Message-ID: <7249eli$9801132111@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Sxjames Subject: New Story, Emerson Laken-Palmer: The Pussy Show (1/2) (mf, teen, inc, cons) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <942824b0.34bac8d1@aol.com> I am not the author, just the posting agent for Emerson. Comments (good or bad) may be directed to SxJames@aol.com and I will see that he gets them ----------------------------------- cut here --------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------WARNING!------------------------------- THIS TEXT FILE IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READERS! IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEX AND SEXUAL SITUATIONS. IF THIS TYPE OF SUBJECT MATTER OFFENDS YOU, OR IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, PLEASE READ NO FURTHER AND DELETE THIS FILE. THE AUTHOR (AND THE ORIGINATING SOURCE OF THIS FILE) HAS MADE THIS TEXT AVAILABLE (FOR ADULTS ONLY) AS SHAREWARE AND CAN NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR ITS DISTRIBUTION. ---------------------------------------------------------------- THE PUSSY SHOW by Emerson Laken-Palmer PART 1 I was a wild one when I was a boy. Cock-sure and swaggering and loaded for bear. I couldn't help myself. That's just the way I was. I was always looking for a chance to bust out and have myself a really good time. And I had good times, back then. Good times were part of my life. Part of ALL of our lives. You see, back in 1974, me and my family (my ma and dad and Cookie) were carny people. We were a part of a carnival that traveled through the south, in the winter months, and the midwest in the summer. I know we weren't what you'd call "high class" people. But we always had food on the table (in our trailer) and clothes on our backs. The work wasn't too hard. Well, breaking down and setting up the attractions WAS hard but, after that was done, it was just a matter of tending to the rides. Taking money at the booths. Running the carny shows or fleecing the locals at the chance games. I did it all. I was good at it. My family had been with Trooper Midway Shows since I was nine and my sister was seven. That would be eight years at the time of this story. (I was seventeen, going on eighteen, when all of this happened.) When you're with a carnival, the world is made up of only two kinds of people: us and them. Carny people and straight people. We who supply the fun and games and them who come to have fun, play and lose their money. Carny people and straight people have an unwritten code of conduct with each other. We look at them as fools and chumps and local suckers and they look at us as scum and filth and crooks. That sounds bad but it works out for the both of us. It ain't no sin to take money from fools and chumps and suckers and it ain't no sin to be pissed off at the scum and filth and crooked thieves who fleeced you out of your money. We weren't really scum. At least, we didn't think so. Carny people are just a very odd group of folks. We seem to find each other and stick with each other because we could never fit in noplace else. And we're a loyal bunch because it's us against them -- the chumps and suckers of the world. The people who are looking for something for nothing. The quick, easy buck. The illusion of money for nothing. But we weren't con artists in the strict sense of the word. See, we're "show business" people but this ain't "show business". Maybe we're more like circus people but, believe me, this ain't no circus. I guess we're just the lowest rung on the entertainment ladder. We're somewhere between theatre and gypsies. Maybe that's what we were, now that I think about it-- we were the American gypsies. Hell yeah! That's what we were. We even had Madame Magdala and her crystal ball. It was just Betty though. She had a great costume and she could talk with a hokey, Hungarian accent (she sounded like that Dracula guy anyway). We had Walter and his snakes and we had Leon and his "Oddities of Nature" show. Leon was neat. He was tall as hell-- must have been seven feet, even when he slouched. He wasn't an old man but he had no front teeth. None at all! His oddities were cool too. He had a dog that he kept shaved. Shaved all that dog's hair, clean off, all the time. The dog liked it. It was all wrinkly and grey-skinned with no hair. Leon called it "Fibo the Elephant-Dog", part dog- part elephant. He had a speel about how some Indian bitch-dog got knocked up by a horny elephant and Fibo got born. He told the chumps how Fibo was part of a litter of three and that, of the other two elephant-dogs, one had hair like a regular dog but it had a long trunk and died after it was born 'cause it couldn't eat, and the other elephant-dog looked like a dog but was as big as a baby elephant and killed the mother dog when it came ripping out of the poor bitches cunt hole. Jeez, the chumps would gasp when they heard that part! Especially the women. Leon charged a buck to go through his tent and see Fibo and the two-headed chicken (he had a chicken-head collar he attached to a real chicken) and the head in the glass jar (I don't know where he got that). He said the head belonged to a witch what got her head chopped off. You couldn't see much (floating in the water of the glass jar) just a lot of long hair and a waterlogged nose and a wrinkled ear. Leon also had "Zundar the Lizard Boy". Zundar was me, or one of the other carny guys. We'd take turns. Leon would have us wear nothing but a big diaper