Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tapestry of moving clothes. Daddy had a way of making raunchy things look innocent, and though I worried, we did not get caught. “You feel so sweet,” I whispered in his ear. He moved his cock so gracefully. I thought of standing really still and spreading out my legs so wide that nothing would shatter and there would be no bottlenecking in the throughways of my heart.
“That’s right,” said Daddy. “Spread your legs so wide for Daddy. Let me in.”
I didn’t tell him how I felt like glass each time I called him “Daddy.” A luminous cocoon that’s twirled around a pole into a fire until it takes the shape of something else, until its roundness grows and all of its blue beauty comes to light. I couldn’t tell him what it was to be a Daddy’s Girl, the way I burned in screaming fires to take the shape of what I had become.
But some distortion from the Fun House cast a spell on me. As good as Daddy felt to me, I was so hollow afterward, like something scraped out with a knife. Maybe the pulsing lights and sounds and sugar shock had made me yearn. I watched the roller coaster ratchet up a hill and thought, some day, the ride must end. It’s Newton and the apple. Up goes down.
I realized that I was waiting for a ticket. Some way out. But I did not know why.
“Hey, you,” the octopus man called out. I was half-tranced with afterglow. I had been watching people rock atop the Ferris wheel, and playing with green rattling beads around my wrist. He cupped a cigarette and slithered out of nowhere, leagues from where he should have been. “I have been trying to corner you all day,” he said. I’d heard about the carnies who taught girls to barter blow jobs for a ride. I braced myself and licked my lips. Daddy had strolled off to find a Port-a-Potty and I couldn’t see him in the crowd. “I know who you are,” he said. “You rode the octopus that night when it was storming. Thursday, right?”
“You wouldn’t let me down,” I answered curtly.
“Sorry,” he said, lighting up his smoke. “But I was high from cotton candy syrup. I was so high the moon was telling puns, and then the storm rolled in.”
“I could have been electrocuted! All the other rides stopped long before you let me down.” I crossed my arms around my belly, so he couldn’t catch a glimpse of skin. I’d noticed that his eyes were drifting over me. One eye was edged with brine; the other one was clear. I licked my lips again, in case I had to lubricate a scream.
“I know, and that’s why I have found you now. One time, when I was younger, I was struck by lightning and I died. That’s why I thought I should apologize,” he said. His whole face frowned into a toady droop.
“You died?” I asked. I wondered if I smelled to him like I’d been fucked. My hands were fragrant as a caramelizing pan. He had an octopuslike quality. His flesh looked pliable, like he could cram himself into a tiny space, or camouflage his freakishness to blend in with a school of sharks that might have otherwise devoured him.
“I died and was resuscitated. When I touch things now, I give a shock,” he said. He grabbed my arm and jolted me. He also had a quality of suction. I felt drawn to him and couldn’t pull away. “So, miss lone rider, tell me, is that person you are with a guy or a girl?” he asked.
“What do you think?” I said. I felt uneasy. Daddy Billy often passed as male. But secretly, he wore a sports bra cinching both his breasts, and underneath his dick he had an opening we never talked about. He hadn’t taken T and had no plans of doing surgery. I loved his body’s complex history.
“I think if that’s your Daddy and he takes advantage of a little girl like you, perhaps you should run off and join the carnival.” The octopus man blew smoke in little puffs. I coughed. Had he been eavesdropping? “I told you that I know you, who you are,” he said and tapped his chest. “Aversion therapy will not cure a girl like you,” he said, and touched my arm again so that I felt a shock. “You’re quite the conduit. I saw the way you made your friend light up.”
His old tobacco teeth were grinning in a yellow rind.
“You’re one of us,” he said. “You are a freak. So come tonight at midnight, when the carnival is closed. The carnies meet to ride the rides. Stop by the gate and bring your friend. We’ll let you in.” He sidled off and ducked behind a tent flap, winking with his wayward eye. “Come one, come all,” he said and swept the air. “Before we strike the tents and watch the grand illusion fall.” I saw that Daddy had his fists clenched as he ambled up.
“I told you not to talk to carnie folk,” he said, and slapped me on the butt. “Don’t make me put an apple in your mouth and have you crawl ass-first into the Future Farmers of America display. Remember, you are Daddy’s little pig today.” He kissed my cheek and led me off to play.
