Where there's pussy, there's money. And where there's money, there's pussy. That's why I was working the skin show on Toby Tyler's Fun-4-All midway.

Inside the Girlesque tent, it was smoky, steamy and standing-room-only. The crowd of men jostled and jockeyed for position in front of the stage. Moths swarmed in the pale spotlights.

The show was running strong. The featured stripper was sticking a long fluorescent lightbulb up her snatch. Like a sword swallower in reverse. The light made her shaved crotch glow red. Craziest damn thing I've ever seen.

A strip show's the best place to score. Ask any flattie, he'll tell you. Everybody at a hootchie-kootch is drunk and horny -- nobody thinking straight, keeping one eye on the stage and the nakedness parading back and forth. The sons of bitches just walk right into your trap and never know what hit 'em.

"Here, friend," I said, passing a free ticket to the chump who'd just blown his paycheck and wasn't too happy about it. "Don't go away angry."

Carnies got a word for those special tickets -- "ducats." We use 'em to chill out beefers. You know, give the sore losers a little something for their dollar.

"What good is this? A ride on the merry-go-round?"

"It's your meal ticket."

"A hot dog?"

"Not a dog -- pussy."

He didn't get me.

"See that girl on stage?" I go. "Give her this ticket and she'll let you eat her out."

He didn't say anything.

I was like, "Whaddaya think I'm lying? You want me to prove it to you?"

"Yeah," he goes. "Prove it to me."

I spotted a skinny kid in the crowd. A recruit that looked too green to be in high school, much less the service.

"Hey, sailor," I said, pulling him aside. He must've thought I was gonna toss him out cuz he fought me. But I held fast. "Take it easy, son," I said. "I just wanna ask you a question."

"Sir, I didn't sneak in here, sir!"

"That wasn't the question." He looked at me nervously, his eyes darting left and right. "Ever eat out a cunt?"

"S-sir, no, sir," he goes, too scared to lie.

"Well, here's your chance to put some hair on that chest." I stuffed the ducat into his fist. "You know what to do?"

He shook his head no. By damn, the kid really didn't know! Can you imagine -- in this day and age? Where have we gone wrong? I blame the school systems, personally.

"Give this ticket to the lady on stage," I told him, "and she'll take it from there."

He took it in his damp, trembling fingers and walked to the rickety stage. It was nothing but pine planks on sawhorses.

The stripper traipsing across it couldn't have been more naked. Not without turning herself inside out. She tried that, too, when she squatted down at the edge and plucked the ticket out his hand with her cunt.

She butterflied her snatch. She had the biggest pussy in the whole damn world, and it was right there for the taking. Just dive right in, like a pink swimming pool.

But sailorboy didn't wanna take the plunge. So she grabbed the back of his head and pulled it into her crotch. She pulled off his sailor cap and put it on her own head, winking and laughing with the crowd as she held his head in place as his arms were flailing.

"Now where's mine?" the beefer goes.

"Huh?" I said, turning away from the show.

"My ticket," he said. "Where's my ticket?"

"You gave your ticket away. One to a customer. That's the rule."

"That's the shittiest rule I ever heard of!"

"Sorry, pal. Rules are rules. I don't make 'em, I just follow 'em."

I searched the mob for my next victim. Instead I noticed a pickpocket working the crowd. She was a hot property to boot.

It was a brilliant routine -- I had to hand it to her. She was a stripper who'd been on the stage a few acts before. And now she was mingling and making nice with the crowd.

She was topless and in a g-string. Buttfloss cleaned her crack. But its only purpose was to hold dollar bills around her waist. She had a skirt of greenbacks.

Nobody thought anything of it when her right hand went for their happy hard-on. Meanwhile her left went for their pocket, relieving them of their wallet. Nobody but me, that is.

I strained my eyes to see the hand-off. Her partner was a scrawny dude in a greasy denim jacket and camo pants. He wore a Shur-Fire Sparkplugs cap with the bill pulled down low over his face.

As he edged by, the tart passed him the wallet, which he stashed in one of his pockets. Smooth and seamless. Couldn't have done it better myself.

Too bad I saw the whole thing, start to finish.

Too bad for them, I mean.

I grabbed the pickpocket from behind. "Make it look good," I told her. I held onto her hips and rubbed my pelvis against those solid chunks of buttcheek.

"Fuck off," she snapped, pulling away. Her violet eyes burned back at me. "I'm working."

"I'll say."

"You some kinda cop?"

"Nope. Just a common criminal, same as you."

"So cut me some slack."

"What, outta the goodness of my heart?"

She didn't say anything and then she said, "How much you want."

"How much you got?"

"Two-fifty and you go away forever."

"Business is that good, huh?" I asked, holding out my hand.

"Not here," she hissed. She had lustrous blue-black hair down to her shoulders with bangs cut straight across her forehead. "Talk to my associate. Meet her in the funhouse."

"Her?" I asked, thumbing at the one in the denim jacket and red cap.

"You know, as in a woman?"

That's when I started to get that feeling I get when I'm gonna get laid.

* * *

We headed for the funhouse. BUMP IN TH' DARK, it was called.

"Fun my fat ass," I bitched.

We were all alone in there -- us and the broken down gimmicks and gizmos. The only thing that worked was the funny mirrors, and even they were cracked.

"Your problem is you ain't fucked up enough," she said, helping herself to the joint in my mouth. Primo Kentucky bluegrass.

She pulled the smoke deep inside and held it there, letting it fill her lungs and poison her bloodstream. She exhaled. Her sugar-coated smile glowed purple in the blacklight.

"Naw, that ain't it," I said. "I have always believed that people got to make their own fun."

"You got any ideas?" she asked.

