I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.

It is starting to turn that corner that I dread. The shrivel-up-and-die corner, I call it.

Just People

Jimmy and His Women Part 1

Jimmy Darling had a lot of women in his life. And he was having trouble sorting them all out.

There was Barbara, his big, juicy fat lady. Well, girl, really.

Watching her eat did something to funny to him. Every time she took a bite, her face flushed and her eyes lit up and she seemed, well, turned on.

Which turned Jimmy on once he'd stopped sobbing all over her like a big, drunk baby.

He'd blearily wondered what it would be like to pleasure a woman simply by feeding her.

At first had been a little weird, requesting to feed her. Vaguely worried that she might balk at his deformed lobster hands.

But her eyes had lit up even more at the prospect.

And it had been fun.

She giggled and squealed and cooed.

Like she was actually happy to be there with him.

Like she was enjoying herself.

With him.

She was different from that stuffy, old, pouty, schoolmarm Maggie, who wanted him to be responsible and serious and emotionless just like her.

Barbara just wanted him.

And the food.

She practically glowed at him whenever he was around.

Especially when he fed her.

No coyness, no slightly cool demeanor. No reserved, collected standoffishness.

Nope, not his fat girl, Barb.

There was nothing hidden or mysterious or secretive or dark about her at all.

She was open. Wide open.

And soft.

He loved to watch her suck the little bits off the end of the spoon. Feel the tug on his hand.

Listen to her giggle. Look into her eyes all alight with excitement and pleasure.

Nobody else understood. They just looked at him like he was crazy.

He didn't care. He ignored their stares of disbelief and disgust. They didn't matter.

She did.

And the freedom to be just as silly and crazy as he wanted to be with her.

And his booze of course.

That mattered.

A lot.

The things he said to her, the things he did, ole' Miss Mystic Schoolmarm woulda scoffed at. Turned up her pert little nose.

But Ima, his big, juicy fat lady, she loved it.

And that made him happy.

At least for the moment.

That Dandy Mott creep wasn't a woman of course.

But he'd sure caused enough trouble with the other women in Jimmy's life to be slotted into the category of 'people who make lil' Jimmy reach for his booze bottle'.

Which was pretty much everybody at this point.

But Dandy was the only people, uh, person, that he could hit.

Or try.

But then again, lying on the ground, sucking on grass and dirt did have its own sets of pros.

For one thing, it soaked up some of the booze that seemed to be practically leaking out of his skin.

And it gave Jimmy the stillness to properly hear the cultured Mr. Mott's hissing, lecherous oration.

Something about gods and suffering . . .

Suffering, yeah, suffering, I'm there, man.

. . . destroying the things that Jimmy loved most . . .

My booze, you're gonna take my booze?

And then the guy'd walked away, just like all his friends did, leaving Jimmy to wallow alone in the dust.

While the rich kid with the killer clown hobby drove away in a car so hoity toity and expensive that Jimmy wouldn't even be low enough to wash the hubcaps of.

So he dragged his sorry self up and back to his big, fat Ima.

And his booze.

There were just a few problems with booze as it turned out. Nothing with which he couldn't cope of course.

Seeing everything in wobbly double.

Hoping to stay rollin' on his feet once he got headed in a certain direction.

Knowing he'd eventually puke up everything in his guts and have to taste that awhile 'til he found more booze to drown himself in.

Other than that, no big deal.

Well, except sometimes his ding-dong didn't work all the way.

And it took a lot of effort, a lot of effort to try and keep going through all that with Ima.

'Course she didn't seem to mind much though.

Little Miss Mystic, on the other hand, did.

At least Jimmy thought so.

He was a little too occupied with blindly begging like a lost, drunken, rutting mutt.

Grabbing knockers, mouthing off.

Lemon-lime lollipops, what a lying laugh. It didn't taste like that at all. It tasted like, well, what it is. Only one thing in the world tasted like that. That.

And getting roundhouse slapped by an enraged Little Miss Mystic for his aserbic wit and charm.

Oh boy, that really pissed her off, didn't it? Haha. Ow.

To really pay much attention.

And when Perfect Little Miss Mystic snarled at Ima about the pillows, and donuts, and socks, he'd known she was right.

And that'd finally made him turn and throw up.

Well, that and the river of liquor sloshing in his gut.

The Tupperware women.

All wanting their jollies and not caring about him.

Fumbly fingers and sour rot breath and everything tilting sideways on him.

Buuuuut, at least I get paid.

The lady of the house didn't really seem to enjoy it like she had before.

What the hell's wrong with you? These are lobster fingers of magic, babyyy . . .

She practically jumped right up, threw her money at him, and tottered right out the door.

Well, happy to meet your acqui . . . happy to meet your acquaint . . . happy to meet your hoohaa . . .

And Jimmy'd staggered after her, basically 'cause he was already pointed in that general direction.

And he was starving.

Right into the living room, parlor, sitting room, whatever. And finding the rest of the ladies.

And . . .

What in the hell are these little things? Little wienies on a stick? No wonder you call me, you can't do nothing with these! I could eat the whole plate and store it in my foot! Ha!

And as if that wasn't enough of a mind screw, Ma, dead Ma, showed up in the middle of everything, wearing pearls (as if she'd ever owned a real set in her whole life). Conversing with those little primps about how to store your leftovers.

What about me? I'm a leftover. But if nobody wants to store me, will I just be tossed out too?

So confused, so relieved to see her there.

Oh, Ma, you're here, oh I missed you, oh I've been so lost and confused, Ma, I've needed you!

Collapsing so gratefully with his head in her lap, just like he did when he was a little boy and known he'd done wrong and needed to know she forgave him. Needing to feel her warmth and acceptance and love.

Only she didn't love him.

She didn't forgive him.

She was angry with him.

Disappointed in him.

And then, she wasn't even there at all.

Just a sick little mind drunk thing.

And he was still all alone.

With all those rich, stuck up housewives looking down their powdered noses at him.

Him and his shame.

Until he stumbled out the front door.

Heyyy, the front door . . . I finally left out the front door. As a reward, you know, I think I'll go puke in those pretty bushes over there now. What are these, azaleas?

Hello again all!

I'm back from my two week Freak Show writing hiatus. I'd like to personally thank brigid1318 for dragging me off my freaked-out butt (figuratively) and making me face up to what Jimmy has become. And for helping me with this chapter and its part two.

Among other things, I figured there had to be a reason Dandy rang the bell so soon after Jimmy wandered out the front door and nobody mentioned it. My guess.

Thanks to brigid1318, Jurana Keri, shyangel101, Lydia (Wow, just wow, sweetie! Thank you sooo much! Wow!), Psychopathic Kitty, iWritexx, and my mystery guest (hope I don't let you down here) for reviewing.

Thanks to Strummer Pink and the Cry-Wank Kid for adding your support as well.