and he'd smear us, all over, with this mud stuff and, when it dried, it would get hard and crack and make us look like we had grey scales all over. We had to put on this bald-head cap too. Then he'd chain us to a stake and have us sit in a dark corner of the tent on a bed of straw. We weren't supposed to say nothin'. Just sit and let the chumps stare at us. He'd give us twenty bucks for workin' the show with him. Me, Glen, Rob, my dad, and Trooper (he was the owner of the Carnival) and his two sons (Nick and Steve) would set up and tear down the rides on the midway. We had a Tilt-A-Whirl, a Scrambler, a Super-Himalaya, a Salt & Pepper (that big thing with the arms that went up and down and spun you till you puked), a Round-up and we had a Ferris wheel (which was a bitch to set up and tear down). We also had about a half-dozen kiddie rides. At the center of the midway were the games and the food booths. Dad operated them with ma and Sneaky and Will and me and my sister. We had the Rifle Shoot and the Ring-Toss and the Ball-In-The Basket and the Dart-Throw, Skeebo and the Milk Bottles. My ma did the "Guess-Your-Weight". She was always dead-on. Dad worked the caramel corn/cotton candy trailer and Gus and his wife Laura sold the Italian sausages and burgers and fries. I worked the rides and the games. I worked the Ball-In-The- Basket a lot. The baskets were placed, almost on their sides, up against the back of the tent. You had to toss an over-inflated basketball into one of the baskets. It was fifty cents a try to win a worthless stuffed animal and, if you won three times, you could get a TV set. None of the chumps could see the board that pushed against the back of the baskets. If that ball hit in any of those baskets, the hard board would cause it to bounce right back out. I had a foot lever that I could push and that would move the board back and let someone win. We had to have a few winners or the chumps got suspicious and wouldn't play. Trooper always had us let the cops win-- win stuffed animals anyway. Cookie, my kid sister, worked the Ring-Toss or the Dart-Throw. She always had lots of chumps gathered around her game. She was fifteen then. She had, shoulder length, straight, blond hair and bright, blue eyes below her bangs. The guys liked her jugs. They weren't big boobs. Just regular size tits but she liked to wear tank-tops and she didn't like the confinement of bras so her nipples would always push out against the front of her shirt. Cookie didn't like shoes either. She was usually bare-footed or in sandals and she always wore shorts. The change-apron (which we kept the money in) would wrap around her thin waist and cling against her rounded hips like a short skirt. She had long legs and she was thin (like me) and had my ma's facial features, like I do. Ma's looks made me look like a kind of a muscled, "pretty-boy" back then, but (as so many guys told me) they made my sister Cookie look like a foxy little knock-out. I didn't care about all the guys who would hang around her booth and try to talk with her as she worked. Even though she was slightly built and curvy and pretty, that was very deceptive. Cookie could be a mean handful if you messed with her or got her mad. Eight years of carny life had taught her how to handle herself with the drooling local boys. She made them play, if they were going to stand around and look at her, and she never allowed any fooling around (unless it was her idea). Cookie always held a hardwood pointer that she used to flip the rings off of the bottles or unhook a doll, from where they hung near the ceiling, when somebody won. She could work that stick like a rapier as she stood behind the low counter, with one foot up on the stand, and ran the game. She always whacked that stick down, hard on the formica top, and yelled, "Abada! Abada! Abada! Three rings for a dollar! Ring a bottle and win a prize! Abada! Abada! Abada!" She used that stick once to break some asshole's nose when he leaned over the counter to get a close look at the butterfly tatoo on her shoulder and copped a feel of Cookie's thigh instead. That dumb bastard would have been better off coppin' a feel of a pissed-off rattle snake. The cops were called and came but nothin' happened. Trooper took good care of the police, wherever we went, and everybody, in our whole carnival family, was most protective of Cookie. When we were in the south, we had another attraction. An attraction that was our biggest money maker by far. It was called exactly what it was: a Pussy Show. Everybody in the southern, Bible-Belt knows what a carnival Pussy Show is but people in the north and the midwest have no idea because we can't do it there. See, all carnivals, in the south, are expected to have a pussy show and they all do. We were no exception. The Pussy Show was a big tent with a low table inside, like a small stage, by the back. Me or one of the other guys would stand out front and draw the chumps by yellin', "Pussy Show! C'mon in boys! See the thing that teases and pleases! See it up close! Only five dollars! Pussy Show! So near, you can smell it!" The chumps would all gather around, leaving their dates standing and cluckin' at one another. They'd pay the five bucks and walk into the tent. We had floodlights inside, trained on the little stage. We could pack the guys into that tent so full that all their cocks were up against each others asses as they stared at the raised, wooden platform in front of them. Betty, who was 46 then, or Trooper's wife