Daddy was right. I was a little pig who never had her fill of thrills. By that night, I felt as hollow as a whistle made of rotted trees. Maybe the tall, dismembered Ferris wheel began to get to me. When we approached, it was a giant piece of star anise but had no seats from which to kick the stars. The other lights were dimmed to dissuade townsfolk, so rides revolved with minimal illumination. Some carnies worked to strike the game booths down, but others twirled batons of fire, or gave a balding friend a cotton candy hairdo. Everything was shadowy, giving an eerie sense of dissolution. I’d changed into a frilly summer dress, and Daddy wore some pants that bulged out to signify he was a dude. I felt so sexy hanging on his arm. “Come on, you two,” the octopus man yelled, and beckoned us with grinning warmth. “I’ll stop you at the top and you can hang out there and watch the stars. There’s nothing like it.”
His girlfriend, Cherry, dangled on his arm. “Frank’s right,” she said. “Be brave—don’t be an octopussy.” Cherry stroked a tattoo of a tiny snake behind her ear. Her belly fat filled out the fabric of her dress to make foothills beneath her giant boobs. The octopus man—Frank, she’d said—clamped down the bar of our seat and pulled the throttle back. He watched us spin a bunch of times, then slowly stopped the ride so we were poised on top. The wind was rocking us and then it stopped.
The pod was weighted so we hung half upside down and couldn’t look behind us, only up. We hung from spider silk; it felt that weightless. The sky was going to suck the blood right out of me. Then Daddy grabbed me with a clammy hand. I looked and saw the beads of sweat, the way his breath had changed to panic speed. Daddy was terrified. He didn’t like to lose control. I pointed to the sky and told him Orion’s belt was strapping us in place. “But your belt has to go,” I said. “So that you can relax.” He nodded gratefully.
I slid the leather from the clasp. I worked my mouth around his cock. “Oh, baby girl,” he said, and grabbed my hair. I wanted him to feel that he was in a hammock of my care. Instead, he leaned back and he thought of barber’s chairs and sexy women brushing tiny hairs away, or La-Z-Boys and daily blow jobs from a loyal wife. “I saw a shooting star just now,” he said, as he continued thrusting in my mouth. “I filled my balls with shooting stars and now you’re going to swallow them.” I bobbed my head so that he’d know I understood. I took him deep into my throat. “Oh yes,” he said. “Eat up the universe from me.”
He fed me meteors. “You are the best,” I said, and hugged him when his dick was done. I meant it. I was dazzled then.
The moon had turned into a magnifying glass, and it was burning out our insect eyes each time we wandered into light, so we sought shelter in the carnie tent. “It’s time for dirty Truth or Dare,” said Frank. “Are you two in the game?” At this point, we felt warm, embraced, and Daddy sat beside me with his palm on my knee.
“We’re in,” he said.
They made me drink enough to numb an elephant, and that’s when things got raunchy. On a dare, Frank’s girl began to do a sexy dance on me. She hiked her juicy gorgeous leg up on my shoulder. She took my hand and rubbed it up and down her wisp of underwear. Her pussy smelled like dandelion wine and winding wind that grabs at any cloying flower. I rubbed along her pussy lips with the beer bottle. I bent down and I blew a hollow sound into
the bottle, then held it like a tuning fork against her clit. She made the oddest little dolphin chirps, then moaned. She looked at me and said, “Now you. Lie back, so I can test how breakable you are.”
I looked at Daddy and I shrugged. I rested back against the folding chair and Cherry straddled me. She pried my legs apart and yanked my panties off. I loved how big and rough and soft she was. My folding chair began to tilt. That’s when I accidentally backed into the velvet drape that sectioned off the tent, and saw the startled boi behind the velvet shield. The boi was sitting in a wheelchair and his biceps flexed when he rolled back the wheels reflexively. He had an octopus tattoo on his left arm. “J. Monarch Young!” she scolded him. “What are you doing there?” The boi looked sheepish and she shook her head. She said to me, “That’s Young. He is the son of Frank. He’s paraplegic from a test ride fall. He is a naughty little voyeur too.”
Young coughed and shyly said, “Hello.”
