(Warnings and disclaimers in part 1...)
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The Sullivans raised no shy, retiring daughters, so Chloe marches up to the
booth and knocks on the wall to get the attention of the couple inside.
"Hey, are you guys open for business?" she barks, startling the lovebirds
out of their smooch.

"Or is the show just beginning?" adds Pete, making Clark blush a little,
though it is lost in the combination of light and shadow on the midway.

"Don't mind us!" explains Lana, smoothing her sweater and sitting up
straighter.  "Business has been kind of slow, so Whitney got bored.  What
can we do for you?"

"How much?" Pete asks boldly, getting out his wallet.

"A dollar," she answers brightly, trying to act like she'd rather be kissing
any of us than her paramour.  "It's a fundraiser for the Red Cross."

"I'll take one," Pete replies, handing her a dollar bill.

"Okay," she says, taking his money, then stands up to face him.  They
exchange a very polite, friendly kiss, leaving them both smiling broadly as
they separate.

"You're both doing this?" asks Chloe.  "Then count me in!"  She hands
Whitney a dollar and leans into the booth as he delivers his required quick
kiss.

"How about you, Clark?" Lana teases sweetly.  "It *is* for a good cause..."

"Um..." he fumbles, glancing my way to gauge my disapproval, but I don't
give it.

Instead I smile and give him a hearty nudge with my elbow.  "Go on, Clark.
You *know* you want to!"

A crumpled bill appears in his hand, and he shyly steps up to the booth.
"Lana," he greets her.

"Clark," she answers, her voice an invitation.

They kiss without much fanfare, and I see Chloe and Pete exchange a raised
eyebrow.  Meanwhile, however, I am watching Whitney, who seems supremely
unconcerned about the freshman who until very recently has had his eye on
his girlfriend.

I, however, am still not the biggest friend of the boy who put my heart's
desire on a scarecrow tree in a cornfield and left him to die of exposure.
Revenge, or just a little game at his expense, is mine.

"Do I get a turn?" I ask as soon as Clark has stepped away from Lana's
inviting lips.

"Sure," she replies, standing and waiting for me.

Much to everyone's surprise, I cram a dollar into *Whitney's* hand and grab
his shoulders, giving him an extremely thorough and theatrical kiss, pulling
away with an audible pop.

I turn on my toe and walk back out to the main midway, though not without
taking note of the statement of shock on Lana's face, those of amusement
and surprise from Chloe and Pete, and that of utter mortification from
Whitney.  Clark is immediately on my heels, but I keep a poker face for the
moment for his benefit.  When we are out of earshot of the booth, he gives
me a sidelong glance and asks, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"With tongue?"

"You bet," I answer, chuckling with him and relieved that he's found the
whole situation just as silly as I have.

Eventually, the two of us find ourselves in front of an open booth
surrounding a platform of color-coded muffin tins.  "Now, *this* I think I
can do," announces Clark, who puts his money down on the counter and gets a
small basket of plastic whiffle balls.  He proceeds to toss them very gently
onto the painted targets, aiming for circles of a particular color.

I decide to stay out of the way and let my eye wander over the offered
prizes.  My attention falls on an array of wall mirrors bearing logos of
beer companies and motorcycle manufacturers, but I almost don't recognize my
own reflection there.  Pausing a moment to take stock of my mood, I realize
that the look of sheer contentment I see on my own countenance in the
mirrors is completely authentic, and that I am actually happy.  I can't help
glancing over at Clark, who wears a variation of the very same statement,
and I think for a second that my heart might just burst from my chest.

Soon Clark is the new owner of a medium-sized stuffed frog, but his grin is
somewhat muted.  "Something wrong?" I ask him.

"Yeah--what happened to Chloe and Pete?"

Just then Pete comes tearing past us on the way back toward the parking lot.
Bringing up the rear is a very disgruntled Chloe, carrying both my gift of
the toy coyote and Pete's crow.

"What happened?" we ask in unison.

She shakes her head, her annoyance painted bold on her face.  "Don't get on
the Tilt-A-Whirl for awhile.  They're hosing it down now."

Clark looks back over the heads of the crowd to try to see Pete.  "You mean
he...?"

