The Freakshow

 

THE FREAKSHOW

A Victorian Gothic Horror Story

by Doug UK

 

Billy was born in 1857, into a London celebrating British success in the three‑year horror of the Crimean War. He never knew his father and suspected that his mother had conceived him with a drunken returned soldier in the excitement at the end of the war. His mother had been a lady’s maid in a big house on Park Lane, but had been forced to leave her employment when her pregnancy was discovered.

Her work as a lady’s maid had included a great deal of sewing and mending, so she avoided the workhouse by taking in sewing work in their one‑room home in Vauxhall. To make ends meet, she sewed from morning to late at night and had little time for Billy, who roamed the streets all day. Billy soon found the best rubbish bins to dive into for food by crossing the river into fashionable Chelsea, and as long as he headed home at dusk each day and stayed clear of trouble with the police, his mother was content to let him roam. Despite living largely on food found in the rubbish bins of Kensington and Chelsea, Billy was a solidly‑built, almost fat boy, and loved nothing better than finding a box of stale buns in a Chelsea rubbish bin, sitting on the pavement and devouring them all.

The little boy grew up on the streets, and was a quiet kid, silently watching the crowds, keeping himself to himself. One day during his usual wanderings, when he was about twelve years old, Billy found himself outside the astonishing new store called Harrods in the Brompton Road. Although they were poor, and his mother knew he hunted for food from bins in affluent neighbourhoods, she forbade him from begging, and he never did. Outside Harrods, however, he encountered a beggar who had returned from the Crimea with missing legs.

Billy became obsessed by the sight of the shattered body of the man who begged close to Harrod’s door and after watching him for some time, plucked up the courage to talk to him.

“’Ere mate,” he said, “what happened to your legs?”

“I left ’em in Sebastopol,” grunted the ex-soldier. “What’s it to you?”

“I dunno,” said Billy, “but I ain’t never talked to a cripple before. How did you lose ’em?”

“Blown off by a cannon ball,” said the man. “Kids like you here in London have no idea what war is like, and the bloody Crimea was bloody awful. A mix of old‑fashioned horses and flashy officers with swords, and a load of these new‑fangled bloody cannons, and explosives, blowing everyone to smithereens.”

“But you didn’t die,” said Billy.

“No I didn’t, but it was a close run thing. There was this famous nurse, Florence Nightingale – ”

“I’ve heard of her,” said Billy. “My mum said she was like an angel.”

“I can’t deny it was lovely seeing a woman in all that dreadful death and dying, and she arranged for some of us who didn’t die to be loaded onto a boat at Balaklava harbour. Some of the other bastards who hadn’t died on the battlefield, or in the hospital, died on the voyage and we was seeing bodies being dumped overboard all through the voyage. But some of us survived, and was carried alive down the gangplank, only to find bugger‑all waiting for us. No-one wants half a man; no work, no jobs, nothing for us, just begging. Now skedaddle kid. You’re in the way and I need to shake my tin mug to get a few pennies from these toffs, not sit here talking to you. You ain’t got any money, have you?”

“No,” said Billy, “but I’ll come and find you tomorrow. Are you always in the same place?”

“Always.”

“What’s your name?”

“Dickie,” said the legless man. “Now fuck off.”

Just by Vauxhall Bridge there was a fruit and vegetable stall, a regular haunt of Billy’s on his way home. This evening he got an unusually large haul of carrot since a bag had burst, and the stall-holder had not bothered to pick up all the carrots which had fallen in the gutter. Finding a discarded box nearby, Billy picked up as many as he could.

“We’ll have carrots for a few days,” laughed his mother, “but that’s good. I can put them with the oats and make a better gruel than we’re used to.”

“I’m going to take some to this beggar I met today,” said Billy. “His name’s Dickie and he’s got no legs.”

“Got no legs?” said his mother.

“Left ’em in Sebastopol,” he said, “wherever that is.”

“In the Crimea,” said his mother, “where Florence Nightingale was looking after the poor injured men.”

“Yes – he said he met her,” said Billy, “but loads of the men died even if they were alive when they got on the boat to come home. Lots died on the voyage.”

“Poor sod,” said his mother. “Shot to bits in war, then reduced to begging back in London.”

“Can’t give him any money,” said Billy, “but I could take a few of these carrots.”

He found Dickie in the same place the next day. “What ’ave you got me?” said the legless man.

“Carrots,” said Billy.

“I ain’t a fucking donkey,” said Dickie.

“I’ll take ’em ’ome again,” said Billy.

“No leave ’em. I’ll eat ’em raw.” The legless man paused, looking at Billy. “’Ere,” he said, “You got a boner inside your shorts?”

