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"Frank? What's the matter with Frank?" I yelled over the sound of rushing water. The outdoor shower was cold, and I was just trying to get clean and get it over with, but Karl always sprung things on me when I was somewhere that I couldn't easily leave. He liked a captive audience for his more questionable (in my opinion) ideas. I spit and spluttered out the soap that had flowed down from my hair when I'd turned my closed eyes (and open mouth) toward him.

"I said - Frank needs cheering up." Karl raised his voice a little more.

Jesus, I thought dourly, who elected him morale officer? Besides, Frank always looked a little down, to me. I had decided it was just his 'way'. Frank was currently double-billed as the "World's Thinnest Man" and "Gerry the Geek". Being both skinny as a rail and eating live bugs and whole chicken eggs two shows a day ought to be enough to depress anyone.

We were wintering in Florida again this year, February of 1923 it was, and were only open on weekends, so there was time for needed repairs and maintenance to vehicles, tents, and rides, as well as some rest and relaxation for the performers. But Karl had never liked lying around - it gave him ideas. Some, I had to admit, were good, but some...

I turned off the single faucet, wrapped a towel around my middle and pushed open the wooden door to confront Karl face to face. He grinned in his usual good-natured fashion and all my objections melted away. I grinned too, turning to walk with him back to our trailer. "OK, Frank is depressed, what are we supposed to do about it?"

"Oh, I dunno," he grinned again, letting me know that he thought he'd talked me into something - again, "I thought maybe we could take him out on the town, introduce him to some guys, you know - and then bring him home and fuck him."

I squinted and shook my head; I couldn't have heard this right. "Excuse me," I stopped walking, "you want to fuck Frank? Our Frank?" Karl laughed aloud this time. Hattie, the fortune-teller, stuck her kerchief-wrapped head out of her nearby trailer's window and waved. We both knew better than to let Hattie hear anything private, so Karl took my arm and we waved back and quickly walked on. If Hattie heard something interesting, it wouldn't be long before everyone in the camp knew all about it.

When we were safely in the comparative privacy of the trailer we shared, Karl sat down at the table across from me. "OK," I said slowly and evenly - trying to treat him like the imbecile I thought he sounded like, "what is all this about again?"

"Frank." he said, being equally slow and maddening, "He's our friend, isn't he?" I had to think for a minute. As a rule, Karl made friends faster and easier than I did. No matter how often I lectured him about being my business partner, he refused to worry, as I had to, about the responsibilities of being 'the boss'.

"Sure," I said at last, "he's a friend. Does that mean we have to cheer him up, and that the only way to do that is to have sex with him? Frank!" Of all the men I knew or could think of, Frank was one of the least attractive. Karl must have read my mind because the bright blue eyes under the shock of unruly orange-red hair twinkled. I was about to be teased. "What makes you think I haven't already?"

I snorted. "Good, then he's happy now. Leave me out of it." I stood up, shedding the towel, and turned to the closet to look for something clean to wear. I still had my nightly rounds of the camp to make. Damn - time to visit the laundry again. If there was anything I hated, it was washing my own clothes. Maybe I could con someone into doing it for me.

I hadn't even known Frank was a fellow fag until I heard (from Hattie, of course) that he had made 'brazen overtures' to André, our resident strong man. André was taller than I am and weighed over 250 pounds, none of it fat, so I had problems picturing him with skinny, fussy little Frank. Well, apparently André had the same problems. I snickered to myself; too bad Frank hadn't picked on someone his own size.

I was back to grumbling under my breath about the state of my wardrobe when I felt a pair of strong arms slide around my waist and a stubbled chin rest on my shoulder. "You don't have to get dressed on my account."

I sighed, leaning back against him, all grouchy thoughts forgotten. It felt so good to be held in his arms, to know he was there to depend on. We might disagree - sometimes explosively - but we always ended up on the same side. I wished I didn't have anything else to do that night - that I could just lose myself in Karl's tenderness as he made love to me.

For just a minute, I pulled his arms tighter and held on. He smelled good, like sweat and sunshine. A smile curved my lips. Sometimes I could hardly believe that I hadn't always loved Karl - that at one time he'd been the most irritating person in my universe. Now... now I couldn't imagine life without him.