"Yup, just like he does every year.  Trust me:  it's not pretty.  Can you
get home okay, Clark?" she asks, walking backwards toward the parking lot.

He glances at me, and I nod to show my consent to give him a ride home.  "I
think I'll be fine, thanks.  See you at school on Monday!  And don't forget
my birthday party next week!" he yells after her.

"Oh, I don't think you'll *let* me forget!  Thanks again for the coyote, Mr.
Luthor!"

"You're welcome, Chloe, and call me Lex, please!"  I wave goodnight beside
Clark, who still seems a little distant.  "What is it?" I ask, looking for
his gaze, which eludes me.

"Nothing..."  He is lying, but I can see that he's watching Chloe disappear
with the toys.

"Did *you* want the coyote?" I tease him.

"No.  I just thought you might..."  His voice trails off.

Suddenly all becomes clear.  Brushing nonexistent lint from his shoulders
with a firm hand so I may touch him acceptably in public, I reassure him,
"Clark, I don't need a little toy coyote.  I've got my own real, live coyote
right here, don't I?"

Once again, I am right--I can tell from his renewed grin that he'd hoped I'd
keep the toy to remind me of his baying at the moon that night last month,
but he's touched that I remembered, and that I just called him "my own".
I'm more sentimental than he suspected after all.

"So, what now?" I ask.

Still smiling a little, he suggests, "I think the Ferris wheel is safe..."

"Sounds good," I concur, keeping pace at his side.

Once we are shut in our little basket, I can tell something is still on his
mind.  I look hard into Clark's eyes to determine what is bothering him, and
so soon after he looked so happy.  "Are you mad that Pete behaved so
childishly?"

He smiles and shrugs.  "No--it wouldn't be carnival if Pete didn't upchuck
*somewhere*..."  He is silent once again, but his eyes keep coming back to
mine.

"What's wrong?" I ask at last.

"Nothing really..."

"You usually don't have any trouble being alone with me.  Is there something
you want to tell me?"

Looking out over the whole fairgrounds, he seems to make a decision.
"Actually, yes.  I know you trust me, right?"

"Completely," I answer, not hiding anything from him, and hoping he feels he
can be the same with me.

"I've wanted to tell you this for awhile, and I never really felt I should,
but I have to say it.  You won't be weird, no matter what I say?"

He looks genuinely afraid of my reaction, so I steel myself for whatever he
wants to say.  "Go ahead, Clark.  You can tell me anything."

With our basket stopped at the top of the wheel to let on more passengers,
he takes a deep breath and looks at the toy frog without seeing it.  At last
he raises his eyes to me.  "Okay, here goes.  I love you, Lex."

I don't know what I expected him to say, but this is both less and a whole
lot more than I had any right to anticipate.  "You love me?"

"Yeah.  I don't know if this means I'm gay or what, but I do.  I love being
with you.  I love kissing you.  I dream about that night under the full
moon.  I think about you when I... when I make myself come.  I hope it's
okay, that you're not freaked out or anything..."  He looks as if he might
cry.

"Did you invite me here to tell me this?"

"Yeah...  Look, I understand.  I'll just get home by myself if you don't
want to drive me..."

I grab his chin and make him look at me.  "Clark, calm down.  Why wouldn't I
want to drive you?  Did you think that I'd be upset by what you just told
me?"

"I don't know.  I just knew I wanted to tell you when we were alone, and
then suddenly we were alone, and I took a shot and..."

Before he bursts into tears, I kiss him hard.  I honestly have no idea how
else to answer his admission.  Do I love him?  I may very well, but love
usually leads to my getting hurt, or hurting someone, and Clark is the last
person on earth I want to hurt, and probably the first in a long time whose
rejection could really hurt me.  I'm going to have to tread lightly here.

He whimpers in his throat, so I break the kiss and reach for him.  He
practically crawls into my lap, making the basket rock precariously.  We
finally find a balance perching on opposite benches and holding each other
in the middle.  "Are you okay, Clark?"

"Yeah...  I'm sorry if I said too much.  I can take it back if you want me
to..."

