Performance Anxiety

Substack Story 1400

Photo by Debasish Lenka on Unsplash

Half a joint, two rum and diets and Sarah Rezillo’s way of making everything sound like a wonderful idea got me to have sex with the Mahoney Square mime.

I seduced him right in the square, tourists watching, some of them probably thinking I was part of the show.

We left the square holding hands, though I thought somehow we’d be pretending to hold hands from a foot away or something, and went to the Denson Motel. I figured the rooms would be decent because the pool always looked clean, but I was wrong. 

Sarah fantasized that we’d copulate without exchanging words, but Sarah wasn’t gonna fuck the mime, I was, and I wanted to know his name at least, in case he got weird and I had to make a police report.

Gordon was gentle, and caring and polite and so boring in bed I started coaching him.

Of course I was going to tell Sarah all of it, along with one photo just risque enough that it would insinuate, if not entirely prove I had sex with the mime, though I would never lie to Sarah.

I told Gordon that I had to go meet back up with my friend, gave him a polite kiss and walked to meet Sarah in Mahoney Square, as we planned.

She wasn’t there.

The magician was there, and the good juggler and the bad juggler, and the guy who talked to the dodgeball with the glued on googly eyes.

But no Sarah.

And no Statue Man.

I began to wonder when Sarah didn’t return my texts.

Her response to my fourth text ( I’m starting to freak Say!) was: Meet me at Orlando’s in 30

A minute later she texted: I’m in love.

An hour later she showed up on the patio at Orlando’s, looking like she had been in an orgy with the entire Russian Olympic team, winter and summer.

Like if she wasn’t beaming I would have thought she had gotten mugged and beaten up.

Sarah Rezillo had sex with The Statue Man. 

He did Lady Liberty a lot so I thought he was probably gay, but Sarah, inspired by my little nearly wordless seduction of the mime, had gone for The Statue Man.

Apparently the muscle control it takes to stand motionless in an often chilly brick square translates to a queen sized mattress.

Sarah, confident in her choice, had taken the Statue Man home to our apartment.

Eric is his name, and before I could ignore Gordon’s first two texts begging for a second date, Eric became a de facto roommate.

He also seemed to decide that my Xanax prescription was partly meant for him, and the bracelet I got from my parents for graduation seemed to float out the door.

Sarah refuses to believe me.

She’s in love. 

I started keeping my Xanax in my room, but it was too late for my bracelet.

I asked Gordon if he knew anything about the Statue Man, and all he could tell me was that he was kind of a dick and that he did the Statue of Liberty a lot because the robe hides his toes, which he moves to keep from going crazy then he asked if we could hang out again.

With a firm no on my lips, Eric walked through the hallway eating what could only be a handful of my cashews.

I swallowed the no and said “Only if you beat up The Statue Man.”

I didn’t think he’d take me seriously. 

I didn’t realize no one knows what he looks like without the makeup and mime outfit.

Sarah told me so much about sex with The Statue Man, that I hadn’t really gotten a chance to tell her more about Gordon. That turned out to be a bonus.

We’re on the way to the Ozarks. Or New Orleans. Or Mexico, if The Statue Man decides to press charges.

The Statue of Liberty got punched in the dick. Repeatedly.

Something tells me it won’t be the last time.

And if Gordon can teach himself to mime, I can teach him how to fuck.

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