From: an349772@anon.penet.fi
Reply-To: an349772@anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: EBS:  The Pussy Show  [06/25]
Date: Mon, 18 Dec 1995 13:54:22 UTC
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Message-ID: <140406Z18121995@anon.penet.fi>





                         THE PUSSY SHOW

                              by

                      Emerson Laken-Palmer



                            Part 6.



  "I hear Trooper's havin' problems with the sheriff's office because

of the fix, that Sneaky got into last year, when we was here."

  "Shit, Cookie," I yelled.  "We ain't gonna' cause no trouble.

You didn't hafta' scare those girls off!  Damn!"

  She laughed, as she went to the open door, and then she looked

back, as she stepped out, and said, "Don't forget to tuck that

thing in, before you zip up your pants, Jackie," and she closed the

door.



  I grinned at that memory.  I grinned because those girls finished

suckin' us off, behind the electric truck, a half hour later, and

they got their free rides.

  It was just that Cookie had a lot of nerve, spoiling our fun like

that.  At least she didn't tell Dad or Trooper about it.  Carny

people don't squeal on each other.  But, damn her!  Even though my

folks and the others think so, Cookie ain't really no angel

herself.

  She got her cherry popped by some slick lookin' town boy in Des

Moines early last summer.  Oh, but my little sister had an excuse

for that; she was in L-O-V-E!

  In LOVE?

  At FOURTEEN?

  That's what she told Dad when she pointed this 19 year old dude

out to him.

  Dad was impressed by this guy too.  So impressed that he and Glen

broke both of his arms and tossed him into a dry creek bed just

before we left town.

  Cookie cried, of course.  But only for a day.  I think it wised

her up when Dad showed her the pictures... the ones, they took from

this guy's wallet, of him and his wife and kid.

  I can't say I ever saw Cookie cry again.

  Oh!  And I KNOW that she gave it to this other screwball, in

Chicago, last fall.  The one who put the butterfly tattoo on her

shoulder.  He was 22 and in a band.  She told me later that this

creep took her to his place and got her high on weed and she

confessed, to me then, that marijuana made her uncontrollably

horny.  She never goes near it now.

  I know that Dad would have actually KILLED that fucker if he'd

have found out.  But Cookie wore a jacket, to cover her arm, till

we left town and Dad didn't see the tattoo until we were in Texas.

  He made her clean the Port-A-Johns for two weeks though.

  When I finished my lunch, I checked my cigar-box stash and found

I had one joint left from the bag that me and Nick scored, in

Corpus Christie, last month.

  Shit, we was wasted that night!

  We scored it from a girl who was the daughter of the baptist

preacher whose grounds we were set up on.  She really liked the

muscles of our bare chests and arms.  The three of us smoked almost

the whole bag (on the floor in the church nursery) and then I laid

her back and she let me fuck her, right there on the floor, and

then Nick fucked her right after I was done.

  Getting an unexpected hard-on from that memory, I set the cigar-

box back in the compartment, under my bed, and then I walked out

of our trailer and into the hot, late morning sun to get ready for

opening.

  I helped Gina blow up and hang balloons for the dart-throw booth.

  You had to do it just right.  You had to stretch the rubber first

and then blow up the balloon so it was just formed and didn't have

much air.  That way, the dulled points of the darts couldn't pop

them unless you hit them hard and dead-center.

  I heard my sister call my name and looked across to where Cookie

was waving me over to the Ring-Toss.

  A large, muscular man, in a white shirt and tie, was standing at

the counter as I walked up.

  "Hi," I said to him.  "What seems to be the problem?"

  The man, with the short-cut, red hair, square jaw and steely,

grey eyes, gave me a curt smile and said, "The problem, kid, is

that this game is crooked."

  I smiled and looked over at the agitated look on Cookie's face

as she planted her fists on her hips and was about to speak.

  I held out my hand and motioned for her to keep quiet.

  "Rigged, sir?  OUR game?"

  "Look at these rings," he said, holding one up.  "They're barely

larger than the tops of the bottles.  I could hardly PLACE one on

a bottle, let alone TOSS one and win."





                            Part 7.



  I kept my smile on the man.  I could sense that there was

something about him...  Something that conveyed to me that he was

the heat.

  Where was Dad or Trooper?

  "Well sir," I said, keeping friendliness in my voice, "this IS

a game of chance, you know.  We can't just GIVE these valuable

prizes away."

  He glanced up at the cheap, stuffed animals and laughed and then

scratched his nose as he looked down at my sister.

  "And what about her?" he asked, keeping his gaze on Cookie.  "How

old is this kid?  You have to be sixteen to work in this state you

know."

  Cookie started to speak but I cut her off again.  "She's old

enough, sir."

