The Clown

I walk into a bar downtown where he’s performing stand up. It’s the first time I’ve met him. He’s unconventionally handsome, tall and skinny with long legs. He’s wearing a military style jacket and his shoulders are tense around his ears. I can tell from his voice that he chain smokes. He hands me an empty beer can “Okay, take this and when I’m up there I’m going to mime I’m pulling out my huge cock and that’s when you’ll drop the can.” My eyes are wide and I am nervous.

Mike Gold is hosting. Mike’s in a leotard and holding a rubber chicken on stage, making fart noises. The clown gets on, he whips out his mimed cock and I drop the can. No one else that night is as funny as him. Nothing happens between us. “I’m going to China for two weeks. When I get back we’ll hang out!” is the last thing he says to me on the J train.

Five years later we meet at a bar in Crown Heights. It’s our second date. As we sit at the bar he flips through his cell phone to show me our text messages from 5 years earlier. He jokes around about all of the women he’s met on dating apps. “What are you drinking?”

“Gin and tonic.”

“Niiiice.”

We discuss politics. Donald Trump is president now. I bring up the drama on Twitter over Cornel West and Ta-nehisi Coates. “I should make a video explaining neoliberalism to liberals.” He says, as he pulls out his phone to start typing furiously then stuffs it back into his pocket. The clown is more muscular now than before. He quit cigarettes but his voice is still raspy and he cackles when I make dry remarks.

I’m wearing a black top that ties up my breasts and a choker around my neck. I wore it because I wanted to turn him on. Being around him makes me wet. He has a gentle nervous energy that excites me. When he gets riled up about politics his voice cracks and he shrieks. I imagine what it will be like to sit on his face. We sit there for a few hours before he calls it a night. He has to be up early. I call a car and he walks me outside.

On the way home I get a text from him “So I meant to ask are you into BDSM?”

For our third date he invites me to a sex club. “Do you want to go to this show?” He sends me a link to an art exhibit.

“Seems cool.” I say.

“Oh wait, or do you want to go to this sex party?”

“Yeah, sure!” I text back.

He tells me about a club he found on Fetlife. It’s on the west side. “We have to dress up.”

Later that day he sends me an Instagram photo of a domme getting her ass licked by a slave. “I want to do this to you.”

“You follow some pretty cool Instagram accounts.”

We meet at a bar near the club. He’s wearing a leather jacket he borrowed from a roommate.

“I think submissive men are really sexy.”

As I say this he turns his head to stare at a couple of attractive women walking past us. He stops himself and turns back to make eye contact with me. “Oh, that’s really awesome. I’m glad.”

After two drinks we leave for the club. It’s a heavy unmarked door on 6th Avenue. We walk up narrow flights of stairs into an abandoned apartment turned seedy private event space.  We are greeted by a woman in her early 20s. She explains the rules of consent and takes our coats. He pays for us. She walks us to the bar where a few undesirable men are hanging around on couches. The doorwoman points to an empty bar, “It’s BYOB”. There’s a folding table with a bowl of pretzels and cheese puffs.

Next she takes us to the bathrooms (condoms, lube and baby wipes) as we move onto the sex room. It’s a large open space filled with sterile looking bed frames and cheap pillows. It’s mostly empty except for two couples just finishing up. A woman with short blonde hair stands to wipe the cum out of her pussy. The clown and I are in shock and explain we’re going to have a cigarette.

We enter the smoking room and stare at each other holding back laughter. A young woman walks into the room and introduces herself to us. She has blue hair and says she’s from Philly. “This is kind of a boring night, you should really come back on gang bang night, that’s on Sunday.” We talk to her for a while and I think to myself that she must want to sleep with him. I like watching how excited he gets learning about how the sex club scene works. I think about taking him into the room with all the beds so I can ride his cock.

“Cool, cool, well we’re going to run out quick and get some liquor since it’s BYOB!” I’m thankful he’s made an excuse for us to leave.

“What did the woman look like?” He asks, as both of us high from the experience speed walk back to the subway. “What was she doing when we walked into the room again? What happened?” His memory is blanking from the adrenaline and he wants to remember. I explain to him the details—the tissues, the empty beds, watching her hand glide up her pussy while she lifted her leg to clean herself.

“You’re going to replay that in your head all night.” I say.

He cackles and then stops himself—“You’re right, I am.”

He takes me to one of his favorite bars. It’s crowded and we’re standing close. He smiles. “You’re so cute,” he says, when I make a stupid face.

We go back to his apartment that night and for the first time I see his bedroom. It’s decorated immaculately but oddly. The walls are filled with pictures and paintings of sad clowns and hobos. Old show props and stacks of shelves with weird ceramic nostalgia. Something that should be scary is actually very charming. The entire space is dedicated to his personality.

I turn to him and he strips off all his clothes. He stands in front of me like a boy and offers himself. I tell him to sit down. He lifts his arms for me to come to him. I pull my dress up to take off my panties, still wearing the thigh highs I had prepared for the sex club. I straddle his body and slide down on his cock. It’s perfectly stiff and I can’t believe I’m finally fucking him. He gasps and kisses me. I start riding him slowly and he closes his eyes, in and out, he breathes and pants with a softness I’ve never experienced before.

I slide my pussy up and down and pulse so I can feel him deep inside me. I pull my breasts out and push them in his face. “Lick on my nipples.” He puts his mouth on them and starts suckling and biting me while I slide my hand over my pussy to finger my clit.  

I get bored and pull back. I grab his hair to jerk his head and shove my fingers in his mouth. He enjoys it and begins to moan louder, never opening his eyes. I fuck him harder because I want to cum and he starts to get quiet. I feel his body tighten and his hips rise up beneath me. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I came.” His body is limp, he’s relaxed. His body is never this relaxed.

I start to kiss him. He kisses me back but now he’s tired. “I need sleep or I get really depressed.”  

I’m drunk and so happy that I made him cum. I ignore the fact that I did not. Afterward, we walk up to his lofted bed along a tight wooden staircase that has no railing. It feels like I’m going to fall and I try to find space between all the frames and perfectly hung artwork to catch my balance. I don’t want to disturb anything.

We lay in bed and before I fall asleep I find myself staring at a picture of Andy Kaufman hanging directly in front of us.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Did you cum?”

“No. It’s okay, I’m drunk, I can’t.”

“Okay, I just don’t want to be selfish.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not selfish.” I turn toward him and our legs touch, he flinches.

“Goodnight.”

Photo by Helmut Newton

KinkCamille Claudelmain