Winter Trial

"Are you sure? The trial starts tomorrow. You'll need your strength." Jason hadn't entered this territory with Carl before, but he thought it had to be said, that it was time that they both faced it.

Carl didn't answer in spoken words; he showed what he was interested in by embracing Jason closer from behind and pressing the bulb of his cock at Jason's entrance. Jason could feel the bulb move past his hole and the underside of the throbbing cock rub up and down across his hole. Carl was hard.

"I know I haven't been giving you enough attention, baby," Carl answered in a low voice. Jason felt the fingers of one of Carl's hands enter and spread him. With a sigh he lifted his leg and moved it over Carl's and rolled his buttocks up to provide a more convenient angle. Carl buried his face in the back of Jason's neck, gently attaching his teeth to the scruff of Jason's neck as a dog would to subdue and hold a pup in place, and Jason gave a little groan as the cock entered him, obtained purchase, and began languidly to press in, withdraw, and then press in again. Jason turned his face to the bicep of the arm Carl was embracing him with and kissed and licked it. He was panting shallowly, willing Carl to dig deeper, to fuck more vigorously. He knew Carl could do it—or could have done it a few months earlier. Carl could dig deeper than this, fuck harder than this.

But that didn't happen. With a sigh, Carl came, in a weak flow. Jason felt the wetness at his entrance and Carl going flaccid almost immediately. Jason hadn't come. He hadn't come for months—in hand jobs, yes, but not from a proper fuck—and Carl seemed to increasingly be weaker and more despondent. He'd had such confidence before the Great American Circus had canceled his act at the end of the summer. Now it seemed that each day was a trial for him.

"Jason," Carl murmured. "If I should . . . if you should become completely free . . ."

"Shush, Carl. Nothing's going to happen to you—or to us. You're going to get this job and we're going to happily tour the South all season."

"Yes, I know. But if . . . if, you know . . . I want you to get right back out there. There will be money for you, but I don't want you to just sit back on it. I know I haven't . . . and that you need . . . and I want you to have it all, all that you want."

"Shh, now. There are years to think about that. Just sleep now and get your rest. Important day tomorrow."

"Yes, an important day tomorrow," Carl whispered in a half-awake voice.

Jason waited for Carl's breathing to become deep and regular, and then he slowly struggled out from underneath him and sat up on the side of the bed. He was hard but was losing it. He gave his cock a couple of strokes but then thought, why bother, and rose and walked over to the open-door closet in the dormitory room they were sleeping in. Half the clothes hanging in the closet were show clothes, all spangles and glitter. They were Carl's costumes, not Jason's. The costumes Jason wore in the magic act were also spangled and glittery, but they were skimpy enough to be folded and stored on the shelves across from the closet—form-fitting brief shorts and tight athletic T's mostly. Jason had learned the act routines well in the almost three years he'd been with Carl, but, as far as the magic went, he was there mostly for eye candy. He understood that.

But that's magic too, he thought, with a smile. The stuff that dreams were made of. And that was magic he'd always been good with—and with serving the dreams of other men.

It had been revolutionary for Carl to go with a young blond man rather than a shapely female for an assistant in his magic act, but it had paid off in attendance at first—both women and a certainly kind of man flocked to see the act. But the powers that be in the Great American Circus were puritanical, and as soon as they understood the appeal of Carl's magic act, they had been thinking of excuses to sever their ties with him.

The final reason they had given had crushed Carl. It wasn't that the act was too sexy or homoerotic. It was because Carl was getting too old. Carl wasn't more than fifty and could fix himself to look like no more than thirty-five across the footlights and at a remove from an audience, but it was true that he was getting grayer and more prone to fatigue and wasn't moving as supplely as he had even when Jason had first met him.

He had been handsome, trim, and mysterious then. Not more than three years previously. The Great American Circus had camped at the edge of Peru, Indiana, at the well-established circus and fair grounds there, Peru and other towns in Indiana having been historically great money-making stops for circuses. Jason's life was just limping along at that point. He worked the counter of a fast-food restaurant by day in a job that he'd started in high school and had just continued with after graduation with no better prospects in mind. After graduation he had supplemented this with dancing a pole at an all-male strip club on a country road between Peru and Wabash.

