County Fair

Victor ambled unnoticed through the throng—a nondescript outsider in a world of color. Couples smiled and held their candy apple stained hands together, ignoring their surroundings. Ride-crazy children scampered from amusement to amusement with laughter bubbling between the screams from the daring attractions. Billowy smoke from the barbecue pits fogged the air and promised good food. It was the county fair.

The verve of the crowd pushed Victor forward with its momentum. He didn’t fight it. He was alone. There was no one to win a stuffed animal for, no one to joke with about how cheesy the prizes had become. There was no one to stroll along the grandstand with to see the horse races. There was no one to sit inside the photo booth with to make faces at the camera as the black and white pictures were snapped. He was alone. But he meant to change that.

The mass of people kept moving, past the Ferris wheel, past the Tilt-a-Whirl, past the Scrambler, and on to the exhibits. The stench from the livestock barns, a pungent mix of wet animal and manure caused Victor’s stomach to wrench. He buried his nose in the crook of his arm, preferring his own aroma tinged with spicy cologne. He pushed forward, leaving the elbow-to-elbow heap wondering who had upset the delicate balance of motion. Disgruntled faces stared at him. He ignored them.

He caught sight of the woman he’d been following entering the food court. Her red shirt was unmissable. She joined the lengthy line to order. Victor knew she’d be awhile. He had a little time.

He walked on past the greasy fries and the pork tenderloins until he came to the cane booth. The hawker offered three rings for a dollar.

“Hey buddy, three chances to land the ring around a cane. Care to give it a whirl?”

In his youth, Victor’s parents had brought him to the County Fair once. The cane booth was their first stop. He and his mother waited, their feet shuffling in the dust, while his father won himself a cane. It took his father twelve tries, but he’d finally done it.

His father had been dead twenty-five years this summer.

Victor reached into his pocket and held out a five-dollar bill. Like a slight-of-hand artist, the carnie quickly snatched the bill, secreted it away in his tattered pants, and then fumbled with crumpled bills for change. Victor used his long slender fingers to smooth out the wrinkled money before adding it to his money clip. Then, with deftness that shocked the carnie, Victor tossed up the first ring. It landed perfectly around a red and purple cane. The carnie grunted.

“Gee, Mister. I reckon there ain’t no reason to use them other two rings now, is there? Give ‘em here.” Obviously, the carnie didn’t want to lose any more of his canes.

Victor flipped the two extra rings in the dirt, and watched the carnie scramble after them like they were gold. He was a filthy man whose greed covered him like mud. Victor found satisfaction in seeing him scuttle in the dirt.

The carnie, not bothering to brush the dust from the rings, tucked them into his pocket, and begrudgingly handed Victor his cane. It was a flimsy stick, painted in bright yellow. Victor was disappointed. The cane his father had won was something a man could lean on, something to display in front of you with pride and use well after the fair was over.

And his father had used his sturdier cane. For many things.

This primary colored piece of wood was nothing more than a dowel rod that would snap beneath the weight of an average man. But it gave Victor something to hold on to. It wasn’t a hand, it wasn’t warm, but he could feel a tiny vibration of something when he grasped it. He would still use it.

Victor returned to the food tent. The woman in the red shirt was still there, sitting alone. She ignored the tray of food in front of her and instead, fiddled with a paper napkin, working it in one hand, while she took bored puffs on a cigarette with the other. Her honey-colored eyes darted back and forth, watching the people around her. She wasn’t waiting for anyone in particular, Victor was sure of that. He’d seen her leave the motel on foot and walk to the county fair. She was alone, just as he was, and she was not in a hurry.

Anticipation clawed at Victor, pushing him to rush. It would be so easy to hurry and ruin things, just like he had so many times in the past.

Take it slow. You don’t want to scare her off

. He shoved the thought of his failed attempts aside. This was a new and promising situation. Adrenaline charged through his body from expectation.

Victor studied her between blurs of people passing by. He guessed her to be mid-thirties—used but not overused. Mousy brown hair, finely teased, framed her face. Jeans—a size too small—strained to cover her hips. When she sat down, the tight denim squeezed everything upward, forming a slight, doughy pouch that rested above the waistband. Her red, tucked in T-shirt molded across her average-sized breasts.

But mostly, she was alone. The rest didn’t matter.

