The Circus Strongman

“You’s had bettuh take a nice tone wit’ me, Dandy Littlepants, I’m boutto give you’s a present you’ll enjoy.”

This is the entirety of “The Circus Strongman“. To download it as an ebook, see here.

Randy Hollingsworth was billed as “The Littlest Dandy” in the Warren Heights Traveling Carnival, so everyone there called him Dandy. He was just above two feet tall, making him — so some doctor said — the shortest man in the state (the state at that time being California, where Dandy grew up).
He was the barker for the carnival, gathering folks in with his loud mouth and smooth laugh, controlling crowds and lubricating the transitions between attractions. He long ago learned he had the outsized gift of attracting attention and making men laugh, and his flamboyant personality didn’t draw hostility because it came across as a harmless byproduct of his small size. He could lilt and prance like a showpony without threatening anyone’s sense of propriety.
It was approaching the end of the summer of 1928 when Dandy and the Warren Heights Traveling Carnival approached Chicago. Dandy spent the day passing out fliers and answering questions about the carnival and his height, and by the time he got back to his own tent, he was too tired to do anything more than sit back and rest. His little legs ached, his knees throbbing, his throat graveled like an untended road.
“Hey, Dandy!” boomed a bone-shakingly deep voice from outside the tent.
Dandy jumped to his feet, so startled he yelped. He had just been drifting off to sleep.

Grumbling his way to the tent flap, he rehearsed telling Pavel no if he was here to ask for another favor. There was no mistaking the voice, it was Pavel.
Pavel was a carnie like Dandy. He was the strongman, and he too was one of the most extreme men in the country — he was both tallest and biggest. Pavel was a Polish-American boy of nearly twenty years old, already seven feet tall and still growing. He had a farmwork-toned body that he kept building as they traveled, practicing athletics and lifting sacs of potatoes every time the carnival stopped moving for a few hours. He was a boisterous, adventurous man, domineering and brash, macho and more than a bit intimidating when he wanted to be. He was billed as The Powerfull Pollack of Pennsylvania.