“No,” said Billy, trying to push his erect cock out of sight.

“You ’ave!” laughed Dickie. “Fuck me! I never though being legless would have that effect on a lad.”

“I’m sorry,” said Billy. “I don’t know why…”

“You ever suck a man’s cock, boy?” said Dickie.

“No,” said Billy. He paused, swallowed, then looked the cripple in the eyes, “but I wouldn’t mind.”

“Tell you what,” said Dickie, “if you’ll do one or two errands for me, I’ll let you suck me off.”

“What sort of errands?”

“Takes me ages to drag myself along the pavement, so even when I’ve collected enough for some supper, it’s bloody hard work going to get it. Come back this evening when the shops are shutting and I’ll take you to where I sleep. It ain’t very nice, but I don’t think that will worry you. You get me a hot potato and then I’ll let you swing on my todger.”

Billy walked away, rubbing his very stiff cock, his heart beating at the thought of what was going to happen and certain that he couldn’t resist returning to the man at nightfall. As dusk was falling, he was back outside Harrods. With little more than a grunt, the legless man started dragging himself on his hands along the pavement. Billy followed slowly. As he watched the laborious progress of the legless man, his cock started to rise again. After a while, the man launched himself across the road, ignoring a Hackney, and headed down Hans Road. Billy knew this little road with its posh mews houses – this was where some of the best rubbish bins could be found.

The man crossed towards the gardens of Hans Place and to Billy’s astonishment, pulled one of the iron railings aside and clambered through into the garden. “Remember where the loose railing is,” said the man. “It’s the only way in or out for beggars like me.”

Pushing into what appeared to be impenetrable bushes, Billy found himself in a kind of nest, hidden from even the sharpest eyes. “This is it,” said Dickie. “My own little palace in Knightsbridge. Not as grand as some of the other palaces ’ere, but it’s mine.”

Dickie put his hand onto Billy’s crotch. “Still good and hard in here,” he said. “Never thought I’d excite a boy so easily. Now here’s three pence from today’s begging. There’s a hot potato stall on Sloan Street, do you know it?” Billy nodded. “Get me a good big one, and you’ll have your reward when you get back.”

Billy took the three coppers from Dickie. “I won’t be long. I just hope I can find how to get into here when I get back.”

“You’re a bright kid,” said Dickie. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Billy pushed out of the dense bushes, found the loose railing, and was soon running up Basil Street. He found the potato stall, handed over the three pennies and was given a big potato wrapped in newspaper. He found the loose railing, pushed through the bushes, and thrust the potato into the man’s hands.

“Well done kid. I can see we’re going to get along just fine. Can you imagine how long it would have taken me to go and get this own my own?”

Billy nodded breathlessly. His own cock was stiffer than it had ever been before and he couldn’t take his eyes off the ragged bag containing the man’s cock and the little that was left of his legs.

“OK,” said Dickie, “You’ve earned your reward.”

Shuffling from side to side, he pulled the ragged bag away, revealing a large and well-proportioned flaccid cock, nestling between the remnants of his thighs.

“Can I touch it?” said Billy.

“’Course you can, boy, and then suck it.”

“It’s ’cos you ain’t got legs,” said Billy, “that it makes me feel all strange and want to touch you; touch you where your legs used to be and touch your cock.”

“Now I want to enjoy this nice big potato while its hot,” said Dickie, “so I suggest you just lay yourself down with your face nice and close into my crotch and enjoy yourself.”

Billy pulled his own cock out of his ragged shorts, and with one hand on his own cock and one on Dickie’s, he lay down and pushed his face into the older man’s crotch, smelling his strong sweaty aroma. After a while, he licked the musky cock and took the head into his mouth.

Billy lost track of time as he sucked the cripple’s cock, and stroked his own. Both cocks were swelling and after a while Dickie had finished the potato and was laying back against the bushes. “Take it all, boy,” he said, and thrust into Billy’s mouth. Billy struggled not to choke. Suddenly the man exploded into his throat. At the same time, Billy’s own cock shot a load of young cum into his hand. Billy lay still, gently sucking on the big cock as it became flaccid again.

Dickie stroked the hair on the head nestled between his destroyed thighs. “Well done lad. Was that your first time?”

“Yes, sir,” said Billy. “I liked it.”

“So did I, boy. It don’t happen to cripples like me very often. Now you’d better get yourself home and think up a story to tell your mother why you’re late. I’ve got a cigarette some toff gave me a couple of days ago. I’m going to enjoy it while I can. Oh, and here’s another penny. See if the potato chap’s got a little one to eat on the way home.”

