Carmen groaned. The dog days of August had arrived, and her air conditioning was on the fritz. No matter what she did, she couldn't get cool, including lying naked on the tiles of the bathroom floor. But her distress was not due to the muggy weather only, for heat always made her horny, and she suffered cruelly until she got off.
The problem was her mind. Though more gifted at fantasy than the average novelist, she had hit a wall on the creative road that could not be overcome. Naturally she blamed Sandy. The redhead so dominated her thoughts that, for the past year, every one of her juicy orgasms had been roasted over Sandy's flames. But after casting the woman in several searing dramas, the fire had gone out.
Now bent over and with her back to the fan, Carmen gazed out the window as the breeze blew through her legs. A mother and her children were coming down the walk, the kids holding balloons while mama munched caramel corn. "Family values," Carmen said to herself. Where was daddy? Back at the fairgrounds still watching the strippers?
Carmen's legs suddenly began to tremble. Though nothing had been fleshed out, the idea was irresistible, and she became so engrossed in her rejuvenated thoughts that she forgot she was posing naked to the world. The kids pointing at her provided the first clue, and the frown from their mother drove her away from the window. "Had Daddy stayed with his family," Carmen mused, "he would have seen a better show!" Now buzzing with energy, she threw on a cotton dress, dashed to her car, and drove off laying rubber. August was good for that. But it was also good for carnival fantasies, an untapped mine that was bursting with sexual gold.
Dizzy with ideas, Carmen couldn't get to the fairgrounds fast enough. Running red lights all the way, she parked by a fire hydrant and headed straight to the beer tent to prime her imagination. At once her senses were assaulted. The acrid odor of sawdust, beer, and sweat was overpowered by the sweet smell of cotton candy and corn batter frying in thick grease. But the visual and aural treats were challenging as well, ranging from snorting, whirling rides to raucous babes in tight attire.
Some of the women looked more dangerous than the rides, having 'carny' stamped all over them like full body tattoos. These loose Southern trailer- bitches intrigued Carmen greatly, appearing as raw specimens of nature's dirtiest females, as famous for their high immorality and low intelligence as for their hip-busting jeans and braless tops. The males were easily identified by their mirrored sunglasses, their chain-smoking, and their public erections, the latter fueled by anything in a skirt.
Having gathered a slew of sordid blossoms from the garden of the midway, the professor returned to the beer tent to arrange her flowers into a steamy bouquet. Now on her third cup of suds, she slyly lubed her slit with foamy fingers, then headed for the merry-go-round and a fast horse.
"Don't stop till I tell you," Carmen said to the carny running the ride, handing him a fifty-dollar bill and climbing aboard a magnificent stallion. The carny leered at her ass, shrugged, and threw the switch. Surging up and down in an eternal race, the horses were off and running, and so was Carmen's fantasy.
It's the end of summer, and Sandy is near death. The hot, muggy weather seems to shadow her like a stalker, and she's praying for fall and the return of cooler skies. Unable to abide her stifling apartment, she pulls on a short red skirt and an old V-neck top with a faded cat stitched on the front. Her simple wardrobe reveals more of her figure than she likes, but at least the skimpy getup allows her to breathe. Now setting off for a walk, she heads nowhere in particular, wandering like a gypsy until her clogs carry her to the fair. The noises and smells both attract and repel her, but the promise of shade and something cold to drink lure her onto the grounds.
Passing by many stalls and booths, she draws her share of leers and comments. The unwanted attention makes her nervous and fidgety, and she enters the beer tent only because it's nearby. The young men gulping suds give her cursory sexual glances, but the old guys rate her much higher, eying her full curves like seasoned art critics who consider the voluptuous female as a fine thing to behold.
But an older brunette in leopard leggings sees neither classic art nor quick sensuality. She reads people like Bluebeard did treasure maps, and sees the redhead as an undiscovered isle of forbidden delights. As pierced as the pirate, she casts off from her corner and sails across the beer tent to drop anchor by Sandy's side.
"Hi," she says, with a shake of her long hair. "I'm Toni. I saw all those bastards mentally raping you, so I thought I'd come to your rescue. The least I can do is block their view. But to be honest, honey, you are flying the 'fuck me' flag."
Still panting from the heat, Sandy blushes and stares at the many rings adorning Toni's ears, nose, and belly button. She stops counting at twenty, not including those fastened to the brunette's nipples which are clearly visible under her thin top. After clumsily introducing herself, Sandy stammers something about the humidity, then greedily gulps the beer that Toni courteously buys her.
"By the way, I love your pussy," the brunette says. "I mean the one on your shirt, of course. It's nice the way his whiskers poke your nips. But then, you've got the boobs for a top like that. My little guys are only good for piercing. But I think my ass is all right, especially when I show it off in these jungle leggings. Hey, you know what, honey? We're a matched pair! For I've got a cat clinging to my ass, and you've got one hugging your tits!"
Toni laughs, showing a mouthful of crooked, smoke-stained teeth. Sandy smiles sheepishly and drops her gaze so as not to notice. But the brunette thinks she's peeking at her pubes, trying to guess whether they're pierced as well. Thrusting her pelvis, the outlines of her pussy rings appear. Sandy blushes, not knowing where to park her eyes. To loosen her up, Toni lights a joint and exhales a huge puff that engulfs the redhead in an acrid cloud.
"Is that…grass?" Sandy asks, her eyes stinging from the smoke.
"It aint no Camel," Toni replies. "Shit, we smoke weed all the time around here. Nobody gives a fuck, and it's cheaper than tobacco, what with all the taxes. Take a hit." Before Sandy can refuse, the brunette pops the joint into her mouth. Only to be polite, the redhead takes a drag, and the chemicals rush straight to her brain. "I wish this stuff hit me that fast!" Toni says, putting her arm around the redhead, allegedly to keep her from staggering. "Shit, you look like you're ready to collapse! Want to come back to my trailer and lie down a bit?"
"You...work for the carnival?" Sandy asks, still weaving side to side.
"Have for twenty years, honey. My ex runs the hoop game, but I work with the girls at the pony ride. Things are pretty slow right now, so I'm taking a break. And I really think you should get off your feet."
"Thanks for the offer," Sandy says, uncomfortable with the feel of the woman's hand on her hip. "But I'm okay now. Really. I'm fine."
"I hope you're not saying that just 'cause I'm a carny," Toni says. "People are always putting us down, you know. They call us so many fucking names that you'd think we were from Mars! But shit, we're just like normal folks--only a lot more horny!"
Sandy gulps more beer to keep from responding, and soon her sense of self is soaring high above reality. She's aware that Toni is talking, but the words are indistinct and seem to come from miles away. She barely notices when the brunette takes her arm for a tour of the carnival, for the sights, smells, and sounds have merged into a single blurred spectacle like a giant canvas with smeared paint.
Toni, of course, knows everyone in her carny family, but it's because everyone knows her that she and her new friend draw such stares. Her ex, in particular, wets his lips in jealousy when she parades by the hoop toss game with Sandy in tow. "It never takes you long," he says, congratulating Toni on her recent conquest. "I'd toss a ring at her tits but they're too fucking big!"
"I think they're purr-fect!" Toni replies, casually reaching up to pet the kitty hugging the redhead's chest. Though Sandy is out of it, a part of her knows this isn't kosher--not even for carnies--and she groggily pulls Toni's hand away. "What's the matter, honey?" the brunette asks as if genuinely surprised. "Not enough of a crowd? I mean, shit, you're a natural for the girlie show. I can just see you baring your boobs on stage for the leering rubes and rednecks!"