But - there were things that needed doing. I sighed again, standing straighter and pulling away from Karl. He didn't resist except to give me one last quick squeeze, but he did reach around me into the closet and pull out one of his own clean shirts, a red plaid one that he always looked especially nice in, and hand it to me. "There," he said triumphantly, "that solves half your problem!"

I had to smile as I pulled on the shirt. We were near enough the same size that it wasn't an issue. There was a fairly fresh pair of denims under our platform bed, so I was soon decent enough to make do. Running my fingers through my hair in lieu of a proper combing, I turned back to Karl. "What would I do without you?"

He grinned that shit-eating grin of his again. "Pal, you'd be in real trouble."

Half-hearted, I tried to punch him on my way out the door, but he ducked - laughing.

In less than an hour my evening's work was over. There had been only the usual problems and gripes, nothing major to take care of. The camp was relatively quiet now; only a few individual fires added their heat to the night's warmth and I could clearly hear Smokey's mouth harp softly singing "My Old Kentucky Home". He wouldn't play the harmonica if you asked him, but leave him alone at night and we could all enjoy his musical talent.

The job of opening the carnival gates on Friday was safely two days away and the future stretched ahead, fresh and seemingly endless. I liked taking it easy like this, but some part of me felt like I was shirking, that I ought to be doing more.

Overhead, the first star winked on in the hazy dusk. I thought about heading back to the trailer and Karl but, as happened most every evening when we weren't operating, my feet led me to the carousel.

It was dark there, away from all the trailers and living tops, where the familiar shape pressed its charcoal outline into the light still staining the western sky.

I stopped, inhaling faint traces of sawdust, paint and metal. I could also smell fresh grease - Joe and Smokey had been working on the gears again.

Even in the harsh brightness of noon, the carousel was enchanting; its wild-eyed ponies ready to transport a childlike heart on the adventures of cowboys and Indians, or to race for the Triple Crown on the back of an untamed stallion. But at night - at night it was magic.

I didn't need a light as I stepped aboard the silent mechanism. It was quiet, yes, but not sleeping. I could almost hear the snorts of steam from dilated nostrils, wild whinnies from open mouths; feel from each perfectly formed body its quivering readiness to run.

Shuffling my bare feet along the worn boards of the platform, I made my way to the side of my favorite. As I passed the almost-breathing lines of carved flesh, I affectionately patted this neck and that rump. The carousel horses had been with me for three years and with the carnival for much longer. Carved by a master, they were simultaneously entertainment and art.

I loved them all, the paint and the bay, the dapple-gray with his jaunty coat of spots, but the black drew me like iron filings dancing in the mysterious unseen force of a magnet. Frozen in the act of plunging forward, his delicate head to one side, graceful neck arched, muscular flanks bunched for the next leap and then the next, he was beautiful. I knew that the gloss of his side was merely the fresh coat of paint he had received but, with eyes closed, my hand stroked and felt smooth hair over hot skin.

As though mesmerized, I placed a foot in the metal stirrup and swung my body into the saddle. On his back I could go anywhere, to the snows of Alaska, to the mysterious Far East, or off among the stars in search of distant planets. Where would I ask him to take me tonight?

Very near at hand, someone cleared his throat noisily. I started, grabbing at the brass pole in front of me for balance. Damn, he'd done it to me again. "Karl...!" He sat up like a jack in the box from the seat of the swan boat in front of me.

"Hi Lucas," he grinned, "I've been waiting for a while, what took you so long?"

Chagrinned at my predictability, I stepped off the black horse and advanced on Karl, determined that this time he would pay dearly for his effrontery.

I changed my mind when I smelled the food he'd brought and realized how hungry I was. A whole spit roasted chicken, potatoes baked in the coals, some fresh-picked wild greens and a bowl of sweet berries for dessert. Karl was a good rough cook when he wanted to be, and we shared the bounty until the last plate was licked clean.

Replete at last, I relaxed against the backrest of the swan boat, wiping my greasy fingers on my pant leg. A couple of the camp dogs had come begging for the bones and there wasn't much left to clean up, which was fine by me.

