
---------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: Well, unlike most of the other bones
I've seen in the graveyard, this story is a whole
damn corpse. The problem is the foul stench! Have 
a look, see my notes at the end, help me bring 
this thing back to life.
--------------------------------------------------

	One Sick Clown
	Copyright 1999 by Jimmy Hat
	jimmy@jimmy-hat.com

ONE 

"Face it, joker," said the bald, belligerent Detective
Cray as he pointed a finger at the suspect. "You're
going away for a long time, and they know exactly how
to treat your kind in prison." 

The suspect shifted in his seat, sliding somewhat
inside the billowy yellow satin where it clung to the
splinters and rough edges of the wooden chair. The heat
in the interrogation room grew. He felt the need to
scratch at the paint on his face, but his hands were
cuffed behind his back. Michael was miserable. 

The door of the small room opened, and in walked a man
in a dark blue suit and woman dressed much the same.
She had long dark hair and dark blue eyes, and Michael
took an immediate liking to her. Of course, anything
would be better than Cray. 

"Detective Cray?" said the man, "I'm Special Agent
Maytag, and this is Special Agent Stanton of the
Federal Bureau of Investigation." The three shook
hands. 

"FBI?" squawked Michael. Maybe this wasn't better than
detective Cray, after all. "What the hell did I do?" 

"I told you your little Pee Wee Herman imitation was
going to get you," Cray crowed. "Now you see what I
mean. That previous conviction makes this a federal
rap." 

"I'm afraid it does," said Agent Maytag as he
unbuttoned his jacket and had a seat at the table. "And
this being the commonwealth of Virginia, we took a
short pleasant ride here to have a little chat with
you." 

Heather Stanton did not enjoy the ride through suburban
sprawl. Though she had to admit the weather was not
bad, she was not happy that this little assignment
cropped up late in the afternoon. The beltway traffic
would be a nightmare when they left. 

"You two want some coffee?" asked Cray. 

"I'd love some, thanks," answered Stanton. Maytag
agreed. 

Cray left the room, and Michael relaxed, slumping in
his seat. 

"Detective Cray giving you a hard time?" asked Maytag. 

"Yeah," Michael admitted. "He won't let me take off the
face paint, or have any water. And he keeps making
these clown jokes." 

Maytag was tempted to make some himself. He did not.
"We can get you some water," he said. "Why don't you
tell us all how this all started." 

"Well, I was doing this gig today, and for some reason,
I don't really know why, but in front of this gang of
kids--" 

Maytag interrupted, "No, no. Tell us about this prior
in Florida." 

"Oh, that," said Michael. "That was just stupid. The
worst timing in the world. How was I supposed to know
that place was going to be raided?" 

"But there you were," said Stanton, "Indecent exposure,
guilty plea, fine and time served." 

"A day in the municipal jail!" Michael protested. "The
fine was cheaper that what it would have cost to get a
lawyer and fight it." 

A bright red flower protruded from an equally
fluorescent green stem that stuck out of his lapel. As
Michael defended himself and waved his arms to dismiss
the charges against him, the flower bounced back and
forth like a rubber ball in the air. 

"It was just a misdemeanor! I'm not running for
president or anything here!" 

"Why not," Maytag said, "Washington's a circus." He
couldn't resist making a joke, after all. 

Cray returned holding three styrofoam cups between his
hands. "Did he tell you all about boxing the clown in
that Florida skin flick joint?" Michael slumped back in
his chair. 

"Detective," Stanton spoke, "Would you mind getting the
suspect some water." 

Clearly, he did. Yet he put down two coffees and left
the room with the third. 

"Don't like him much, do you?" Stanton asked. 

Animated once more, Michael complained, "They won't
give me water or let me clean my face or call a
lawyer." 

"Do you want to call a lawyer?" Maytag asked. "Do you
think you did something wrong at that party?" 

"Look," Michael said, "I"m not sure what happened in
front of those kids, but it was an accident." 

"What did happen there?" asked Stanton. 