Rose, who was 52, would walk out onto the stage, from the flap at the back of the tent, and say, "It's time for the pussy show, boys!" Now the pussy show wasn't what you may be thinking. It wasn't a strip-tease, girlie, dancing around to music kind of thing. A carnival pussy show is a straight-forward display of anatomy, not a provocative performance. Betty or Rose would stand there and hike their skirt up over their thick thighs, while the men watched, and then sit right down on that bare stage. Then, without a word, they'd lay back, raise their knees, and open their legs wide apart while all the men peered forward in silence. Then they'd reach down, with their fingers, and open up their cunt lips so the guys, sweating in the tent, could see right inside their big, hairy twats. There was always one or two gasps, from the men in the hushed crowd, as the bright floodlights fully illuminated the big, open slit, on full display, in front of them. Then Trooper's daughter Carol, who was twenty and stacked and had shoulder length, curly reddish-brown hair and sexy legs, would walk in, wearing her spike-heel shoes and mini-skirt, and the men would gasp out loud again. Carol would stand next to the reclining Rose or Betty for a moment, looking around and smiling at the men with her youthful, pretty, freckled face, and then she would hike that tight skirt right up to her thin waist, exposing the pale flesh and curves of her naked, lower body, and then she'd sit down next to the older woman and lay herself back and then open her creamy thighs wide apart and use her slender fingers to spread her pussy lips way open for all the chumps to whistle and stare at. I'd peek into the tent too. Carol had the prettiest pussy I had ever seen. She kept her dark bush neatly trimmed and, when she spread her cunt lips, she was so pink and shiny inside that the light would reflect from her glistening, juicy slit above the cleft of her firm-looking ass cheeks. You could see the bump of her clit and right into her wet, open pussy hole! The men would gasp again and it looked so funny as their jaws hung open and they jockeyed around in the hot, musty tent to get a better look at it. The older woman would now stand up, pull her skirt back down, and announce, "Gentleman, that concludes the pussy show! Now, if you would please file past the stage and out the side entrance..." And Carol would lift her head and peer, past her open pussy, at all the men and smile sweetly at them and say, "Thank ya'all for coming to our little Pussy Show!" The men, all sporting huge bulges in the front of their pants now, would each walk slowly past the front of the stage (on their way out) and take their turns staring closely, right into Carol's pretty muff as she obligingly held the lips of it apart and smiled for them all. Gina, Glen's girlfriend who was 19, would also work the pussy show sometimes. Gina had a great body too. She had Greek in her background and her skin was dark. She had dark, brown eyes and wavy black hair that went clear to the middle of her back. Her body was lean but wickedly curvy and she had the most beautiful, full, kissable mouth. I really liked Gina a lot but Glen was a muscle-bound, crazy- stupid kind of a guy, with a hair-trigger temper, and I never wanted to get on his bad side by trying to put the make on his girl. She was friendly though and I talked with her a lot and showed her how to run the Ball-In-The-Basket and the Dart-Toss booths. She was nervous the first time she worked the Pussy Show. I guess I couldn't blame her. The gal who used to sub for Carol got pregnant and had to leave the carnival in Panama Beach. I was in Trooper's trailer, helping Rose count the previous day's take, when Carol came in and told her ma that she had got her period. "Great!" Rose said sarcastically, tossing her flabby arms in the air. "NOW what do we do?" Carol shrugged and then said, "What about Gina?" Gina had only been with Glen a few weeks (at that time) and she was just starting to learn how to work the games and operate the snack trailer and make change. She seemed eager to learn all about the carnival though and Rose told me to go get her. I found her sleeping in Glen's camper, while Glen had gone into town for supplies, and I woke her. "What is it?" she sleepily asked as I shook her arm. She was laying on her side, in the hot trailer, wearing only a pink bathing suit top and white, bikini panties. I stared at the sexy leg she had draped over the big pillow, she was hugging, and said, "It's me-- It's Jack. Wake up! Rose needs 'ya!" Gina shook her head and opened her eyes and peered at me. "Jackie?" "Yeah." "Whataya' want?" "Rose wants to see you, in her trailer, right now." I watched her, staring at her curves, as she got slowly out of bed and pulled on a pair of faded jeans. Then I brought her to Rose and Carol. I stood by the door as they talked. "Gina honey," Rose began, "Carol can't work the pussy show tonight and we were hoping you'd give it a try since Debbie had to leave last week." Gina kinda blushed and giggled and stared at Carol for a moment. "Me?" she asked. "Sure," Carol said. "You're pretty and young." "Yeah but..." "There's nothing to it, honey," Rose stated. "You just lay there for a few minutes and hold yourself open." Gina put her hand on top of her head and looked up at the ceiling and laughed. "Oh wow! ME? Do THAT?" Carol put her arm around Gina and laughed with her. "There's nothin' to it, hon! I've been doing it since I was 17. Come to the