A Spectacular Multi-Spectrum Cosmic Circus and Other Queer Acts
Close the door on the real world and slide into into a weird, wonderful, and unforgettably sexy world of pleasure and play.
Afternoon slipping into night, Joseph wandered - not towards anything but away from everyone.
Couldn't go home … no, not where he happened to live, as it'd still be chock-full of deafening screams, strident accusations, screeching degradations, and would likely remain the same for two, maybe three, days. All because his mama found him dancing to "Smalltown Boy."
Couldn't go to Our Lady Of Blessed Family, as its immense doors were forever closed to him. All because during Sunday's sermon Reverend Thomas had called him out for reading “Gender Queer,” following with a march to the local library where he and the entire congregation tore up every copy, as well as fifty the other books he declared "filthy."
Couldn't go back to Highfield Charter School, as the football team had begun beating him senseless. All because someone told someone who told someone else he liked boys.
Lost, alone, sad, and scared, Joseph continued to wander: invisible, untouchable, avoided, or an easy target for finger-pointing, stage whispering, spitting, vicious fists, savage kicks, and/or thrown stones.
Until, fluttering down the forgotten alley, came a sheet of paper. After unwrapping it from his leg, he was immediately struck by its big, bold and outrageously colorful letters.
"Dr. Well Worth's," it spelled out in lively red letters, "Spectacular Multi-Spectrum,” in merry yellow, "Cosmic Circus" in effervescent green, "and Other" in luxuriant blue, and "Queer Acts!" in stunning violet.
Beneath the letters was a date (today), a time (in half an hour), and a location (only two blocks away) that turned out to be a nondescript - or perhaps masterfully camouflaged - warehouse, the grating corrugated door of which instantly shot up the moment Joseph knocked on it.
Efficiently yet respectfully yanked within, Joseph blinked, blinked again, and kept blinking until his vision of what lay beyond began reminding him of an antique, wildly stuttering movie projector.
Slowly, steadily, systematically, his eyes adjusted, allowing him to see a moderately-sized space, mostly occupied by rows of folding chairs, a makeshift stage, and, overhead, a network of steel support beams randomly fitted with dozens of gel-covered lights, intimidatingly large speakers, miles of cables, and everything necessary to transform a warehouse into a liminal theater, a temporary performance space … no, not merely a theater, a run-of-the-mill space, but one that was a sensationally embellished, luxuriously amorousing, rainbow extravaganza.
Then there were the people: the milling, fluttering, sashaying, prancing, strolling, peacocking and twinkling sprites whose mirthful eyes, glistening lips, luscious grins, shrieking laughter, seductive glances, frisky faces and extravagantly exaggerated gestures weakened Joseph's knees and raced his already madly fluttering heart.
His heart was further quickened by their blackened boots, polychromatic wigs, prismatic boas, glorious gowns, whirling skirts, glossily seductive latex, sternly dark leather, bursts of kaleidoscopic glitter, all of it in the midst of jubilantly descending bubbles from above, and cotton candy smoke rising from below, mixing and merging with raucously blaring disco and snap, crackle and popping bursts of deliciously spicy conversations.
The varicolored lights dimmed, the speakers silenced, and the steamy chatting ceased as a single brilliantly white spot drew their various attentions to the stage.
From their gossamer-fine top hat to their crimson, amber, blond, emerald, cobalt, and indigo patterned bodice, to their scarlet, ginger, flaxen, leafy, and striped cape - not forgetting their radiant tutu, goth-black tights, and gilded seven-inch heels - the figure proceeded to execute a machine-perfect bow, a charmingly petite curtsy, and then threw their hands high and wide. They rhythmically, thunderously stomped their Army-booted feet, their celestial makeup transforming their present malefic demeanor into Loki's, Dolus', Jacob's, Tanuki's, Iktomi's, Kokopelli's, Anansi's, Enki's, Huēhuecoyōtl's, and Krishna's wickedly mischievous countenance as they proclaimed:
"Welcome, welcome, one and all, meine damen und herren and all genders between and beyond, please allow me to introduce myself: I'm a … person of wealth and taste!"
Laughter roared, hands clapped, hoots mixed with howls, fading into reverential silence as the ring leader continued, with no less bravo: "I'm pleased - and I hope all of you will be in turn - to introduce myself, the legendary (in my own mind), famous (as I keep telling myself), notorious (if what the Pope says is true), Dr. Well Worth!"
Additional roaring, enhanced clapping, further hoots, excessive screams, another minute intermission, before resuming with rising gasconade (look it up): "- and welcome all you divinely decadent creatures to my spectacular Multi-Spectrum Cosmic Circus and Other Decidedly Queer Acts!"
Increased laughter, rising applause, expanding honks, resounding howls and a supplementary hiatus, as they proclaimed with further fanfaronade (get ye ass to Google). "Let’s begin with my - and soon your - favorite gag-reflex-free performer; the audaciously daring, astoundingly heroic, and legendary (they actually are), Professor Spitzer Swallows!"
Twirling offstage, the impresario was deftly replaced by the latex-enshrouded God Of Latex, a head-to-toe, stem-to-stern, oily pool of scintillating darkness.
In his nearly-lightless world, the one he shared with his fellow audience members, someone on Joseph's left whispered, "Would it be OK if I kissed you?"
Joseph nodded but, realizing the speaker was as blind as he was, answered, "I … I guess so."