At the flap to Dandy’s tent, Pavel’s thick mustache twitched as he made eye contact with Dandy. He smiled broadly. One of his hands nervously clutched his muscular chest, which he had shaved smooth for today’s show. It glistened white as marble.
“What do you want, Pavel?” Dandy asked. He stood in the entrance to his tent as though he might be able to exclude Pavel from entering. He had to look practically straight up in order to see Pavel, who towered above him. His chest muscles seemed impossibly thick from this angle.
“You’s had bettuh take a nice tone wit’ me, Dandy Littlepants, I’m boutto give you’s a present you’ll enjoy.” Pavel had a deep voice like a bronze bell. It was tinged with both the stawk and holler of his Pittsburgh home, as well as traces of the Polish-American accent of his family. “You’s gonna jump like a junebug, boy!”
“Oh, a present? What is it? Do I have to go somewhere?” Dandy asked. He was much too tired to walk even to the other side of the carnival’s encampment with Pavel, who had such long legs that Dandy had to sprint to keep up with him. To Pavel, that was hilarious. Dandy took a dim view of it.
“No, we’re doing it right here,” Pavel said. “I… I know you is not a believer in the Christian Lord our God. But-“
“I really don’t feel like having a theological discussion, Pavel,” he said, but Pavel wasn’t listening. Dandy had to talk very loud for Pavel to hear him. Most of the carnival was Christian like Pavel, and Dandy’s non-churchgoing attitude did not always sit pretty with the others.
Pavel pushed right in to the tent, oblivious to the fact that Dandy hadn’t invited him in. Dandy sighed. Large men tended to blunder past him like that. Pavel sat in the only chair in the tent, which was too small for him, so he had to wedge his ass into the seat. Dandy stood in front of him with a hand on his petite hips.
“I went to the church in town, yes I did. And I wents muhself to confession, Dandy. You know what that is?”
“Yes, Pavel, I know what confession is,” Dandy said with another sigh. As usual, Pavel was oblivious to his social cues. Dandy tried to sigh when he thought he had Pavel’s attention, but he was thundering right ahead with whatever this was.
“I… confessed some sins… sins of a sexu’l nature, Dandy. That woman back in Missurrah? Remembuh? Well… The priest said to say the hail mary nine times and, uh… the point is he told me to do a few things. One of them was to make a moral invent’ry of muh life, to see what muh sins is and how they have done affected the victims of muh deviance.”
“Deviance? Pavel… are you talking about the women? God’s not going to throw you in hell for-“
“You don’t even believe in God, little man,” he said with a wag of his fingers. “And I’s wearried about it. I needta make muhself feel what them wimmin feel when I plunders ’em. I know… that’s ya speciality. And you’s a li’l guy, it couldn’t hurt that bad wit’choo. I’m hoping I’ll learn-“
“What?! I… You want me to cornhole you?” Dandy opened his eyes wide. Dandy enjoyed touching and laying with men more than he enjoyed sleeping with women.
But he didn’t think Pavel was the same way.
Pavel paused and gulped, the sound of which was impossibly loud to Dandy, it sort of echoed and thrummed out through Pavel’s broad chest. Pavel nodded. His hand clutched his smooth white pectoral muscle, which twitched; its gigantic size attracted Dandy’s attention as it rippled. Pavel scratched at his bare chest, making all of his chest, stomach, side, shoulder and arm muscles tense and flex in turn.
“You make it sound stupid.”
“If that was a part of Catholicism, which it isn’t, it would be stupid. Your priest told you to do this? Are you sure he wasn’t trying to cornhole you? Cuz they do that. You can’t trust priests.”
“Not in so many words, he ain’t say that exactly. He said I needta confront what the victims of muh sin ‘xperienced. This is what I came up with,” he said. His squarish face aimed at the floor of Dandy’s tent.
“There’s a big difference between a woman-” Dandy stopped himself. “Why am I talking you outta this? It’s idiotic, but you’re an idiot, so that checks out.”
“Get bigger, shitwit,” he said with a shy grin.
“Bend over and grab ya ankles,” Dandy said with a laugh. He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. Pavel sighed as though a part of him had hoped Dandy would say no (but what kind of dandy would say no?).
Of course, Dandy realized as Pavel took off his pants that their size difference was going to make for some awkward positioning. Dandy couldn’t even reach Pavel’s ass without standing on a chest.
Pavel sighed, his chest rattling. It seemed that he was having second thoughts. He hesitated before removing the tan singlet he wore for performances.
“You really wanna do this? I won’t… tell God if you back out,” Dandy said. He couldn’t help but laugh. He had always thought religion was silly — would an omnipresent God make a midget like Dandy? Someone whose body was never meant to be this size? He could feel God’s nonexistence every day in his weak knees and his pained spine, in the doctors who stayed surprised that Dandy was still alive.
Pavel shot him a heated look. “You don’t gotta laugh at me. I believe in God-“
“I know, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Then quit laughing at me ’bout it,” he said. He flared his nostrils. He dropped his underwear, and his massive, uncut cock flopped out. That was why he needed forgiveness — his big dick and bulging muscles attracted women, many of whom were married. Some of them even paid him. That was a basketfull of sins. He rolled his eyes. “Okay… How do you do this?”
Dandy was still trying to figure out the mechanics of it himself. Instinct would take over, he thought. He motioned for Pavel to sit down on the ground, which he did. He plopped his heavy ass on the floor of Dandy’s tent.
But even sitting on his ass, Pavel towered over Dandy, who climbed up to stand on his thighs. That let Dandy grope Pavel’s chest and inhale of the masculine musk he exuded.
The thick muscle of his hairy legs was like a rock beneath his feet. His pecs and their hard nipples were right there in front of Dandy’s face. The left breast was tattooed with the red and white flag of Pavel’s native Poland. Dandy kissed each pec in turn, his petite fingers massaging the powerful muscles of Pavel’s chest and shoulders.
Pavel giggled like a schoolboy, his booming laughter audible through his chest. It rattled around in Dandy’s tiny skull. He felt awkward, but the more Dandy groped those gigantic slabs of Polish muscle, the more aroused he was. He dropped his own shorts and let his rapidly hardening dick swing free.
Then he jumped up to Pavel’s neck. Pavel oomphed as Dandy gripped his neck and lifted himself up. He didn’t mean to choke Pavel — he just wanted to kiss him on the lips — but that was exactly what happened.
Pavel sputtered and dropped Dandy onto the ground. He shook his head. “What the hell-?”
“Sorry, I was trying to kiss you! Come down here,” Dandy said.
Pavel shook his head but did so. He lowered his neck, then had to get down on his belly on the ground. Only then could he get his head low enough to easily kiss Dandy on the lips. He puckered like he was sucking on a lemon as he did.
After all the fuss, the kiss was crude and passionless, anticlimactic. Once again, however, what Dandy missed in enthusiasm was more than made up for by the thrill of touching the man’s huge muscles. Dandy stroked his broad shoulders, each blade of which was as big as Dandy’s entire chest. He plunged his tongue into Pavel’s mouth. Pavel was still, his tongue laying limp like a dead fish at first, but after a few moments, it moved around some. Their tongues interlocked as Pavel’s bristly mustache — which seemed impossibly huge, thicker than Dandy’s own forearm even though it never looked that big from a distance — scratched at Dandy’s face.
The muscular lines on Pavel’s back beckoned. Dandy had always loved staring at Pavel’s back muscles; he didn’t know why, but something was appealing about those perfectly smooth, looping curves. He kissed Pavel’s smooth chin, then around to the back of his neck. He lowered his head, kissing the dimpled skin atop his spine, as Dandy’s fingers gripped his flesh.
Pavel lowered himself until he lay flat on his belly on the ground of Dandy’s tent. Outside Mariella — the bearded lady — cleared her throat as she began warming up her voice. She practiced singing every night, still hoping a professional opera company would look past her beard and hire her. It made Dandy giggle, because her fancy opera was going to be a strange score for his and Pavel’s fumbling.
Dandy’s mouth reached the small of Pavel’s back. Dandy stopped there for a moment and kneaded the copious flesh of Pavel’s plump asscheeks. Then Dandy dived between them.
Pavel gasped — it sounded like he had no idea this was coming. He likely had never got or even asked a woman to lick his ass, so he might have been unaware it was possible.
Dandy’s head disappeared between those massive cheeks, hairy and musty and dripping with sweat from the day’s workout. Dandy licked up every drop as his tongue explored the nooks and crannies of Pavel’s ass. The taste was sour and sweet, with a flavor that Dandy could only describe as pure, unadulterated manhood.
Then his tongue entered the grimy rim, and an explosion of masculine flavor overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned with desire, which made Pavel laugh and arch his back. Pavel’s cheeks separated and his hole loosened to allow Dandy’s tongue better entrance.
This was one area where Dandy didn’t feel his size made a difference. Pavel’s asshole was as tight as a small man’s, and Dandy’s tongue struggled to push inside just the same as it did with any other person’s. For a moment, Dandy could nearly forget his stature.
It felt so intensely pleasurable to Pavel that he sucked in his breath and held it as he lifted his ass, making Dandy’s tiny body chase it. He groaned and grunted as he submitted to Dandy’s tongue-bath. He even bit his lip as intense sensations roiled his muscles. It wasn’t very long before his ass was too high for Dandy to lick it.