tent with me and I'll show you all you need to know." Gina didn't say anything for a minute and then Rose said, "It's a hundred dollars each night for you. Three or four nights a month..." Gina's eyes lit up. "A hundred bucks? Just to show my...." (she looked down at the crotch of her faded jeans) "...privates?" Carol and Rose nodded at her. Gina smiled broadly and shrugged now. "Okay." When Carol and Gina went to the tent, I followed them but stood just outside by the flap. "You just walk in, wearing a top and skirt with nothing underneath. Then you lift your skirt and sit down here, next to Mom, and then open up your legs and let them see it," Carol was saying. "Nobody touches you, or anything, and I'll talk to Glen for you. He won't mind." "What do I do when I lay there?" "Nothing. Just hold it open so they can see in there good. I use a little Vaseline to make it look real wet and shiny inside- - like I'm turned on. They love it!" "They love YOURS, Carol. But what about mine?" "Hmmm. Let me see it." I heard the sound of a zipper and then silence for a few moments and then female giggling. "Well," it was Carol's voice, "It's a nice one. But let's go to my trailer and I'll trim it real pretty for you." I would have loved to see that but, when I followed them to Carol's trailer, I found the door was locked and the blinds were all drawn. I stood there, by the screen window of Carol's bedroom, listening. I heard giggling and scissor snipping sounds for a while and then just giggles and then it got quiet for a time and then I heard the creaking of the trailer springs and panting and moaning from the window. That was a month before the day of this story, when we were down in Florida. We were just on the outskirts of Louisville now and we'd been set up since late yesterday. We were in a large, vacant field near the edge of town but close enough to draw both people from Louisville and soldiers from Fort Knox which was only a few miles away. This was going to be a bonanza for us, this stop and the next one could be our biggest money-makers of the season. But we had to work hard. That morning I helped Nick and Steve repair the old Tilt-A-Whirl and get it ready for us to open at 11:00. A couple of the wheel bearings were broken, on two of the cars, and it was getting harder and harder to get parts for the old, German ride. We had to have them sent all the way from Stuttgart and then the post office had to find us for the delivery. The two cars had been slow and loud for two weeks but, by 10:30, we had it fixed and ready. I washed up and ma made me some lunch but I couldn't keep my mind off of the Indianapolis stop we were going to make next week. We were going to be there, as the midway for a church festival, for two weeks. And then Trooper was going to lay over a week and put all of us up at a motel for a little rest. The 500 was going to be run at the end of that week. My family was from Indianapolis. Me and Cookie were born there and I had gone to school there. I had a couple of buddy's who still lived there and they were going to get me into the race and into a pre-race party the night before. Man, I wanted to get away from everyone for a couple days and blow off some steam! What I needed though was some money! Some REAL money. Money enough to treat myself and my friends to some really high times. And I do mean HIGH! Yeah, I liked a little weed now and again. And some brews too! And some babes! And I needed cash for all those things. Don't get me wrong. I could bag a babe at the carny now and again. Sure, I couldn't get Gina or Carol (though they liked to tease me once in a while, when they saw me walking around with my shirt off) but sometimes I could get it on with a "town girl" who's eye I caught. Well, that didn't happen too often. Parents like to keep a close eye on their daughters when carny people are around. But once me and Nick got these two junior high girls to give us blow jobs to ride the Himalaya, for free, all day. That was wild because we took them into Trooper's trailer and had them do us while we sat on the couch and, just as I was about to cum into this cutie's sucking mouth, my sister Cookie opened the door and walked in. The girls jumped up off their knees and me and Nick tried to casually cross our legs and lean forward, with our arms on our laps, as Cookie went to the counter for her change apron. "What were you doin', Jackie?" she asked suspiciously as she stared at me and fastened her apron at her back. "Nothin'. Just talkin' to the girls." Cookie's eyebrows raised at me. "Talkin'?" The two girls saw the mean, scornful look that my kid sister was now giving them and they rushed past her and out the trailer door. "Shit!" Nick shouted and slapped his knee in frustration, keeping his other arm over his lap. "Yeah, Cookie," I yelled. "We WAS just TALKIN'." "Hmmm," she said as she turned to go. "Better not `talk' in here 'cause I just saw Rose walkin' around the grounds and she's lookin' for Nick. I don't think she wants any town-girl trouble this stop. I hear Trooper's havin' problems with the sheriff's office because of the fix, that Sneaky got into last year, when we was here." "Shit, Cookie," I yelled. "We ain't gonna' cause no trouble. You didn't hafta' scare those girls off! Damn!" She laughed, as she went to the open door, and then she looked back, as she stepped out, and said, "Don't forget to tuck that thing in, before you zip up your pants, Jackie." and she closed the door. I grinned at that memory. I grinned