Karl's arm went around my shoulders, gathering me in, and I let my head fall back against the firm softness of his chest. There were worries in my life, things I wanted and things I didn't understand but, right then, everything was good. He bent his head and kissed me, lips moist and warm, and I turned and pulled him closer.

Long dexterous fingers unbuttoned the red plaid shirt and slipped inside to play with my erect nipples. I was already hard and throbbing and suddenly I wanted him inside me now! But I dropped to my knees on the age-smoothed planks and spread his legs until I fit between them.

A few buttons, quickly undone, and I had his beautiful cock in my hands. Karl looked down at me, face serious for once, eyes glowing. I felt something wordless pass between us and I knew he was mine, to do with as I wished. That was all right because I belonged to him as well. When I lowered my mouth over the crown of his long thick shaft, he moaned deep in his throat. "Jesus, Lucas - that feels so good!"

His foreskin had partially retracted and I used my tongue to finish the job, enjoying the rich, perfect taste of him in my mouth. I sucked him down into my throat, and heard the bench creak as his hands clenched tight on the old dry wood. I moved my head up and down slowly, stopping at the top of each stroke to caress his most sensitive spots with my tongue. After a while Karl's hand pushed on my shoulder, his voice quiet but rough. "You've got to stop, babe - I can't take much more of that!"

I withdrew slowly, breathing fast, feeling the empty ache inside me. I loved pleasuring him, but I wanted him in me, and it was good to know he felt the same. I stood up in front of him, letting him unfasten my denims to fall loose around my ankles. The night air was cool on my cock, but Karl's hands were warm. He kissed my belly, and licked up the underside of my shaft making me shiver. It felt wonderful, and I knew he enjoyed doing it, but it wasn't what I really wanted. My sphincter tingled with anticipation.

I stopped to kiss Karl softly before I turned around and leaned my arms on the seat of the bench next to him. He moved and I felt him behind me, hands caressing my thighs and back, lightly pinching my nipples, his erection pulsing along the crack of my ass. I moaned and pushed back, feeling the heat from his warm body close around me.

I heard him spit to add to the liquor already dripping from his prick. We'd been together for a while, but he was always considerate, making sure not to hurt me. I had yet to convince him that nothing he did to me could ever hurt.

I felt him position himself and slide in part way with a groan that ripped a cry from my throat. It felt so good! I reached back to pull him all the way in, filling me until he hit bottom and his balls swung against mine.

Joined with my lover, I felt complete at last. I wanted just to stay like this, never moving - and yet I couldn't wait to feel him piston against all my favorite places inside.

It wasn't long before he obliged me, biting gently at my neck and shoulders as he thrust to fill me again and again. He grasped my hips as we found our rhythm and I pushed back hard, giving myself without reservation.

When I felt his tool swell even more inside me, I couldn't hold back and my spunk exploded out of me, even as I felt him shiver and spasm, filling me up.

A few breathless moments later Karl turned to collapse back on the bench, pulling me with him onto his lap, his cock still buried deep inside me. I twisted in his arms and we kissed for a long while.

When we'd recovered enough, we pulled on trousers for decency's sake and Karl brought out a handkerchief and wiped away the evidence of our pleasure. The camp was silent now, as we walked arm-in-arm to our trailer. I yawned, not bothering to light a lamp before falling into bed next to my lover, my best friend.

The subject of Frank Wilson came back to me first thing next morning. The man in question met me as I walked down the midway. He was dressed, as usual, in a spotless shirt and trousers specially tailored to fit his scrawny body. At maybe 5' 9", Frank couldn't have weighed more than 100 pounds.

"Mr. Stone," came Frank's light voice, "may I speak to you for a few minutes?" He'd worked for me for almost a year now, but never called me 'boss' as most of the others did, even those I thought of as friends. This touch of formality, I realized now, might have kept Frank on the perimeter of my thoughts. I'd never really considered him much at all, and now I felt badly about my neglect. No matter how he looked or what his manner, Frank deserved the same consideration I gave the rest of the company. That would start today, especially since I now knew that he was a member of the same elite group Karl and I belonged to.

"Sure, Frank. Let's get a cup of coffee." Coffee was available most any time of day from a large enamel pot over a small fire maintained by the roustabouts on a schedule I'd never figured out. Frank and I each took a cup and filled it, then I followed as he led me away from the camp proper. Whatever he wanted to say, I was guessing he didn't want all to hear it.