Small beads of perspiration popped up on Victor’s hairline. First time introductions were exciting. His sweat was like overflowing adrenaline. The rush could be maddening, if ignored.

He weaved his way across the packed walkway. Bumping from all sides, dodging in front of some folks and waiting for others, like a ball in a pinball machine. Body odor and stale breath assaulted him. He nearly gagged but somehow pressed his way against the flow of traffic.

He approached her and stood quietly. Curiosity forced her to turn cautious, lonely eyes upward to meet his eye. Victor understood the murky look of caution. He understood the melancholy of aloneness. He was drawn to it, sucked it up like sustenance. He let their loneliness swell between them until she shivered.

“May I join you?”

She averted her eyes and warily nodded. It was all the encouragement he needed. He sat across from her and let his knee causally bump hers under the table.

“Hello, my name is Victor. I was walking by and saw you sitting here. Are you by yourself?”

She hesitated, possibly considering the wisdom of talking to a stranger. The tic in his eye quivered as he waited for her answer. Yes, adrenaline could be maddening in waiting moments.

“Hi, I’m Julie. And yes, I’m alone.”

He relaxed. She wasn’t going to lie to him, or brush him off.

“Do you like the county fair?” he asked.

“It’s okay. I was just looking for something to do.”

Victor liked her voice. It was gentle and child-like with a whisper of breathiness that suggested some raw seasoning. He imagined her in the throes of passion, losing the gentleness and letting carnality take over. Panting in heat. Whimpering. Begging.

You’re rushing again. Slow Down

. The adrenaline was provoking his thoughts. He tried to sound casual when he asked, “Would you like to walk a while?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

She snuffed out her cigarette and carried her tray to the trash. Victor watched her walk away. Her jeans were too tight, definitely, but it gave him a glimpse of a panty line. And when she strode back, the seam of her jeans pushed up in the “V” formed at the top of her legs. It looked delicious.

They shoved their way into the crowd. Their shoulders bumped together like long time intimates. Her smooth, hairless arm collided with his hairy one, over and over. Tiny shocks of life, of glorious warmth, zipped through him with each contact. They walked as a pair.

“Do you come to the fair often?” he asked.

“I used to when I was younger, back home. I’d go with school friends or something. One summer I had a boyfriend my parents didn’t approve of. I’d sneak away and meet him at the fair.”

“Why didn’t your parents approve?

“He was twenty years older than me.”

Her confession buoyed Victor’s hopes. It was going very well. Maybe she was feeling nostalgic. Maybe that’s why, when he approached her, she never even balked.

“So you don’t live around here, Julie?”

“No, just traveling through.”

“On your way to somewhere?”

“No where in particular. Just seeing the world, you might say.”

“My parents brought me to the fair when I was younger. I remember a time when my father was determined to win a cane.” He looked down at his own recently acquired cane. She followed his gaze.

“Following your father’s footsteps, huh?”

“It would seem so. But it only took me one try to win mine,” Victor added triumphantly. “It took him twelve.”

She smiled.

An edgy silence fell between them. He kept his gaze forward but knew she was stealing glances up at him—once, twice and then a third time. She opened her mouth, but hesitated. The questions lingering in her throat went unasked.

She lit a cigarette.

“You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

He wanted to say yes, that he abhorred the smell of cigarette smoke. But instead he just shook his head no.

“You don’t mind if I stop for a funnel cake, do you?” he asked.

She smiled, a closed mouth smile, and shook her head.

“To be honest, Victor, I’m not sure which is worse, my cigarette or your

fried

pastry.”

“Want to give odds on who will die first?”

She laughed out loud.

He waited in line for the funnel cake. Julie stood by his side. She was courteous with her smoking, always minding to face the other way when she exhaled. Victor scooped up the fried pastry and snatched a bite.

“The smell of that funnel cake is almost decadent.”

“Mmm, you’re right. Want a bite?”

Victor held the funnel cake to her mouth. She couldn’t resist. She opened her mouth wide but delicately let her lips meet in a bite. White powdered sugar puffed out nonetheless.

“I’d say the odds of me outlasting you are officially in my favor now,” said Victor.

Julie giggled, a half laugh, with a mouth full of funnel cake. Powdered sugar dotted her lip. Victor reached up and wiped it off, letting his finger linger longer than was necessary. Smoky eyes under blackened eyelashes turned to his. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Floating with confidence, he continued. “Look, it’s the Ferris wheel, are you up for a ride?”