  He bit the corner of his lower lip as he slowly looked her up and

down, his gaze lingering all over her body.  I could see her eyes

blazing as she looked defiantly back at him.

  "You look like someone...," he said as he shook his finger in

her face.  "Someone I saw in a movie... Jody Something..." (He

snapped his fingers a few times) "...Jody Foster!"

  "My name's Cookie," she said icily.

  "Cookie's my sister," I chimed in to cut her off again.

  He looked at me now.  "Yeah," he said. "I can see that."

  "My name's Jack."

  He was looking back at her now.  "Cookie, huh?  What kind of a

name is Cookie?  Like as in `one hot cookie'?"

  "Her real name is Sylvia," I told him. "after our grandmother on

my mother's side.  But she don't like that name and, since she was

a baby (when she was always fussin' at Ma for one), she's just

always been Cookie."

  "Cute!" he said and then he turned to me.  "Look, kid.  Do you

have a gaming licence?"

  "My dad and his partner, Mr. Trooper, run this show, Mister.

They have all the paperwork and they've been to the county clerk's

and sheriff's office...."

  "Yeah?" he said.  "Well, I'm Officer Sharker.  I'm with the Youth

Bureau of the Louisville police department."

  I KNEW he was the heat.

  "I may check on those papers," he said, "and I may check into

your sister's birth certificate."

  He looked right into my eyes now.  "I would sure hate to have to

close this place down and put all of you out of business...."

  "There's no need for that," I told him, "just talk to Mr.

Trooper.  His trailer is right beyond the midway.  There's a sign

on it that says OFFICE."

  He laughed now.  "Yeah. I been there, kid.  I saw the papers.

But that county shit don't cut no ice with me.  This is MY area and

I run it MY way."  His voice grew threatening as he spoke but then

he relaxed and smiled at me.  It was an odd, chilling smile though.

"I like you, kid," he said in a suddenly friendly tone and then he

said, "I'll see 'ya around!" and me and my sister watched him as

he walked slowly down the midway.



  An hour later, the midway was full of people and the rides and

games and shows were all up and all making money.   The hot,

southern spring day was alive with the sounds of laughter and

yelling and banging and the metallic whirring and clanging of the

rides.

  As I stood, barking people to the Basket-Toss, Nick was loudly

playing Alice Cooper's "Schools Out" over the speakers of the fast

spinning Super Himalaya, the closest ride to the midway and the

most popular.  I could hear his voice, shouting over the speaker

with, "Do you want to go FASTER?" and then the happy shouts of

"Yes!" from all the riders.

  I liked running that ride too.  It's the one with the connected

cars that follow a tight circle around a small, inclined track and

the operator can make it go faster and faster and faster as the

riders scream in both fear and delight.  The operator sits in a

booth and plays music over a loud speaker and you can talk, over

the music, and tease and joke with the riders.

  Guys with dates love that ride too because, when you sit with

your girl, the force of the rotating motion causes her to press

firmly up against you.





                            Part 8.



  I could see Ma, down the midway, with a good amount of chumps at

her Guess-Your-Weight booth and a big throng in front of the snack

trailer and cotton candy booth.  Cookie, in the center of the

midway, was slapping her stick down loudly and yelling her, "Abada!

Abada! Abada!" as the boys pressed close to her Ring-Toss and Gina,

directly across from me, was talking to a short haired, uniformed

soldier who was about to toss some darts at her balloons again.

  The sounds and the sights and the smells of money were in the

air.  Trooper and Dad were going to make a killing this week and

next.  We were all going to do well.

  But I needed to do better than well.

  Well was okay.  But the take from the midway booths went to my

Dad.  They were his games.  He paid a percentage to Trooper and

paid Gina and Rob and Sneaky and Will a small cut for running them.

Me and my sister were just given an allowance.  We were family and

this was the family business.  None of us, no matter what you might

think, would ever pocket some cash or cheat Dad or Trooper.

  I had to think of something else.  Something that would set me

up with a big score.  There had to be a way, looking at all of

these people, still early in the day, on a Friday.  This place

would be packed tonight with teens and families and soldiers.  All

with pockets that would be stuffed with paycheck cash.

  Steal it?

  Hell no!  I would never rob anybody.  Or pick their pockets.

  I was no thief!  I was a player.  A schemer.  A scammer.  I had

to come up with a way to get some big money honestly.

  Well, as honestly as possible, anyway.

  But how, damn it?

  My thoughts were stripped away as I heard Cookie suddenly shout,

"Rube!  Rube!" and saw her scramble over the Ring-Toss counter.

  Rube is the carny word for trouble and it meant that somebody

needed assistance right away.

  I looked in the direction that she was running and saw the huge

figure of Glen, beating the living daylights out of the soldier I

had seen playing the dart game with Gina.