This makes me smile and shake my head in wonder.  I sit back against my side
of the basket, holding his hands tight.  "Oh, Clark!  Don't you *ever* take
back your true feelings!  Now, I don't know what you want me to
say--actually, I *do*, but I don't know if I can say those words just yet.
Can I think about it for a little while?"  He doesn't say anything, but the
hope in his eyes is very encouraging, so I go on.  "I care about you more
than anybody else in my life, but I need a little time.  Would that be okay
with you, or will you be disappointed if I can't say it back to you right
now?"

His eyes shine, partly from the carnival lights, and partly from still being
wet with emotion.  "It's okay, Lex.  I can wait, as long as you need me to
wait."  He turns wistful for a moment.  "But can we still make love on my
birthday?"

A huge grin suffuses my face at his question.  "Of course!  I promised you
that, and we will.  It means a lot to me that you love me, Clark.  I have to
show you how much *some* way or another!"  He echoes my grin, and another,
more immediate way occurs to me as our ride progresses in silence.

>From the top of the wheel, I can see the front panels for both a Tunnel of
Love and a Spookhouse.  There's no way I could take Clark into the Tunnel of
Love, not in rural Kansas.  The Spookhouse, however, is another animal
entirely, and I spot a couple of guys in bright red ballcaps heading inside,
and take a quick glance at my watch.  With one eye on the exit door of the
ride down on the ground as we make our final approach, I grab Clark for one
more deep kiss, and brush his crotch gently with my hand, finding the
hardness that I expect there.

We climb out of the Ferris wheel basket at last, and I take him to the
ticket window of the Spookhouse.  "Let's go in here, okay?"

I think he knows what I have in mind, because he blushes and grins sexily at
me.  "Sure.  I'm brave," he assures me, and I believe him.

Seven minutes by my watch after they went in, I notice the red-capped
fellows pile out the exit of the ride, laughing and out-of-breath.  Maybe
I'm not the only one who had this idea here tonight.

We sit crammed side by side in a tiny cart alone, and a chain tugs us into
the dark.  Clark's arms slip around me, and I lean in to kiss him
tentatively at first, then more firmly.  Flashes of green lights on painted
ghosts and marginally-scary figurines distract the attention of those in the
carts around us, so I assume we are unobserved.  My hands squeeze his
hardening cock through his jeans, then open his fly and reach inside.  I
move my mouth onto his ear and lap at it briefly before cryptically asking,
"Yes?"

He nudges my head around with his nose, positioning his mouth immediately
next to my ear.  "Yes, Lex--yes," he mouths against my head, then pushes me
down so that I bend over his lap.

I lower his underwear as best I can in the cramped confines of our cart and
let his erect cock out into the stale air of the Spookhouse.  Never having
done this to another guy before, I go on a combination of instinct and the
knowledge of what I like.  Hoping I'm not hurting him, I push back the
foreskin that stretches taut over the edge of the head and run my tongue
along the slit.  Clark's hand clutches suddenly at my neck, but relaxes
immediately, apparently to signal me that all is well.  Holding firm to the
root of him, I kiss and caress his organ with as much passion as I can
generate quickly and in an uncomfortable position.

His skin smells musky and dark and enticing at such close quarters, and I
sniff deeply against his pubic hair.  With a sigh, I open my mouth and take
as much of his penis inside as I can.  He strokes my head encouragingly, so
I tease and bob along his shaft, humming in the back of my throat.  Finally
I suck in my cheeks, and can feel his balls tighten against his body near
the heel of my hand.  The hand on my head is removed, probably to keep from
hurting me, and, just under the sounds of recorded shrieking, I can hear him
cry out, "Oh, God!"  At once my tongue is bathed with his essence, which has
a distinct flavor both bitter and clean.  I love you, too, Clark, I think as
I swallow his come for the first time--I may never be able to tell you that,
but it's true, and it makes me believe in miracles just a little.

With a minute to spare in the dark tunnel, I have him generally tucked back
together, and my tongue down his throat in communion again, and he seems
happy as a clam to have me in that position, as am I.

Yes, Clark's tongue right now tastes like cotton candy and lemonade, but his
come tastes like hope and trust and life itself.


THE END

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