With a crisp, barely perceivable chuckle, whoever they were responded, "Sorry, my love, if you want a kiss, you're gonna have to do better than that."
No fear, no fright, no fretting, Joseph heard himself say, "Yes, please. I'd like you to kiss me."
It came like a special secret, something shared between the closest of the close. A brief touch of lip to lip, which briskly escalated to what Joseph had always wanted: mouths opened, tongues tangled, hot breaths and reciprocally fluttering pulses, all ending kindly, sweetly with a puppyish lick to the tip of Joseph's nose and: "That was sweet … sweet and hot. Thank you so much, my love. I hope we can do more later."
On stage, Spitzer Swallows had impaled himself on a two-foot long and half-a-foot wide dildo while filling their throat with the same.
Gracefully rotating on their dual sex toy axis, gracing the gasping crowd with a three hundred and sixty-five-degree view, they turned and turned, ending by simultaneously withdrawing one dildo from their ass and pulling its opposite from their throat, the former accompanied by a gelatinous geyser and latter by an arcing spray of saliva.
"Let's hear it for the person who takes as well as dishes it out, Professor Spitzer Swallows!" Dr. Well Worth grandiosely declared, the audience erupting into cheers, applause and more than a few requests to take the Professor home.
"Next, I'm thrilled to present our illustrious band of jolly, nose honking, pie throwing, perverts - in a good way, naturally: The Jangling Brothers, Sisters and Nonbinary Folx of Eternal Salvation (Or Double Your Money Back)."
Frantically twirling, gayly leaping, garishly cartwheeling and festively bounding on stage were … six? Eight? Ten? Twelve? It was impossible to tell how many pancake-smeared, rainbow-haired, practically-nude, totally naked, or suggestively attired clowns there were.
In his darkness-enshrouded universe, someone on Joseph's left murmured, "How's about I suck your cock?"
Eagerly, excitedly, enthusiastically, Joseph replied, "Yes … I mean, sorry, I'd very much like you to -" a sharp descent in volume, " - suck … suck my cock."
Pants tugged, giggles hushedly exchanged, undies fumbled, a hardly discernible "What a magnificent sight!" reciprocated with "t-thank you so much," then swiftly what Joseph had continually fantasized about: A brief, initial peck, like a glancing blow from a butterfly's wing, to firm, moist lips on, then around, then licking, sucking, and swallowing his cock.
It was nearly too much: Joseph had to pull himself back from his ejaculatory fringe with thoughts of going back.
As the lips, mouth, tongue and throat, with fleeting glances of sharp little teeth, worked their oral magic on him, Joseph felt wild, feral exhilaration accompanied by a surge of molten fury.
No … no, where he happened to live - a decrepit hovel where slaps outnumbered hugs and screams were more common than "I love you.”
Not now, not ever would it be home; jetting into the mouth of an anonymous (though endearing), unknown (while enchanting), and obscured (but engaging) face, Joseph's anger fractionated, and wrath dissipated.
Joyously chuckling, blissfully moaning, and jubilantly guffawing, each gleeful exclamation hushed with a scorching, come-flavored kiss, sucker and suckee traded a breathless "That was … lovely."
On stage, the too fast, too complicatedly shifting members of The Jangling Brothers, Sisters, and Nonbinary Folx of Eternal Salvation (Or Double Your Money Back) tumbled, sprang, cavorted, and nose-honked into and out of a dazzlingly orchestrated, pancake makeup smeared (not to mention spatters from fifty plus cream pies), sexual acrobatics.
A matching pair of punchinellos, one upright, the other upside down, blew and blew alike while marching around the stage. A voluptuous auguste launched themself from a teeterboard, landing with luscious thighs wide apart on the ravenously hungry face of a tramp. A harlequin dervished faster and faster while a winnowy jester held onto their comedically proportioned strap-on for dear life.
"Let's give a round, a square, or whatever geometric shape gets you off to The Jangling Brothers, Sisters, and Nonbinary Folx of Eternal Salvation (Or Double Your Money Back)!" Dr. Well Worth shouted as the crowd gushed, continued to gush, and kept on gushing their erotic fervor. At the same time, a couple of exceptionally gushy patrons called out, " -more fun than an orgy of monkeys!"
"Up now is the one, the only (you have to see it to believe it) maestro of the highest wire that ever dared to wire, Stratos Von Firefly!"
Not there one moment, the next, evidently assisted by a Wicked Witchy, within an ebullient (the dictionary is your friend) burst of purple smoke, was a lithe, gender ambiguous, drop-dead ravishing, hypnotically alluring, otherworldly spite with impressively big nipple rings.
In his nocturnal domain, whoever was seated in front of Joseph turned around and said, "Hey, pretty boy, how's about sucking my dick?"
Immediately, in no time, instantly, Joseph replied, "I'd like nothing better."
A momentary acrobatic act later as seats were ungracefully climbed, the shadowy figure precariously straddled, ultimately dismounted, before hiking up their crinoline skirt, and Joseph - well aware he was grinning like a maniac - dropped to his knees.
What'd been an exceptionally watery dream, a hope he'd secretly held tight, was now a firm, hard bobbing to its owner's unheard heartbeat, ornately punctuated by a pearlescent drop of pre-come cock reality.
Joseph didn't know what he'd been expecting. Maybe doubt and bungling, disappointment and awkwardness, or merely crippling anxiety resulting in a slew of groveling apologies.