That night Billy lay awake on the pile of rags which was his bed, unable to sleep. He’d discovered so much in a very short time, not only that he loved sucking cock, but that the idea of having no legs was very sexy. Just thinking about the cripple gave him another hard-on in bed, but with his mother sleeping close by in the tiny room, he couldn’t do anything about it.

Billy visited the legless beggar regularly after that first encounter and became his friend. Sometimes there was very little in his tin cup and Billy could not get him any more than a hot potato; sometimes there was more and Billy went to another food stall, perhaps for a meat pie or a piece of fried fish. Once or twice, when Dickie had had an especially lucky day, there would be enough for Billy to buy supper for them both.

The hidden nest in the bushes of Hans Place was the scene of much sexual activity. Billy became addicted to sucking Dickie and loved to caress the remnants of the older man’s legs; but whatever they did, Billy was never satisfied. He didn’t tell Dickie, but deep down, he knew he wanted to be like the cripped man and lose his legs and walk on hands and arse like Dickie. He began to fantasise about sitting on a railway line at one of the new stations being built in London and having one of the new‑fangled trains run over him, but he was scared he’d only be killed and not live to enjoy the legless body he craved.

As he grew older, his mother became used to him returning home later at night, and he lived almost independently of her. He found labouring jobs around Vauxhall and often helped out at the dairy farm at the end of the road where they lived, but as he’d never learned to read, he couldn’t aim for any better employment. He was pleased, however, after he’d had a few days’ work to be able to take some money to Dickie and buy their supper. As far as he knew, Dickie had no other friends or family, and the cripple’s life was confined to begging outside Harrods and sleeping in Hans Place Gardens.

One late afternoon, he arrived at Harrods’ door. There was no sign of Dickie. As he walked down to Hans Place, he was horrified to smell smoke. Turning the corner, he could see the bushes and trees of the garden square were burning fiercely. Just as he got there, a horse-drawn fire engine arrived and several policemen came running. “Hey, kid, get back. Don’t go near. It’s not safe!”

A dreadful vision came into Billy‘s head: had Dickie had a cigarette given to him, and set the whole thicket of bushes on fire with him inside?

The heat of the fire forced Billy back against the wall of the nearby houses. Servants and housemaids came crowding out to see what the commotion was about, and more fire engines arrived. Tears pricked Billy’s eyes as he realised that Dickie could not have survived the fire. Billy stood transfixed by the conflagration, shaking with fear and sorrow. As darkness fell, the fire was under control and most of the servants and onlookers melted away to their chores.

Billy remained, a solitary inconspicuous boy, crouched down in a shadowy corner of the street, and he remained there all night. He fell asleep for a while, waking suddenly to find it was daylight.  The firemen were rolling up hoses, and of the gardens there was nothing but a blackened smouldering mess. Of Dickie and his nest there was no sign.

Billy wandered the streets aimlessly for much of the day and finally found himself at the door of the room he shared with his mother. He stumbled in.

“I hear there was a big fire in Knightsbridge last night,” said his mother.

“Yes, I saw it. I was there.”

“That beggar you know, did you see him?”

“No mother. In fact, I think it might be that he was in the fire. It was the bushes and trees of Hans Place that burned, and if he was there, he could not have survived.” Billy burst into tears. “It’s not fair mum, is it? He gets blown up in a war, and then burned to death in a fire. What kind of life was that? And no-one except me will even remember him.”

Billy fell onto the pile of rags that was his bed and soon fell into a deep sleep. For some days, he felt lost. He missed the casual sex as much as he missed the strange friendship he’d had with Dickie; and most of all, he yearned to lose his legs and become legless like his dead friend. It was not far to walk to the ramshackle terminus at Waterloo. Several train lines intersected there in strange ways, reflecting the chaotic muddles of railway development. He saw how steam trains could not stop quickly nor easily and realised that even if the driver saw him sitting with his legs across the rail, the train would not stop in time and he’d be crushed. But how could he do it without dying?

Billy remained despondent for some time, mourning for his lost friend, and increasingly obsessed with becoming legless. His only consolation was in food, and he continued to eat excessively, and become fatter and fatter – a noticeable exception to the usual kind of late-Victorian impoverished youth.

One day his mother had news which jolted him out of his depression. “They’re looking for strong blokes to work as navvies on the railway. All around Waterloo, they’re putting in all kinds of new train lines. Most of the chaps there are Irish but I’m sure they’ll take you on as you’re big and strong.”