That was okay with him. He was ready to move on. As Pavel lifted his ass up, his heavy cock and balls dangled. Dandy scooted beneath him, his tongue tracing a trail from his ass to those hairy ballsacks.
He tried to get the entire hairy sac and both balls in his mouth, but Pavel was too big. One ball took up all of Dandy’s mouth, and the folds of hairy, sweat-dripping flesh enveloped Dandy’s face. He didn’t mind; it felt like Pavel’s body was all-encompassing, his heavy-hanging sac spreading to every aspect of Dandy’s perception. His little tongue snaked out and caressed the sensitive flesh of Pavel’s scrotum.
Pavel yelped and squirmed. “Oh God!” he cried out. His dick was rock-hard now, and Dandy wanted nothing more than to suck him dry. He could feel all the tasty cum brewing up in those balls, which pulsated in and on his mouth.
But Dandy knew he wouldn’t have many opportunities to do more than that. There were a lot of muscular guys who would let a dandy jerk them off. There weren’t many who would let Dandy be on top.
So Dandy just licked up the veiny shaft of Pavel’s dick, then continued licking the best he could up Pavel’s chest. Pavel was on all fours, with Dandy standing beneath his chest and the floor, as though Pavel’s body was Dandy’s new tent-within-a-tent.
He crawled up to the chair that Pavel had sat in. With Pavel on all fours, his head was right around the chair’s height. That meant he could swallow Dandy’s dick while Dandy sat on the edge of the seat.
People were often impressed by Dandy’s dick size, he showed it off to strangers sometimes who insinuated he couldn’t measure up to taller men’s manhood. It was big, at more than six inches, but Dandy knew that wasn’t really remarkably big — it seemed that way because Dandy was so short. His dick was nearly a quarter of his body’s height, and it stretched to his knees.
Pavel was clearly surprised by its heft now that it was in front of his face. He screwed up his eyes, looked away and opened his mouth. Dandy was already rock-hard when he pushed his dick down Pavel’s throat.
Dandy moaned. Most men had trouble deep-throating his dick, but Pavel was so big that his throat was vast. He swallowed the whole thing easily even as his body gagged and rejected it. It slid down his throat until his nose was buried in Dandy’s crotch hair. Pavel’s muscles all flexed at once, undulating with each sputtering choke.
The sensation for Dandy was incredible, like his dick was massaged by all of those strapping muscles, which writhed before his eyes. He gripped Pavel’s shoulders, then grabbed his thick mop of black hair. Using his tiny fingers and delicate hands, Dandy guided Pavel up and down on his dick.
The sound of Pavel’s moist sputtering filled the tent, and the smell of prejazz followed it. Dandy wondered if Mariella — whose clumsy Italian phrasing emanated from outside — could smell it. Probably not, he thought, as she bathed in perfume every day. Dandy leaned his head back and groaned as pleasure wrapped over his body.
His hands seemed impossibly tiny next to Pavel’s head, which he gripped and led up and down on his shaft. Spit dripped down to his root. Every few seconds, Pavel gagged when Dandy’s cock hit the back of his throat. His petite fingers gripped Pavel’s massive cheeks to hold him in place. Dandy was used to being short, so it wasn’t often that he was bothered by these disparities in size anymore, but Pavel was so massively huge that Dandy couldn’t help but feel conscious of it. He loved the feeling of power he got, however, from his weak little arms pushing Pavel’s massive Pollack head up and down.
Pavel licked Dandy’s cockshaft, his giant head moving along with his tongue up and down. Dandy’s dick jerked and spasmed, and Dandy yelped as arousal overcame him. He had to force himself to pull away to avoid shooting his load right then.
Wanting to move on before he blew his jazz early, Dandy pulled out. Pavel gasped and said something breathlessly in Polish — it sounded like he was expressing his dislike for the taste of Dandy’s cock, but Dandy didn’t bother asking him to say it in English.
“Turn around,” Dandy said. “Lemme at your ass.” He smiled as Pavel sighed, wincing and blanching. He turned around, remaining on all fours, backing his wide ass up to the chair where Dandy still sat.
His ass was right at chair-height, but Dandy couldn’t lean off the chair and support himself that way, he’d probably fall. He hesitated before simply jumping off the chair and landing right on Pavel’s bottom. He held on like a drowning man clinging to the liferaft of Pavel’s sweaty back muscles.
Pavel lowered his head, while Dandy lined his crotch up with Pavel’s ass. He didn’t have much leverage in this position, since he had to lean on Pavel’s heft as he pushed his dick between those perfectly juicy cheeks.
He shuddered as his dick slid inside. Pavel’s ass was loosened and moistened by Dandy’s spit earlier, so now Dandy could get the first few inches of his meat inside easily. A wave of pleasure suffused Dandy’s body. He couldn’t help but moan. It felt so good his knees went weak, and he would have fallen if he weren’t relying on Pavel’s body for support.
Then Pavel’s muscles all tensed at once and stayed that way; his asshole clenched and he bit down hard on his upper lip. He growled and muttered something Dandy couldn’t hear because of Mariella’s blasted opera singing from the tent next door.
“Relax, Pavel, relax your ass. You’re doing fine,” Dandy said. He lightly stroked Pavel’s back.
Pavel breathed heavily through gritted teeth. He snorted and shook his head, and his ass bloomed into laxity again, just long enough for Dandy to ram another few inches in.
“Damn, Dandy… I thought you’d have a small dick,” he said. He chuckled as his face turned red. “Did you kill a big man and take his dick?”
“Yes,” Dandy said. He laughed at Pavel’s pained reaction. “You still don’t have to do this, you know. The whole idea is idiotic. God won’t love you more because of this-“
“Just finish up, little man. God supports a sacrifice,” he said. His voice was weak and pinched by pain.
Dandy grunted as he nodded and pumped his hips. He forced the last few inches of his dick inside, sighing when he actually felt his dick disappear into Pavel. Pavel had such a thick ass that a substantial part of Dandy’s dick didn’t actually enter the hole — Dandy simply couldn’t separate those asscheeks enough for his little body to get in there, especially with his feet not even being on the floor, as he still had no leverage.
It was all he could do to hump like a dog. He flexed his hips, slamming his entire little body down with every thrust on Pavel’s ass, the cheeks of which flapped and jiggled each time he descended. His fingers formed tight little balls, and his nails dug into the flesh of Pavel’s back.
“Normally,” Dandy said, panting and breathless. “I’d give you a reacharound. You can probably guess what that means. But my arms are way too short.” To demonstrate that, Dandy reached around Pavel, but his hands barely made it past his hips. He couldn’t even get to Pavel’s thick pubic hair much less touch his dick.
“You’re short? I never noticed,” Pavel said, his laughter hidden by the agony evident in his voice. “I just always figured there was more of you that you kept locked safely away.”
“Why don’t you jack yourself off?”
Pavel laughed, then cut off his own laughter. He made a strained and pained sound. “I can’t, little man. It hurts. I couldn’t get hard right now if I wanted to.”
“You sure about that?” From his vantage point, Dandy couldn’t see Pavel’s dick, but he had a strong suspicion about it. He knew there was a spot in every man’s ass that, when touched, triggered intense physical arousal. He was certain he had been hitting that spot. Due to the pain, Pavel hadn’t noticed. But when Pavel shifted from all-fours to just-threes, leaning to the side so one of his hands could grab his dick, he yelped in surprise to find it was hard and throbbing.
“Well… I ain’t see that comin’.”
“Big men never do,” Dandy said. He spoke through gritted teeth now too because Pavel had shifted to using just three limbs to support himself and in turn to support Dandy. That meant his body was not flat anymore, and Dandy had to clutch desperately at his flesh to avoid falling to the floor.
Somehow, despite the awkwardness of the positioning — or maybe because of it — Dandy felt his orgasm coming on. He humped wildly at Pavel’s ass, which was now loose enough that he could go for it with abandon. His balls slapped against the man’s flesh, the sound becoming impossibly loud.
As his climax erupted, Dandy could feel Pavel shooting his own load at the same time. The most intense orgasm of his life overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned, making a sound that was, to him, a loud shout. It was buried in the meat of Pavel’s lower back, however, as a minimal grunt from Pavel exploded and reverberated in the tiny tent.
Cum flowed into Pavel like water from a hose. Dandy shot more cum than he ever had before, and he could tell that Pavel’s load was similarly impressive, even if he couldn’t see it. Dandy shuddered, and every motion he made caused a wave of sensitive pleasure and exquisite bliss to flow up Pavel’s spine.
Dandy didn’t know how long he lay there, clutching Pavel’s flesh for support as he clung on like a puppy holding onto its mother’s scruff. His post-orgasmic daze only ended when Mariella finished her song, and the sound was replaced by Sandell, the head clown, barking orders at the other clowns — they were practicing their new act.
Letting out a sigh of relief as he slid down, Dandy’s cock left a trail of assjuice and cum clinging to Pavel’s thick thighs. Dandy’s knees were weak with the power of his orgasm. As soon as his ass was empty, Pavel collapsed to the ground in an exhausted heap of sweaty flesh.
Dandy sat next to him, using his back for support. He lay across Pavel’s shoulder and kissed his muscles there. “Do you feel forgiveness, Pavel?”
“I ain’t sure. I… I thought it might weaken muh desires for female flesh,” he said softly, or as softly as he could manage with that booming bass voice. “But I fear it has only done add to muh desire.” He chuckled.
“We’ll have to try again to find out,” Dandy said.