  As I started running toward Gina's booth, I saw the bloodied

soldier go down and my kid sister jumping up onto Glen's back and

grabbing him around the neck and head with her arms and locking her

bare legs around his waist.  Glen began whirling and thrashing to

dislodge Cookie and get back to kicking the shit out of the hapless

recruit.

  I could also see, out of the corner of my eye, two uniformed

officers, with their billy-clubs in one hand and holding their hats

on their heads with the other, running toward the fray at a full

clip.

  I got there first and dragged the lifeless soldier away from harm

as Gina was standing and hysterically screaming and Cookie was

hanging on and shouting and Glen was thrashing and yelling, "Get

off me! I'm going to kill him!  He was touching her!  Get off me,

Cookie!  He's a dead man!"

  The cops arrived and one of them pulled my sister off of Glen

while the other one made the mistake of hitting him, full force,

in the solar plexus, with the end of his thick, hardwood baton.

  That just made Glen madder and, before I could react or do

anything, Glen caught the surprised officer with a round-house and

the cop went flying backward, arms and legs flailing, until his

body crashed hard to the dirt on the midway.

  The other cop stepped back and drew his service revolver and

assumed a menacing, offensive posture, holding the gun on Glen,

with both hands, and yelling, "Freeze, or I'll shoot!"

  Cookie stepped quickly in front of Glen and, with her arms behind

her, holding herself to him, frantically shouted, "Don't shoot him!

He didn't mean it!"

  The shouts of RUBE had brought everybody running and Dad,

arriving at the scene with Trooper, yelled at the cop," What are

you doing?  You're pointing that thing at my little girl!" and he

stepped up and pushed the officer's gun down.

  The other cop had gotten up and he hit my dad, across the back

of the shoulders, with the baton, and my dad went down and Trooper

punched the cop and....

  Well, it was a mess.

  At the end of the fracas, more cops had been called, Glen was

arrested, my dad was arrested, Trooper was arrested and Mom and

Rose and Gina had all gone into town to try and get them released.





                            Part 9.



  I had to close the Dart-Toss and tried to keep the other games,

and the cotton-candy booth, open with the smaller staff.

  When evening fell and the crowds increased, I saw Rose's beat up

Caddie pull up to her trailer and Rose (now alone) get out and step

quickly through her door.

  I yelled for Cookie to keep her eye on my booth and I rushed,

through the milling throng, to Trooper's trailer and went in.

  I found Rose at her desk and in tears.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "It looks bad, Jackie," she sniffed.  "They got Trooper and your

dad and Glen locked up and they won't even talk about bail until

the court opens on Monday.  Gina won't leave the police station,

because she thinks they might beat Glen up, and your mother is

trying to find some help.  Nobody can find Carol..."

  "Carol?"

  "Yeah.  She's not in her trailer and nobody's seen her all day.

We were going to make a lot of money with the pussy show tonight...

Gina was going to do it... and now we have nobody...  We're going

to have to close the show... We're going to lose on the games...

We're going to have to pay bail money for three people...  We might

have to cancel Indianapolis..."

  Rose started to sob loudly again, folding her arms on the table

and burying her head.

  "I'll do it," we heard from behind us, and we both turned around

to see Cookie standing in the doorway.  "I'll work the pussy show

tonight."

  "You?" I exclaimed.

  "Yes "me"," she mocked, looking back at my dumb expression.  "I

DO have one, you know."

  Rose choked back a sob.  "You can't, honey.  Thank you, baby.

But you can't.  Your Daddy wouldn't like it."

  "Daddy wouldn't want Trooper to lose the money, Rose."  Cookie

said calmly and without emotion.  "I HAVE to do it.  There's nobody

else."

  She was right.  There WAS nobody else.  The suckers weren't going

to pay five dollars a head for a pussy show with no pussy.

  Rose looked up at me.

  "Well," I said, shrugging my shoulders in resignation, "I'll run

the show and make sure she's okay..."

  Rose got slowly up and then, gushing tears, went to Cookie and

took her in her arms and hugged her tightly.



  A half hour later, I was standing at the back of the show tent,

watching as Betty fussed and fretted over my kid sister, pulling

and straightening the outfit that they had hastily found for her.

  Cookie looked very nervous as she stood there, letting Betty

handle her, tucking one of Gina's silky, white blouses into the

waistband of one of Carol's black mini-skirts and centering the

seam at the back.

  I can hardly remember my sister ever in shoes, let alone the

black high heels that they had put on her.  It made her stand as

tall as I was and made her long, bare legs, under the short hem of

the mini-skirt, look sexy as all-get-out.

  It was odd, the feeling that suddenly came over me as I stared

at her.  It's hard to describe what I felt, looking at Cookie that

night.  I was nervous and somewhat fearful and yet, at the same

time, I was oddly aroused by the sight (and upset with myself for

being that way).

