The Clown's Date, pt. 2
Jun. 24th, 2009 05:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielThe kiss got deeper and the Joker eased himself onto the couch with Ramona, lying alongside her, letting the full length of his body touch hers. He could almost wrap his arms around her twice, she was so tiny, he mused. Feeling himself harden at the soft minuteness of her and the lushness of her kiss, the Joker pulled back. He gave her a sidewise glance, his eyes narrowing in thought.
“What is it?”
“Wellll…” he began, his tongue lingering on his ‘l.’ “I was wondering who it is I’m getting all – ehm – jiggy with herrre. Should I call you Ramona like the song I just sang to you – or should I just call you Sharona for a little roleplay, hm? Orrr, should I call you Tram-ples and claim this little clown for my very own?”
The girl chortled. “Well, since we’re still in make-up, we’re still clowns, which means I’m Tramples and you’re, God-I-can’t-believe-I’m-saying-this, Joker.”
“Okay, then, Tramples, have it your way. I only have one request-t.”
“What’s that?”
“Take off those ridiculous slap shoes! There’s no sexy way to remove them myself.”
Tramples laughed harder and sat up to remove her shoes, throwing them across the room. “Better?”
“Hm-mm. Much.” The Joker flashed a toothy smile at her that never quite reached his dark chocolate eyes, and he placed his gloved hand on her throat, gently pushing her back down onto the couch.
Their lips met again, this time to the rumbling drone of VAST’s “I Am a Vampire.” She could feel the Joker humming into her as the kiss took on a life of its own. And then she felt his hands working away at the big buttons on her Little Tramp suit. She let him. The suit was loose and easy to remove. Underneath it was a small white tee shirt and boxer shorts. Ramona liked boxers. They were loose and comfy, and she was all about loose and comfy. The Joker seemed to like what he found too, chuckling against her skin as he moved his mouth over her throat and found purchase with her earlobes. The way to Ramona’s heart was her earlobes. And when the Joker murmured, “I am the Wolfman, I am the Wolfman, I am the Wolfman, and you’re my next victim” in her ear, Ramona felt herself on the verge of orgasm just by the mere suggestion of it all. God bless VAST!
The Joker removed the bloody handkerchief and the other glove and slid his hands up under Tramples tee shirt, slowly working his finger upwards until he found her tiny breasts. She was so small, she didn’t even need a bra, but her nipples were hard pebbles beneath his fingers. Tramples arched her back in response to his touch so the Joker took the encouragement and flew with it, pinching her nipples and delighting in the little clown’s yelp of discomfort combined with an even sharper arch of approval. Keeping his left hand on her breast, the Joker trailed his right hand downward, working under the elastic of her boxers to find the short soft hair between her legs. He froze when Tramples’ breath caught, and they both remained utterly still as the music played on from VAST to the Steve Miller Band, ironically singing “The Joker.” That eased the tension as Tramples began to giggle at the coincidence of the song. The Joker joined in on the laughter, but for his own reasons, and he continued his intimate exploration, finding there an almost unholy amount of moisture for a woman as small as his Tramples. His grin took on a salacity it didn’t formerly contain as he felt himself reach full erection at the thought of plunging into deep sea of his little clown.
On impulse, the Joker jumped up and shed his long overcoat, his jacket, and quickly undid his vest. He would have ripped everything off without a single thought for the damage it would do, but he liked this particular outfit too much. It carried a fair amount of fond memories. So he worked as quickly as he could, opening up that damned cut on his thumb in doing so. Oh well, nothing like a little blood with your sex to make it that much more interesting. And there was gonna be plenty more of that, just not coming from his thumb. Being weighted down with cutlery, his clothes dropped heavily to the hardwood floor, actually clanging when they hit.
Steve Miller finished off and on came Frankie Valli. The Joker looked down at his date for the night and mused again at how very cute she was. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Since he’d already serenaded her once tonight, he decided another song wouldn’t harm anything, especially since she’d never have a chance to tell anyone that the Joker had sung to her and that he had a great singing voice. That’s the kind of fame the Joker did not need.
But Tramples was kind of inspirational and she did seem to enjoy hearing him sing so…
“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.
“You’d be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much,
“At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I’m alive.
“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.
“Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothing else to compare.
“The sight of you leaves me weak, there are no words left to speak.
“So if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it’s real.
“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.”
And the Joker knelt beside Tramples nothing but his unbuttoned blue plant cell shirt, his erection brushing against the fabric of her sofa and sending a jolt of sexual electricity up his spine.
“I love you baby and if it’s quite all right I need you baby to warm the lonely nights
“I love you baby, trust in me when I say O pretty baby don’t bring me down I pray
“O pretty baby, now that I’ve found you stay and let me love you baby, let me love you.”
He delicately removed her boxers and placed his palm flat upon Tramples’ mound, altering his pressure from light to heavy, keeping time with the rhythm of the song. And, as he began to sing, he let his middle finger slip in and begin stroking her clit.
“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.
“You’re just like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much.
“At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I’m alive.
You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.”
Tramples’ breath had become shallow and her body was rigid, being in a pre-orgasmic state. So the Joker eased away from her, letting Frankie finish the song on his own on the iPod. He never once broke his stare, holding her eyes with his own like a psychic vice. When the Joker captured your eyes, he rarely let them go until he was finished playing whatever game he fancied. Gambol had learnt that the hard way. Tramples was learning it now.
“You seem ready, Petal. Are ya?” He asked, his buzzing voice like the hand that caressed her softly-curled mound. All she could do was nod, her purple-rimmed eyes glistening and glazed. She watched as the Joker stood again and removed his shirt. He was very nicely built, but his body had been abused, being covered in a variety of scars, some large enough to have been from killing wounds. It was then that she began to wonder if those prosthetics underneath his grease paint might not be prosthetics at all, and a hint of fear snaked its way through her state of arousal. Her desire overcame her doubt, and she quickly dismissed the idea that this Joker might be the Joker. Really, now, would the Joker being singing songs and being so truly tender like this? No, absolutely not!
Tramples let her eyes trail down the Joker’s torso and the history of abuse it told until they rested on his engorged penis. He wasn’t gigantic or frightening. No, his width and girth were wholly normal, but there was something about him that made her desperately want him inside her. The curls that framed his male beauty were dark blonde, much like her hair, although there was also a hint of green here and there, indicating that he dyed all his hair, not just the hair on his head. This amused Tramples and she grinned in spite of herself. Her smile continued as the Joker bent down and joined her on the sofa, lying beside her at first to remove her tee shirt and expose her pretty breasts.
Once they were both naked, the Joker bent over Tramples and took one nipple in his mouth while twisting the other with his thumb and forefinger. She felt his attentions in the root of her clit, which began to throb in response. Tramples came quietly and strongly, shivering against her clown lover. After she eased into afterglow, the Joker looked up at her and asked, “Did you like that?”
“What do you think?”
“Well, I think-k it’s time I felt as good as you, especially now that you’ve tightened up even morrre, what do you think?”
“I think you’d never get around to it,” Tramples joked. And the Joker chuckled and hummed against his closed mouth, producing an almost demented sound of glee. He moved between her legs, positioning his cock at the drenched opening he’d explored with his fingers earlier. Rubbing up and down to slick himself up, the Joker enjoyed the shivers and moans his attentions elicited. Once he was satisfied he was lubricated enough, the Joker moved his head to Trample’s opening and thrust into her all the way, until their pubic bones pressed hard against one another. And there he stayed for a good five minutes, refusing to move, not allowing her to move. He just lay atop her, staring fiercely into Tramples’ eyes, pressing his cock hard into her tiny body. His laughter had ceased. The Joker engaged in a pristine silence, letting the music flow over him and his new possession, this pretty little clown called Tramples. “Desert Rose” by Sting and Cheb Mami swirled around their sex like a sentient entity, adding an exotic flavour much like the one Ramona had tasted when she first kissed the Joker on the nighttime streets of Gotham.
