one more surprise to show the group, and I led them down into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs is a largish room that is my office - nothing special, just the usual computer, copier, fax machine, etc. Off that, and to one side, is the laundry room. From the laundry room, you can enter the shop - tablesaw, workbench, drill press, etc. To the casual observer, including any of the group who had wandered down there in the past months, that was all there was to the basement. I moved the copier, which stood on a wooden stand on caster, and pressed a section of panelling. The section sprang out an inch or so, and I pulled it wide to reveal my dungeon.

Okay, I lied. Jazzdizzy knew about it. But the others did not. Against the far wall was a large X-shaped cross made of 4x4 lumber. The cross sported a number of eyebolts in strategic places, and Jazzdizzy pushed our victim against it as I selected a pair of steel manacles from among the toys hung on a wall. I snapped the manacles on our victim. The two holding him had to push him bodily back as his struggles grew fiercer, but I managed to snap the hooks on the manacles to eyebolts on the cross. Everyone gathered around as Jazzdizzy pulled the bag from the preacher's head. Almost immediately, he began to shout and threaten, I pulled a penis gag from among my toys and pushed it unceremoniously into his mouth to the applause of my friends. I buckled it behind his head and smiled sweetly into his eyes.

"It's time to leave our friend alone with his thoughts," I announced, and shooed everyone out of the room. I turned off the lights, wished him a "good nighty-night" and we all traipsed up the stairs.

"Damn, I'm horny," someone announced. Everyone laughed - we were all horny - all the time - it goes with the territory. Soon we had segued into a predictable orgy.

I was sliding my cock into an asshole - DaisyMay's, I think, when Skivvies, who was watching Squidlips suck on his cock suddenly spoke aloud. "Hey, I got a wonderful idea!" Those who were paying attention waited. "What do these asshole preachers hate more even than klowns?"

I looked at him and the boy-klown who sucked his cock. "Faggots!" I responded.

"Exactly!" So what more poetic justice than to have him suck a cock and Klown himself that way?

We put it up to a vote, not that there was any question after the unanimous applause at Skivvie's suggestion - still, if we claim to be a democracy, we must act the part.