Working on the railway projects seemed a good idea to Billy. He would be close to moving trains and carriages, and the rough working conditions meant that serious accidents were not uncommon. The work might be hard and dirty, but he was one step nearer to his goal of leglessness. He soon found himself in a team of navvies shovelling huge barrowloads of stones to make the track bed of new railway lines. Great gangs of brickies were building cavernous railway arches to support the trains from Vauxhall into Victoria, and Billy’s gang was soon on top of the arches filling in vast chasms with rubble and laying new track work. Immediately beside the area where they were sweating were working lines, bringing suburban trains in to Waterloo. Billy liked working close to moving trains as he knew they would one day bring him the amputations he desired.

The gang of mainly Irish navvies were all tough and strong men, but mostly skinny and muscled. Billy, on the other hand, was not as strong as his mates, but was by far the biggest and got used to the rest of the gang calling him “Fattie”.

The pay was good for those who worked hard, and Billy was not only able to give cash to his mother but also to indulge his love of food. His appetite was enormous, and the rough workman’s cafes in the area learned his extreme eating habits. He was surprised to find he enjoyed the company of the Irish men, and soon became a popular and hard-working member of the gang. He was almost a kind of mascot for the gang as he was so noticeably fatter than even the toughest of the Irish navvies.

 After some months working on the lines, and becoming well-known to his mates in the gang, he was ready for his ‘accident’. Checking that several workers were close by, he suddenly stumbled, falling over his own shovel, and fell into the path of a passing train. Just as he planned, both legs were severed above his knees, but the loss of his left arm as well was unplanned.

“Fucking hell!” came a shout from the other men. “Fattie’s copped it.”

“Get your belt off and pull it round his leg as tight as you can,” shouted the shocked foreman, “and someone else do the other leg, and his bloody arm. Be quick or he’ll bleed to death.”

“He’s fucking dying,” said another.

“Not yet, if oiy can help it,” said the foreman, his thick Irish accent even stronger in the emergency. “He’s our moite and we’ll do what we can to save ’im.”

Billy had chosen his location carefully, close to the hospital which he hoped would save his life. The men soon had him on a tarpaulin and ran across the road to St Thomas’ Hospital.

“Stand back! Look out! Injured man coming through,” shouted the foreman, and within a few minutes of his accident, Billy was in the hospital and a doctor came running to see what the commotion was about.

“He’s still alive,” said the foreman.

“Only just,” said the doctor grimly. “Whoever pulled these tourniquets tight saved his life. Now all we have to do is clean him up and stop the bleeding.”

“Is he going to live?” asked the foreman.

“God knows,” said the doctor. “We’ll do our best, but it will be touch and go for several days. We won’t know if he’ll survive for at least a week or more. Find out if he has family and get a message to them.”

They knew he lived “down Vauxhall way”, but none knew his address, nor if he had family. His mother, worried that he hadn’t come home for two nights, went to the hut beside the men’s work area to ask about him.

“Oh missus, we’re glad to see you. Your Billy was in an accident a couple of days ago, but he’s hurt very bad and not bin able to tell anyone about where he lives or his family.”

Billy had been semi-conscious for the time since the accident and appeared to be asleep when at last his mother found him in the poor ward at St Thomas’s. She sat with him for a while, but he showed no sign of knowing she was there.

“Give it a week,” said the nurse. “Sorry to tell you, but by the end of the week, we’ll know if he’s going to survive.”

“Or die,” said his mother grimly.

When Billy woke up he was very confused at first, but slowly realised where he was and what had happened. He lay silently for a while, listening to the bizarre sounds which filled the air of the poor ward, gradually remembering what he’d done and recognising that he’d better appear to be very upset and not delighted by his amputations.

“Are you awake, Billy?” asked the nurse.

“I think so miss,” groaned Billy. “I bloody hurt all over and I’ve got a raging thirst.”

“I’ll get you water.”

After she brought some, she asked Billy if he knew what had happened. “Not really,” he pretended. “I think I remember falling. How long have I been here?”

“Nearly two weeks, Billy,” said the nurse. “Your mother’s been to see you once or twice. She was very upset because she thought you were going to die.”

“I ain’t dying,” said Billy firmly. “I’m going live a few years yet.”

“It won’t be easy,” said the nurse. “You’ve lost your legs and most of your left arm as well.”

“Is that why my arm hurts so much?” said Billy. “You mean it ain’t there?”

The nurse nodded.

“I’m starving,” said Billy. “Ain’t there nothing to eat in this place?”

The nurse laughed. “Your mother said it would be a sign that you’re getting better when you asked for food. There’s only very basic rations here in the hospital, but when your mother comes, you can ask her for extra food.”

