This classic gay pulp novel from the 1970’s features the tried and true formula of star-crossed lovers from the wrong side of the tracks set in the unique world of traveling circus performers.
Mike is the sheltered son of an old-world trapeze family traveling the US with the Prince Royal Circus. Roustabout Jerry is a rootless orphan, one of the faceless behind-the-scenes crew who put up and break down tents and attractions as the show moves from town to town. One is a star, the other has nothing but a motorcycle and his dreams of becoming a stunt rides: their romance breaks all the rules of circus society. Can they stay the course and prove that love conquers all?
Still perspiring, Mike stripped off his tights, stepped out of his sweaty jock and walked naked around the tent in circles, pounding a bandaged fist into the palm of his other bandaged hand.
“Damn it, Jerry, why did I try to show off? Stan warned me about trying to outshine Rudi. I'm going to catch all kinds of hell.”
Jerry had no idea what Mike meant.
“Accidents happen,” he said. “Thank God it wasn’t a serious one.”
Never in his life had Jerry thought about a man's body being more or less desirable than his own. Never had the sight of a man, either clothed or not, meant anything to him one way or another. Now, seeing Mike stripped naked, he found himself running his eyes over his body, seeing… recognizing for the first time a certain glorification of the nude male body. Suddenly Jerry began to understand why he had been dreaming about Mike. He found himself with a thumping hard on straining inside his pants and hoped Mike hadn't noticed.
Mike had never felt this way about a broad; in and out, that's all it was. But this was something that seemed to be in the cards: walking in, wanting to help. Having his friend call him by name… that much he could understand, accept. But why did the sight of Mike’s body turn him on? Hell, he had his own big pecker and balls and all he had to do was look in a mirror. But this was different.
Mike said, “Will you do me a favor, Jerry?”
“Name it.”
“I feel sweaty... need a shower. But I hate to undo the neat job you did bandaging my hands. Turn it on and I'll get in; hold my hands outside the stall so I won't get your handiwork wet.”
It was the strangest and most difficult request anyone had ever made of him. Jerry did it: Turned the shower on and, when Mike backed under the spray, held his outstretched hands clear of the dancing water that played over his body. Was it Jerry's hands that were trembling, or was it Mike's… or both?
“That's great, Jerry. The water's just the right temperature.”
“Want me to soap you down?” Jerry found himself asking. “You could put your hands around my neck and keep them dry.”
“Yeah, do that.” Mike dropped his arms around Jerry's neck and stood while Jerry lathered his chest, armpits, shoulders and belly. Then, as if living one of his dreams of Mike, he lathered his crotch area, hands moving Mike's cock and balls, which until now had always been confined into a provocative bulge in his circus tights.
“Hey, that feels good,” Mike said as Jerry finished soaping him and let the shower spray melt the suds away
