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.It s a completely average day.Until Peter walks in.I ve just grabbed a slab of Black Forest bacon to slice for one of our regularcustomers, and it s a wonder I don t shave off my fingertips.Peter s hair is shiny cleanand loosely braided, roughly in the middle of its length.Thin elastic bands cinch thebraided section at top and bottom.It s quite beautiful, really, and I can t help imaginingthis golden rope of hair hanging down Peter s naked back while I fuck him frombehind.He s wearing loose, strategically ripped jeans that only add more features to myfantasy.I can picture the ivory bubble of his ass beneath the fabric, and his hard,tapering thighs, and the swell of his calves.God, I want him so bad.Right now.I want to feel us wrapped around each otheragain scruff scratching, leg hair catching, rigid cocks rubbing.His gaze is welded tome, I can feel it, and I wonder if he s thinking the same things.Before I know it, I ve got a goddamned boner.Bad enough I m already self-conscious because I m wearing a grease-stained apron and dorky plastic gloves, and Iprobably smell like pork hocks and sauerkraut.Carny s Magic 81Still, I can t keep a private smile from appearing on my face, the kind that meansyou share a special secret with someone close by.I weigh and wrap Mrs.Ather s poundof bacon, thank her, and saunter to the end of the food cases.The short counter there isfor samples.Peter and I won t have to talk over a five-foot wall of glass and stainlesssteel. Hello, I say.The syllable slides onto the marble surface between us like a butterpat, warm and soft. May I help you?A faint blush paints Peter s cheekbones. Not in the way I d like to be helped.Our eyes and smiles are doing most of the talking.If one of the girls were around,she d know right away what was going on.I m grateful Leon is explaining somethingabout borscht to a couple at the other side of the store. Your face looks normal, Peter says with a crease between his brows. I didn teven recognize you when I first walked in. Yeah, uh& Jackson s been applying this kind of& herbal mask or wrap orsomething to my face. I hate like hell lying to him, but I can t exactly blurt out that Iwas healed through magic.I mean, we re not primitive tribesmen or anything. You re cuter than I thought, Peter says, barely moving his lips.Eyes lowered, hestretches two fingers across the counter and touches my knuckles.I have my handscurled on the countertop.Although the contact is like a kiss of fine mist, barelydisrupting the sparse hair on my fingers, I feel it in my groin.At the moment, my eyes,ears, nose, every part of me seems wired to my crotch. I m hard for you, I say almost inaudibly, then clear my throat. Can I see youtonight? I d like that.Leon s accented voice creeps closer, so Peter and I move apart.He calmly asks fortwo potato pancakes as we stand separated by the case holding warming pans.I use apair of tongs to lift two irregular ovals, browned and a bit lumpy, into a Styrofoam box.Raggedy as they look, the pancakes are delicious.82 K.Z.Snow Would you like applesauce to go with them? I ask politely, as I ve beeninstructed to. No, thank you, Peter says with the same phony formality. I always eat themwith butter and salt and pepper.I shouldn t say anything more he s supposed to be just another customer, afterall but hell, we re getting to know each other, and I want to share with him the joy ofpotato pancakes slathered in the nine-apple sauce we get from an orchard in WaukeshaCounty. Someday, I tell him with a smile,  you will try them with applesauce.I can t letyou not experience  Carny! Leon barks, rolling the R and making my name sound like somedreadful invocation. What?Scowling, he tilts his head toward an elderly man waiting patiently in front of ablock of Sülze, or headcheese, farther to my right in the cold case. Thank you, I say to Peter as I hand him his purchase.Of course, he makes sureto touch my hand as he takes it. Come again.Jesus.I m just all dirty thoughts and wicked smiles and zipper-bulge today.Must be love, I think jokingly as Peter leaves the store.But the quiver I feel in thecenter of me isn t all that amusing.* * * *The week goes swimmingly.My coworkers at the Redbird keep casting mecurious looks, but nobody yells at me much.Felka, a Polish woman in her fifties andone of the Redbird s cooks, tells me I look like  the cat what ate mouse. At first I hear moose or maybe  mousse, which makes even less sense.Then Eunice, another olddoll who lives in West Allis, informs me that Felka means I look like the cat that ate theCarny s Magic 83canary.The ladies all laugh, except for Biti, who asks in a snippy way if I  got agirlfriend or something. I tell her no, I ve just been feeling good.And why wouldn t I? I spend every evening with a guy who s prettier than 90percent of the chicas in the city, probably ten times a better lay, and has the sweetesttemperament of anybody I ve ever known.In other words, I m having sex andconversation on a daily basis with somebody who seems too good to be true.Peter s moods have evened out.Although he still seems on the innocent side andhis background remains shrouded in mystery, his behavior at least suits his age.Therehaven t been any more of those startling swings.He s flirty and funny and genuinelyinterested in me.All of me, not just my modest package which, I sometimes imagine,has been covered in smiley stickers since our first evening together.According to Jackson, the Arthurs aren t even wondering why I m over there somuch.They figure Peter and I are too young for the bars and don t have our ownvehicles or a lot of disposable income, so we can t do much but  settle in and play videogames or watch television. And that (Jackson went on to tell me with a grin) makes us good boys who are keeping out of trouble. Dolly is very pleased that Peter  has sucha nice friend.Gotta say, Peter and I are pleased as well.Regardless of the Arthurs acceptance, we do talk about going out more.In fact,Jackson lets me borrow his car on Wednesday so Peter and I can catch a movie at theSouthgate Cinemas.For Peter it s an adventure.Aside from going to his modeling jobs,he doesn t get around much.I make sure to lock up the car once we get there.After we walk across the cinema sparking lot, Peter pulls to a stop in front of the entrance.The facade is a cheap andcheesy attempt at Art Deco styling. Wow, he says, studying the marquee,  there are nine movies showing! That s why it s called a multiplex. His astonishment makes me smile.AlthoughI m always puzzling over Peter s naïveté, I find it kind of charming.He isn t jaded like84 K.Z.Snoweverybody else I ve known.It s as refreshing as a long, cool drink after a long, stiflingday [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]