Despite his extensive injuries, Billy’s appetite was undiminished, and his mother brought him iced buns and other treats. She called in the afternoon, often after she returned from delivering recent mending or sewing and had a few pence to buy treats for her boy. Slowly his massive wounds healed, and the day came when his mother found him sitting in a chair beside his bed.

The nurse spoke to them. “Sorry, but this is all we can do, and we can’t keep you here any longer. This is the poor ward, and we depend on charity. You’ll have to leave.”

His mother looked alarmed. “How are we going to get you home?”

Billy said, “I’ve been thinking about this. Mother, you know the workman’s hut, just by where they’re working? Well, go and bring a couple of the lads with a bit of tarpaulin. Then they can carry me out.”

“Oh dear, how awful,” said his mother, little knowing how much Billy was looking forward to being out in the world as a legless cripple.

The Irish foreman was pleased to help, and with two more of the navvies, they soon had Billy back at home in Vauxhall. Depositing him on the pile of rags he called his bed, the foreman asked if there was anything more they could do.

“Yes,” said Billy. “Come and get me in the morning on your way to work and carry me up to Waterloo. I reckon I ought to do well begging at the station entrance, and as the station gets bigger and busier, and I get established in my pitch, a legless beggar with one arm should get good pickings.”

Billy settled into the daily routine, with his old workmates carrying him to the station early every morning, and back home at dusk. The new commuter trains brought more and more workers into the station and many of them regularly gave Billy coins. Some offered food and a few of his “regulars” started to balance a fresh bun on his begging cup.

“Christ, Fattie,” said the foreman one day, “I do believe you’re getting even fatter. You’d better not eat too much more or even a gang of Irish navvies won’t be able to carry you.”

Billy giggled. His obsession for being an amputee seemed to have developed into a desire to be extremely fat and he loved the idea of an increasingly bigger gang of men needed to carry him back and forth from his home.

He became aware of one particular man who he thought was befriending him. The man was distinctive in a green velvet frock coat, battered top hat and unusual high-heeled boots. He had a strong Cockney accent, and Billy was interested in the man with his flashy clothes, who often gave him a few coins and a cheery greeting. 

One day – Billy had been begging for almost a year – the man approached with a box and set in on the pavement in front of Billy. To his surprise, the man then sat down beside him.

“I’ve been watching you for a while,” said the man, “and I’d like to make you a proposition.”

“Me?” said Billy. “What kind of a proposition?”

“I’ve noticed that you’ve got quite an appetite,” said the man. “Look in the box.”

Billy lifted the lid to discover a dozen iced buns. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“That’s just a little present, to help say ‘hello’. I’m Bertie Smart. I expect you’ve heard of me.”

“No,” said Billy, confused.

“Bertie Smart of Smart’s Sideshow and Amusements.”

“You mean a freakshow?”

“In a way, I suppose so, but it’s got class. It’s on Oxford Street, the posh end near Marble Arch, the up-and-coming area.”

“What’s it to me?” said Billy.

The man leaned close to Billy. “I got a vacancy for a fat boy. You could come and work for me. Much better than sitting here on the pavement in all this filth; and you’d get paid, and you’d have a bed to sleep in.”

“I’ve never slept in a bed in my life,” said Billy, “except when I was in the hospital.”

“I thought not,” said the man. “Now, what’s your name?

“Billy.”

“Excellent,” said Bertie. “Good name for a fat boy.”

“What would I have to do?” said Billy.

“Nothing,” said Bertie. “Sit on a comfortable chair, smile and let people feed you buns.”

“Sounds alright,” said Billy.

“Best offer you’ll ever get.” Bertie Smart leaned in very close to Billy’s face. “There’s only one thing. You’ll have to have your other arm off.”

“Shit!” exclaimed Billy. “I don’t know about that.”

“Think about it, Billy. Now enjoy the box of buns I’ve brought you, and think about it all night Billy, and I’ll come by tomorrow. You can stay here in the gutter begging for pennies, or you can come and work for me, a clean comfortable life, with all you can eat, and nice clean clothes, and a bed at night. Think about it.”

As he was carried back to the grubby room in Vauxhall, Billy’s mind was in a whirl. The idea of a comfortable bed, good clothes and plenty of food was very tempting – almost, it appeared, a life of luxury. He’d no longer be a burden on his mother, and no longer dependent upon begging. He thought about having his remaining limb removed. He was attracted to the idea and since he was already almost unable to move, losing his right arm and hand would not be such a shock – and it would force his new friends to care for him. In the darkness of the night, he was attracted to losing his fourth limb, and in the morning, after a sleepless night weighing up the arguments for and against risking everything with Bertie Smart, he had made up his mind.