Frank stopped, looking down to stir the dust with the toe of one narrow boot. When he spoke, his voice was quiet enough that I had to strain to make it out.

"Mr. Stone, I've been thinking about leaving the show." That surprised me, though I supposed it shouldn't have, having been told that he was unhappy.

"Why do you want to leave us, Frank?" I thought back to Karl's idea of the day before, which I hadn't taken seriously. "Is there something we could do to make you happier here, more comfortable?"

But Frank didn't look up. I studied the nape of his thin neck visible between his collar and short brown hair. "No sir, I expect not. I just thought maybe I'd head for New York or one of those big cities. Some place I'd maybe be better at fitting in."

"Why Frank, you fit in here just fine." It irritated me a bit that he called me 'sir'. I figured us to be around the same age. I had a thought. "Have you tired of what you're doing? Is there some other act you'd like to try?"

"Oh no, sir," He spoke up, "I don't mind the people staring at me, I'm thinner than most and no mistake, might as well make use of it. And the eggs and bugs I eat in the show, well... they're not that bad. Fact is, I like this job, sir. The best part of it is that it doesn't take much of my time and I can do what I want for the rest of the day."

I looked at him close. "And what is it you want to do, Frank?"

"Well," his pale face reddened a little, "I...I..., well, I like to paint, sir."

My mind jumped first to houses and barns. I shook my head at the image of Frank in overalls with a brush and a can of whitewash. "You mean like, an... artist, painting pictures?" I said in disbelief.

Frank looked down again. "I know it's no fit pastime for a grown man, sir, but I like to do it and it doesn't hurt anyone." He lifted his chin and looked me square in the eye for the first time. "So, why shouldn't I?"

I sure couldn't think of a reason.

"Frank," I said, turning and dumping out the rest of my coffee, "I'd be pleased to see some of these pictures of yours."

The little man looked as flustered as if I'd asked to see him naked, and perhaps, in a way, I had. "Well, I don't usually show them to anyone but, if you'd really like to see them, then I suppose..." He walked hesitantly to his little trailer as I followed, opened the door and invited me in. I sat down in the only chair, smelling turpentine and oil, while Frank pulled back a curtain that closed off half the small space. There, beside a jar full of small brushes, stood a triangle wooden easel and on it was a not quite finished painting. I could tell at once that the subject was our strong man, Andre, drawn from about the waist up. It was done almost as fine as an image captured by a camera, but with colors. The effect was somehow better than a photograph. I felt like Andre was right there, ready to speak to me.

Frank was rummaging around on a shelf behind the picture. He noticed where I was looking and exclaimed, "Oh, no, I never meant for you to see that one!" He moved as though to throw a cloth over it, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"Frank, that's wonderful! He looks better than real, almost alive!" Frank ducked his head and then peered up at me.

"You really like it? You don't think it's...indecent?" Well, I had noticed that the picture of Andre wasn't wearing even the abbreviated shirt he wore on stage but, to my tastes, it was all the more interesting for that. I supposed there were some church-going folks that might be shocked but, even with all the carefully detailed shiny bulging muscles on display, it was far from 'indecent'. It did, however, bring up other questions.

"Frank, when did Andre pose for this?" If he and Frank were as close as this picture implied then Hattie and Karl might be wrong in thinking that Andre had rebuffed Frank's reported advances.

Frank seemed surprised. "Do you mean as a model? Oh, never." He looked fondly at the picture. "I did this one from memory." A slight blush rose up his neck. He turned to me, eyes wide. "I should never have showed it to you!"

I sat back and crossed my legs, all relaxed; in the hopes Frank would relax too. "Show me another one."

He steadied a bit, then selected a small cloth wrapped rectangle from a shelf and brought it over to me. This one was a portrait of Hattie, dressed for a show in a blue spangled costume with a big gold earring in each ear and paint on her face. Her crystal ball was held out in front of her and her expression was one of mingled mystery and pride. I'd never seen Hattie look so good. "Has Hattie seen this?" I asked him. He reclaimed the painted canvas from my hands and held it protectively.