The song came and went, replaced by Sarah McLachlan singing “Building a Mystery.” At that, the Joker was prompted to begin moving. Slowly at first, his thrusts were barely thrusts at all, just a hint of what might be coming, But, just as Sarah was building a mystery, the Joker was building tension, intentionally manifesting a climax that would be well worth the effort on both their parts. Tramples caressed his well-furred legs with her feet as he moved against her, encouraging the Joker’s sexual evocations, as he bent down to take her mouth in his, their happy red lips mingling in passion. The Joker’s thrusting became more insistent as Concrete Blonde’s “Violent” ripped into the room via his iPod. Midway the song, he was pulling all the way out of her and driving himself into her with all the violence expressed by Johnette. He had wrapped his arms beneath her shoulders and, grasping as tightly as he could, he pounded Tramples' little body with every ounce of anger and lust he possessed, his teeth gritted, his eyes wide. There was no singing or silence, only the possessed grunts that came with every thrust. It was as if chaos had been unleashed upon her and Tramples was thrown into a terrified orgasm. With her arms around his neck, she came in one long cramp of passion, her cunt squeezing him with every staggered breath she managed. And, with that, the Joker came as well, pouring himself into her depths as he continued to batter her. Fluid splashed everywhere, soaking the couch, their thighs and bellies, everything. They were two very messy clowns.
The Joker collapsed against Tramples, his green hair hanging down in damp rivulets. His breath ragged, but he mustered enough to say, “Wa-was that good-d for you, swee’pea?”
“Oh my god…” was all Tramples could say, a single tear dropping from the eye that sported a painted clown tear. Sex had never made her cry before. But she felt like crying and laughing and singing and…and everything. What she had just experienced was not just off the hook, but completely off the radar of anything she’d encountered before. She thought she was in love. It was time for the make-up to come off. “Please.. Call me Ramona,” she said using her tee shirt to wipe away the grease paint. “I want to see who you really are.”
He had recovered somewhat while Ramona was talking and wiping her face clean of the clown make-up. She really was pretty underneath all that make-up. She looked like a little pixie. His little faery clown, his Tramples: that’s how he’d remember her. “Sweetness, you’re looking at who I really am.”
Ramona laughed and punched the Joker playfully on his shoulder. “No, I want to see you without the make-up, without the prosthetics.”
“Oh theeeese?” he said, pointing at the scars. “These are real, Beetlebug. Real scars. Feel.”
He grabbed one of her hands and made her trace the Glasgow Smile from one corner to the other, licking her fingers as they passed along his scarred lips. “See? Real. Just like the rest of my scars I saw you admiring along with my ‘noble manhood’ earlier.” His voice took on a mocking whine. “Do you wanna know how I got these scarrrs? Huh? Do ya?”
Ramona nodded along with the Joker, her uncertainty and discomfort growing exponentially as she noticed the hint of madness in the Joker’s soft brown eyes. He didn’t reflect light in quite the way he should. Everything seemed deflected or warped when it came back out of his gaze. Was this truly the Joker? He was known for telling stories of how he got his scars, all of them inventive and probably untrue. And, from all she’d heard, whoever was told a scar story usually didn’t live to pass it on. Ramona moved to make some distance between herself and her clown lover, but he was too quick for her and grabbed her by the back of the neck and pressing her into the sofa cushions.
“No no, now where do you think-k you’re going? Sh-sh-sh now listen. Sh….Hush now. Now…
“When I was 11 or so, I got tired of watching Daddy beat and cut Mommy, so I ran off and joined the circus. And, oh! It was a glorious time! I worked as a clown, a magician, and an acrobat, learning the tricks of all these trades fairly easily and very quickly, according to my mentors. My main enjoyment, though, was hanging out with the freaks. And there were so many ~ conjoined twins, pinheads (not the Hellraiser kind), bearded ladies, half people, and were-people from Mexico. I felt at home with the freaks and they accepted me into their most intimate circles.
