You know those "living statues" you see in big city squares? I'm talking about the people who paint themselves in silver or gold and either dress in elaborate costumes or simple bodysuits. They pose stock still until you toss them some money, and then they do some little routine and return to stillness. Like clockwork. Like robots.
Seeing those performers always make me squirm inside because what they do in public skates so close to my private fetish. They're pretending to be dolls or robots, and in my mind, I'm imagining that they're people who've been turned into dolls or robots. When they stand still with their eyes either closed or unblinking, it's so easy to imagine they're in trance. Someone has hypnotized them into motionless mindlessness, and although money can break the spell for a little while, they always return to the truth: they're thralls.
I get these thoughts even when I see bad living statues: ordinary faces and out-of-shape bodies stuffed into cheap unitards, wannabe robots who don't look any sleeker than me - and believe me, I am not sleek. But experiencing these fantasies while in public, with even the living statues themselves probably watching me even though they pretend they're not, I feel simultaneously horny and embarrassed. It's like having that dream where I find myself naked in public.
Well, just a little ago, I stumbled across an article written by a guy who performed as a living statue. He writes about his experiences as a Times Square regular and as hired entertainment at an increasingly bizarre party. It's a wonderful read. I'd love it even if I didn't have this crazy fetish, but having it makes the article that much better. It's so easy to imagine myself in his place...only without the dirty old man. So if you're into living statues, follow this link and enjoy the Lurid Confessions of a Times Square Silver Man.