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Fletcher Jones can chirp like a bird, grunt like a monkey, sing in nearly every key, and disguise his voice to sound like a woman, but he isn’t dangerous as so many believe. He’s a circus performer who lured a couple of hot studs into his trailer one night. When the men’s wives caught them in the act, they made sure that Fletcher was sent to the infamous Manninger Institute. When he escapes, the quirky carnie eludes the authorities with his many ploys, until the institute’s founder stumbles upon clues as to his whereabouts.
Well hidden by rows upon rows of massive trees stood a residence grand in scale, surrounded by lush green grass, and boasted every amenity any gay man could ever desire. No dress code restricted freedom of spirit, no menu subdued the most delicate of palates, and well, pretty much anything went. There were wedding ceremonies, coming out parties, masquerade balls, and an S&M club for the more adventurous types.
Dr. Mann reclined by the side of the pool and rubbed oil on his body that was not at all in bad shape for a middle aged man. He had inherited his tall lean build from generations of Mann men and the bronze color of his skin had taken years to achieve. He was well aware of the dangers of tanning and skin cancer, but looking good was important to him. Everyone knew that when Dr. Mann presented himself in this manner, with nothing on but his shorts that he wore high up his thighs, the doctor was waiting for someone and no man could resist the doctor. It was an unspoken rule that whoever noticed the doctor first was rewarded with the honor, but on occasion two men would be unable to determine who had been the first to have witnessed the doctor’s arrival, and on those occasions Dr. Mann received the royal treatment.
As he did every day, today Dr. Mann searched the web for some mention of a wayward carnie or a note of strange happenings at a traveling circus. Ah Fletcher, where art thee? The good doctor had nearly given up when he noticed a photograph of a man who had been caught urinating in a park. It had been late at night and ordinarily it wouldn’t have gotten the attention of anyone, but as luck would have it a policeman had caught the poor man in the act. A brief reprimand was all that he had planned until he noticed something very peculiar. After the man had finished, he turned to the officer and smiled. The bright red lipstick was the first clue that something was not quite right, the second clue was that the officer had not seen anything being ‘tucked away’, but the real kicker was the man’s voice. It was high pitched, feminine, and as sweet as a slice of pecan pie. “Excuse me,” the officer said. “Yessiree, officer. How can I help you?” The officer wanted to ask if he was truly a he, or if he was a she, but he was too stunned by the man’s appearance. The man smiled sweetly and turned on the charm, twirling his long hair with his fingers. The officer was certain that the man, or woman, was in need of psychiatric treatment, so he politely offered him a ride to the hospital.