because those girls finished suckin' us off, behind the electric truck, a half hour later, and they got their free rides. It was just that Cookie had a lot of nerve, spoiling our fun like that. At least she didn't tell Dad or Trooper about it. Carny people don't squeal on each other. But, damn her! Even though my folks and the others think so, Cookie ain't really no angel herself. She got her cherry popped by some slick lookin' town boy in Des Moines early last summer. Oh, but my little sister had an excuse for that; she was in L-O-V-E! In LOVE? At FOURTEEN? That's what she told Dad when she pointed this 19 year old dude out to him. Dad was impressed by this guy too. So impressed that he and Glen broke both of his arms and tossed him into a dry creek bed just before we left town. Cookie cried, of course. But only for a day. I think it wised her up when Dad showed her the pictures... the ones, they took from this guy's wallet, of him and his wife and kid. I can't say I ever saw Cookie cry again. Oh! And I KNOW that she gave it to this other screwball, in Chicago, last fall. The one who put the butterfly tatoo on her shoulder. He was 22 and in a band. She told me later that this creep took her to his place and got her high on weed and she confessed, to me then, that marijuana made her uncontrollably horny. She never goes near it now. I know that Dad would have actually KILLED that fucker if he'd have found out. But Cookie wore a jacket, to cover her arm, till we left town and Dad didn't see the tatoo until we were in Texas. He made her clean the Port-A-Johns for two weeks though. When I finished my lunch, I checked my cigar-box stash and found I had one joint left from the bag that me and Nick scored, in Corpus Christie, last month. Shit, we was wasted that night! We scored it from a girl who was the daughter of the baptist preacher whose grounds we were set up on. She really liked the muscles of our bare chests and arms. The three of us smoked almost the whole bag (on the floor in the church nursery) and then I laid her back and she let me fuck her, right there on the floor, and then Nick fucked her right after I was done. Getting an unexpected hard-on from that memory, I set the cigar- box back in the compartment, under my bed, and then I walked out of our trailer and into the hot, late morning sun to get ready for opening. I helped Gina blow up and hang balloons for the dart-throw booth. You had to do it just right. You had to stretch the rubber first and then blow up the balloon so it was just formed and didn't have much air. That way, the dulled points of the darts couldn't pop them unless you hit them hard and dead-center. I heard my sister call my name and looked across to where Cookie was waving me over to the Ring-Toss. A large, muscular man, in a white shirt and tie, was standing at the counter as I walked up. "Hi," I said to him. "What seems to be the problem?" The man, with the short-cut, red hair, square jaw and steely, grey eyes, gave me a curt smile and said, "The problem, kid, is that this game is crooked." I smiled and looked over at the agitated look on Cookie's face as she planted her fists on her hips and was about to speak. I held out my hand and motioned for her to keep quiet. "Rigged, sir? OUR game?" "Look at these rings," he said, holding one up. "They're barely larger than the tops of the bottles. I could hardly PLACE one on a bottle, let alone TOSS one and win." I kept my smile on the man. I could sense that there was something about him... Something that conveyed to me that he was the heat. Where was Dad or Trooper? "Well sir," I said, keeping friendliness in my voice, "this IS a game of chance, you know. We can't just GIVE these valuable prizes away." He glanced up at the cheep, stuffed animals and laughed and then scratched his nose as he looked down at my sister. "And what about her?" he asked, keeping his gaze on Cookie. "How old is this kid? You have to be sixteen to work in this state you know." Cookie started to speak but I cut her off again. "She's old enough, sir." He bit the corner of his lower lip as he slowly looked her up and down, his gaze lingering all over her body. I could see her eyes blazing as she looked defiantly back at him. "You look like someone...," he said as he shook his finger in her face. "Someone I saw in a movie... Jody Something..." (He snapped his fingers a few times) "...Jody Foster!" "My name's Cookie," she said icily. "Cookie's my sister," I chimed in to cut her off again. He looked at me now. "Yeah," he said. "I can see that." "My name's Jack." He was looking back at her now. "Cookie, huh? What kind of a name is Cookie? Like as in `one hot cookie'?" "Her real name is Sylvia," I told him. "after our grandmother on my mother's side. But she don't like that name and, since she was a baby (when she was always fussin' at Ma for one), she's just always been Cookie." "Cute!" he said and then he turned to me. "Look, kid. Do you have a gaming licence?" "My dad and his partner, Mr. Trooper, run this show, Mister. They have all the paperwork and they've been to the county clerk's and sheriff's office...." "Yeah?" he said. "Well, I'm Officer Sharker. I'm with the Youth Bureau of the Louisville police department." I KNEW he was the heat. "I may check on those papers," he said, "and I may check into your sister's birth certificate." He looked right into my eyes now. "I would sure hate to have to close this place down and put all of you out of business...." "There's no need for that," I told