“You ready for the bottle, dear?” she asked me gently. Young’s eyes were tracing me. “To join the carnival, you swallow either fire or glass,” she said.
“I swallow glass,” I said, and grinned at her. I felt the coolness and the ridges of the bottle’s mouth, and tried to open up my hole for her. I wasn’t just performing so that Daddy could get off. I was performing for the boi. I knew his eyes were riveted on where he wished he’d put a message in a bottle just for me. As people hooted from the side, I glimpsed the boi’s gray eyes. I saw the tension in his skull beneath his perfect crew cut and I wanted to find handholds of his bones. “I think you’ve had your christening,” said Cherry, pulling out the glass. “You’re shatterproof and bulletproof. I toast you with my eighty proof.” She raised the whiskey bottle and she drank a slug. “As carnies used to say, ‘You’ve got some snap in your garter, sweetheart.’ ”
Seeing the boi gave me a flutter in my belly, so I thought I’d better wander off to ride some rides alone. I half-hoped—fantasized—that Young would find me sectioned off from Daddy Billy but I doubted that he would. I closed my eyes and felt the Tilt-O-Whirl lift up my dress, and then I wandered further out to the periphery of human noise. The cornfields came right up to where the fairgrounds ended and I strolled up to the edge to stare at them. At night, they stood as still as antelope that know they’re being watched. I loved how soft the grass got when it had been broken down. I felt a little dizzy so I lay on the tamped green. It was as soft as puppy fur and then I felt the infamous stealth wind that comes at such a tiny height and underscores the breathy and affected speech that’s slung above. I was enjoying how the Great Plains wind felt tickling at my nipples when I heard their stomping feet. The two guys chortled devilishly. I lifted up my head. I saw the two of them, and Daddy said, “I’ve finally sold you to the carnival.” He smirked.
“You’ve what?” I asked. I sat up and I brushed the dirt out of my hair.
“I’ve sold you to the dirty carnie folk,” he said. His face was smug.
Frank gestured with his sucking arms. “I bought you from your Daddy for one night. To do it with my kid. We made a deal.”
I’d promised Daddy, late some nights when he was fucking me, that I would always be his whore. He said these words a lot: You’re Daddy’s slut, his whore, his prostitute, his fuck-hole, tricky little trick. I loved it when he talked to me like that. One time, I dressed up and he dropped me off beside the river where the fags turned tricks. I waited on a bench in ripped-up stockings and a miniskirt and fetish shoes until he came and lured me into the car and gave me twenty bucks to suck his cock. It was so hot the way he forced it down my throat that day, as if he didn’t care how much I gagged. We made a lot of promises and deals when we made love. We used a fake fiducial language but I never thought he’d pimp me out for real.
“Just one night,” goaded Frank. His voice was pitchy, not quite on its tracks.
“How old’s your kid?” I asked.
“The kid is nineteen, never had a girl. The kid’s shy ever since the accident and not-so-certain gender situation.”
He could not say it: My kid’s queer. He wants to make it with a little pervert girl like you. Frank only had his suction, and he used it to derail me with his voice. “Please?” he begged. “The thing is, Young had picked you out this afternoon. He saw you overturning rubber ducks to win some shoddy trinket and—quite honestly—I never seen his eyes light up like that.”
“I can’t,” I answered. “It’s not right.” I backed away but was fenced in.
So Daddy Billy turned to Frank and said, “I’ll handle her,” and herded me against the fence. He rubbed his bulge against my pubic bone. He made me quiver, gasp. He knew my weaknesses. He took his hand—which he had outfitted with one warm leather glove—and held my neck beneath my chin. He traced my jawbone with his thumb. “Won’t you be Daddy’s perfect whore?” he asked me sweetly. “Daddy was so nice and took you to the carnival.” In truth, I thought that Young was beautiful but knew I’d better protest some, or Daddy would be jealous later. I knew that Daddy thought a brother in a wheelchair wouldn’t be a threat. This knowledge made me realize the one thing that unnerved me about Daddy Billy: Daddy felt a power over everything he saw as weak, and I could not be sure I wasn’t cast in the same caste.
I let my voice get soft, coquettish. “I guess so, Daddy, if it’s what you want.” I loved to please him anyway.