“Ma,” he said, “I’ve got an offer to go and join a freakshow. I’ll have a bed to sleep in, good meals and decent clothes. I’ve decided I’m going to give it a go.”

His mother was calm, recognising that a great deal of responsibility would be lifted from her shoulders. “Very well, my boy: if it’s what you want, I’ll not stop you. When will you start?”

“Today, I think. I’ll go to the station as usual and the freakshow people will come for me.” He didn’t tell his mother that the offer was subject to having his arm amputated.

The navvies called as usual and hefted Billy onto his tarpaulin. “Christ, you’re getting heavier and heavier,” they said.

“You’ll not be doing this again after today,” said Billy. “I’m off to see the world!”

The men laughed, thinking it a joke, but when they went to fetch him at the end of the day, he was gone.

Bertie Smart had arrived with a couple of workmen pulling a handcart.

“Well young man,” said Bertie, “are you with me or not?”

“I’m with you,” grinned Billy.

Bertie’s assistants did not speak a word – they appeared to be deaf and dumb – and Bertie signalled to them to hoist Billy onto the handcart, which they did with considerable effort using his old tarpaulin. Bertie signalled again and they set off, the two men pulling, Bertie walking beside Billy. They crossed Westminster Bridge and Billy said, “I used to wander about round here when I was a nipper, but I didn’t go much further north.”

Bertie looked at his new specimen. He really was fat and without three of his limbs had almost no movement. He had had a vacancy for a fat man since the last fat boy died, and a room and a booth ready for a new occupant. Without his limbs, Billy would make an even better attraction than the previous fattie.

The strange group made its way through some of the grandest streets of London: along Whitehall, up the Haymarket and Regent Street, and eventually turned left into Oxford Street. Bertie was now on his home turf, and several shopkeepers acknowledged him by tipping their hats as they passed by. Eventually, just before the Marble Arch, they reached a garish shop with the whole frontage covered by an enormous brightly painted sign proclaiming it to be “Bertie Smart’s Sideshow and Amusements”.

They were met by a tall and extremely skinny man. Bertie introduced him. “This is Monsieur Jacques. He’s going to be your best friend, and servant. He’ll do anything and everything for you.” Bertie did not pronounce the man’s name as if he was French, but “Mon-sewer Jay-queez”.

“Pleased to meet you Billy,” said Jacques. “Mister Bertie told me all about you last night. Now we’ll take you down to your room and let you rest after your journey. You must be black and blue bumping along in that old handcart.”

“Black and blue and probably hungry,” agreed Bertie. “Jacques, as soon as Billy is settled, make sure he has a good big lunch.”

With a great deal of dumbshow for the two silent workers, Jacques supervised moving Billy through the shop, which seemed to consist of a number of curtained booths, all still closed, and to a narrow staircase down to the cellar. The men were unsure how to get Billy down, but he said, “I can do this myself. Put me down on the floor.”

With his one arm, he bumped down from step to step until he was at the bottom. Guided by Jacques, he made his way slowly along a passageway and into a small room which was to be his living quarters. It would have appeared squalid to many people, but after the room which he had shared with his mother all those years, it was very attractive – all the more so because of a big bed which dominated the room.

“Is this for me? I’ve never had a bed before,” said Billy, “but I’ll need help getting up onto it.”

The two silent men heaved Billy onto the bed and he sat contemplating his new situation. Bertie entered the room. “Will this do, Billy-boy?”

“It’s splendid,” said Billy. “What happens next?”

“Lunch,” announced Bertie, “and then a siesta, I think. You haven’t forgotten the deal, have you?”

“To lose my right arm?” said Billy.

“Yes, fat boy, it’s coming off this very afternoon. I want you ready for exhibition as soon as possible and there will be a little time of recovery from the amputation before we display you to the paying public.”

“How’s it going to happen?” asked Billy, a little fearfully.

“Nothing’s impossible in the London underworld,” said Bertie. “A very nice surgeon I know will be here later and he’ll see to everything. You’ll be sound asleep, of course, and Jacques here will look after you as you recover.”

“I’m feeling a bit frightened,” said Billy.

Bertie laughed. “Nothing to be frightened of. I take very good care of all my charges, and I look forward to the day you join my stable of freaks.”

Jacques appeared with a large warm meat pie for Billy. “I’ll feed you,” said Jacques. “After all, when your other arm’s gone, you’ll be totally dependent on being fed by me. You’re lucky. You’ll get lots to eat. The master wants you to be as fat as possible. Me? I get almost nothing. I’m advertised as the human skeleton and there’s nothing of me under these clothes. A pie this size would last me a week.”