"Didn't you read it in a report or something?" Michael
replied. "Ask Cray, he seems to have it all worked out.
I'm a pervert: a child molester." 

Again Cray returned, this time with two styrofoam cups.
One was large, and held the water. He scoffed as he
placed it on the table. "Did he tell you about pitching
the Big Tent in his pants in front of those kids?" 

Stanton said, "We were just getting to that?" 

"I can't use my hands," said Michael dejectedly. It was
almost worse than not having the water at all. 

"Detective Cray," Maytag said, "Would you mind
uncuffing the suspect, or at least getting him a
straw?" 

Cray left the room with a loud 'hrrumph'. Stanton
spoke. "He doesn't want to take those cuffs off, so
he'll be gone until he finds you that straw. Now, tell
us what happened." 

Michael sighed, and then told his story: "OK, so this
is just your standard kids birthday party. I hand out
helium filled balloons when I show up, I pull a bouquet
of flowers from nowhere, some juggling, usual schtick.
Normally I do the squirting flower, but that's busted,
so I just wore the comic one instead." 

"That's a shame," Maytag commented. "If the flower was
working, you'd have running water to clean you r face
and get a fresh drink." 

Michael frowned, but that was tough to see through the
wide red smile painted around his mouth. 

"Go on," Stanton requested, brushing her hair back over
her left ear. 

"Anyway, I start blowing up balloons and twisting them
into crazy shapes, and after two or three, I get this
erection." 

"For no reason," Maytag said. 

"Well, that's the thing, see," Michael replied. "I
think it was the balloons." 

"I beg you pardon," said Maytag. 

"The balloons?" Stanton asked. 

"Yeah, the balloons. See, I've been dating this girl
for a few months, and uh," Michael hesitated. "I don't
know how to say this." 

"You have sex with balloons?" Maytag asked
incredulously. 

"Sort of," Michael answered. "She makes me use a dental
dam." 

"A what?" asked Maytag. 

"It's this sheet of latex that goes between her and
your mouth during oral sex," Michael explained. 

"She insists you use one," Stanton repeated for
clarification. 

"Yeah," Michael confirmed. "She doesn't feel real
comfortable with her body. I've tried to tell her I
don't mind, that I really like to do it, but she won't
believe me. I mean I really do like the taste, but she
won't go for it. Her mother was a little goofy, I
think." 

"Anyway," he continued, "I've gotten used to it, and
now, when I put my lips on the balloons, I think about
her. I guess it got out of hand today." 

"Yeah," Maytag said doubtfully, "You could say that." 

"Maytag," said Stanton, "Could I speak to you outside
for a moment." 

The two got up from their seats, and left Michael alone
in his shiny yellow satin. They closed the door behind
them but stood just outside, watching him through the
one-way mirror. 

"Do you actually believe him?" Maytag asked. 

"I don't know," Stanton answered. "But I don't think
there's much of a case." 

Inside, Michael considered the cup of water. He brought
his face down to it and tried to sip, but the water
must not have been high enough. He then tried to bite
into it and lift it, but it was too large and heavy for
that tactic to work. 

"Well, I'm inclined to agree with you," Maytag said.
"Poor guy has some bad timing." 

Stanton and Maytag now watched as Michael now stuck his
face completely inside the cup, apparently licking at
the surface of the water below in a display of lingual
dexterity. 

"That guy must be thirsty," Maytag observed. 

"And highly skilled," remarked Stanton. 

Maytag returned to the case, "We still have to wait for
the results of the search. If they don't find anything
that points to him as a child molester, there's no
support for the case. You'll get your salvation from
suburban Virginia, just like you want it." 

"This trip may not be such a total waste," Stanton
said, as she continued to watch Michael with his face
buried in the cup. "Maybe we can get a little more out
of him." 

"More interrogation?" 

"Yeah," Heather agreed, somewhat distracted. "More of
something. But we have to keep Cray out of there." 

"Agreed. he doesn't care much for the jokes." 

"I think you should stay outside, too. I don't think he
likes your humor, either." 