Jason had been blessed with a small, but perfectly formed body, blond good looks, an innate sexiness, and a supple flexibility. It hadn't taken him long to realize that the better money wasn't in slinging burgers or even in dancing poles and stripping down to a sock jock but in servicing the older men who came into the club.

Carl had been one of those men. He had come into the club twice, in those spangled costumes of his, straight from night performances out at the Peru fairgrounds, although Jason didn't know that until later, before he approached Jason, who danced the pole on a raised stage not more than four feet from the gawking and whistling clientele. Jason had picked Carl out of the crowd immediately. He was a handsome man who, though quiet in contrast to the raucous noise those around him were making, exuded confidence and mystery—not the least because of the flashy stage costumes he wore.

That second night, backstage at the club, Jason enjoyed the smooth, exotic feel of the satin of Carl's pants on the tips of his fingers as he unzipped them and gave Carl a slow blow job for $20 and a ticket to the circus. Having led a dull, insular life to that point with nothing really going for him but his looks; perfect, small body; the allure he evoked in men; and his willingness to give men sex, the circus was an explosive revelation for Jason. He loved everything about the gaudiness and overpowering invitation and celebration of it. He was equally impressed by Carl's magic act.

Jason had perfectly understood what the free ticket to everything the circus had to offer entailed for him, and he was more than willing to be lying on his back on a small couch in Carl's trailer with Carl's knees pushed under and raising his buttocks and Carl's hands gripping his waist and pulling his passageway on and off Carl's cock.

Carl was a good lover, unlike most men Jason went with. He started slow and methodically and worked Jason to the point of Jason pleading for it—and then finished quickly and expertly, having Jason writhing under him with pleasure and timing the ejaculations so that they were nearly simultaneous. He made Jason feel not so much that the other man was getting his rocks off as that he was making love to Jason, concerned that Jason be fully satisfied too, even though it was Carl who was paying for it. Ultimately, it hadn't been much of a decision for Jason to make to come live with Carl.

Afterward that first fucking Carl begged Jason to stay, and Jason never went back to his small room above the drugstore in Peru or the fast-food restaurant, or the men's club out of town. When the Great American Circus packed up to move to Fort Worth at the end of the week, Jason had signed on to be Carl's new assistant in the magic act.

To Jason's thinking, Carl had saved him from a dull life buried in Indiana. Without Carl he would have gone nowhere—not even here to a closed college campus in Ocala, Florida, where the Clyde Seeley Circus was having winter trials to put together the acts it would take on the road in the summer. It seemed that Florida was the winter center for all sorts of trials like this—The New York Yankees were down in Tampa for spring baseball training, and there was a multiteam football training camp going on over in Orlando. Carl's trial to compete with other magic acts would start tomorrow in the former college's auditorium. Carl had been despondent, never having to try out for a place in a circus before, but Jason was doing everything he could to keep Carl up to the challenge.

Jason didn't care all that much for the circus life—the glamour of that had worn off, though it was better than slinging burgers and dancing poles in the Indiana outback—but he did care for Carl. He'd grown to care for Carl very much. Carl had been true to him and had saved him from Peru, Indiana.

Running his fingers over the satin of Carl's costumes hanging in the closet, Jason gave a sigh. He could tell that Carl was slowing down, but he'd never tell Carl that, at least not directly. He wouldn't even admit that Carl wasn't satisfying him sexually anymore. But that was true.

Carl had taught Jason that there was more, much more, to a relationship than sex. Over the past several months, after the Great American Circus had let the act go, Jason had tried, in subtle ways, to turn Carl's interests elsewhere. The problem wasn't money. Carl had plenty of it. He had saved and even had inherited a nest egg. But the circus was Carl's life. "I'll die in the circus," Carl had said, and Jason could tell that Carl meant that.

Now, the possibility of doing that was on the line.

Jason would adjust. He had to. With another sigh, he grabbed up a towel and padded down the hall to the communal shower that was the only head facility the old college dormitory offered on this floor. It was midnight. He'd enjoy a shower by himself, he thought. It would be a relief from showering with other guys and having them ogle him, and him maybe be interested in them—seeing what they were packing—but unable to do anything about it.

