— Previously published in Honcho magazine - September, 1994 —

— The BIG and small of it —

Midnight, the 11th of August, in the middle of a torrential downpour, we were waiting for the first o' May. In my world, the world of the traveling carnival, the first of May was the traditional date for a show to hit the road for the summer, which also made it the first day on the job for any fresh-faced newcomer. "First o' May" thus became the nickname given to any new, inexperienced employee — regardless of the date on which he started work.

It was also a carney tradition that a First o' May was fair game for anyone and anything. And, carneys being carneys, anything meant anything — although I personally would never take advantage of some humpy, helplessly naive young man....

I am the manager of a carnival freak show and one of the star attractions; I'm a dwarf. My name is Arnold, but nobody ever calls me that. They call me Tripod. I bet you can figure out why all by yourself, especially if... like me... you've got a dirty mind. A lot of people shorten it to Tri, which I don't mind, but if you call me Tripe, I'll fracture one of your shins.

Although it's nothing fancy, I'm proud of our little operation. With what we've got, we put on a damned good show, if I do say so myself. That is, we did put on a damned good show until Remora, Mississippi, which was where Deep Throat — our extraordinarily talented sword swallower — made the mistake of swallowing a pork sword which happened to be attached to the groin of a deputy sheriff.

I'd only had five live exhibits in the show to start with: Tiny, the world's fattest man; Plastikko, the boneless wonder; Grr-garraj, the animal-boy; Deep Throat, and me. Without Deep Throat, even the rubes felt four exhibits was a rip-off and began demanding their money back. Our box office take suffered such a plunge that the front office finally listened to my bitching. But they were so cheap, the telegram announcing that they'd hired someone new for me said only: "Replacement. Stop. Bottomville Alabama. Stop. Thursday. Stop."

Well, this was Bottomville. This was Thursday. Where the fuck was our First o' May?

Actually, it was now after midnight, so it wasn't Thursday anymore. Thanks to the rain, we had to closed down early — Bottomville was not one of the high points on the circuit even in the best of weather — and the four of us crammed into my trailer, which doubled as the show's office, where we sat glumly listening to the rain on the roof and drinking up the night's meager profits.

We speculated a bit about the First o' May, but didn't get far. Since our miserly front office had not even told us the name, much less the specialty, we didn't even know if we were getting a he or a she. Female freaks went over big with the audience, but if we got a woman I would have to stop stripping off my costume the minute the last show ended and running around stark naked the way I liked. The others were all used to it. They'd seen my hose before. Hell, all three of them had done more than just look at it. None of them had Deep Throat's talent, however. Damn, I missed that boy!

Tiny shifted his five hundred and twenty-six pounds from one ham to the other, making the ice in his glass tinkle and the whole trailer rock faintly. (He claimed he couldn't remember ever seeing his own dick except in a mirror. I'd seen it often enough. It was perfectly normal in all respects but, peeking out from the midst of all that fat, it looked tiny, hence the nickname.) He took a dainty sip from his drink with a pious look on his face. "Let us pray that this one is a clean, properly brought up young man," he said, but he gave my cock a lingering glance and smacked his lips in such a way that I could tell he was remembering with hypocritical pleasure the cheesy uncut cock of our last First o' May.

Laurence, which was the animal boy's real name, picked lint from the knee of his trousers and rumbled in a bass voice, "For my part, I pray we get someone who plays a decent game of chess."

"I pray too," I said, waggling my furry blond legs that barely dangled off the end of the chair, making my dick flop up and down. "I pray he's got a big schlong and a tight butt!"

Tiny pursed his lips with a loud disapproving smack.

I glared at him. "Something wrong, Tiny?"

He was never quite sure whether I was teasing or not. He arranged his face in a simper and cooed, "No, not a thing, boss."

"Good," I said, "because you're making the exact same noise you make when you suck my dick, and it's turning me on!"