“Good girl,” he said to me, then, “Sold!” he yelled to Frank. They put a blindfold on me and they made me walk in front of them. I had a vague awareness that the plank I walked was pivotal for me. I felt the warmth of light and heard the buzzing insects as we neared Young’s tent. “I’ll come back when you’ve sanded down the kid,” I heard Frank say. The tent flapped shut behind me and I listened to Young’s breathing, and his wheels creak as he came my way. He traced my knucklebones with fingertips. He pulled me toward his chair.
“Sit on my lap,” he said. “Tell me what pity story they gave you so that you’d stay.”
When I sat down on him, still blindfolded, I felt what he was packing in his pants. “How did you—?” I asked.
“Idle hands make idle minds, but nimble hands shape ideal packaging,” he said. “They told you that I’ve never done it, right?”
“I find that hard to fathom.”
“I’ve never done it, not the way I want.” He wrapped his arms around me and he kissed my neck. “My life consists of dictatorial wheels and all I want to do is reinvent the wheel with this, my dick.” I reached down and I put my hand around his bulge. I turned and started kissing him, his salty mouth. I ran my hands over his muscular arms. He slipped the blindfold off my eyes so I could see his grinning face. I touched his bristly crew cut. I stroked the bluish bands of his tattoo. He cupped my hair and pulled me to his lips and gave me an exquisite kiss. “I saw you at the carnival today,” he said. “I knew you wanted to be watched.” I stood up and walked around his chair.
“I did,” I said. “I do.” And then I started playing with his buttons and his belt loops, lifting up my leg and pulling back my dress so he could see the vacant place where underwear was ripped away. I touched my close-cropped pubes and stroked one finger on my pussy and then traced it where his barely-mustache grazed his upper lip.
“Smell me,” I said. He inhaled deeply, then he grabbed for me. I pulled away and kneeled down so that he could see into the V of cleavage. I pulled his belt out of its latch and started undoing the buttons of his pants. And then I freed it—his enormous cock. “It’s huge,” I laughed. “Most people who are virgins don’t go out and buy Paul Bunyan’s dick.”
“The carnival believes in grandiosity,” he said. I licked the massive head and took his huge cock in my mouth. I swear I felt the ground drop down beneath me, like it did on the centrifugal force ride. I wanted his cock deep, to choke on it, to show the boi his cock was magical. He moaned a little bit. “Now will you ride me?” he asked, timidly. “Will you ride on my chair?”
“I’d love to ride you, Y
oung.”
I backed on top of him and slid my pussy down his cock. The head went in, and then I let my weight down so his cock was unilaterally inclined to fuck. “Oh god,” I said, “you feel amazing.” He wrapped both his arms around me and began to kiss my earlobes and my hair. His fingers started pulling up my dress until he had it at my shoulders. He grabbed my boobs and held me by them so I squeezed against his chest. I rocked back on his cock. Then cleverly, he moved the wheelchair back and forth. “Just ride me, baby,” said the boi. With one hand on the wheel, he rocked us in erratic jolts, so that the cock was fucking me—and he was fucking me—despite the fact that he could not move anything below his waist. His other hand was sliding down my soft bare skin and reaching for my clit. He licked his middle finger and he started circling my clit. “You take a lot of cock for such a little girl,” he said. And then he fiddled with my clit until he made me come.
“Don’t move,” he said, as I was gasping from how sweet his fingers felt. He pulled my dress back down. He took his coat and placed it on my lap. “I’m going to wheel you through the carnival while I am still inside you. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
His cock was threading me onto its shaft. His wheelchair did a loop around the grounds. The rides were whirling round. The carnies waved at us, and, when I said hello to them, teased, “Are you a ventriloquist now, Young?” They didn’t know that he was fucking me right then, and acted like I was a wooden dummy and he was a star. I ground my pussy down on him and looked back so that I could see his grinning face. He took me to the edge of things, where rides had already been disassembled. The fantasy was breaking down, and Young was suddenly symbolic of my blooming need for change. I wanted something sweet and virginal. I put a blanket down and scooped him from his chair. For hours, we cuddled and we lay inside a circle of the flattened grass, as if the axles of a carousel had broken and we had fallen under the hooves of a wooden horse stampede. I’d been undone by him.
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