Before I could answer she pulled off her grimy cap and shook out her long, double platinum blonde hair. She unbuttoned her jeans jacket and threw it in a corner.

She wore nothing underneath. Her tits knocked together like two Skee Balls. They were fake as a hooker's orgasm but they got the job done.

That shameless hussy's finger traced the outline straining against my pants. "You got what I want," she gushed. "A great big hunk o' love."

"Now about my three hundred scoots," I said. "Before we go any further."

I was stoned but I wasn't stupid. She pouted her lips and made the cutest boo-boo face. But I wasn't buying the act.

I told her I was serious and she said okay and dug out a handful of bills and counted out three hundred in fives, tens and twenties. I was prepared for the worst, half-figuring that the dickplay was just a diversionary tactic. But once she'd paid me off, she dropped to her knees and pressed her face against my crotch.

I was thinking that this was pretty all right as she tugged the zipper down. I could hear the click of every tooth.

It sprung out like a jack-in-the-box. She jumped back, staring as it uncoiled and stretched. My midway monster swayed and stiffened before her wondering eyes. They were as big as saucers.

She made nice with my nads. But I was too shit-faced to feel it until she really started cranking. Arousal cut through the weed as she leaned in and inhaled.

When she popped it out again, it was fully inflated. "I love to feel it blow up in my mouth," she goes.

She started to massage me again. I thought she was gonna twist it like a balloon animal. I was gonna wind up with a goddamn poodle for a prick and I didn't give a shit.

"By the way," she said. "My name's Penny. Penny Happening."

"Baby, you'll never know how pleased I am to meet you," I said as she bent forward to engulf me again.

I leaned way back to give her multi-talented tongue room to work. That's when I noticed the psychedelic blacklight poster on the wall, curling up at one corner. ASS, GAS OR GRASS, it said, NOBODY RIDES FOR FREE.

There are as many ways of giving a blowjob as there are women, but her voracious technique was unmatched in the history of head. She was a real slut about it. Which made it all the better.

What enthusiasm! She pulled out all the stops. She did all the work. A blowpop never had it so good.

I checked us out in the funny mirrors. My tiny head was stretched out way up here and her huge head was way down there. Really freaky. The succulent O of her lips bore down on my dick. It was like the Elephant Man, humongous and obscene, like a nightmare.

Most women won't go down on you before knowing what's in it for them. But she blew me like I was the last dick on earth, and it was all hers. Her clit must've been in the back her mouth, she liked oral so much.

That golden throat was too good to be true. You couldn't put a price tag on her kind of cocksmoking. She had that ESP -- Extra Sexual Perception. She knew what makes a man feel good.

"Whatever you got," I groaned, "put it in a bottle and sell it at the mall."

She breathed harder through her nose as she sucked the living daylights outta me. I knew she was gonna to take me there. She was gonna see this suck-off through to the end.

Enough was enough. The floor dropped out from under me. I came forever, like I was falling head over heels to the center of the earth. My hands were still gripping the greasy steel walls when I snapped out of it.

* * *

The best feeling in the world is a fat roll of twenties hanging in your pocket. But she had it beat by a mile. I was gonna feel her lips on me for weeks afterward.

I could only imagine the magic act her cunt put on. If it was half as talented as her mouth, it was gonna dance circles around my dick.

My hand slipped inside her pants and was all over that tight ass. "Don't go looking for what you don't wanna find," she said. I didn't get her at first.

And then I did.

She was a he.

The whole world screeched to a halt.

And it was just me grabbing hold of another man's hard-on. His was tied up and wedged in his asscrack. It was the worst feeling in the world.

I let go like it was a live wire. A real shock to the system. I was sober like that.

I should've tumbled her angle sooner. I was an idiot not to see it. A girl who doesn't ask for something in return can't possibly be a girl.

I fell to my knees, puking my guts. I wanted to die. Nothing makes you wish for death more than being on the bad end of a gender bender.

Penny tried to help me up but I pushed the she-male away. "If I had my gun," I said, wiping barf and slobber from my mouth, "you'd be dead."

"What's your beef, baby? Didn't you have a good time?"

I struggled to my feet. "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't smash your face in."

She rolled her eyes. "Now don't even try and tell me that wasn't the finest blowjob of your life cuz that would be a lie and we both know it."

It was true, of course. That was the best BJ of my life -- and that's saying a lot. But that wasn't the damn point and I told him so. A guy like me just can't go around getting his dick sucked by another man, pre-op TV or not.

"Don't worry, sugarfoot," he said. "You ain't queer if you thought I was a girl."

That didn't make me feel any better. But like they say, no use crying over spilled cum.

Especially when he conned me fair and square.

"I won't say nothing to nobody," he said. "And my partner won't say nothing to nobody neither."

I knew a goddamn threat when I heard it. I tumbled the set-up pretty quick. If I knew their dirty little secret, they were gonna get one, too.

"Blackmail's such an ugly business," I said.

"You oughta know," he said matter-of-factly. "If we paid you off once, you'd only want more money not to go to Brownie. This way we're even."

What could I say? Penny was right. Heartless bastard that I am, I would've demanded a pay-off each and every night.

But now we were locked in a Mexican stand-off, aiming secrets at each other like loaded guns. There was no way out except to lower our weapons. Nobody wins and nobody gets hurt.

Looking at him in the blacklight, I saw a woman even though I knew better. It was like an optical illusion.

"What're you chuckling at?" he asked.

"I hate to admit it," I said, "but you're more woman than most cooze. It's a damn shame you're a queer."

"Who's a queer?" he goes, mad as hell. "I ain't queer! I'm a woman trapped in the body of a man. I'm pre-op now, but someday I'll be real."

"Alright already -- you're a woman. You got the mouth for it, that's for damn sure."

She was like, "I'll take that as a compliment."

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