Knuckle (Toby) Wexton

Knuckle is a boxer, a bouncer, an ex-con and a carnie.

Description

He liked his men rough and nasty, and Toby fit the bill. He was white, squat, no-necked, with a big burn scar on the side of his neck and shoulder. He was vaguely rednecky, vaguely skinheadish and — when Tyrell was around, at least — somewhat thuggesque too.
Finally the door opened. Toby tottered in, on unsteady feet. He was obviously very drunk. He reeked of liquor. He had taken off his shirt, so he wore only a wifebeater, which revealed that that burn scar on the side of his neck extended in thin tendrils down his chest and his belly. It looked like something hot and sticky had been dumped on him.

From Dubcon Alphas

Knuckle was a giant, nearly seven feet tall, and built like a linebacker. He had a mean, craggy face that made him look older than he was, and his tanned skin was marked with what looked like prison tats. His voice was deep and gravelly. He was so big, with cavernous lungs, that he was hard to understand, his voice resonating and bouncing around in his body. Knuckle was terrifyingly massive, and he had that big bull head like an ape
He wore only a sleeveless shirt, revealing a crude network of colorful tattoos. It wasn’t an “arm-sleeve”, it was more haphazard than that, but it coated his left arm and much of his right, and more tattoos — including what appeared to be a couple of weasels humping — were visible on his chest. He even had a network of camouflage designs on the side of his neck, which was so short and thick it was barely visible.

From Breaking Alpha

It was hard to finger exactly what was scary about Knuckle. Part of it was obvious: his badly scarred face, with a thick cheek scar that gave him a permanent sinister smile visible from one angle, a burn scar that spilled like lava from his shoulder to the side of his face, a long beheading-type scar on his neck, a cut running from his sideburn to his forehead as though an eye was almost sliced open and a constellation of pinprick scars and marks all over his bare arms when he wore a sleeveless shirt.
And aside from the scars, Knuckle glowered and stared with flatness, his face unreadable, his voice low and growling, without emotion, and a lot of what he said was just plain weird or incomprehensible. Nobody liked talking to him.
His big fleshy arms were sturdy, dotted with sweat. On his left bicep was that burn scar whose edges stretched up onto his neck and cheek, and since he had taken off his button-down shirt to reveal a raggedy wifebeater, Teddy could see now how big it was. He had been very badly burned at some point, it seemed.
There was a bandage on his side, near his back. It looked fresh — from tonight? — because it was still pale white and clean around the edges but soaked in crimson right above the wound. He must have struggled to put the bandage on, because it only partially covered the wound. Where it stretched onto his back, the bandage didn’t quite cover it. That made sense, because Knuckle was so muscular and thick-chested that he probably couldn’t reach that section of his lower back.
“The dancers is all gone,” Knuckle said. His voice was grim, flat, emotionless, like a deflated balloon, but scratchy like his lungs were made from sandpaper. It sounded painful for him to speak, and his voice made Teddy’s hair stand on end.

