The Pussy Show

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

Part 2.

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 tattoo

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.

Part 3.

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.

Part 4.

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!”

Part 5.

“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.