How did I end up like this? But I'm so glad that I did

My cock and balls were covered in gunge that stuck my pubes together. That was the bucket of slosh poured down my trousers. Gunge glued my short dark hair to my head. That was the bucket of slosh placed over my head. I'd always dreamed of being a circus clown and now I had finally made it.

Just months before, I had been out of college and looking for a job in a gym. Having studied sports science and spent many hours weight training, I was fit and well-muscled. However, no job offers came.

But then a small travelling circus, Filiberto's, came to town and, as I had always enjoyed circuses, I bought a ticket. It was clearly run on a budget with a core of hardworking artists, including jugglers, a knife thrower, acrobats, a plate spinner, a performing dog, two horses and - best of all - two clowns. Some artists appeared in more than one guise and the single ringboy, a cute blond lad about the same age as me, seemed rushed off his feet. However, everyone was talented and the two clowns performed a wonderfully messy slosh act, which I found very exciting.

Afterwards, the ringmaster, Filiberto himself, stood by the tent exit at the end of the show to wish the patrons "good night" in broken English. One of the last to leave, I got into conversation with Filiberto, told him of my love of circuses and how I needed work. The upshot was that the day the circus left town, I went with itas a ringboy.

Life as a ringboy was hard manual labour but I was fit. However, at the end of the day even my hard muscles ached from lifting, carrying, putting up the tent, mucking out the horses, bringing props into the ring and setting them up and clearing the ring at the end of each act including removing the gunge-covered tarp after the slosh entr. After two performances a day, Phil, the other ringboy, used to collapse exhausted on one of the bunks in the small caravan that we shared. I really fancied him but I was not sure if he was gay or straight.

The clowns were dissimilar in almost every respect. Alessandro, Filiberto's nephew, was in his thirties, a thin, wiry family man, happily married to Rita, one of the acrobats. Mitch was a morose, tubby man in his sixties, always threatening to retire but not having enough money to do so. Whenever he was able, he would disappear to the nearest pub, even between performances. Thus it was that one day, he came back drunk, hardly able to stand up straight.

Filberto dismissed the sozzled auguste on the spot. Crying out that the show must go on somehow, he shouted "Someone must take his place." His eye alighted on me "You've seen the act twice a day, carried out the buckets of slosh. You know the routine inside out".

True, I'd brought the gunge into the ring and watched carefully to see when more slosh was needed and when I should remove the empty buckets. Perhaps Filiberto had guessed that I longed to be an auguste.

There was no time any rehearsal. The show was due to start in an hour.

I found myself in Alessandro's large caravan, sitting before a mirror. He gave me a striped top and some baggy trousers and set about devising a quick application of greasepaint.

"Look at yourself in the mirror. Look at the lines of your face. Smile. See, your cheeks are puffed out, showing the extent you should apply the white stick. Now, let's put two arches above your eyes with the black stick and fill in the semicircle with white. Cover your face with a dusting of this talc and now your face will be pie-proof and slosh-proof".

Finally, he popped a red nose on me and I was ready for my first public appearance as an auguste. As the music struck up, I ran with Alessandro into the ring feeling both nervous and excited that I was about to be messed up in public - with the gunge that I had previously made up.

The entree was a classic decorating slosh act. Both of us would get sloshed but, as I was taking Mitch's place, I knew that I would end up messier than Alessandro.

Phil carried in a trestle table and a step ladder. Then, he brought on several buckets filled with thick slosh. Other nights, we had shared the task, Phil bringing on the table and wallpaper rolls and me carrying the buckets. But that night for the first time, I was to be on the receiving end of much of the contents of those buckets.

The entr started with Alessandro, who was wearing painter's overalls and a bowler hat, struggling to keep the wallpaper from rolling up again.

"Come here."

I wandered over, trying to look stupid as Mitch had very much been the stooge.

"Hold this."

I placed a hand on the end of the roll and Alessandro dipped a brush into the first bucket of slosh. He applied the paste vigorously to the wallpaper and, carried, away, ran the brush right up my bare arm, covering it with slosh. He dipped the brush into the bucket again and repeated the procedure. This time, he didn't stop at the top of my arm but carried the loaded brush up onto my face. He stopped and looked at my face full of gunge and then spread it further round my chin before giving me a "shave" with the brush handle.

Quickly, he plastered the wallpaper with more slosh. Then, he started to climb the ladder.

"Give me the paper" he shouted.

I passed it him as he climbed to the top of the stepladder, putting his feet through the wallpaper at each rung so that, when he reached the top, he was holding only a small piece of paper.

He looked at the paper then looked at me is despair.

"More paste."

I obeyed. Dumping a large mound of gunge on the small piece of paper that he held out. I stood at the foot of the ladder at his arm's length. Alessandro gazed at the generous helping of gunge. Then, he gazed at me. He moved the mess backwards and forwards in front of my face.

"Shall I?"

The audience roared their approval.

"Shall I?"

They roared again.

He swung his arm as if to push the paste in my face but "slipped" and the gunge-covered paper ended up in his own face.

Alessandro descended the ladder. Following the script that I knew only too welI, I was bending, moving a bucket. He slapped the gunge-covered paper onto my arse.

We returned to the table onto which I had placed three buckets. I removed his hat. Dipping my hand into each bucket in turn, I scooped up, first white gunge, them pink, then green and deposited each mass of gloop into his upturned hat. I held the hat up towards the audience. At the point, I said my only line. I had been worried that my voice might appear nervous but, by then, I was really enjoying it.