From The Scarred Bouncer

Books

The Scarred Bouncer: Knuckle is a badly scarred and bizarre bouncer at a rough and tumble nightclub, so everyone treats him like a freak. But when the bartender Teddy treats him nicely for once, Teddy’s in for the ride of a lifetime! That’s because Knuckle has a knack for setting up Teddy in man-on-man encounters that Teddy could never manage on his own.But can Teddy handle all the throbbing manhood Knuckle’s ready to throw at him?

Breaking Alpha: Madhu is cooking meth for a biker gang, who supply him with a bodyguard. That’s Knuckle, a terrifying brute of a man who just might have a softer side, one that Madhu is excited to explore. Will Madhu survive alongside Knuckle’s brand of massive masculinity?!

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    The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter 2

    The Scarred Bouncer

    Chapter One: An Affectionate Touch

    Chapter Two: The Liminal Space

    Chapter Three: A Glorious Face

    Chapter Four: An Unexpected Connection

    Chapter Five: A Deserved Choke

    Chapter Six: A Good Friend

    Chapter Seven: A Present of Sorts

    Chapter Eight: That Sweet Release

    Chapter Nine: A Plan for Repayment

    Chapter Ten: An Unpleasant Chore

    Chapter Eleven: A Sweet Release

    Knuckle fat-lipped in the doorway, speaking only when he gotta. Knuckle liked working the door. It was liminal, and he hovered neither inside nor out but in the middle like a child hiding in scattered shadows. The sky drizzled lightly tonight, and his right shoulder got wet, but his left shoulder remained dry. He done confiscated a greaser’s switchblade. But the crowd lusted quietly tonight. He knew his scarred face scared men into submission and prevented brouhahas. As far as he was concerned, that was a good thing. Mr. Gregarian said it was a double-edged sword — no rowdiness, so no fighting, but no rowdiness, so no overdoing it on overpriced drinks either. Knuckle ain’t know if Mr. Gregarian told him that because he expected him to fix it or not, but Knuckle ain’t savvy changing how he got perceived, so he never did nothing about it. The switchblade still sat hotly in Knuckle’s pocket.
    “Hey, scarface, is Caitlyn Smiles working tonight?”
    “-got a pussy on his neck.”
    “Sssssh, ssh, ssh, he’ll hear.”
    The men all fell silent as sand before they shuffled up to the doorway where Knuckle stood, basking in the luscious leather napkin of the West Virginia night while being buffeted by the overwhelming warmth and wafts of cigarette smoke pluming out from the club’s insides. He checked IDs and sent them in. No cover charges on Sunday, only Friday and Saturday nights and some holidays, Mr. Gregarian said, because otherwise the place got too crowded and the men focused on tipping dancers instead of ordering drinks from Teddy.
    Teddy has very soft fingers.
    Ever since that night when Teddy jacked him off in the weight room, Knuckle thought about those fingers and returned to the weight room to see if Teddy might meet him there again and touch him with those fingers that were soft like a kitten’s tail. Those fingers had danced and teased his skin, caressing, affectionate, warm, inviting like a hot stove heaping out heat.
    And that mouth was soft and warm too, and Knuckle craved it. Lips. Tongue.
    Teddy said nice words. Knuckle ain’t recall them, but he remembered the tone and timbre, which resonated in his ears and remained there like resounding church bells and made his toes tingle every time he thought about them. He snuck drinks from his flask as he worked tonight. The vodka in the flask was thinly redolent of sun-baked plastic. It probably came in a plastic bottle, but he ain’t remember the bottle.
    Just before midnight, Knuckle had to go in and lay hands on a black fellah who was getting garish and jagged in the mouth, cuz he done grabbed Caitlyn Smiles’s tits, and she looked at Knuckle with a ruddy face and a puckering pair of eyes and a torn bra, and she said, “You better wreck that bastard, Knuckle!”, and so Knuckle grabbed the man by the neck and dragged him into the back alley like a outside dog, and he punched him and kicked him behind the dumpster and left him there sputtering and bathing bloodwise in moonlight because tonight a full moon splashed effulgence through the clouds, and Knuckle liked that he could see so clearly, even in the alley where there ain’t no streetlight.
    The black man had a gold crucifix with a ruby at the base. Knuckle took it. He gave it to Caitlyn Smiles later, and he wanted to tell her so many things that were true both inside the club and out, that the necklace was pretty like her, that Jesus would protect her, that Knuckle would protect her, that no man had the right to treat her like that or to paw her like a possessive puppy. In his mind, Knuckle thought all those things, but out loud, he croaked in a bumpy baritone, “Here. I’s givin’ this to you.” She took it and popped a tit out of her dress as though the necklace was a tip and she needed to earn it, but Knuckle ain’t even look at the naked breast. She stood there for a second with her tit out, realized Knuckle had no intention of groping it, then she screwed up her pretty face and scuttered away like she done see a ghost. She blushed. Caitlin Smiles never blushed except deliberately to seduce a man, but Knuckle made her blush by not looking at her bare tit.
    Later, Knuckle saw her whispering about it to Teddy with the soft fingers and the lime-slicing knife in one hand. She said “he’s such a freak!” with a giggled-up laugh, and Teddy nodded grimly. They both took a shot of cinammon liqueur and scrupulously avoided looking in Knuckle’s direction.
    But Knuckle ain’t let on that he heard. He stood in the doorway. Nobody thought he was where they were when he was in the doorway — Teddy was inside and treated Knuckle like he was outside, so Teddy and Caitlyn could share snickers about him in private, while the men approaching the door outside nervously talked about how to get past the scary-looking bouncer as though he was a statue who couldn’t hear what they said from a few feet away.
    That was why Knuckle liked liminal spaces.
    “Hey, Knuckle, is the shower in the back nice? Plenty of hot water?” Teddy asked a few minutes after close that night. The last of the men done skedaddle before Knuckle could tell them to leave. The dancers left in a big group because nobody wanted Knuckle to escort them one-on-one through the parking lot.
    Knuckle plopped down at the bar. Teddy slid him a cheap drink, while he finished closing down and locking up the bar. Knuckle downed it in one gulp. “No,” he said.
    Teddy looked at him like that hadn’t answered his question. He shrugged. “Oh. Okay. Well, I don’t wanna use all your hot water.”
    “I do not shower a lot,” Knuckle said.
    “Uhhhh…” Teddy stammered and blushed. “Yeah, the dancers complain about that, and… Nevermind. Knuckle, I, uh…” He thought for a long time, then broke eye contact with Knuckle. “Nevermind,” he said again. “I’m having trouble with the shower at my place. There’s this bum who keeps squatting there.” Teddy lived in a ratty old apartment building down the street, and it came with a group shower. Teddy said, “It’s fine. He’s usually passed out cold this late. It just makes the shower seem dirty, and I thought I could shower here before I leave for the night. But I know you’ve been staying here, so-“
    “Let’s go,” Knuckle said. He stood up as though to leave, while Teddy was still closing down the bar.
    Teddy paused. “What?”
    “I will slit his throat if he does not leave,” Knuckle said. He walked to the door.
    Teddy had to race after him. “Who? The hobo! Wait, Knuckle! That’s… a little extreme. Wait!” Knuckle stopped by the door and stood motionless. It took Teddy a few seconds to realize that was Knuckle waiting — he just stopped in the middle of Lipsweet like a robot whose off-switch had gotten flicked. “Wait, uh… don’t kill him. You don’t gotta kill him.”
    After a pause, Knuckle said, “yes.”
    “Okay, just… Talk to him sternly, maybe. Thanks for helping. Don’t kill anybody,” Teddy said. “Lemme just get the bar shut down.” He paused and said again, “Don’t kill anyone.” He raced to finish closing Lipsweet, then he and Knuckle piled into Teddy’s four-door to head to his building.
    It was a square building with cardboard replacing most of the windows on the first floor. Teddy lived on the third floor though, which was the top floor. Knuckle saw a row of windows with blinds and curtains and flickering TV screens visible through them. One of those windows was Teddy’s place, the thought of which made Knuckle’s heart tumble over its beat.
    Teddy followed Knuckle up the stairs to the third floor. The stairwell was a cold concrete column with spraypainted graffiti scrawled on every surface. The dancers would be shocked and exhilarated to learn Teddy had invited Knuckle to his home — it was an accident, but still, Teddy was going with Knuckle to a second location. The dancers wouldn’t even go with Knuckle into the next room.
    Knuckle done took off his shirt and his wifebeater because it was a warm and humid night. His chest cooled, and the nasty burn scar on his shoulder heaved up and down with every breath. Teddy kept sneaking glances at his broad, powerful muscles. Those scars were stark in the dimly lit arteries of Teddy’s building.
    Twenty apartments lined the central corridor of the third floor, and they all shared one group shower with just two showerheads. Teddy showed Knuckle to his apartment and pointed out the shower, but Knuckle went straight there, not into Teddy’s place. Teddy followed him, key in hand, into the shower.
    The hobo, Bax, sprawled on his back, bugging out in a nest of rotting old clothes and scraps of cardboard. He lay in the middle of the shower area, so he ain’t gonna get wet even if both showerheads was running. That was rare though, as usually men showered alone here.
    He ain’t move until Knuckle picked him up by the throat, smacked him in the face and growled. “You don’t live here! You-“
    “Aaaagchk!” Bax’s eyes opened wide — he had been awake for days, on a meth binge, but he was unaware of Knuckle until he started hitting him. Knuckle slapped him again. Bax barked, “Git off me!”