“Show me,” said Billy.

Jacques took off most of his clothes. He was wearing a little golden posing pouch which appeared to contain a large penis, but nothing else about him could be considered large. He was the skinniest man Billy had ever seen. Every rib stood out prominently. “Bloody hell, Jacques,” said Billy. “It’s a wonder you can stand up.”

“I surprise myself sometimes,” said Jacques. “Now Doctor Victor will be here soon. I must get you undressed ready for him. You can keep your pants on, he’ll only want your top half exposed.”

Doctor Victor turned out to be a mousey little man. He arrived with an apprentice and a bag of tools. “Christ, another fat one,” he exclaimed. “Wasn’t like this in the Crimea. All the boys were skinny, and amputations fast and frequent. I held the record for the most legs chopped off in a day,” he continued proudly. “We’ll soon have that arm off, and the other stump while we’re at it. Master Smart wants you to have nicely rounded shoulders with no sign of arms or stumps.”

Despite the apparently horrific situation, Billy found himself sporting a huge erection. Doctor Victor noticed immediately. “Oh, you’re one of those,” he said, “who think amputation is erotic. We’ll see what you think when your arm’s gone and you’re only a fat torso.”

He decided to operate on the floor, and his apprentice unrolled a large oilcloth. Billy used his right arm for the very last time, dragging himself into position on the floor. “Now Monsieur Jacques, you’re going to be in charge of the chloroform. Hold this bag under Billy’s nose. There’s a sponge inside and your job is to keep the sponge moist with the chloroform and keep Billy asleep, but beware you don’t sniff it yourself and knock yourself out. We don’t want that. My apprentice here is in charge of the blood. There will be some, but not too much as he’ll be catching the blood vessels and tying them off as we find them.”

Doctor Victor took out a bottle of disinfectant and splashed it around liberally. “We got through gallons of this stuff in the Crimea,” he said cheerfully, “but we still lost a lot of men.” Billy looked alarmed. “Don’t worry, son. This is routine. We won’t lose you. Now are you ready?”

Billy nodded.

“Chloroform, Monsieur Jacques, if you please, and away we go.”

Good as his word, Doctor Victor was a very fast worker, slicing into Billy’s shoulder, quickly finding the top of the humerus.  He did not saw the bone but removed it entirely from its socket. The apprentice was very efficient in controlling the blood, and it seemed no time before the doctor was sewing up the wound with neat stitches. Hardly had the operation finished than he’d moved to the other side, opened Billy’s left shoulder and fished out the remnants of Billy’s left humerus and closed that wound. The whole procedure was over in less than half an hour. The apprentice used several rolls of bandage to bind the wounds.

“I’m slowing down in my old age,” grinned Doctor Victor. “There was a time when I could do half a dozen arms in half an hour. Now Jacques, keep him asleep for an hour then let him wake up. Here’s a dose of laudanum to give him when he wakes. Don’t touch the bandages for a week, then use warm water to gently remove them. The wounds should have healed, and you don’t want to pull them open when you take the bandages off. He’s young, so he should recover quickly. I’d usually say he’d be up and about in a couple of weeks, but of course without arms and legs, he’ll never be able to be up and about. I hope he likes being such a total cripple. I’ll leave him in your tender hands.”

The two deaf and dumb servants were called to help get Billy into his bed, the apprentice rolled up the oilcloth, and the Doctor departed. Bertie appeared at the doorway. “All done?” he asked.

“Very nicely,” said Jacques. “Now all we’ve got to do is look after him and get him fit and well.”

Billy woke slowly with a great deal of groaning. He knew from his days at St Thomas’s that he’d be in agony but knowing about it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. Jacques sat with him and fed him small doses of laudanum, and he fell in and out of fitful sleep. For a while, Billy had nothing but water to drink but they knew he was getting better, just as the nurse in the hospital had found, when he said he was hungry.

Bertie was delighted. “He’s hungry – hurrah! That means he’s getting better. We’ll soon have him on display. Well done, Monsieur Jacques! Another good job.”

When he could sit, Billy began to receive visitors, and met his fellow freaks. The first to arrive was the bearded lady, soon followed by the Siamese twins, a pair of giggling young women. They seemed very pleasant and welcomed Billy to their strange community.

Next to visit was a particularly handsome and well-muscled young man. “Wotcher,” said the man, “I’m Thor; and I know you’re Billy, although I bet Master Bertie will change your name.”