"Shall I?"

"Yes" came the shouts.

I smiled and raised the bowler hat. Alessandro quickly snatched it from my hands and rammed it down on top of my head. A fountain of gunge spurted high out of the hole on top of the hat. He lifted the hat and the rest of the slosh ran down my face and the back of my neck.

I dipped the brush into the pink gunge and flicked the slosh full into his face. He repeated the business with the green slosh, landing it square in the middle of my face.

Picking up the bucket of pink slosh, I beckoned Alessandro. Undoing the top of his overalls, I poured the paste down inside them. He walked away from me awkwardly as if to emphasise the discomfort and stickiness.

He poured the remains of the white gunge into the bucket that held the green slosh. Grabbing the waistband of my baggy trousers he slowly poured the paste inside. Copying what I'd seen Mitch do night after night, I grimaced and bent my knees as the gunge reached my crotch. Then, I aped Alessandro and waked awkwardly round the ring to demonstrate that my pants were full of slosh.

By this time, Phil had brought on two more buckets and a large gunge-filled tin bath. Alessandro picked up one of the buckets and placed it over my head, turning it round several times. I was covered with paste so thick that it completely hid the shape of my head.

"Go up the ladder" he cried.

Pausing to wipe the slosh from my eyes so that I could see what I was doing, I climbed the ladder with the other bucket in one hand. At the top, I fumbled, emptying its contents over the head of Alessandro below.

I slowly came down the ladder, at the bottom stepping into the tin bath of gunge that Alessandro had moved there. Next came the bit that I was dreading as I didn't want to get it wrong. I made as if to topple and sat down heavily in the bath. Slosh splashed everywhere. As if in anger, I failed my arms and legs up and down, splashing more gunge, most of it landing on me. Alessandro approached the bath and quietly said "OK".

I got out of the bath and we took our bow. I was plastered in gunge and exhilarated. Being so mercilessly messed up was arousing and my cock was stiffening. Thank goodness, the baggy trousers hid my excitement.

Out of the ring and out of sight of the punters, Alessandro gave me a hug. "Well done. You're a natural. But there's some issues with timing. We'll rehearse all tomorrow morning."

As I squelched back to my caravan, I passed Jack, the knife thrower. Dressed in a stetson, a leather waistcoat undone to show his impressive chest and some of the tightest jeans I'd ever seen, Jack gave me a smile and a wink. "That's what you've always wanted, isn't it" he chuckled. I turned to watch his perfect jean-clad arse as he disappeared and my semi turned into a boner.

Back in the tiny caravan, I showered and quickly changed into a clean identical costume that Alessandro had given me. On the way back to the ring, I took my slosh-soaked costume to his caravan where he put it in the washing machine with his.

We walked together back to the tent for the walkdown where all the performers take a final bow. I eagerly anticipated that I was about to get a pie in the face just as Mitch had done every performance.

I was surprised when in the brief time before the show Alessandro had quickly instructed me about pies. Having been pied in the stocks for charity as a student and greatly enjoyed the experience I thought that you just got a pie thrust in face and that was it.

"Listen. The messiness of the pie depends just as much on you as it does on me. Keep still and don't shut your eyes too soon. The punters don't want to see you flinch, your eyes close and any movement to lessen the impact of the pie. They've paid to see you get messy. After the pie hits, hold your breath. Then, reach up at the pie dish and gently press as you remove it so the pie covers a greater area of your face. With one finger of each hand, wipe pie from just your eyes. This shows your discomfort. Leave the rest of the pie on your face. As you're only taking one pie a pretty big one I'll admit it needs to look as messy as possible. Got it?"

Back in the ring, each act was reintroduced in turn.

"Let's hear it for Sandro". (Alessandro's clown persona.)

Sandro bowed to audience applause.

"And for the first time in the ring tonight, let's hear it for..." Filiberto paused as he didn't know what to call me and wasn't going to announce my real first name. "ForAmico".

Amico is the Italian for "friend". And that is how I got my ring name. In future, the circus bills publicised "Sandro and Amico" beside a picture of Sandro throwing slosh over me.

"Bow, Amico" whispered Sandro. I bowed and the audience clapped loudly. I drank in their appreciation of my humiliation. As I straightened up, I knew what awaited me. Sandro pushed a large pie into my face. I followed his "taking a pie code" to the letter. The punters roared with laughter at my further discomfort.

After an hour, clearing up, shifting props, taking straw and water to the horses, I started to walk back to the tiny caravan. Jack was standing in the doorway of his van, dressed in a towelling dressing gown.

"Hi, Amico, messy boy."

I stepped over to talk to him and he pulled me inside. He let the dressing gown drop to the floor, revealing his beautiful naked body and a massive cock. Jack planted a kiss on my lips as he pulled my shirt off and removed my trousers and underpants. He pushed my shoulders down, so that I was kneeling before his thick penis. I took it in my mouth. After minutes of pleasure, he shot his load into my face.

He gave me a blowjob and then, moistening his finger with my cum, inserted it in my crack. Bending me over, he slowly pushed his cock into me. Because he was so well hung, I was briefly nervous but quickly gave in to the ecstasy.

What seemed a long time later, I opened the door of my van. Phil was lying naked on my bunk.

"Well, Amico, what kept you? Come here."