"Why, no, Mr. Stone, this is all just a fancy of mine. I've never shown these pictures to anyone - until now." My mind was working.

"Frank, how'd you like another job? How about if you paint us some pictures of all the performers, maybe the camels and elephant too? The paintings don't have to be as fine as these are, but they'd need to be lots bigger." I smiled at the bright idea. "Just think how nice they'd look hung outside the big tent. Why, the marks would just have to go inside and see the real thing!"

"Because of my pictures? Oh, that would be wonderful!" Frank's eyes had brightened and he was holding his hands clutched together in front of him and looking up as though seeing a vision of the Promised Land. Then he looked back over at the painting of Andre, his face fell, and he sat down on the narrow bed. "No, Mr. Stone, I'm sorry. It will be better for everyone if I just go."

Well, I didn't think that would suit me, now that I knew about Frank's talents, and I thought it might be time to put Karl's idea into play. "Frank, before you decide that for certain, let Karl and I take you out on the town tonight, get to know each other a little bit. We're nowhere near a big place like New York City, but there's some entertainment to be had hereabouts and we'd like to share it with you."

Frank looked at me, questioning. "Entertainment? You and Karl?"

"That's right. Sort of a 'gentlemen's club', you might say." I nodded my head as I saw the answering light dawn in Frank's brown eyes. He was looking at me as though seeing me for the first time.

"Oh," he said, in his high voice, "Oh!"

Now, André Lamarque was another story altogether. It was obvious from Frank's reactions about his picture of André that there was for sure some interest there, on his part at least. If things could work out between Frank and André, I kind of felt that Frank might want to stay with the show, and then I wouldn't lose his artistic talent.

But I needed to know how Andre felt about the whole thing, and if Frank had really approached him. That seemed way out of character to me. Maybe I was judging his particular book by its cover, but I had Frank pegged as the passive sort.

Like most of our performers, André had a wheeled trailer to live in. Unlike most of us, wherever we made camp he set up a tent as well. He was in the tent when I walked over. The canvas sides were rolled up to let in the breeze, so I didn't really feel like I could be intruding on him any. I could clearly see the man himself, dressed in a white singlet and shorts that stood out against his tanned skin; he was surrounded by enough metal in one shape or another to stock a modest blacksmith shop. Polished and painted bars, discs, and pyramids of all sizes were arranged neatly on stands around the whole outside edge of the space. As I watched, he picked up an iron bar with two large discs on either end from off its stand, lifted it suddenly high over his head with both hands, arms extended, and then brought it down to rest on his shoulders. It sat there for a moment, reminding me of Atlas' burden, and then, with an easy movement, the bar rested safely back on its stand. It was extra warm today and Andre was breathing hard. He took a long drink from a water jug before grabbing a rag and wiping the sweat off his clean-shaven head and hairless, muscled chest. I found that I was breathing a little harder myself.

"Afternoon, André. That was mighty impressive." I pointed at the bar he'd just lifted. "How much weight is that?"

He glanced over casually. "Two hundred pounds, not counting the bar." He smiled through his walrus mustache. "I'm just warming up."

I shook my head, reading the weights printed on the black painted pyramid shapes: fifty, seventy-five, all the way up to three hundred pounds. I'd seen André lift two of the largest ones at the same time, on stage. I walked over to the stand, curious. I dusted my hands with chalk and placed them as I'd seen Andre do, then braced myself and pushed up. The bar moved, just a little, and then I felt Andre's arms go around me from behind and his hands hold next to mine. "Bend your knees a little, then lift with your legs at first. Find a balance and then slowly straighten your arms."

I tried to do what he said, distracted by those massive chest muscles rubbing against my back. I concentrated and paid more attention to the task and the bar came off its stand. It felt heavy, but I didn't know how much of the weight André was taking. I pushed the weight up as smooth as I could, 'til my arms were straight over my head. It felt good, balanced there, not as hard as the lifting part. It wasn't long before my muscles protested but, when I started trying to lower it, the bar began to slip and André steadied me until it was back where it belonged again.

He stepped away from me and when I turned I thought there might be a little more warmth in his eyes than before. "Not bad, Boss. Let me know when you want to start serious training."