This is just another story, for the November competition, not for the winter-themed comp. I make this offer - comment and I will comment on your recommendation.
What is that smell you get when you step into a circus tent? Piss and shit, of course. Damaged grass, sweat, diesel and hot lights. But sex is part of it.
Circuses are great for the kids, of course, but there has always been something for the adults too - fit exhibitionists, competing to get a gasp out of you, while their skin-tight outfits rub away at their swollen private parts.
I did a bit of time as a tent hand in the days when men still put their heads in lions' mouths and girls led bears around on a lead.
The Countess Anastasia said she was Hungarian aristocracy. And what she said was good enough in a world where a lot of people were on the run from the past in some way.
She lived for two things, if you don't count the drink and the fags. One was to dance. She had been a trapeze artist but she had talked herself into an act where all she did was sway around in fetish gear in a low light, juggling some hoops, while the kids fidgeted and the dads hung their tongues out to cool. When she exited, shimmying her ass, she wanted her other consolation and she wanted it fast.
She must have known some of us would take a peek into her van, whenever we got the chance, to watch her undoing the crotch of her customised leotard for Igor, the tent man of tent-men. We called him Igor because he looked like he came from under a trapdoor in a ruined castle.
The way the vans usually got parked, all hugger mugger, however they fitted, there was usually one with a view into the Countess's. She never bothered to draw the curtains and she would have her favourite fucking chair positioned so it was framed in the window most likely to be looked into.
The Countess had a collection of very soft pink leather gloves, in various designs, and would put a pair on before sliding a giant knobbly johnny, looked as if it was made for a horse, over about half of Igor's monster cock. Then, her face against his sweaty vest, she would wrap one hand around the bottom of his dick, so he couldn't get it all in and she would swivel to and fro in her chair, giving any spectators a view from all angles while she took as much as she wanted. The memory of Igor's giant cock banging into her pink leather fist, and banging the leather against her pussy, has coloured my dreams ever since.
One night, three of us were sat in the voyeurs' van, in the dark, watching the show through the Countess's lighted window and she varied the procedure a bit. She held his cock tight in one pink glove, with just his fat knob end poking through her fist, and licked and sucked it as he pumped it against her grip, while her other hand played her pussy, rubbing it, and splaying it, and running a leather-clad finger in and out for us all to see. Then, after Igor had fucked her, she did it some more, kind of absent-mindedly keeping herself on the brink, while Igor disposed of the johnny and wiped himself with a towel. As she stroked herself, she looked out into the dark and straight at where me and a midget called Charlie and a punky little Chinese contortionist we called Rubber Li were sitting, holding our breath, in Charlie's caravan, with the lights out. I realised she wanted to be seen like that, openly advertising for more cock, and was ready for it if anyone had the nerve to step in there while Igor was watching.
Charlie got his out. I could smell it hoping for a touch, from me or from Li - from anybody. A midget's cock is like any man's, you know, and he has the advantage that it looks enormous against his little body. I took a glance at it, glowing white in the gloom, and I guess Li did too. I knew how he felt. In the circumstances, I might have stroked it myself, in the hope of getting the same comfort back. But we were all scared and we just waited for the Countess and Igor to move off for their next job, throwing props to the clowns, and then sneaked, sniggering, back to our own positions.
One night when there was no show, me and Rubber Li ended up in the Countess's van, sharing a bottle of vodka with her. We talked about life on the road and loneliness and who we fancied and who we had fucked. And how. And the sexual electricity built up to the point it was only a question of who made the first move.