Everybody laughed at that, even Tiny, but Plastikko, sitting in his usual position with his feet tucked comfortably behind his ears, found it so hilarious he couldn't stop giggling. Finally, Tiny reached out to give him an indignant smack. As he did so, the trailer dipped sharply to one side.

Startled looks flew back and forth among us. "Earthquake!" was my first thought, but so far as I knew they were fairly rare in Alabama.

Then, there came a knock like thunder at the door and I realized that the trailer had dipped the way it did because somebody had mounted the step outside the trailer's side door. Somebody big. Real big.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one to reach that conclusion because Tiny squeaked, "But I'm the Fat Man here!"

"It's open!" I roared out, but whoever it was couldn't hear me over the rain so I jumped up and shoved the door open wide. A figure squeezed through it and into my minuscule office/living room, carrying a soaked satchel in one hand and a dripping duffel bag in the other. Dropping the bags with wet plops at our feet, he stood slightly hunched and with his knees bent, but even so, his jet-black crew-cut brushed the roof of the trailer — our First o' May was a giant!

To Tiny's audible relief, he was not fat. Oh, he was far from fat! The wet shirt and pants clung to his massive shoulders and bulbous thighs more like paint than cloth. Raindrops trickled over the broad planes of his musculature.

Big as he was, he couldn't have been more than twenty, and apparently being stared at by the four of us made our First o' May somewhat uncomfortable. He tried several times to get a smile to stay on his face but it kept sliding off again, while his glance ricocheted all over the interior of the trailer, all over everything except my crotch.

"Uh, hi," he said. His voice was so deep that, beneath my bare feet, the trailer floor resonated with each syllable. "I guess I'm late, huh?"

I strutted forward and stared up at him. "Are you that big all over?"

He did not know how to take that. He kind of laughed and then kind of shrugged and then just kind of stood there. He shivered and I could see he was dead tired. My urge to ream the hell out of him for being so late evaporated.

"This your first time on the road?"

He nodded.

Whaddaya know! We had ourselves a gen-u-ine First o' May!

"Don't worry, kid," I smiled, "I can see you're going to be a BIG success!"

Nobody else laughed — hey, I'm a dwarf, not a stand-up comic — but at least his smile returned and managed to stay there for a moment.

"Let's get you into bed," I said, making get-out-of-here gestures at the others. "You'll bunk right here... with me."

Plastikko was the one who had shared a trailer with Deep Throat. He untangled his legs and started to protest. "Why? Me and Deep — "

"Because I'm the boss! Isn't that right?"

The three of them reluctantly nodded, muttering that yeah, uh-huh, that was right, alright.

"Now the rest of you get out of here. Go on back to your trailers."

They started to go, albeit slowly.

"And you... get out of them wet clothes!"

That brought their exodus to an abrupt halt.

"I said, 'out!' Out means out now!"

They all knew that tone of voice very well and promptly piled out into the rain without another word.

The First o' May braced himself with his hands against the ceiling until the trailer stopped rocking from Tiny's exit. Then, hesitantly, he started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

I sat down on the couch to watch the show.

He shook the rainwater out of his eyes and pulled the wet shirt off, unveiling a magnificent, smooth-skinned torso. His nipples were so far apart I would have been hard pressed to tweak the left one if I'd been sucking on the right. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. I guess being half-naked made him shy — or maybe he'd just never been leered at by a bare-assed dwarf before. Apparently, my guess number two was the reason, because he cleared his throat and rumbled, "I, um, never met a little person before."

Well, what do you know, politically correct as well! Personally, I think the phrase "little person" makes me sound like a Barbie doll, but at least, he was trying to be polite. I smiled at him. "That about makes us even since I never had me a giant before."

He ducked his head and concentrated on his belt buckle while he thought over the possibilities of my phrasing. I didn't give him time to go through them all.

"What's your name?" I asked

"Elroy."

"Oh ... good name."

"What's yours, sir?"

"Those that know me best," said I, leaning back with my hands tucked behind my head, "call me Tripod."