But it turned out that he wasn't going to enjoy a shower by himself. When he entered the communal bathroom, Jason could hear the water running in the shower room. Shrugging his shoulders, he dropped his towel on a bench between a bank of lockers and moved into the shower room.

He almost backed out when he got there. The big Turk, billed as Halem the Magnificent, was all soaped up and standing under a steady stream of water from an overhead showerhead. He turned when Jason entered the shower, and his eyes slitted and Jason could see an immediate response in the man's huge cock. The man didn't bill himself "The Magnificent" for no reason. Then a big grin blossomed on his face.

Halem's was one of the magic acts Carl was competing against, and his competition was the most stiff—as stiff as his cock was becoming.

"Well, look who's here. Come on over here; I've got something for you."

Jason shuddered, guilty at the aching want he felt, and slid up against the tiled wall beside the entrance to the shower, not knowing whether to just try to ignore the man or to turn and leave the shower. The big Turk's intent was clear.

How far back into the communal bathroom did Jason think he could make it? How far did he want to make it? He was aching for sex. Carl's feeble attempt earlier had only inflamed and frustrated him. Before Carl he'd had no trouble going with any man who had the price of the servicing, was half-way decent enough looking, and/or who had a nice cock. Jason liked being fucked.

The Turk indeed was magnificent. He was young, not much over thirty, and he was over six and a half feet tall and built like a brick house. Dark skinned, with a profusion of black curly hair covering his chest, his arms, his legs. His bush thick, untamed. There was a wild and nasty look about him. Jason hadn't been fucked rough since before Carl. He was overdue for it. The best times he'd had were with primitive brutes.

The hesitation was just long enough for the Turk to circle around to the entrance into the shower room and to extend his heavily muscled arms in both directions, closing off the entrance. Jason moved along the wall, around one side, toward the showerheads.

Halem leered at Jason. "I've had my eye on you," the Turk growled in a heavily accented voice. "I know you want it. I know you take it. I saw how you and the old man you assist act with each other. What you need is a real man, though. A big cock like mine."

Jason moaned, trying to press himself into the wall.

Halem laughed. "You're going hard. You're going hard for me. I know you want it."

Jason was going hard; there was no hiding that. After months of frustration getting it from Carl, there was no hiding he wanted it from the Turk.

He stood there, shuddering, but not moving, as the Turk bore down on him. He whimpered an ineffectual, "No, don't," as Halem grabbed his waist with strong hands and turned him to the wall. He continued whimpering in a small voice that neither of them could decipher or cared about as Halem sank to his knees behind Jason, spread the smaller man's butt cheeks with the palm of his hands, and stuck his tongue between the cheeks. Jason squirmed and moaned deeply as the Turk opened and prepared his opening with his tongue, only once breaking away to laugh and mutter, "I was right. Someone's been here tonight already. But what a weak glob. I'll have your eyeballs swimming in cum."

Jason's only answer was a low moan and a shudder. Halem had a hand running between Jason's spread thighs and was milking his cock. There was no hiding that Jason was hot for what was happening. The Turk stood, grabbed Jason's hips, and pulled the small blond's pelvis away from the wall. Jason pressed his cheek to the tiles and raised his arms up the cool wall. He gave a jerk and a little cry and expended a long breath of air as the Turk worked the long, thick cock inside him. Then both just grunted and groaned as Halem pumped the channel, slowly at first, but building to a pistoning action.

Tears of frustration and mixed feelings rolled down Jason's cheeks as he thought of the betrayal of what he was letting Halem do to him. But he wanted it so badly and Carl wasn't providing it. It didn't change his loyalty to Carl, Jason kept running over and over in his mind as he found himself moving his hips back at the Turk to meet the thrusts, reveling in the size of the cock he was accommodating. There had been one stud this thick and long back at the club . . . but Jason couldn't think of that now. That was before Carl. Carl had given him so much, meant so much to him.