    When Bax peeped Knuckle’s scarred face and murderous mein, he squealed and squirmed. He clawed at Knuckle’s chest. His feet kicked the cold floor, but Knuckle brought him outta the showers and ignored his blows and cries.
    Knuckle dragged him down the stairs and out into the West Virginia night. “If you come back, I will slit your throat,” Knuckle said. He tossed Bax like a sac of seed towards the road.


    Then he turned around and came back inside with Teddy, who crouched by the door with wide eyes. Knuckle stood there as though waiting for another assignment.
    “Thanks,” Teddy said, blushing. Bax stumbled off into the night, blood trickling from his nose. “You wanna come into my apartment? We could have a drink.”
    Knuckle nodded.
    They went into Teddy’s apartment. Knuckle stood there like a gravestone, while Teddy fixed them both a quick drink. Then Teddy saw him standing blankly and motioned to the couch. Knuckle sat down. He gulped his drink down in one motion. Teddy sat on the back of the couch, spreading his legs so he could rub Knuckle’s shoulders.
    “Tell me about Emma,” Teddy said when he saw that tattoo again on the nape of Knuckle’s neck. His fingers hesitated before touching the burn scar on Knuckle’s neck, but Knuckle’s whole body relaxed at his touch, so he gathered Knuckle liked it or at least tolerated it. He wondered what kind of a woman would love Knuckle. Had Knuckle said she loved him? He definitely said he loved her, but had it gone the other direction? Teddy couldn’t remember.
    Knuckle nodded. He waited for Teddy to pour him another drink, then he described the traveling carnival he had joined when he was a mere teenage runaway. He traveled all over the country with that carnival.
    She was a glittering blonde beauty when Knuckle first saw her, swathed in bulb light from the carnival. She glid like a galleon through the crowd. She was accompanied by a boyfriend, Tom, but Knuckle ain’t clock him. The world parted like clouds around the sun, so nobody else existed, just her, serene and curving to forever, making Knuckle’s knees go weak.
    The Sammy Smack-It Strength Meter dinged and belled behind him, but Knuckle couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
    “Mister! Mister! You s’posed to gimme them tickets!” said the old man who had just scored nearly top marks on the Strength Meter. Thirty tickets had been dispensed from the machine behind Knuckle, so he tore them off the roll and gave them to the wiry old man.
    When Knuckle looked again for her, she was gone, lost in the crowd of Indiana appleseeds.
    They were in Peoria. It took Knuckle a few minutes to remember that — all these towns looked the same to him, the same people in the same clothes, speaking the same words as they lifted the same hammer and brought it down on the same strength machine.
    The one thing different here was her.
    Knuckle’s eyes opened wide when he caught a glimpse of her again later. This time she was swathed in swimming darkness, just outside the well-lit carnival grounds. Children streamed past in front of Knuckle, running outta the carnival with caramel apples and sacs of Candy Annie’s home-made sweets. Knuckle pushed past them to get close enough to hear the pretty blonde lady, whose face was pursed tight, her lips bloodless, glowing when she passed under a streetlight, where she stopped to snap something harsh to that man she was with.
    “You are such a asshole!” she said to him.
    It was only when she said that that Knuckle finally saw she was with a man. A boyfriend. Of course a woman like her wouldn’t be single. She probably had a line of suitors trying to meet her, Knuckle thought.
    He went back to the strength meter. That was it. She was gone. He might see her again before the carnival left whatever dipshit town this was, but probably not. He could have talked to her.
    But he didn’t, and that was that.
    The carnival shut down at ten-thirty, but Knuckle was already done by then. Nobody came by the strength meter that late. He went to the tent he lived in and sat in the lawnchair he done place out front. The sky was dappled with stars overhead, and the night was cool and calm like that woman’s eyes. But inside, Knuckle was afrenzied, with desire and with rage, and he soon got overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through him.
    He stood, as the other carnies came in for the night, and he spat curse words. He formed a fist with one hand and punched his other hand in palm hard enough to hurt. He kept doing it, stalking and pacing afront his trailer.
    “What’s wrong with you?” asked Pavel when he walked past. He was the horse-tamer and expert for the carnival, and he set up people — mainly little girls — with horseback rides. He always smelled like a barnyard. “There’s women here, Knuckle, don’t make ’em uncomfortable.”
    Knuckle nodded. His face was grim and ruddy. He stood motionless, unsure what he could say or do that Pavel wouldn’t think made the lady carnies uncomfortable. There weren’t even any women around, most likely. The handful of female carnies were probably in their own tent by now.
    “Let’s go for a bath,” Pavel said. That was where he was headed when he saw Knuckle. He always bathed first because he smelled so much like a horse. He ain’t like laying in bed in a cloud of horsehair and straw.
    As he led Knuckle into the bath tent, Pavel listened to him talk about the girl he done saw. Pavel was older than Knuckle, and wiser, so he just smiled and patted Knuckle on the back.
    “You’re getting this worked up over a girl you ain’t even talk to yet?” Pavel asked.
    Knuckle nodded. “I guess it is kinda silly.” He blushed. His face ain’t riddled with scars then. He had a strong, straight jaw with a masculine jawline and a shaggy mane of jet hair.
    Pavel filled up two wooden tubs with hot water, then he hurried to rip off his stableboy clothes. He was lean and ripped, powerfully built on his own merits, though he looked skinny next to Knuckle’s barrel-shaped body. Knuckle was slow, his eyes still dreamy and far away. By the time Knuckle was done, Pavel was already sighing and sinking into the warm water.
    He leaned back in the tub and sighed. “C’mon into the water, Knuckle. Don’t get’cha hopes up about pretty nice girls. Set your sights on a carnie, most likely. Caroline Nazzir likes you.” She was a carnie, a mermaid in the Hall of Wonders, as well as a pickpocket. She done made it very clear she would sleep with any man, more or less.
    But Knuckle never liked her.
    His hardon jutted against his briefs when Knuckle dropped his pants. He ain’t even realize that until he took his underwear off and saw it. He covered it up with both hands, not because it would be scandalous for Pavel to see him sporting a stiffy but simply because Pavel would make of him being smitten when he did see it.
    And Knuckle had to admit, he was smitten. He couldn’t stop thinking about that girl, Emma, as he climbed into the tub and sat across from Pavel. Their legs were intertwined. Since Knuckle was bigger, his legs were on the outside, pressed against the sides of the wooden tub.
    “I see that, you horny dog, you sportin’ wood,” Pavel said with a baritone laugh. “You still thinkin’ about her, ain’cha?”
    Knuckle nodded. He got an awkward grin on his face. “She was so pretty, Pavel…”
    One of Pavel’s big knobbly feet gripped Knuckle’s dick under the water. He rubbed it up and down and laughed at the look on Knuckle’s face — Knuckle’s eyes lit up with surprise, then disgust, then a long slow melting bliss as his half-hardon turned into a full-on.
    Pavel grimaced and laughed at the same time, and he put his other foot on it too. Knuckle’s dick throbbed under Pavel’s callused feet, softened by the water. Knuckle twitched.
    Pavel was jacking Knuckle off with his feet for two reasons. The first was that it was funny. The second was that it would mean Knuckle ain’t gonna make Pavel use his mouth or even butt later. That was an option because Pavel owed a lot of money to this carnival, and he had to pay it by giving up the butt to any carnie who needed it. That mattered because a horny carnie was liable to start trouble in the small towns they visited.
    But his plan backfired — Knuckle stood up, and, in one smooth motion, bathwater still dripping from his cock, Knuckle slipped his dick into Pavel’s mouth. Knuckle bent his knees, his eyes still upcast and dreamy, like he was moving on autopilot.
    Pavel made a sourpuss puckering face, but he ain’t refuse. He been taking dick for years in this carnival, and it was better than starving to death in Poland. At least here, the food was plentiful. He slurped spit up and down Knuckle’s shaft.
    A baritone grunt came from Knuckle’s mouth, and he pistoned his hips. His dick rammed into Pavel’s throat. Pavel was a tall man, so he managed to swallow almost the whole thing, until his nose was nestled in Knuckle’s pubic bush.
    “Ooooohhhhmmmmm…” Knuckle moaned. He thought getting hard and blowing a nut would make him forget about that blonde woman, but it didn’t. He kept thinking about her anyway. She was too pretty to imagine himself fucking her, so he pictured her talking to him and touching his arm and giggling when he spoke — giggling with her eyes too, not just her mouth.
    Sour, salty precum coated Pavel’s tongue. A moist gurgling sound came from Pavel, who patted Knuckle’s big asscheeks to signal he needed a break. Pavel spat a mouthful of prenut and wiped pubic hair off his lips.
    “Gimme a sec,” Pavel said. He clutched his belly with one hand, his face tense and queasy. He held back a gag and pursed his lips shut tightly.
    But Knuckle kept humping, his hips gyrating, his cock jabbing back and forth, without Knuckle paying any attention. Knuckle’s mind was fixated on her. He ain’t even notice at first that his dick moved through the air, not Pavel’s mouth. It poked Pavel in the nose when he was trying not to gag, and that caused him to retch violently.
    “Uaaaaggghhhhk…!” Pavel held his stomach again and spat outta the bathtub. He intended to keep spitting until the eye-wateringly salty taste of precum vanished, but Knuckle’s dick kept poking him in the face like it was trying to find his mouth. “Gimme a sec, Knuckle-“
    But his mouth opened to speak, and Knuckle — his eyes still closed — aimed his rod right for it. Pavel’s whole body buckled as Knuckle’s knob invaded his mouth, instantly filling it again with precum.
    Pavel ain’t try to spit it out, though his wiry chest muscles all flexed as he held back a gag. Knuckle’s pecker pulsated like an alien beast in his mouth, and Pavel’s tongue slathered spit up and down the shaft.
    Cum flowed into Pavel’s throat. Knuckle grunted again, and he pounded on his chest. Pavel winced, scrunching his eyes shut. The taste was intensely salty and powerful. He held back a gag.
    Finally, Knuckle let go, and Pavel pulled off. He simultaneously gasped for air and spat jizz onto the ground outside the wooden tub. He paused for a moment. “Ecchk, your jizz tastes awful, Knuckle.” He spat again, as Knuckle sighed and wiped his dicktip off on Pavel’s cheek.
    “Thanks, Pavel,” Knuckle said. His nostrils flared, and he sat back down in the spermy water of the wooden bathtub. “But I still can’t stop thinking about her.”

    The Scarred Bouncer

    Chapter One: An Affectionate Touch

    Chapter Two: The Liminal Space

    Chapter Three: A Glorious Face

    Chapter Four: An Unexpected Connection

    Chapter Five: A Deserved Choke

    Chapter Six: A Good Friend

    Chapter Seven: A Present of Sorts

    Chapter Eight: That Sweet Release

    Chapter Nine: A Plan for Repayment

    Chapter Ten: An Unpleasant Chore

    The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter 3

    The Scarred Bouncer

    Chapter One: An Affectionate Touch

    Chapter Two: The Liminal Space

    Chapter Three: A Glorious Face

    Chapter Four: An Unexpected Connection

    Chapter Five: A Deserved Choke

    Chapter Six: A Good Friend

    Chapter Seven: A Present of Sorts

    Chapter Eight: That Sweet Release

    Chapter Nine: A Plan for Repayment

    Chapter Ten: An Unpleasant Chore

    Chapter Eleven: A Sweet Release

    At first, Teddy thought the flat voice on the phone was a recording. It didn’t quite sound like a real person. He gradually realized it could only be Knuckle.
    “Teddy. Come get me. I need a ride,” said Knuckle.
    Teddy crossed his arms over his chest and wondered who was on the phone. Then the distinctive voice of Knuckle flooded his memory. He stammered over a hello, flustered, unsure what Knuckle was asking or if he should agree.
    “Hello, hey, hi, Knuckle, I, uh… Hey.”
    “936 Motter Street.” A man’s heavy panting, like he was hurt, could be heard near the phone. Then Knuckle hung up.
    The whole conversation took maybe three seconds. Teddy stood there, needing to think — about how Knuckle got his phone number, who was that panting in pain, was Motter Street in Martinsburg, what was what number? 936? Teddy hadn’t been expecting a message, so he wasn’t sure he remembered.
    It turned out that the reason Knuckle didn’t give him an explanation or wait for a yes was that he was on a mission for Mr. Gregarian. Mr. Gregarian had told him to call Teddy for a ride and to tell him he could get paid for his time as though at work. Knuckle hadn’t need a ride to his location because he could walk, but he was now blood-splattered and would attract attention if he walked home. So he needed a ride.

    Knuckle didn’t tell Teddy any of that, Teddy figured it out later when Mr. Gregarian gave him the money.


