Ryan St. Germain

Circus Wanted

A pair of misfits is seeking a circus to join. We have skills of all sorts, including lion taming (ok, they aren’t really lions; chihuahuas with lion cuts, but it’s great, trust me), fire breathing (this isn’t always intentional, but it’s kept mostly under control), tumbling (this happens most often after attempts at breathing fire) and all sorts of dazzling feats that are sure to draw a crowd. We’ll work for cheap (you can pay us in booze and tutu’s), take up little space (though we are raising a mouse army that requires a good deal of pampering) and have our things packed. 
Looking to start immediately.

I’d written this post on craigslist as part of the correspondence between Carina and I and I was holding the response in my hand. I looked at the ornate handwriting on the postcard and without reading a single word I knew who it was from. Her penmanship always made it seem that the address was drawn and not written.  I walked outside of the mail service with my keys still in hand and I looked at the front of the card. It was a David Lachapelle print full of vivid colors and pretty faces. It had a circus-like quality to it that felt like Carina through and through. We’d been sending one another books and trinkets, postcards and letters for a long time, keeping a distance and sometimes falling out of contact, but always finding one another again.

I’d known Carina for almost three years before we ever spoke on the phone and still to this day we’ve never met in person. We became acquainted by accident in a webcam chat room that I was monitoring, when I mistook her for someone that I knew. By the time that I figured out that she wasn’t who I thought she was, I was already enjoying the conversation so it didn’t matter. It sort of reminded me of a time when I was very young (first grade perhaps) and had let a helium balloon go with a note attached to it that had my address on it. I’d gotten a pen pal that lived not far from me in exchange for one red balloon.

She’d sparked my interested initially because she was a photographer as well, as fetish was her speciality. She photographed live shows and identified herself as a domme, so we had more than a few things in common. From what I could see of her photo’s she seemed like someone that I’d want to have model for me; as we talked more it seemed less important to have her model for me and more important that I should know her.

When we finally did speak on the phone, I was taken by the dreamy quality of her voice (which matched her hand writing perfectly). I thought that if I’d ever created an imaginary friend for myself, it would have been Carina Crash and if you told me that I’d dreamed her, I’d hesitate to tell you otherwise.  We talked for hours at a time, making lofty plans and discussing our own personal trials and tribulation. We laughed, which was something that I really needed just then. She had a knack for calling  when I needed to take my mind off of something that was troubling me and after a few minutes on the phone with her I’d usually forget what I’d been blue about.

No matter where life has takes either of us, I feel these years later that I’ll always have a friend in Carina Crash. When we finally do meet in person it’ll be a monumental occasion that will be filled with great pomp and circumstance. It’ll be befitting of a friendship that has grown even without our ever having formally met; it’ll be as though as though the circus has come to town.