him, "just talk to Mr. Trooper. His trailer is right beyond the midway. There's a sign on it that says OFFICE." He laughed now. "Yeah. I been there, kid. I saw the papers. But that county shit don't cut no ice with me. This is MY area and I run it MY way." His voice grew threatening as he spoke but then he relaxed and smiled at me. It was an odd, chilling smile though. "I like you, kid," he said in a suddenly friendly tone and then he said, "I'll see 'ya around!" and me and my sister watched him as he walked slowly down the midway. An hour later, the midway was full of people and the rides and games and shows were all up and all making money. The hot, southern spring day was alive with the sounds of laughter and yelling and banging and the metallic whirring and clanging of the rides. As I stood, barking people to the Basket-Toss, Nick was loudly playing Alice Cooper's "Schools Out" over the speakers of the fast spinning Super Himalaya, the closest ride to the midway and the most popular. I could hear his voice, shouting over the speaker with, "Do you want to go FASTER?" and then the happy shouts of "Yes!" from all the riders. I liked running that ride too. It's the one with the connected cars that follow a tight circle around a small, inclined track and the operator can make it go faster and faster and faster as the riders scream in both fear and delight. The operator sits in a booth and plays music over a loud speaker and you can talk, over the music, and tease and joke with the riders. Guys with dates love that ride too because, when you sit with your girl, the force of the rotating motion causes her to press firmly up against you. I could see Ma, down the midway, with a good amount of chumps at her Guess-Your-Weight booth and a big throng in front of the snack trailer and cotton candy booth. Cookie, in the center of the midway, was slapping her stick down loudly and yelling her, "Abada! Abada! Abada!" as the boys pressed close to her Ring-Toss and Gina, directly across from me, was talking to a short haired, uniformed soldier who was about to toss some darts at her balloons again. The sounds and the sights and the smells of money were in the air. Trooper and Dad were going to make a killing this week and next. We were all going to do well. But I needed to do better than well. Well was okay. But the take from the midway booths went to my Dad. They were his games. He paid a percentage to Trooper and paid Gina and Rob and Sneaky and Will a small cut for running them. Me and my sister were just given an allowance. We were family and this was the family business. None of us, no matter what you might think, would ever pocket some cash or cheat Dad or Trooper. I had to think of something else. Something that would set me up with a big score. There had to be a way, looking at all of these people, still early in the day, on a Friday. This place would be packed tonight with teens and families and soldiers. All with pockets that would be stuffed with paycheck cash. Steal it? Hell no! I would never rob anybody. Or pick their pockets. I was no thief! I was a player. A schemer. A scammer. I had to come up with a way to get some big money honestly. Well, as honestly as possible, anyway. But how, damn it? My thoughts were stripped away as I heard Cookie suddenly shout, "Rube! Rube!" and saw her scramble over the Ring-Toss counter. Rube is the carny word for trouble and it meant that somebody needed assistance right away. I looked in the direction that she was running and saw the huge figure of Glen, beating the living daylights out of the soldier I had seen playing the dart game with Gina. As I started running toward Gina's booth, I saw the bloodied soldier go down and my kid sister jumping up onto Glen's back and grabbing him around the neck and head with her arms and locking her bare legs around his waist. Glen began whirling and thrashing to dislodge Cookie and get back to kicking the shit out of the hapless recruit. I could also see, out of the corner of my eye, two uniformed officers, with their billy-clubs in one hand and holding their hats on their heads with the other, running toward the fray at a full clip. I got there first and dragged the lifeless soldier away from harm as Gina was standing and hysterically screaming and Cookie was hanging on and shouting and Glen was thrashing and yelling, "Get off me! I'm going to kill him! He was touching her! Get off me, Cookie! He's a dead man!" The cops arrived and one of them pulled my sister off of Glen while the other one made the mistake of hitting him, full force, in the solar plexus, with the end of his thick, hardwood baton. That just made Glen madder and, before I could react or do anything, Glen caught the surprised officer with a round-house and the cop went flying backward, arms and legs flailing, until his body crashed hard to the dirt on the midway. The other cop stepped back and drew his service revolver and assumed a menacing, offensive posture, holding the gun on Glen, with both hands, and yelling, "Freeze, or I'll shoot!" Cookie stepped quickly in front of Glen and, with her arms behind her, holding herself to him, frantically shouted, "Don't shoot him! He didn't mean it!" The shouts of RUBE had brought everybody running and Dad, arriving at the scene with Trooper, yelled at the cop," What are you doing? You're pointing that thing at my little girl!" and he stepped up and pushed the officer's gun down. The other cop had gotten up and he hit my dad, across the back of the