Cray arrived with a drinking straw. The bendy kind.
"What's going on?" 

"I think he's ready to give us what we need," replied
Stanton. "But I don't think he'll give it to you two." 

"Why not?" exclaimed Cray. 

"Too many wisecracks," Maytag answered. 

Cray shook his head and laughed. "I can't help it.
They're too easy!" 

"Just give me that straw. And something to clean his
face with." 

"Why do you want to do that?" asked Cray. 

Stanton looked straight into Cray with her dark blue
eyes and said, "Because I don't want to get paint on my
hands when I start slapping him around." 

Maytag watched them both to see who blinked first. It
was Cray. 

"You serious?" he asked. 

"Absolutely. You should turn off the recording devices
and keep the hallway clear, too," added Stanton. "No
sense in having witnesses." 

Cray stood there, somewhat shocked. Maytag handed her a
handkerchief. "Here," he told his partner. "You can use
this for his face." 

When the door closed behind Heather, Cray turned off
the microphones, and pulled the shade down on the
window. "She's serious, isn't she?" 

"I trust her," said Maytag as the two left the hallway.
"She's a good investigator." 

TWO 

"Thanks," Michael said, "That feels better." 

"My partner and Detective Cray are assisting in the
search of your apartment," Stanton told him. 

"Search?" 

"They're looking for kiddie porn." 

"I don't have any!" 

"I believe you," Stanton assured him. "But that still
leaves us with a problem." 

"What's that?" 

"It's possibly, maybe even likely, that this could
happen again as long as you are licking dental dams at
home and blowing up balloons at work." 

"Yeah," Michael sighed, "I guess it could." 

"That's obviously a problem for you," Stanton said,
"But it's bad for me, too. This is my case now, and if
it happens again, I have to fight I-95 and come here
again. I don't want to do that." 

Michael looked at Stanton nervously. 

"So how do you propose that we stop that from
happening?" Stanton asked. 

"I don't know," Michael admitted. 

"Are you willing to give up your job?" 

"Not really. It's a pretty good gig." 

"How about your girlfriend?" Stanton inquired. 

"Break up with my girlfriend?" he repeated in
disbelief. 

"I'm trying to find a solution to our problem,
Michael." 

Michael let out another sigh. "Maybe I can convince her
to stop using the dental dams." 

"Will she?" 

"I don't know," he said dejectedly. He thought for a
moment and said, "Maybe we can get flavored ones." 

"That's a good idea," Stanton said, pointing a finger
at him. "Break that attachment to the latex taste." 

"Do you think it will work?" 

"Sure," she said, "Provided no one serves food or candy
at some party that reminds you of that new flavor." 

"Yeah," Michael grumbled, "Yeah, I guess you're right." 

"I think we need a more radical approach." 

"Yeah?" 

"I think if you could just get a dose of the real
thing, you might be cured," Heather speculated. 

"You mean if I just buried my face in some pussy..."
Michael began. 

"... my trip would not be a complete waste of time,"
Stanton finished. 

Finding a suitable position for their adventure in
aroma therapy was almost as difficult as taking the
makeup off of Michael's face. The paint removal was a
mishap of facial contortions and eye pokes, and was on
the scale of one man's face. The problem of finding a
comfortable arrangement for cunnilingus in a room of
square furniture between a woman in pumps and a man in
handcuffs was much larger. Whole bodies were involved. 

"Maybe we should try laying down," Michael offered. 

Stanton tried hitching up her skirt and crouching over
Michael while he lay on his back, but his weight rested
on his cuffed hands and grew painful. 

"Bad idea," he declared. In that short time, he did
manage to get his tongue into the folds of her sex. He
licked his after he spoke and tasted her there. 

She tried sitting on the table, and letting him lean
forward but the awkward angle forced them to find
something else. Heather knew she could just turn around
and lean over the table to give easy eye level access
to a sitting and leaning Michael. 

However, Heather wanted to watch him work. It was not
every day that a man in a bright yellow suit ate her
out with his hands cuffed behind his back. 