"Tripod?" He pulled down his zipper. "That's one of them three-legged things. Why would they call you... Oh!"

For the first time I saw his eyes flick to my groin. They widened. My dick had been growing ever since he'd started to strip. It was still only halfway hard, but that was enough to make him freeze, giving me just a tantalizing glimpse of a V of white underpants through his unzipped fly.

Let me explain something basic about us little people. We come in two kinds, midgets and dwarfs. A midget has everything in the same proportion as a regular-sized human, except everything is smaller: tiny hands, little feet, teeny weenie. But a dwarf, ah, a dwarf is not just smaller; he is different! Some things are smaller — like we have shorts arms and stumpy legs — but some other things are occasionally even larger than ordinary-sized people's, like our heads or, in a few fortunate cases....

"I'm showing you mine," I said, "Now how about you showing me...."

"I don't do that kind of stuff!" he said quickly, but not angrily.

"Yeah, you do. With me."

He shivered. "I do?"

"Yep."

"Well, sir, I am awful wet...."

"That's right. And we don't want you to catch your" — I stood up and jerked his pants down to his knees — "death."

He staggered and threw his hands up against the ceiling to steady himself. What with his suddenly bared crotch and exposed armpits, I got a nice, strong whiff of wet male.

Rain-soaked underpants don't hide much. What was cupped in the pouch of his half-transparent Jockey shorts did not live up to the size of the rest of him and I was glad to see it. After all, everybody has their limits and I am only a dwarf; anything much over eight inches is more than I am willing to handle — usually. Eight inches looked to be just about exactly what he had, but his massive overall size could be throwing off my pinpoint accuracy in these matters and I like to be sure. So before he could recover his balance and bring his arms back down, I got my fingers under the waistband of his underwear and shucked them down to mid-thigh.

Sure enough, eight inches flopped out, thwacked me on the cheek, and dangled limply in front of my face. It was circumcised but that's okay; I'm an equal opportunity cock-sucker. A trickle of water followed a vein down the length of it and disappeared around the curve of the glans. His balls were a nice respectable size too, although the sack, covered in goose-bumps, had pulled them up tight.

But I barely got a glimpse of all that before the young giant shielded his genitals with his hands and turned away from me, shivering.

"Um, want a towel?" I offered.

He nodded over his shoulders at me and I scooted into the bathroom. When I turned back around, Elroy had bent over to fiddle with the knots of his work boots, presenting me with a huge, irresistible full moon. Trailers being the size they are, and him being the size he was, the smooth-fleshed ass protruded halfway down the hall toward me. I tip-toed back and ran my tongue up his crack as far as it would reach.

He jerked upright, whacked his head on the ceiling, tangled in his own pants, tripped over the duffel bag, and toppled like an oak tree face down on the couch. He instantly flipped himself over onto his back with his hands blocking his cock and balls. His eyes stared wildly at me like he thought I was trying to murder him.

"No, no, no!" he kept saying.

The trailer wallowed like a ship in a storm.

"What do you mean, 'No, no, no'? Did I hurt you?"

"Uh ... no."

"Did it feel good?"

"Well ... I don't know."

"Gee, if you don't know, I better do it again so you can...."

"No, no, no!"

"There you go again! And for crying out loud, stop cowering! I'm less than a quarter your size. And get up off that couch! You're getting it all wet!"

It was an awkward struggle for him to get to his feet because he refused to take his hands away from the family jewels, but at last he made it, all the while watching me fearfully like I was some kind of pervert or something. Okay, so I am some kind of pervert, but does that mean he couldn't trust me? With my friendliest smile, I held out the towel to him. Trying to look trustworthy is not easy when your dick is drooling pre-cum all over the place.

"It isn't big enough," he said.

"Well, it's only half-hard! Look, I guarantee it'll get big enough to...."

"I mean the towel!" he said, waving it madly about in front of my face. "The towel, the towel!"

"Oh!"