But, god, this Turk could cock. And it had been so long. Halem snaked a hand around Jason's slim hips, stroked his cock three times, and then grabbed and squeezed Jason's balls. The young blond shot off against the wall and started to collapse inside himself. Halem encircled his waist with a meaty, hairy arm, and lifted him off the floor. He pulled away from the wall, and, exhausted, Jason flopped over, bent at the waist, still attached to the Turk by a cock deep inside his ass. Jason's head, arms, and legs dangled toward, but off the slick, wet floor of the shower room, as Halem, knees bent, crouched a bit and continued to pull Jason's passage on and off his cock until, with a shout of triumph, he exploded, once, twice, three times in strong spurts deep up into Jason's passageway. He was still hard, though, and fucked furiously, the slide helped by the cum slathering Jason's passage and Halem's cock and balls, as the cum oozed out of the ass opening and dribbled down Jason's thighs.

Jason dangled there, sighing and moaning. He hadn't been fucked like that for three years. He hadn't ever been fucked like that.

But Halem wasn't finished. He slung Jason over his shoulder and padded back to his own dormitory room, where he fucked Jason twice more in the night before finally letting the young man go.

"It's what you wanted," he whispered in Jason's ear the last time as he was crouched over Jason, on all fours on the narrow dormitory bed, after fucking him doggy style.

"Yes," Jason answered in a voice laced with guilt but also with satisfaction.

"It's what you needed."

"Yes," Jason answered. That too, oh, yes, that too, Jason thought.

"You will lay down for me anytime I want you."

"Yes."

"You will come work for me now, be my assistant now."

Jason didn't answer that. His needs, weighed against his loyal to Carl went only so far. Halem was Carl's primary competition for the magic act slot in the Clyde Steeley Circus.

Halem laughed, pulled his cock out of Jason's ass, stood up, and slapped Jason on the butt cheek. "You'll come to me. You don't have to say it now, but you'll come to me. The old man you're with is finished in this business. I'm going to get this job."

Jason crept back into the room he shared with Carl and climbed into Carl's bed, stretching himself along the back of the lightly snoring man rather than going to his own bed. He was racked with guilt, and Halem's words that Carl was washed up kept ringing in his ears. But there was more to a relationship than melting, rough sex—which the Turk certainly could provide. Jason and Carl had more working for them than sex—or even the circus. Jason had given in on the sex outside the relationship—now at last. And he was a realist; he knew he couldn't pretend it hadn't happened. He knew that it would be easier to give in the next time—and then even easier the time after that. Maybe not to the Turk, but there were a lot more sexy men around these circus trials. The sex with Halem had been something he did need. It would be easier to do the next time. But as long as he stuck with Carl, no matter what, he wouldn't let it destroy their relationship.

* * * *

The first round of the magic act trials were conducted on the stage of the former college's auditorium the next day. Carl arrived rested and optimistic, which gave Jason an excuse to feel justified that they hadn't worn each other out with sex the previous night—not that Jason didn't feel worn out by sex with the Turk, Halem the Magnificent, who was energetic and sassy this morning as well.

For his part, Jason was keyed up. Having had good sex for the first time in months, the floodgates on his desires had opened. The sex had satisfied him greatly, but it hadn't satiated him. He wanted more. Now that he'd had a taste of it after so long, he wanted to feast on it. It didn't help that Halem was slitting his eyes and giving him meaningful looks every time their eyes met. Jason was walking around with a perpetual hard on in his skimpy gold lamé briefs and half T-shirt that left his flat belly bare. He was eyeing every built, good-looking man in sight, and more than a few of them were eyeing him back with interest. The Clyde Seeley Circus was known to be gay friendly—Clyde Seeley was gay himself, people said. This was why Carl had even been able to land an audition with the circus for an act that accentuated sexy maleness. It stood to reason that some of the men working to support the acts were gay as well.

There was a lighting technician, dark haired and Mediterranean complexioned, tall and lanky, but well muscled across the chest and biceps, who Jason's eyes kept going to. There was Clyde Seeley himself, sitting in the middle of one of the rows closest to the stage, who was giving Jason the eye and smiles. But he was older—almost as old as Carl. And he was meatier, well built at one time but a bit of extra padding now. But Jason's eyes kept going to the lighting technician, who was proficiently going about his job as lighting needs changed between and during the acts on trial.

Five acts were there in the morning. In the afternoon it was down to two—Carl's act and that of Halem the Magnificent. Jason didn't know why there still were two acts. Carl started off strong, but as they rolled into the afternoon, he began to flag. Halem never wavered. He was magnificent and mesmerizing each and every time he went on stage to exhibit a new trick. And he knew it and reveled in it.