Her childish grin showing her discolored teeth proved she was feeling at ease.

She’s almost mine.

“I love the Ferris wheel. I used to ride it over and over as a kid.” She rushed to the ticket booth. “And once I gave that older boyfriend a blow-job at the very top.”

He stared at her, expecting to see embarrassment. She only blushed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Took him to new heights, did you?”

This time she really laughed.

The Ferris wheel operator was a replica of the filthy carnie at the cane booth. Victor handed the man the ticket, and he grabbed at it with grubby fingers. Julie stepped up to the ride with a child’s enthusiasm. Victor slyly gave the man a twenty to make the ride last. Julie missed the salacious wink the carnie had given Victor, and the look of disdain Victor had returned.

Victor took out his handkerchief, and with a flourish, wiped off the torn plastic seat. He bowed and let Julie sit down first. Her small hand rose to her throat, trying to hide the gasp of surprise at his gentlemanly act. When they were seated, she turned adoring eyes toward him. He pictured those eyes shadowing over with excitement as his body came above hers, or as his mouth nibbled her plump nipple. He pictured her lips slackening when he entered her or her eyes and mouth springing open with the pumping of his seed into her.

He sucked in a breath.

You’re rushing again. Relax. Take your time. She likes you. Maybe she even wants you.

The ride began, and neither spoke. Victor let the warm breeze of the summer evening break up his thoughts. The Ferris wheel circled, and the fairgrounds stretched out below them. It was well past dusk, and the glittery lights flickered around them. But Victor’s attention was drawn to the warmth of Julie’s hip pressed against his. He could imagine his hand splayed across the soft, feminine crest of that hip on its way to cup her hairy mound. He imagined capturing her cream as it escaped from between her legs and having her scent on his hand long afterwards.

Victor gripped the cane, and he gulped at air, trying to slow down the images. Julie placed her hand on his lap. Perhaps she mistook his anxiousness for fear. Perhaps she was just forward, but it didn’t matter. Her hand slid up Victor’s thigh, butting up to his crotch, and then slid back down again. His mind would never slow down if she kept this up.

The Ferris wheel jerked to a halt with Victor and Julie at its peak. The chair squeaked as it rocked back and forth with impelling force, before its momentum finally ceased. They remained silent.

Older boyfriend. Blowjob

. Victor looked at Julie and then let his gaze fall to her hand massaging his crotch. She was prepared to repeat her once-upon-a-teen deed. And he was prepared to let her.

He didn’t direct, he simply watched. She fumbled with the zipper on his navy slacks, slipped her hand inside, grabbed hold of his semi-erect penis, and pulled it out. Her head, with the mousy brown hair, moved over his lap, and Victor’s thoughts exploded.

I’m going to fuck this girl. She will be mine. What do you think of me now, daddy?

Julie’s mouth was warm and moist. She bobbed up and down like a pro. Victor focused on the smooth, curve of her naked neck. The musculature in the valley between her neck and shoulder tensed and relaxed. Tensed and relaxed. He would put his mouth in the spot soon. First nuzzling and inhaling her aroma, then kissing and tasting her flesh, and finally sucking and feeling the throb of her pulse.

His eyes followed down the path of her concave spine. Her stiff jeans gaped at the hollow of her back, and Victor could see the edge of crimson lace. He craved the possibilities to come and wanted to be teased by more than just her mouth. He lifted his cane and let the tip lead the way through the gap of her pants. Julie twitched, stopped briefly, and then continued slurping and sucking. Victor eased the cane down, past the waistband, past the lace, and slid it perfectly in the fissure between her mounds of gluteus flesh.

He nudged the cane deeper into the crevice and then slid it up and down, matching Julie’s rhythm, letting their movement rock their chair. Her body quivered; her jaws tightened. This lush tightening and the portrait Victor had already painted were enough. His penis hardened, filling her mouth, expanding further, pushing down her throat until he was full size. Julie gagged, but Victor held her head and prevented her from stopping until he felt release. There was no explosion of fluid, only a steady pumping until he was empty. He welcomed his climax for its physical release, but the mental clarity that returned was even more important.

Victor removed the cane as Julie sat up. Her face was flushed. Her lips were swollen, and her smudged make-up darkened the circles under her eyes. Leftover semen was smeared across her chin. Victor brought the tip of the cane to his nose and exaggeratedly sniffed. He enjoyed the nervousness in her giggle. The Ferris wheel rumbled, and they began a slow descent. He gave the carnie credit for good timing.