I really had thought he meant my dick. (I told you I had a dirty mind, didn't I?) After a moment, I started to giggle. After another moment, so did he.

That thawed him out a bit and he let me help get his boots, pants, and underwear off, both of us giggling like schoolboys, though he kept one hand or the other screening his crotch, preventing me from getting a really thorough look. Once I had him down to his socks, I went and got a second towel. "You do your front. I'll do your back."

He gave me a suspicious look. "I won't touch you with anything but the towel," I promised. He believed me. He was a First o' May all right!

I climbed onto the couch and went to work on his muscular back, rubbing vigorously, more massaging than drying. I could feel his muscles begin to relax somewhat, but when my dick started brushing against those big square gluteus maximi of his — accidentally, of course — he pulled quickly away.

"I'm all dry now, thanks!" Holding the towel over his crotch, he tried to smile and look warm, but he kept shuddering like a stallion in heat.

"I know just what you need," I said. "Sit down."

"I'm fine."

"Sit!"

"Yessir!"

He perched rather than sat, his big butt just barely on the edge of the couch, his knees nearly to his ears. He kept the towel bunched in front of his groin, not realizing that from my low angle I could see the head of his dick dangling beneath it. It damn near reached to the floor between his big feet. Yep, he had eight inches of hose, easy. Waiting for Elroy's arrival, we'd drunk up everything I had in the office bar, but I remembered a bottle of cooking rum, 151 proof. I rummaged under the sink while he watched me very carefully. As soon as he saw the bottle, he started shaking his head, "Oh, no, no, thanks! I never drink! 'Specially not...."

"This stuff's medicine!" I barked at him. "Drink it!"

To prove it wouldn't kill him, I took a nice big jolt first and handed him the bottle. "Take a good swallow or I'll climb on your chest and pour it in you!"

To show I meant business, I clambered up on the couch beside him. He hastily gulped from the bottle and exploded in a colossal coughing fit, spraying rum everywhere. I barely managed to rescue the bottle.

"Good, huh?" I said, whacking him on the shoulder a couple of times. "Makes your insides nice and warm."

He sank back on the couch, gasping. After a second, he looked down at his stomach in surprise.

"Yeah!" he said.

"Take another swig," I said, using the towel to pat at the splatters of rum on his vast chest. "Go on. Most of that first one ended up on your outside."

He took a second mouthful with a minimum of choking. I joined in the third and, by the fourth, I figured it was safe to remove the last of the liquor that had spilled on him with my tongue.

He leaped to his feet, the trailer rocking as he moved as far from me as possible — about two-and-a-half feet — and turned his back, pretending to be engrossed in the wall of eight-by-ten glossies of freaks in my present and former employ. The sight of that blindingly white, perfectly muscled ass made my balls ache.

"You never had sex with a guy before?" I asked, trying to sound plaintive.

"Oh, well, I didn't say..." His voice rumbled to a vague halt. "Wow! Does that dude really have two heads?"

"That's two very skinny twins in one very roomy suit of clothes. So then it must be my size that's turning you off? The fact that I'm so much smaller than you?"

He laughed. "Everybody's smaller than me!"

"Right. Well, then...."

"Besides, you're not smaller. You're bigger... where it counts."

He turned and pointed. Forgetting how small the trailer was — and how stiff my dick — his finger actually poked my cock-head. "Oh! Sorry!"

My dick wobbled happily.

"See?" he grumbled. "It's humongous! Any dude who goes to bed with me thinks he's getting something as big as the rest of me. Instead, he gets... this!"

He tossed the towel aside. His prick jutted from the fan of black pubic hair. Might be his mouth was saying "no, no," but his dick was definitely on my side.

"It's every bit as big as mine!" I said.

He indicated our images in the mirror on the bathroom door. "Oh, sure! Yours reaches nearly to your tits! Mine doesn't even make it to my navel!"

"I tell you, they're the same size. That's an optical illusion, like when they show you two squares which are exactly the same size, but they put one inside a big circle and one inside a little circle and that makes the first one...."

