I had to ditch my day job as a department-store portrait photographer. I was developing a reputation as a male slut—if you can imagine that—and my reputation was taking an unhealthy dive. It was unhealthy in the sense that it wasn’t doing any good to have the HR department doing weekly meetings on how to get rid of my ass.
Not being one to pass up the opportunity for adventure, I sought out a job as a clown with a local entertainment firm that sends out performers to fairs, parties and job functions. I picked up a book at the local library on making balloon animals and managed to impress the firm enough to take me on as a clown. Since I didn’t have a suit, they gave me one and some makeup, but only on the grounds that my earnings would be garnished until the suit and makeup were paid for.
I knew about all of the stories. Clowns get more pussy than any other guy working in any other profession. I don’t care if you’re the head pimp of Pimpville, Florida, you’re not getting nearly as much pussy as a 60-something-year-old-fart with a big red foam nose and a pair of Size 30 shoes.
I was already working my first gig as a clown at a Bar Mitzvah. I don’t see how a parent can expect their kid to be a man when they’re still treating their son like a seven-year-old by hiring a clown, but I didn’t care—the kid’s mom was incredibly MILFy and I was getting a paycheck at the end of the day. I felt a little sympathetic for him, so I did him a favor and made a hat shaped like a labia. Let him party like an adult.
It became perfectly clear to me that the mother had a fetish for clowns and was using the party as an excuse to have an affair with a clown. As the party began to wind down, the kid’s mother came over to me. She looked like a young Raquel Welch with an obnoxiously sized boob job. Her tits were her husband’s status symbol. She complimented me on her son’s party hat and asked if I have any jokes or magic tricks I could show her. Magic tricks were something I wasn’t good at and I did my best to cut through the introductory bullshit and let her know that my intentions were the same as hers. In my clown pants and shoes, I managed to shuffle her into the garage and into the first car parked near the door.
BENTLEY, I noticed as we shimmied our way into the backseat. My makeup was getting smeared on the woman’s oversized tits and on the upholstery. I pulled up her skirt to reveal a pantiless, bald pussy. She pulled out a small vial of coke from the inside of the pointed tip of her high-heel shoe and took a couple snorts before offering some to me. I dumped the whole thing on her crotch and snorted it all up in one swoop. I must have made quite an impression with that maneuver as she sat up and looked at me like as if she’d just witnessed a true magic act. “What?” I asked and threw her down and began to kick off my oversized pants.
I had only just gotten in when I noticed something wrong. As soon as I pulled out to make another thrust, I suddenly became limp and felt my face go flush. I was feeling a tad dizzy as well and looked down. I’d lost my erection and looked up at the Raquel Welch I just tried to bang and asked her what I just snorted.
“Horse tranquilizer?!” I asked.
“I didn’t expect you would snort the whole thing!”
The world began to feel heavy. The remaining pieces of my clown suit began to weigh me down and I felt the urge to desperately get out of it. I was down to my underwear and a clown tie, dragging my body out of the Bentley. The mother, in a buzzed state, began laughing at me and helped me up off the floor. I couldn’t maintain my balance and wobbled all over the car, smearing more of my clown makeup all over the tinted windows of the high-class luxury car. I looked down below the car to spot a pair of kids wearing night-vision goggles, spying on us. I wasn’t bothered by them but more amused than anything and gave them a wink as the mother stood me up and tried desperately to revive my flaccid cock by giving me a very toothy, sloppy blow job, but it just wasn’t working and I really needed to get away from this situation. She begged me not to leave and to sleep off the tranquilizers in the car, but having just had my horrifying experience with a dominatrix dropping me off naked in the middle of a high school, I couldn’t trust this woman and headed for the door.
I could hear the voices of teenagers and kids in the room connected to the garage and realized that I was a half-naked clown, high on horse tranquilizer. I would surely lose my job if the kids saw me. Before I could formulate a plan, the mother pulled me back into the Bentley and started the car. I was sprawled out in the backseat as she drove out of the driveway and down the street. The constant movement was making me sick, and the only thing I could do to keep from throwing up was open the sun roof and let myself out for fresh air. The security guard working at the front gate of the neighborhood stared at me in bewilderment as I rocked back and forth in motion with the gears changing as the car decelerated and accelerated during the turns it made before stopping at the gate. “Are you all right, man?” the guard asked. The mother pleaded with the guard to let us out, but he was too distracted with trying to understand my useless babbling, which I imagine sounded like a slow-motion recording of Rocky Balboa singing “Staying Alive.” I found a balloon in my underwear, quickly inflated it and half-assedly made it into an
animal before vomiting into it a little, tying it off and throwing it
at the guard. Finally, the mother had opened the gate herself and drove us out.
I woke up several hours later in a motel across town. It took several more hours before I managed to shake off the drugs. With no clothes, I waited until it was late at night before leaving the hotel room dressed in a makeshift robe made of shower towels. The bus ride home was met with endless people staring at me and laughing at my predicament.