"How about the chair," Stanton suggested. 

Stanton sat on the edge of a chair and spread her legs
wide while Michael kneeled between them and licked her
with his head at a slight angle. (Try this at home to
see how's it's done. Don't forget the handcuffs and big
red shoes.) 

"Much better," he uttered between licks. 

"Much," echoed Stanton. 

As Michael licked and flicked at her, Heather focused
less on the spectacle of the bound clown resting on his
bright oversized shoes 

with his head between her legs, and more on exactly
what he was doing there. His temple rested on her right
thigh, and his cute chin brushing against the other
thigh. His tongue bounced from inside her lips to her
clitoris, flipped back over and dove back, like a
miniature pink acrobat. 

"That is so good," Michael said between long licks that
stretched the length of her slit. 

Stanton cooed in response. 

"I really missed that taste," he elaborated before
circling her clit. 

"Mmmmmmm," Stanton purred. 

"I mean it's so good!" Michael said between licks. 

Heather would not have guessed she would have to
further restrain Michael to get what she wanted, but
apparently he liked to talk. She took him by the hair
and forced him back to work, rubbing his nose in the
short hairs of her mound. 

Work he did, though. Michael barely moved to breath
after that. Heather came to the conclusion that Michael
did indeed miss the taste. Then she just plain came. 

As she was already on the edge of her chair, it was
dangerous for her to be buck forwards and turn side to
side. Michael did his to push her back to center. Of
course, the only thing he could use was his tongue, so
that did not really help calm Heather down. The spasms
continued. 

When the gasping and twitching stopped, Michael pulled
away, and instantly started talking again. "Thank you
so much. I think I'm cured." 

"Yeah," said Stanton, still somewhat dazed. She looked
down at Michael. His hair was a mess. There was still
some white paint around his ears. Some had rubbed off
on her legs. There was a rip in his suit. 

"I think I did that," Stanton pointed. 

"Oh," said Michael. "That's no big deal. I'll fix that. 

"So you think you're cured." 

"Yes," he smiled. "Unless I can get more sessions by
saying no." 

"I really don't like I-95, Michael. You might try
convincing your girlfriend that giving up the dental
dam is part of your deal with the police." 

Stanton told him to lay down on the floor and wait for
Cray, which he did. He seemed to follow orders well.
Stanton found most men in handcuffs did. 

At the end of the hallway, Agent Maytag and Detective
Cray stood watch. "How did it go?" asked Maytag. 

"I worked him as hard as I could," Stanton told them.
"Nothing. How about the search?" 

"Zilch," said Cray. 

"Looks like no case," added Maytag. 

"Damn!" Stanton exclaimed. "I guess we'll be on our way
back to DC." 

"Thanks for the hospitality though," Maytag said to
Cray. 

"No problem," replied Cray as he rubbed his head with
his hand. 

After they left, Cray walked to the interrogation room.
He found Michael laying on his side, an absolute mess.
His makeup was smeared in places, his suit ripped in
the front. 

"She really did work you over! Are you all right?" 

"What? Oh, yeah. She was a little insistent." 

"You're free to go now," Cray said as he removed the
handcuffs. "Run off and join the circus again, or
whatever." 

If Michael heard that last remark, he did not show it.
He was staring into space. "Do you think I can get her
phone number from you?" 

"On top of the kiddie stuff, you like it rough, too,
huh?" asked Cray. "Boy, you are one sick clown." 

----------------------------------------------------

Note: OK, so I had one idea for a joke from a 
dental dam discussion on ASSD (what if a clown
started associating the taste with sex?) and
then this happened. The biggest problem I see
is a lack of heat. I tried to build some 
tension with the Clown drinking the water with
no hands, but I fear it is not enough. 

Maybe I should have skipped the sex -- just
have Michael make a pass at Stanton by
suggesting the therapy, and end it there
with Heather saying the end line, "You are 
one sick clown."

Any and all help appreciated!

-Jimmy