    He found 936 Motter Street near the city college campus. This was a party-zone most of the year, choked with fraternities, sororities, teams of young men marching through with jockstraps on their faces (Teddy had seen that once). 936 was a frat house.
    But it wasn’t the frat that owed money, or even any of the fraternity brothers. Greg Hardinger’s father owed money, but he had been playing hard-to-find with Mr. Gregarian, who cottoned to that like a cat on fire. He didn’t mess around — if Mr. Hardinger was gonna hide from his debt, Mr. Gregarian would either get the money or send a message or both through the young Greg Hardinger.
    It was a hockey frat — not by rule, but most of the hockey players on campus were in Kappa Gamma Phi, and the frat brothers who lived in the house were all on the team.
    And they were tied up in the kitchen.
    Teddy knocked on the door, having no idea of any of this — Knuckle hadn’t told him a thing — and his eyes opened wide at the sight of Greg Hardinger’s handsome face a bloody mess. He was crawling around on the frat house floor. Knuckle came out with blood splattered on his scarred cheeks. He held a small wad of cash — Greg’s emergency stash.
    It was only a small payment towards the debt, but it would satisfy Mr. Gregarian for now. And Greg had promised to deliver the message to his father: debt must be repaid.
    Greg wasn’t that badly hurt. Knuckle went easy on him.
    That feller ain’t gone easy on you… The words now hung in Knuckle’s mind like a trapeze artist. He ain’t thought about those times — the carnival days, with Emma and them — in a long time. But Teddy been steady asking about it. Nobody ever asked Knuckle nothing about his past usually. They assumed he was sensitive about it.
    Which was true.
    When Knuckle saw Emma for that first time, he ain’t get a chance to talk to her. The next morning though, he saw her on the street. She was like a golden angel, and Knuckle said hello to her, and she said hello back like she ain’t know who he was, and then she recognized him from the carnival last night, so she must have looked at him at some point, even though Knuckle ain’t seen her do it, and that thought made Knuckle’s heart race. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Then her dickhead boyfriend Tom yelled for her to come to him, as he was coming out of a store, struggling with a buncha bags, and Emma looked away from Knuckle to Tom, but she winced like she ain’t wanna do it even as she padded softly over there. Tom shot Knuckle a mean look.
    Knuckle ain’t give that mean look much regard. Tom was a middle-class mudclot, and Knuckle ain’t got a lick of worry for him.
    But Knuckle done misjudge Tom. He musta learned from Emma that Knuckle was a carnie, because later that evening, when Knuckle left the carnival grounds to find a hardware store, he was beset upon by Tom and a gaggle of his coiffed polo-prep prickless pals, who broed around him like agreeable jackdaws.
    “That’s for talking to Emma!” Tom said when he kicked the bloody and broken Knuckle in the side. “She’s got better things waiting for her in this life than some carnie!” He kicked him again. He and his buddies chortled off into the night. “C’mon, guys, let’s get back to my place.”
    He musta told Emma what he did, because she came and found Knuckle a few minutes later. He done prop himself up and leaned against the brick wall of a brush factory, hidden from the street by a dumpster that smelled of rotten Chinese food and insulated him from the rumbling engines of the cars putt-putting along on the other side. He cradled his badly bruised ribs. He ain’t think none of his ribs was broken, but it hurt to breathe, and pain bloomed all over like endless marigolds.
    “Oh, you got hurt! That’s so awful, oh no…” Emma said when she came upon him. She clucked her tongue like a nurse. “Oh, you poor dear… C’mon, can you stand?”
    “I’m okay, miss,” Knuckle said, blushing, eyes opening wide when she looked at him so nicely. When she got down beside him, he kissed her, and though he tasted only blood and sweat, his heart swelled with rising roses, while his heart rapidly raced and shudders wracked his frame. His meaty hands swept over her shoulders.
    She pulled away with a pause, lips trembling and hovering above his own. “C’mon, you have to go to the hospital.”
    He shook his head, which flung a few drops of blood onto the ground beside the dumpster. “The carnies will take care of me. I’m fine.” He struggled to his feet. His legs wobbled.
    “You’re not fine!” she said. But she didn’t insist on it. She wrapped one arm around his waist, as though she could provide any support to his towering frame. He didn’t need it though. He could still walk, despite his bloody and broken face. He lumbered like a lovelorn frankenstein.
    They made it onto the street and headed north, towards the carnie encampment. Knuckle limped, but his gait straightened and smoothed once he walked a block or two, and Emma talked but Knuckle’s mind whirred too fast to hear a word she said, so he listened only to her mellifluous tinkling tones, which hung in his head like a heavenly harp.
    A siren whooped, and a cop car pulled up behind them. Emma stopped. Knuckle kept going at first, but he stopped when Emma ain’t continue alongside. He turned around.
    “You okay, missus?” asked the cop, a stout middle-aged black man with a shaved head and a dense mustache like a push broom, which wriggled when he wrinkled his nose at the sight of Knuckle’s beat-up, swollen and bloody body. But he went right to Emma, who got a little of Knuckle’s blood on her face and flecking her sundress. “He hittin’ on you? You one of dem carnies, fellah?”
    “I’m fine,” Emma said. “I wasn’t hurt. He was. He’s hurt.”
    “I do’n need-uh go to the hospu’al,” Knuckle said. His broken nose made it hard to talk.
    The cop, whose badge ided him as Officer Castle, sighed. “You drunk?” Knuckle shook his head. Officer Castle pointed to the chain-link fence beside the road, sectioning off the university parking lot from the road. “Hands on that fence, carnie.”
    Knuckle did as he was told, while Officer Castle listened to what Emma told him. She patiently explained that her boyfriend had beaten Knuckle up for no good reason. She spoke in a dulcet timbre that calmed Knuckle’s agonized nerves. Castle was sympathetic throughout, then put her in the front seat of the squad car, while Knuckle got in the back.
    “I’ll drop you off at home, missus,” Officer Castle said. He started the squad car and headed off.
    “Then you’ll take him to the hospital?” Emma asked.
    “I don’ need-uh go!” Knuckle said from the backseat.
    Officer Castle winked at her. “I’ll make sure he gets took care of, missus,” he said. “Where do you live, miss?”
    She gave him directions, but her voice was clipped and her lips were tense, like she was holding back a pout. She kept shooting Knuckle apologetic glances. Knuckle ain’t know how to react, so he just sat there and tried to look like he weren’t in pain, for both her benefit and so Officer Castle ain’t think Knuckle really needed a hospital.
    Finally, the squad car pulled into a streetside spot next to Emma’s building.
    “You never told me your name,” Emma said after Officer Castle got out. She didn’t move to open her door, so Castle came around to that side to open it. She and Knuckle had a few seconds of perfect silence.
    “Knuckle,” he said, his voice a bloody flat croak that ruined the silence.
    “I”m Emma,” she said. She smiled so softly she looked like a pillow. Knuckle’s eyes opened wide. His cheeks burned a bright pink.
    Then splendid silence ended. Officer Castle opened up Emma’s door, and she got out. He walked her to her front door. Before she went inside, there was an awkward moment as Officer Castle leaned in to kiss her, but she deftly maneuvered away. He did get his hands on her waist though, and he gently cupped one buttcheek before she scuppered into her house.
