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Could I make a play for my PD? My crime itself probably wouldn't be a dealbreaker: I'd altered prescriptions from my vet after she'd grown suspicious of my Setter's "tolerance" to the medication and had tightened up on the supply. I thought I had a chance, too, because ironically, at the same time that the medication was suppressing my sexual appetite, it was enhancing my ability to approach women. (I was still taking a massive dose, but legally. The detox was incredibly slow. You eased your way down, taking just a tiny bit less every two weeks.) The medication was an anxiety reducer. I wasn't taking it to reduce anxiety, I was taking it to help me sleep. But the effect smoothed the way toward asking an attractive stranger out for drinks. In the past I had a healthy, normal level of apprehension about approaching an attractive stranger. Now I had none whatsoever. The medication totally untied my tongue. It wasn't so different from the looseness that a few drinks gives you, except that it lasted around the clock and left me absolutely clearheaded. The lack of apprehension combined with clearheadedness made for intelligent and persuasive banter. The only problem was that while the banter enhanced my success in asking women out for drinks, I no longer had much interest in asking women out for drinks.

Still, the discovery that I could banter persuasively with attractive strangers was too intriguing not to explore, if only from the viewpoint of a disinterested observer. Most of the time the attractive stranger would say no, but every so often I succeeded where in the past I surely would have failed — on one memorable occasion, while standing in line at Walgreen's holding a stack of extra-large incontinence underpads in my arms. It was like a reality show where the challenge is to pick up women while handicapped by some dealbreaking prop. When I did "succeed," however, the end result never went beyond a chaste kiss. I couldn't have brought women back to my tiny studio apartment, even if I'd wanted to. The surface of my bed was a mosaic of overlapping underpads. My whole apartment was a dealbreaking prop.

But now I was thinking about sex again, or to be exact, about my PD.
It was like a reality show where the challenge is to pick up women while handicapped by some dealbreaking prop.
Every morning I'd take my detox dose, and then experience a phenomenon commonplace among fearful fliers. (I heard this from a flight attendant, over drinks.) Before takeoff the fearful flyer ingests a huge dose of the same med I was taking. But the med doesn't kick in; the flier's adrenaline is pumped up so high that it offsets the anxiety reduction. When the plane touches down, then the medication kicks in, all at once. My date described the ensuing process as "scraping the passenger off the floor." In my bed, it was testosterone that postponed the med from kicking in. Normally it would knock me out in a flash: now I stayed awake until noon, replaying Georgette fantasies over and over, only adapted slightly to fit the circumstance of meeting with a public defender in a conference room.

I couldn't ask Georgette out while we were still attorney and accused. But justice was as slow as my detox, and each two weeks meant losing a fraction of my Walgreen's magic. To compensate, I fantasized like crazy during our meetings, which usually found Georgette providing me with another gloomy update. To all appearances I was present and receiving the update, but in truth I'd disappeared into a fantasy conference room identical in all respects to the one in which I was pretending to be paying attention, except that what I was receiving was — and if this sounds crude, remember that I was an accused criminal — not an update.

              

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15 Comments

Well this is SO much better than all those low-brow confessionals so many people complain about... /sarcasm

NDO commented on 08/06

This is actually a great piece of writing. I look forward to more from this author.

RD commented on 08/06

God, this is just like 95% of all American writing now days. When is this going to end?

TK commented on 08/06

I've read Fortunato Salazar's other work and one thing I can say for sure, it doesn't remotely resemble 95% of all American writing now days.

CJ commented on 08/06

Terrific writing...and funny. Can the person who says this resembles 95% of american writing actually back that up with some kind of explanation. Otherwise the comment is meaningless.

tern commented on 08/06

Hey I actually liked this one! Hooksexup management people, if you're reading this, bring us more writing from this guy! (and less from much of the other writers who've moved in since the big shake-up)

PI commented on 08/06

Yeah, this was great. First piece I've really dug the hell out of since the redesign.

TD commented on 08/07

more of this, please

mp commented on 08/07

this was useless and dull

jp commented on 08/07

Poor man. Good writer, though.

CJM commented on 08/08

Much better than the pap or plain old crap on display here in the year or two before the redesign.

TITS commented on 08/08

loved this

ja commented on 08/08

As my role model, Christopher Walken, might say "WOW!" This is one of the best short pieces I've read in a very long time. Fortunato Salzar can really, really write. I'm gonna check out his other stuff.

myth commented on 08/09

Always nice to hear from the people who *aren't* getting laid. If I judged my life by number of orgasms with another person in the room, I might as well jump off a bridge. Thank you for showing that there are multiple possibilities for sexuality.

EM commented on 08/23

This was a waste. Boring.

JS commented on 08/26
 

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