Suddenly I flashed on the yardstick we used in the show to demonstrate that I really was as short as I claimed to be. "You want to bet your ass on that?"

"Huh?"

"What's my reward if I prove my point? If I can prove that your dick's as big as mine, do I get to fuck a giant?"

"Oh, um..."

"If our cocks are within half an inch of one another, you'll bend over and spread 'em, okay?"

He pointed carefully at my dick. "Hell, sir, I'd be happy to be within a whole inch of that!"

"All right!" We shook hands on it. Opening the side door, I stepped outside and stood bare-assed in the rain. "Come on, Elroy!"

"But I'm not wearing any... I mean, we're... Um, it's raining, sir!"

"That's okay... we're naked! C'mon!"

It was just a short dash to the sideshow tent. We weren't likely to be seen. Anyway, if another carney saw us, he wouldn't pay any mind; and when it came to townies, the only reason they would be there at that hour would be to get fucked themselves!

But Elroy insisted on getting his towel before leaving the trailer and held it modestly in front of himself like a bridal bouquet as he followed me, wincing and mincing on huge tender feet down the dark and rainy midway to our tent.

"Okay," I whispered to him as I turned on a single light bulb. I hoisted myself up onto the stage with a grunt. "Get your ass up here."

For him it was just one easy step to stand beside me, the two of us naked and dripping on the stage. I was relieved to see that the canvas cleared his head without him having to stoop. We couldn't have afforded to buy a taller tent or to lower the stage.

I found the yardstick and flourished it like a magic wand.

"Now, drop the towel!"

He might not have been in the habit of running around bare-assed but it sure hadn't turned him off much. If anything, his dick was even harder. Now that he didn't have to crouch to fit into the trailer, his appendage projected from his groin more than several inches higher than my mouth. To suck him off, I'd to have to go up on him.

"Bring that thing of yours down here! Kneel, boy, kneel!"

"Yes, sir." He dropped to the stage decking with a thump. That's the way I like them, big and obedient!

His thigh alone was longer than my entire leg, so, even though he was kneeling, his crotch was still a little higher than mine. Holding his cock in one hand and the yardstick in the other, I paused dramatically and went into my spiel, sotto voce, in deference to the hour.

"And now, ladieeees and gentlemen, we are about to apply the Official Dick Stick to the first contender in the World Championship Prick-Off! But first, to guarantee the hardness of the contestant...."

I bent and slid my mouth over his thick cock. He gasped and tried to pull away, but I'm quick to build up a heavy suction. Once I do, they don't get loose until I let them loose. The poor boy must not have been getting much lately because he began to pant and writhe almost immediately. As soon as I felt his glans swell and his ball-bag contract even further, I jammed my knuckles against his perineum and cut off his climax in mid-rush.

I quickly slurped my face out of his crotch, slapped the yardstick on his prick while it was still dripping spit, and announced, "Tah-dah! Eight and one-quarter inches!"

He was half-unconscious from his effort to ejaculate his dammed-up wad past my knuckles, but when he heard that measurement, it brought him around in a hurry. "Really? Let me see!"

Sure enough, his dick stretched along the ruler to where the head was just a hair short of the announced length.

"Cool!" he panted.

I pulled my knuckles out from beneath his balls and stepped back. He moaned and his prick began to jerk. After being held back so long, it spritzed its cock-juice clear off the end of the stage. Not until he was done cumming and just stood there dripping, did I point at myself and say "Aaaaand now... contestant number two!"

Casually, I flipped the yardstick over and laid it on my own rampaging hard-on.

"Eight--" he bent down to read it. "Eight and *three-eighths* inches!"

"Close enough!" I said. "As head judge — get it? — I declare us to be identically dicked!"

Elroy said, "Well, hooray, hooray, hooray!"

I was flattered. The boy was the first to actually cheer upon learning he was going to get my dick up his ass.

"I win. Bend over!"