Performance Is Sex

It happens in the dark, in the light, in the everyday. It seeks your consent. It forces itself upon you. It slithers in between the comfort of the taken for granted and the shiver of the unknown and it haunts you in your dreams, your fantasies, your worst fears. It works on your skin and twists your sinews. It makes you yelp, splutter and crack open with delight. It makes you shut down and recoil and if possible, flee. It appeals to your intellect but it is best when it whets your desires and stirs your emotions. Performance is sex. And so, sometimes performance appears as a seducer. It knows more than you. It woos you with soft words and smooth sensations. It is very practiced and artful. Somewhat smug, even. It has done this a million times before, but it is your first time, so you shudder. It renders you vulnerable, complacent and compliant. You wonder if you were slipped a mickey. You give in. You try to make out that you know what you’re doing and how to handle it. You are out of your depth and you know it. You surrender and fall under its well-honed spell. When it is over, part of you is lost forever. You emerge more aware, more knowing, less innocent. And so, sometimes it appears as a one-night stand. It flatters you with hasty promises and fulsome complements and you willfully gambol off together for a good solid romp. Of course, as it is right here, now and exciting, you laugh. You feel wickedly delicious. It is sloppy, soulless, and emotionally evacuated. Just what you wanted really, even if tomorrow you might feel a bit sheepish and cheap and vow never, ever, to tell anyone that matters that you liked it. And so, sometimes it appears as a predator. It lays in wait for you when you are unsuspecting. Large and looming, irrepressible and undaunted — you have no choice, you must submit. It sweeps you away to a darkened corner. The promise of candy that initially lured you is now a faint memory as you struggle to resist its advances. You are powerless against it. It demands your attention; it devours your will and steals your idealism. It penetrates you, lays itself upon you, and smothers you as it has its way with you. As you are engulfed by it, you are not sure you will survive intact. You are forever marked by the experience. And so, sometimes it appears as a whore. You know the price. You know what