  "Do you want me to go over the routine again, sweetheart?"

  "No Betty," Cookie replied, holding her head up and her shoulders

back and taking a deep breath.  "You went over it twice already.

I got it."

  Betty handed Cookie a small jar of vaseline and Cookie looked at

it and then she looked at me.  There was an odd apprehension

betrayed in her wide, blue eyes as she stuck her middle finger into

the open jar and said, "Go start the show."

  I went around to the front of the big tent, the one festooned

with the painted pictures of scantily clad women in sexy poses.

  There were already a few dozen men loitering in front of the

stand.  They were aware of what the tent was for.

  I looked at all their faces, as I climbed to the podium and

picked up the pointer.  My feeling of misgiving seemed to triple

as I thought about all of these strangers looking at Cookie.





                            Part 10.



  The gathered crowd pressed forward around me and the entrance to

the tent and, seeing this, many others began to join the throng.

  This WAS going to be a big night, the carny part of my brain told

me, and I found myself suddenly whacking the pointer on the surface

of the podium and loudly barking, "Pussy Show!  C'mon in boys!

Pussy Show!  See the thing that teases and pleases!  See it up

close!  Only five dollars!  Pussy Show!  So near, you can smell it!

C'mon in boys!"

  A sea of five dollar bills appeared before me and I was using

both hands to collect the money as the eager soldiers and teenage

boys and farmers and red-necks filed past me and into the tent.

  When the tent couldn't handle a single person more, I stopped

taking the money and closed the flap, whacking the pointer on the

podium three times to signal Betty that the show could begin.

  The disappointed strangers, who didn't make it in, stood their

ground, not wanting to miss their front row status for the next

performance.

  I heard Betty, through the canvas of the tent behind me, loudly

say, "It's time for the pussy show, boys!"

  It was quiet in the tent for a few minutes.

  I couldn't stand it.  My heart was pounding in my chest.

  I turned my back to the throng and peered into the crack of the

closed flap.

  Betty was laying on her back with her knees up and her legs wide

apart, holding her hairy twat wide open as the floodlights beamed

down and the men craned forward as a single, horny animal.

  It seemed like nothing at all happened for many long minutes

more.

  I thought I saw Betty say something, lifting her head and looking

at the closed tent flap behind her.

  Then the flap opened and Cookie walked in.

  The men in the tent seemed to gasp in unison as Cookie stepped

forward, losing her left heel, under her foot, for a moment but

quickly righting herself and then standing next to the reclining

Betty.

  Cookie just stood there, for a long while, with her arms limp at

her sides and her fingers twitching.  I could see her trying to

smile as her chin quivered noticeably and her eyes were wide and

darting from face to face to face as the men peered back at her in

excited expectation.

  No!  That's the wrong thing to do!  I tried to telegraph to her.

Don't look at them, Cookie!

  Then my sister reached down and grasped the hem of her mini-

skirt with both shaking hands and, closing her eyes tightly, stood

upright and pulled the skirt up to her waist.

  A deafening, teamed howl went up from the tentload of excited

men.

  I could see Cookie's ghost-white face wince.

  I could also see (as could every man in the tent) my fifteen-

year-old sister's beautiful, light blond pussy, right between her

curvy, exposed thighs, as pretty a pussy as God had ever created.

  "Damn!" someone shouted loudly.

  As odd as this sounds, (me being her brother and living with her,

in close quarters, for all of these years) I had never seen it

before.  Had never even given it a thought.  And now I (and about

a hundred other males) were staring right at it.

  Cookie never opened her eyes as she scooted down into a daintily

modest, sitting position next to Betty.

  From the sick look on her face, I half expected that she wouldn't

go through with it but Cookie lay herself back, opened her sexy

legs, and with the men suddenly hushed in dramatic anticipation,

she reached down with her trembling fingers and spread her pretty,

perfect vaginal lips wide apart.

  A loud gasp of awe swept through the crowd and then Betty (who

had been laying there, holding herself open for so long a time)

quickly jumped up and yelled, "Gentleman, that concludes the pussy

show!  Now, if you would please file past the stage and out the

side entrance..."

  I couldn't take it anymore as I quickly turned my back on the

tent, breathing hard and unable to focus my eyes on the blurred

congregation of men who stood, waiting in the warm night air, in

front of me.

  I was shaking.  But I didn't know why I was shaking.  Was it in

empathy for the ordeal that Cookie had just put herself through?

Or was it because I had just seen up the perfect, baby-pink vagina

of my own kid sister?

  The men were coming out of the side of the tent now, all with

bulges in the front of their pants and all commenting, to one

another, about the awesome spectacle of what they had just

witnessed.