“By the age of 16, I was adept in the clown arts, stage magic and its art of illusion, acrobatics, and hawking the punters at the freak show. There was only one problem: one of the freaks, the bearded lady, had fallen in love with me. I was nice to her, but didn’t think I led her on at all. The freaks thought differently. It all came to a head one rainy night when I spurned her attentions and angrily told her off, saying to her, ‘you’re nothing but a freak! You can stay the hell away from me!’ Well that didn’t sit well with the freaks at-t allll… They came after me, gibbering in their own little freak language, and chanting certain doom for me. No matter how fast I ran, there was always a freak right around the corner with a weapon, ready to corral me in an teach me a lesson. They finally cornered me at the Gypsy fortune-teller’s wagon. I banged on her door to let me in, but she was apparently away that night. The freaks closed in on me, chanting their crazy little rhyme.” The Joker closed his eyes and shook his head as he half winced, half smiled. “I can relive that moment as thought it were some surreal movie. They kept saying ‘Gooble Gobble Gooble Gobble, We will make you one of us.’ And they did. Right there in the mud and rain, the freaks cut me up and gave me this smile. Even though I was truly a freak after that night, the freaks would have nothing to do with me from then on. I no longer existed to them. My clown career was over, too, because this smile shone through the grease paint and scared the kiddies. No amount of magic could hide it either and the other acrobats were too disturbed to focus on our act. Sooo, I had to leave the circus and pursue other career op-por-tuuun-i-teez. Since then, I’ve lived life on my own terms, and I keep a smile on my face while I give that smile to others.”
Silence grew after the Joker’s last words faded in the air between himself and Ramona. She just looked at him, her face awash in fright.
“Wellll?” the Joker asked finally.
“W-well what?” Ramona said.
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
“No,” she replied meekly. “I just want you to leave. Please. I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“Ah, convinced I’m not a fake now, arrre we? Certain I’m not one of many imitators infesting his rat-t hole of a city? Funny how it’s not just the Bat-t getting cheap clones copying his ev-er-eee move. For every idiot in hockey pants, there’s a bozo with a fake stick of dynamit-te. The hilariteee never ends here in Gotham, does it, Tramples?”
“Ramona, please. I won’t breathe a word about tonight if you just let me…let me – “
“Let you what, Crazy straw? Let you do the Hokey-Pokey and turn yourself around?” The Joker looked up as if he were thinking about it, and he licked his lips almost too quickly to catch a glimpse of his darting lizard-like tongue. “Sorry, Puddin’. Like I said, my expertise is putting smiiiles on people’s faces. Tonight, it’s yerrr turrrnn.”
And with that, the Joker wrapped his right hand around Ramona’s throat, ignoring her frantic struggle to break free of his grip. His left hand rifled through his jacket pocket to produce one of his switch blades. Flicking it open, he admired the deadly gleam the sharp edge produced in the soft light of Ramona’s living room. Starting at the left corner of her pretty little mouth, the Joker began to slice the first half of Ramona’s new smile into her face. The flesh gave way so easily when your knife was razor sharp. The Joker was enjoying the song on his iPod so much, he barely noticed the keening scream Ramona uttered at her being sliced open like a fish on a Maine pier. The song was “Cathy’s Clown” by the Everly Brothers. As the Joker sliced the right side of Ramona’s mouth open almost to her ear, giving it a nice little curly-q like the one on his right side, the Joker sang, “Don’t want your loooo-oo-oo-ove anymorrre..”
And he watched as she bled and sobbed and tried to scream, but the blood was choking her. It was time to finish this, he decided. He showed her the knife and then tapped the side of his nose with it and smiled before swiftly cutting Ramona’s throat. She was dead before she knew it, and the Joker watched that life sentience wink out of existence as Ramona’s eyes became nothing but two orbs of lifeless meat in her sockets. The Scissor Sisters sang merrily over Ramona’s speakers and the Joker sang along with them to the body that used to be inhabited by Tramples the Clown.
“Now there’s never gonna be an intermission, but there’ll always be a closing night,
“Never entertain those visions lest you may have packed your bags,
“First impressions are cheap ambitions, sometimes are long goodbyes
“Truth so often to living dormant, good luck walks and bullshit flies.”
The Joker lifted himself from the body and began to dress as he sang.
“When the headlights guide your way, you know the place is right
“When the treetops sing and sway, don’t go to sleep tonight
“That is when you see the sign luminous and high
“Tomorrow’s not what it used to be, we were born to die.”
He retrieved his iPod and popped in his earbuds as he opened the door of Ramona’s apartment. Looking back at the painted mess on the sofa, the Joker thought about regret, but felt none of it. He spoke the last line of “Intermission” before he made his exit into the Gotham night.
“Happy yesterday to all, we were born to die.”
©Tracy Angelina Evans
23 June, 2009
In Loving Memory of Heath Ledger