shoulders, with the baton, and my dad went down and Trooper punched the cop and.... Well, it was a mess. At the end of the fracas, more cops had been called, Glen was arrested, my dad was arrested, Trooper was arrested and Mom and Rose and Gina had all gone into town to try and get them released. I had to close the Dart-Toss and tried to keep the other games, and the cotton-candy booth, open with the smaller staff. When evening fell and the crowds increased, I saw Rose's beat up Caddie pull up to her trailer and Rose (now alone) get out and step quickly through her door. I yelled for Cookie to keep her eye on my booth and I rushed, through the milling throng, to Trooper's trailer and went in. I found Rose at her desk and in tears. "What happened?" I asked. "It looks bad, Jackie," she sniffed. "They got Trooper and your dad and Glen locked up and they won't even talk about bail until the court opens on Monday. Gina won't leave the police station, because she thinks they might beat Glen up, and your mother is trying to find some help. Nobody can find Carol..." "Carol?" "Yeah. She's not in her trailer and nobody's seen her all day. We were going to make a lot of money with the pussy show tonight... Gina was going to do it... and now we have nobody... We're going to have to close the show... We're going to lose on the games... We're going to have to pay bail money for three people... We might have to cancel Indianapolis..." Rose started to sob loudly again, folding her arms on the table and burying her head. "I'll do it," we heard from behind us, and we both turned around to see Cookie standing in the doorway. "I'll work the pussy show tonight." "You?" I exclaimed. "Yes "me"," she mocked, looking back at my dumb expression. "I DO have one, you know." Rose choked back a sob. "You can't, honey. Thank you, baby. But you can't. Your Daddy wouldn't like it." "Daddy wouldn't want Trooper to lose the money, Rose." Cookie said calmly and without emotion. "I HAVE to do it. There's nobody else." She was right. There WAS nobody else. The suckers weren't going to pay five dollars a head for a pussy show with no pussy. Rose looked up at me. "Well," I said, shrugging my shoulders in resignation, "I'll run the show and make sure she's okay..." Rose got slowly up and then, gushing tears, went to Cookie and took her in her arms and hugged her tightly. A half hour later, I was standing at the back of the show tent, watching as Betty fussed and fretted over my kid sister, pulling and straightening the outfit that they had hastily found for her. Cookie looked very nervous as she stood there, letting Betty handle her, tucking one of Gina's silky, white blouses into the waistband of one of Carol's black mini-skirts and centering the seam at the back. I can hardly remember my sister ever in shoes, let alone the black high heels that they had put on her. It made her stand as tall as I was and made her long, bare legs, under the short hem of the mini-skirt, look sexy as all-get-out. It was odd, the feeling that suddenly came over me as I stared at her. It's hard to describe what I felt, looking at Cookie that night. I was nervous and somewhat fearful and yet, at the same time, I was oddly aroused by the sight (and upset with myself for being that way). "Do you want me to go over the routine again, sweetheart?" "No Betty," Cookie replied, holding her head up and her shoulders back and taking a deep breath. "You went over it twice already. I got it." Betty handed Cookie a small jar of vaseline and Cookie looked at it and then she looked at me. There was an odd apprehension betrayed in her wide, blue eyes as she stuck her middle finger into the open jar and said, "Go start the show." I went around to the front of the big tent, the one festooned with the painted pictures of scantily clad women in sexy poses. There were already a few dozen men loitering in front of the stand. They were aware of what the tent was for. I looked at all their faces, as I climbed to the podium and picked up the pointer. My feeling of misgiving seemed to triple as I thought about all of these strangers looking at Cookie. The gathered crowd pressed forward around me and the entrance to the tent and, seeing this, many others began to join the throng. This WAS going to be a big night, the carny part of my brain told me, and I found myself suddenly whacking the pointer on the surface of the podium and loudly barking, "Pussy Show! C'mon in boys! Pussy Show! See the thing that teases and pleases! See it up close! Only five dollars! Pussy Show! So near, you can smell it! C'mon in boys!" A sea of five dollar bills appeared before me and I was using both hands to collect the money as the eager soldiers and teenage boys and farmers and red-necks filed past me and into the tent. When the tent couldn't handle a single person more, I stopped taking the money and closed the flap, whacking the pointer on the podium three times to signal Betty that the show could begin. The disappointed strangers, who didn't make it in, stood their ground, not wanting to miss their front row status for the next performance. I heard Betty, through the canvas of the tent behind me, loudly say, "It's time for the pussy show, boys!" It was quiet in the tent for a few minutes. I couldn't stand it. My heart was pounding in my chest. I turned my back to the throng and peered into the crack of the closed flap. Betty was laying on her back with her knees up and her legs wide apart, holding her hairy twat wide open as the floodlights beamed