Billy looked at Thor. “You don’t look like a freak,” he said. “You’re a very handsome man.”

Thor laughed. “I don’t look like a freak, that’s for sure, but this is what I do.”

He produced a long sword and tipping his head back, proceeded to swallow it.

“That’s brilliant,” said Billy. Thor pulled the sword out and grinned.

“It’s not the only thing I can put down my throat,” said Thor. “I’m fantastic at swallowing cock. Now you have no hands, I bet you’d love to get your cock sucked, wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t tell you how much I need it,” said Billy. “Getting amputations gives me a constant hard on, and Jacques doesn’t want to know. I am pleased to see you, Thor. I’ve been desperate. I’d be so pleased if you want to get down there right now. There’s all the saved-up spunk from the erections I had when I was getting amputated.”

Billy had no idea just how brilliant it would be to be sucked by such an expert. He knew he had a big cock and was amazed to see the whole thing slide down Thor’s throat so easily. Billy was aware that Thor had no gag reflex. He could push hard and deep into the man’s throat. Gradually he felt his climax growing, and when he came, it lasted longer than he could have imagined.

Panting heavily, Billy was speechless for a while. “I hope I haven’t burst my stitches. I’ll try suck yours when I’m recovered from my operations,” he said.

Bertie put his head round the door. “What’s going on here?”

“Just lubricating my throat, boss,” said Thor. “I think I’m going to need to do it daily with Mister Billy.”

“Well done,” said Bertie, “I like all my stable to be happy. Now let Billy get some sleep.”

Billy was nervous when it came to peeling off his bandages, and he saw his new body for the first time. Jacques was very gentle and sponged Billy’s shoulders with warm water. “We’ll soon have you presentable,” he said. “I think it’s time for Master Bertie to design your costume for display. I expect he’s been thinking about giving you a stage name.”

A couple of days later, Bertie appeared with some carefully drawn images. “I think we’ll start off with this Tweedledee-Tweedledum idea,” said Bertie, “although I’ve got other ideas. I’m not spending money on lots of outfits as I assume you’ll get bigger and fatter and soon outgrow this first costume. I’ve been thinking about stage names. I’ve got a very simple idea: we’ll just call you Big Boy. Is that OK for you?”

“I love it,” said Billy, “and as soon as I’m properly healed and got my appetite fully back, I want to get bigger. By the way, you know that Jacques can’t get me in and out of bed on his own? We need the deaf and dumb boys every time; and they’ll be needed to get me up and down the stairs.”

“Don’t worry, Big Boy. Deaf and Dumb are here to do all the heavy lifting and they’ll be ready and willing to carry you about.”

The bearded lady, Lizzie, visited Billy in his room to offer her services. “Poor thing, you must be very frustrated, lying here all day,” she started, exposing her ample bosom to Billy. Billy chuckled. “Sorry, Lizzie. You have lovely tits but I’m not that way inclined.”

“Bugger!” she laughed. “I suppose Troy got here first. Well, never mind. I have enough fun with Monsieur Jacques to keep us both happy. He’s got a lovely cock.”

To any outsider, the strange community living at the sideshow appeared to be very odd indeed, but for its residents, it was a safe, happy and almost luxurious existence. Few of them could have any life outside the freakshow. There were no opportunities other than travelling circuses which would employ them. Bertie Smart cared for his bizarre troupe and knew that he got their best performances by treating them well.

The sideshow was often crowded and Big Boy became a particular favourite. His lack of limbs and vast bulk gave young Victorian ladies a strange thrill. Deaf or Dumb would sit outside Big Boy’s booth providing, at considerable extra cost for the punters, a long stick with an iced bun on the end, which they could offer Billy as he sat helpless on his throne. Thus he was supplied with an endless supply of sticky buns, as well as the generous meal Bertie provided. Soon his initial Tweedledum costume was too tight for him and Bertie had new, roomier clothes made: an enormous baby costume, a giant soldier outfit, and the crowd’s favourite, a giant Humpty Dumpty suit.

Billy settled into a happy regime: Troy woke him with a long and satisfying blow job every morning, followed by a hearty breakfast; Jacques dressed him in his costume for the day; Deaf and Dumb carried him upstairs and set him in his booth ready for the afternoon viewing when he’d eat the iced buns supplied by the public; and the day ended with Jacques feeding him a big meat pie. Not once did he regret losing his arms and legs. Now and then he remembered the beggar who started him on this bizarre lifestyle. He was sad that Dickie’s life had been so grim and rejoiced in finding a way to thoroughly enjoy limbless life.

 

THE FREAKSHOW