Victor guided Julie from the ride’s rocking chair when they reached the bottom. He offered her his handkerchief, suggesting she might want to mop off her face.

They made their way back into the crowd. Once again part of the herd. Victor took her hand in his and squeezed. This time they were a couple, like the many around them. They walked past the games, the rides, and the fortunetellers. They ignored the calls of barkers and infomercial-like sales pitches. Julie was docile in her following, and Victor led them to the craft barns. Inside, the din of the fair was muffled. Here, people walked more slowly, almost reverently, whispering in hushed tones.

They viewed the judged quilts. Julie ooh’ed and aah’ed over each one, nodding her agreement with the judges on the first place winner.

“I like the second place winner best,” Victor whispered. “It reminds me of my mother and how she spent hours making a quilt once. And how I helped her cut out the squares and the triangles.”

“That must haven taken forever. I’m amazed at all the detail,” said Julie.

Victor barely heard her. He was seeing his mother sitting in her worn, tattered chair while he sat on the floor, counting and cutting. One-hundred-twenty-two squares, fifty-six triangles. And then his father had come home. Yes, his father had come home and ...

Victor closed his eyes to block the memory. When he opened them, Julie’s face was filled with concern.

Had he said too much about his father?

No, he didn’t think so. He’d only told her how his father had

won

the cane, not the things he had done with it. He needed to get away from the quilts. He grabbed Julie’s wrist and pulled her toward the exit.

“Victor? Victor? Are you all right? You’re hurting my wrist.”

He let go and tried to breathe.

He wasn’t here now. He was dead. Dead for twenty-five years.

The whirling of faded memories slowly subsided.

“What was all that about, Victor?”

“It’s nothing, Julie. I’m sorry. It just felt really stuffy in there. I couldn’t breathe”

“It’s OK. Don’t worry about it. Hey, why don’t we go back to my motel room?” Julie looked at him with anxious eyes. “It isn’t much, but it’s quiet and air-conditioned. We can relax and talk a little.”

Things were progressing. It was better than he had expected. “It’s a tempting offer, Julie. But if I came back with you, I wouldn’t want to talk so very much.” Emotions skimmed across her face. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He fancied the real decision she was struggling with was how to agree without appearing too eager.

“Yes, Victor. It’s what I want.” She managed to keep the hunger out of her response.

One side of the street, because of the fair, was alive with something to tease all the senses, while the other side of the street, where Julie’s motel sat, was quiet and lifeless. They strolled to the quiet side.

Julie was right. The motel room wasn’t much, but it was clean and it was cool. A queen-sized bed with a garish coverlet took up most of the space. The walls were bare with the exception of one water-colored floral, tipping slightly to the left, hung above the bed.

Julie turned on the bedside radio. The station was set to a classical station. Victor wondered if that was her doing.

“Like I said, it ain’t much,” said Julie.

“There’s only one thing I want to look at and think about right now Julie, and it isn’t the décor.”

She lowered her eyes and blushed.

“Would you consider stripping for me, Julie? Slowly take off each item of clothing and expose yourself to me inch-by-inch?”

She hesitated. Out of modesty or lack of self-confidence, Victor couldn’t be sure.

“If that’s what you’d like, Victor, I can do that.”

“I’d like that very much, Julie.”

Rouders’ Violin Concerto No. 2 was playing on the radio. Julie kicked off her sandals and stood very close to Victor with her legs slightly spread. She timidly ran her hands down her front on the outside of her clothing, contouring her form, slipping over her breasts and stopping to pinch her nipples so they’d poke at her T-shirt. She moved to her stomach, fingers spread, reaching for and finally cupping her delta.

She slid her hands back up and grabbed hold of her T-shirt, shimmying it from inside her pants. Up and up. Her breasts were bigger than Victor had imagined. There was a delicate curve just above the edge of her bra. When she lifted the shirt over her head, he caught a glimpse of breast tissue under her bra that disappeared when she brought her arms back down.

Julie moved on to her jeans, popped the snap and then inched the zipper down, one tick at a time. Completely removing her pants took some effort. The denim was practically painted on and she had to twist her hips around and forcefully yank them down over her ass. Her body jiggled with the effort. Victor felt a stirring in his slacks and in his mind.