    Officer Castle arranged his now-erect cock in his uniform slacks before he walked stiffly back to the squad car. He got behind the wheel. He whistled. “Reckon I ain’t surprised you got tempted by that sweet young thang. She is a fine woman.”
    Knuckle nodded.
    “Hmmmmmm…” Castle sighed. “Look, buddy, she a nice girl. She got a nice man for a boyfriend. He gonna set her up wit’ a nice life. Don’chu you ruin that for her wit’cha low-trash self, you feel me? You shouldn’t be messin’ wit’ no local girls anyway. I know Sheriff Torkelson wouldn’t like that at all. He don’t like carnies. So I can’t arrest this Tom fellah for assaulting you. Don’t look like he did much damage anyhow.”
    After a long quiet pause, Knuckle said, “Are you taking me to the hospital?”
    “No,” Officer Castle said. “I told that nice lady I’d get you took care of.” He pulled into the parking lot of precinct 17. “Don’t’chu worry, you ain’t under arrest neither. Just come in.”
    He led Knuckle into the police station, whose lights was mostly off. A few emergency lights remained, along with a room in the back. They navigated among the desks into that backroom, which was the local jail.
    A couple jail cells lined each side. One of them was the drunk tank, and it stank of piss and vomit and was choked with passed-out coal miners — there was a brawl in a miner’s bar this afternoon. The rear cell on the left was the one with the light on, and in there was a tall hairy man in his boxers, watching TV.
    He was almost as tall as Knuckle, and he was powerfully built too. He ain’t have a barrel-shaped chest like Knuckle though, he was more of a naturally lanky man who grew muscular because there was nothing else to do but work out in prison.
    His name was Baker, and he was a trustee. That was why he was allowed a TV in his cell, which was furnished comfortably. He scowled though at the sight of Officer Castle and then Knuckle’s beat-up and bloody body. He turned down the volume on the talk show on the TV.
    “Whatchoo want, Castle? I finished cleanin’ the ter’lets,” Baker said.
    “Get this fellah bandaged up,” Officer Castle said. “He don’t wanna go to the hospital, and he a carnie, so the hospital prolly wouldn’t want him neither. I’ll get doc’s kit.” He went back out into the main room of the police station and rummaged through drawers.
    “Sit.” Baker pointed to the chair in the center of the cell. Knuckle sat down, while Baker used a towel to dab off the dirt and blood on his face. “What happened to you?”
    “A fight.” Knuckle ain’t wanna say that he had gotten ganged up on, and he ain’t wanna talk about Emma lest Officer Castle launch into another tirade about nice girls and carnies. So he couldn’t think of any details to add.
    Baker let out a hoarse chuckle. “Okay, yeah. Makes sense, buddy.”
    By the time Baker got off enough blood to see the wounds, Officer Castle done come back with the doctor’s kit. Baker was experienced with it — he’d worked in the infirmary back in the prison — so he got to work bandaging up Knuckle’s wounds. He put a butterfly bandage on the deepest one first. That made Knuckle wince, as he had to force the torn flesh together.
    Officer Castle told Baker a little more about what happened, focusing mainly on how pretty Emma was. Soon Castle was looking dreamy-eyed. “She got legs like you wouldn’t believe, Baker, I ain’t seen ’em till she get in the light of her front porch.” His hands were on Baker’s smooth bare back now, massaging his tattooed muscles.
    “Goddamn, I love a girl wit’ legs,” Baker said. He was distracted by applying another butterfly bandage, this time to Knuckle’s side. “You want some ice, fellah? I’ll get’cha an ice-pack.” Baker tried to get up, but Officer Castle clucked his tongue and massaged Baker’s back more firmly.
    “Nah, Baker. I put a ice-pack in the bag,” Castle said softly.
    Baker grabbed the ice-pack from the doctor’s kit, grumbling. He put it on Knuckle’s sore belly, and Knuckle sighed with relief. Baker gave his ribs a couple pokes to see if they were broken, but Knuckle ain’t seem fazed.
    Then Castle took his dick out through the fly of his uniform slacks. It jabbed, already hard, into Baker’s side. Baker grunted and swatted it away. “C’mon, Castle, I is fixin’ him up-“
    “Don’t lemme stop you,” Castle said. “Hmmm-hmm, you got nice smooth skin, Baker. No hair neither. Like that. I like that,” he said emphatically. He winked at Knuckle. His dick rubbed Baker’s spine. Then his hands pulled down Knuckle’s boxers.
    “Here. Ibuprofren,” Baker said. He handed over some pills he found in the doctor’s kit. He poked around in there as though looking for more bandages, but he was actually hoping to find more pills. He ignored Castle’s fat fingers groping him like a girl.
    Before he could put gauze on the asphalt-scraped shoulder, Baker grunted and gritted his teeth. Castle’s cock slid into his ass.
    “Carnies do ramrodding, right, fellah?” Castle said, his voice a low simmer. His hands reached around Baker’s body to his chest. One hand squeezed his pec, the other groped the flesh and nipple — you could almost sort of pretend it was a tit.
    “Yes, suh,” Knuckle said.
    “Well, if you wanna do it next, you can,” Castle said. His whole body tensed as he flexed his hips.
    Baker grunted and closed his eyes. “Ow, shit, Castle!” He spread his asscheeks with both hands, which always seemed like it should reduce the pain but never did.
    “Hmm-hmm, c’mon, Baker… Moan for me, get me goin’-“
    “You goin’, shit, ow, ow, ow, Castle, c’mon! You already goin’ good and hard!” Baker’s knees went weak, and he winced. He took Knuckle’s dick in hand as though to put it in his mouth, but he didn’t, as Officer Castle behind him spurted jizz into his booty.
    “Hmmm-hmm…” Officer Castle murmured.
    A huge wad of cum bloomed within Baker, whose cheeks went red. He did manage to get Knuckle’s limp dick in his mouth for a second, but then he lifted his head to grab some toilet paper. He sopped up all the cum leaking from his butthole when Officer Castle pulled out. He screwed up his nose at the messy wad of toilet paper in his hand, then threw it away into the little trash bin in his cell.
    “Ya turn, big boy,” Baker muttered. He stroked Knuckle’s dick with one hand, which he lotioned up with some vaseline. Knuckle leaned back on the chair.
    “Shit, you jack off e’ry dude that come in here?” Knuckle asked.
    Baker scoffed. “No. Just the cops and, y’know… visitors,” he said. He shrugged. “It’s better than prison.” He kept stroking Knuckle’s dick with one hand, his butt hovering above it. It stiffened up in his grasp. “I got a pretty loose butthole.” He grimaced as he lowered his ass onto Knuckle’s dick. It entered the hole.
    When Knuckle’s hands touched his waist to pull him down, Baker clucked his tongue and stopped him.
    “Nah, son, wait. You got big meat, I’m goin’ slow,” Baker said. His eyes flicked back to the TV, which had finished the commercials and was back on the talk show. “And keep it down. I’s still watchin’ my show.”
    Knuckle’s hands hovered above Baker’s asscheeks. He didn’t touch it, though the sensations arising from his ass were intense. He threw his head back and moaned.
    Cum spurted into Baker’s butthole. A long flow of it filled him up, and Knuckle sucked in his breath. His massive dong flopped out. Baker winced again, ready with a wad of toilet paper to wipe up the cum that plopped out. Baker kept his eyes trained on the TV the whole time.
    Finally, Baker’s butt was clean, and Knuckle leaned back in the chair, relaxing. Knuckle’s dick was still covered in juices. He took a deep breath, only for images of Emma to return to his mind.
    Baker tossed him the roll of toilet paper. “Clean ya dick up, son. Then get outta my cell.”

    The Scarred Bouncer

    Chapter One: An Affectionate Touch

    Chapter Two: The Liminal Space

    Chapter Three: A Glorious Face

    Chapter Four: An Unexpected Connection

    Chapter Five: A Deserved Choke

    Chapter Six: A Good Friend

    Chapter Seven: A Present of Sorts

    Chapter Eight: That Sweet Release

    Chapter Nine: A Plan for Repayment

    Chapter Ten: An Unpleasant Chore