down and the men craned forward as a single, horny animal. It seemed like nothing at all happened for many long minutes more. I thought I saw Betty say something, lifting her head and looking at the closed tent flap behind her. Then the flap opened and Cookie walked in. The men in the tent seemed to gasp in unison as Cookie stepped forward, losing her left heel, under her foot, for a moment but quickly righting herself and then standing next to the reclining Betty. Cookie just stood there, for a long while, with her arms limp at her sides and her fingers twitching. I could see her trying to smile as her chin quivered noticeably and her eyes were wide and darting from face to face to face as the men peered back at her in excited expectation. No! That's the wrong thing to do! I tried to telegraph to her. Don't look at them, Cookie! Then my sister reached down and grasped the hem of her mini- skirt with both shaking hands and, closing her eyes tightly, stood upright and pulled the skirt up to her waist. A deafening, teamed howl went up from the tentload of excited men. I could see Cookie's ghost-white face wince. I could also see (as could every man in the tent) my fifteen- year-old sister's beautiful, light blond pussy, right between her curvy, exposed thighs, as pretty a pussy as God had ever created. "Damn!" someone shouted loudly. As odd as this sounds, (me being her brother and living with her, in close quarters, for all of these years) I had never seen it before. Had never even given it a thought. And now I (and about a hundred other males) were staring right at it. Cookie never opened her eyes as she scooted down into a daintily modest, sitting position next to Betty. From the sick look on her face, I half expected that she wouldn't go through with it but Cookie lay herself back, opened her sexy legs, and with the men suddenly hushed in dramatic anticipation, she reached down with her trembling fingers and spread her pretty, perfect vaginal lips wide apart. A loud gasp of awe swept through the crowd and then Betty (who had been laying there, holding herself open for so long a time) quickly jumped up and yelled, "Gentleman, that concludes the pussy show! Now, if you would please file past the stage and out the side entrance..." I couldn't take it anymore as I quickly turned my back on the tent, breathing hard and unable to focus my eyes on the blurred congregation of men who stood, waiting in the warm night air, in front of me. I was shaking. But I didn't know why I was shaking. Was it in empathy for the ordeal that Cookie had just put herself through? Or was it because I had just seen up the perfect, baby-pink vagina of my own kid sister? The men were coming out of the side of the tent now, all with bulges in the front of their pants and all commenting, to one another, about the awesome spectacle of what they had just witnessed. Most of them were going to the back of the long line to pay another five and see the show again! In all my years in carny, I had never seen so many of the chumps do that before! And so it went. On into the night. Fifteen packed shows, one right after another, until the carny closed at 11:00. During the last show, just before closing, when all the chumps had drifted away, Nick and Steve walked up to the tent and stood, next to me, by the flap. "How's Cookie doing?" Steve asked, in a concerned voice, as I stood there with my change apron bulging from the obscene amount of five dollar bills I had collected. "She's holding up," I said. "Seems to be doin' better than she was the first show..." "Everybody's talkin' about it," Nick said excitedly, taking hold of the tent flap with both of his hands and pushing his face toward the crack. I don't know why, but I grabbed his hands and pulled them from the canvas, just as he was going to peer inside. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked me testily. "You don't want to look in there." I said. "Yes I do," Nick insisted, pulling his wrists from my hands and grabbing the tent flap again as we heard the collective gasp from the men inside. Steve grabbed his younger brother's collar now and pulled him roughly back. "No you don't, Nick," he said sternly, looking directly into his face. "Cookie's doing this for every one of us. She's like our own little sister. You don't want to embarrass her, or her brother, any more than I would." Nick bowed his head and then he looked at me. "Sorry Jack," he said now, "I guess I just wasn't thinkin'." And then he added, sarcastically, "I know YOU never took a peek, through the flap, at my sister Carol's pussy..." Steve roughly pushed Nick away from the tent now, causing him to lose his footing and fall backwards against the podium. "Our sister's a slut, Nick," Steve said angrily, but not loud enough to disturb the show. "Everybody knows that! Plus she's a God Damn lezzie! She's probably out there somewhere, right now, suckin' pussy! What the hell difference does it make? God, you can be such an asshole!" Now Betty's voice came from inside the tent, "Gentleman, that concludes the pussy show! Now, if you would please file past the stage and out the side entrance..." Steve hauled his brother up and dusted him off and the two of them walked away, without looking back at me, as the throng of men started filing out the side of the tent. "Thank you for comin' to our pussy show," I heard Cookie say, and I started walking toward Trooper's trailer to turn in the collected cash. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |