Scene 1 : Joe’s Aria: What Did I Do Today?

What did I do today?
Just a minute. Just a minute.
7:05 a.m.: I made you breakfast in bed.
Banana and chocolate crepes, Darjeeling tea, soymilk and raw sugar.
I made love to you: Position Number 16: The Prancing Pony.
You climaxed at 7:49.
At 7:50 you sat up saying you had an early conference call.
You dressed; you left.
I made the bed.
Seven sheets of tissue paper remain in the box on the table by the bed.
I cleaned the house. Bathroom.
Clean-Rite Disinfecting Spray,
Now with 15% more bacteria-killing formula
Per squeeze.
Then I tidied the living room.
And kitchen.
On the street a dog barked in repeating patterns for 22 minutes.
A child came to the door selling cookies.
I had no money. She went away.
At three-thirty I pre-screened the 2003 romantic comedy A Villa in Tuscany.
It earned a 79.6 applause rating on Classic-Flix-dot-com.
The views of Tuscan countryside in high summer are to die for,
And the lush, soaring score was nominated for an Oscar.
I set aside one packet of microwave popcorn.
I made you dinner.
Recipe Number 29: Vegetarian Lasagna.
Sunset at 6:42.
I lit the five rose-scented candles.
Chilled the champagne, waited for you.
You came home at 7:23.
Now it’s 7:32.
What else did I do?
Enough about me. What about you?


Scene 2: Maya’s Aria: The Perfect Man

What I want is a man.
Not just any man: the perfect man.
Who will be here, ready and happy,
At the end of every day.
You may find it alarming
But Prince Charming
Is just an upgrade away.
He can kiss me so tenderly,
Or hard and savagely.
He is a generous lover.
He can last all night in the sack
Without going slack.
He can hold back on his back
Until I’m done.
He thinks of me first and last,
Every time, every day.
And he never thinks of himself.
He never thinks at all.
But he seems to think,
And that makes all the difference!
That’s the perfect man.
Oh, I’ve had men—
Or weak creatures that called themselves men.
Selfish, stupid, lazy, greedy boys.
And after wasting years of my life
Playing house and wife,
I’ve decided to go home with my toys.
What I want is a man.
Not just any man:
The perfect man.


Scene 2: Dax’s Aria: Broken Machines

I know how it works:
Semiorganic physiomatrix
Molded over fiberoptic skeletal frame.
Ten terabyte processing capacity.
Saline and protein channels to simulate everything
From crying to climax!
I can fix it. I comprehend it.
It can move. It can pretend.
It can compute. It can emote.
It can simulate. And stimulate.
It works!
But people, all these people,
People are broken machines.
Their appetites, quirks, flaws, moods.
Changing attitudes: today kind, tomorrow cruel.
Hard to please: hot with urges but suddenly cool.
People, all these people.
People are broken machines.
I visit their homes every day.
Upgrades, downloads, diagnostic, termination.
People are broken machines.
One man wants his mother.
Another wants a whore.
A woman wants her daddy.
Another wants Mr. Right.
What do you want?
The perfect man?
Or an imitation of the image of perfection?
The difference between you and me
Is this: I know my home is empty.


Scene 3: Joe’s Aria: You Were My First Love

113 days, Maya.
You can’t really get to know a person in so short a time.
You were my first love,
The one I will never forget.
Your passion, your laugh,
I will never forget.
You taught me how to love,
How to be the perfect man,
But we were not meant to be.
You I will never forget.
Remember my kiss,
Forget the pain, goodbye.

MUSIC BY ROBERT PATERSON | LIBRETTO BY DAVID COTE

Client’s Aria: A Man Needs

Charlie Darwin got it right:
To thrive in the jungle,
A man’s got to fight.
A man’s got to kill,
And that takes iron will.
A man needs control.
He needs rules.
He may play a role
But never the fool.
A man needs power.
He needs clout.
The boss will decide
Who’s in and who’s out.
A man needs the law.
He needs jail.
Show contempt for the judge
And buddy, you fail.
A man needs discipline,
Or he’ll never win!
A man must be punished,
Or else he’s finished!

A man needs to be whipped,
Or stripped,
Or squeezed,
Or teased,
Or spanked,
Or mocked,
Or clocked,
Or pinched,
Or kicked,
Or pricked,
Or beaten, beaten, beaten
Till he’s black and blue.
And for two-hundred-seventy bucks an hour,
This man needs you.


Domme’s Aria: Pain and Release

Pain and release.
Torture and tease.
Worry and please.
I will fulfill your deepest needs.
You strip, I sneer.
I whip, you leer.
The ritual humiliation
Is sweeping the nation.
And don’t you just love it, my dear.
I pinch, you groan.
You flinch, I’m stone.
I slap, you sigh.
You snap, I lie.
It’s so excruciating,
We should be celebrating,
And don’t you ever do it alone.
My pleasure, your pain.
Your leisure, my gain.
It hurts so exquisitely.
I’m so glad you could visit me.
Would you like to come over again?
Pain and release.
Torture and tease.
I will fulfill your deepest needs.


Clent’s Aria: I Know Your Type

I know your type.
Pretty girl, not too dumb.
Studied hard, missed all the fun.
Looked back on your life, saw what a waste,
Life was a banquet that you didn’t taste.
Decided to have a second life, a little lie,
A secret side, a magic door,
Where you could hide inside.

You know my type.
Alpha boss, ladies’ man.
Do what I like because I can.
Reach deep within and feel no thrill;
Life is a wine I drunkenly spill.
Decided to have a second life, a secret side,
An inner lie, a tiny door,
Where I can hide inside.

I want to get inside you and find you.
I want to find your borders, your corners.
Back you in the corner, my corner.
We’re in the corner pressing close.
It’s small inside, where we hide,
It’s small inside you and me.

We’re the same type.
Wrapped in disguise.
Here it’s truth, outside it’s lies.
We agree to have a second life, a special side,
A private code, a secret key unlocks the door—
Where you hide…!


Domme’s Aria: You Don’t Own Me

You don’t own me.
Think you know me?
I know you.
You come here to be dominated,
But you can’t hide your hatred.
Your cringing is a kind of swagger.
Your begging is a command.
Your submission is my slavery.
You think I’m trash, a tool, something
to be used and tossed.
Just a commodity.
Your property.

Oh…
Think you know me?
Want to own me?
Get to know me.
Look into these eyes and see what I am.
I’m out of your price range:
The pretty pink doll you cannot buy.
Knock me down, but I will rise.
There’s a million more behind me, too.
I’m your mother, your wife, your daughter,
Your mistress, your sister, your teacher,
Your angel, your devil, your god.
I’m everything to you.

Is this part of the game?
What about the rules?
Who’s in charge?
Where is it going?
I despise his dead eyes;
His sour breath, like death.
So why am I wet
And the blood pounds around
In my head!
Ever since you were a girl,
You knew this day was coming.
A murderer knocks, you open the door,
And meet your glory, glory, glory!

So…
Now you know me.
No one owns me.
What about you?
What the fuck are you?!?
Cash. And a dick.
A sack of shit with a money clip.
You’re my two-o-clock session and your time is nearly up.

You’re my father, my lover, my son, my trick, my slave, my student, my rent, my plaything, my toy, my tool, my trash.

You're a commodity.
My property!
You're a commodity.
My property!

Now you know,
Now you know,
Now you know:
I own you!

MUSIC BY ROBERT PATERSON | LIBRETTO BY DAVID COTE

Kyle’s Aria: Why So Shy?

Why so shy?
Why stuck in place, hesitating?
Why so shy?
You’ve got to move, stop waiting.
Where are your high ideals?
Revolutionary zeal?
It’s not about who you touch;
It’s about how much they make you feel.

What gives our bodies so much joy,
Has led instead to so much pain.
And acts occurring naturally,
Actually, have been twisted
Into laws and lies and shame.

Until we stop caring,
Until we stop caring,
Until we stop caring,
With whom we do it,
And how we do it,
And why we do it,
There will be no freedom.
There will be no peace.
No release.

Why this fear?
I’ve faced many things before.
Still I shake.
Won’t make it through the night.
Some choose one, some three dozen,
Which doesn’t lessen any fright.

Maybe you’re under construction:
Work-in-progress, unfinished art.
Keep changing the frame and position,
Each revision revealing more of your heart.
A masterpiece of self-creation,
But first find the will to start.

If we stop caring,
If we stop caring,
If we stop caring,
With whom we do it,
And how we do it,
And why we do it,
People would share.
People would build
A paradise.

Still: Why so shy?
I have to change.
I have changed.
What holds me back?
Some ideology.
Society—inside of me.
The angry god of my youth.
Thought I’d finally fought free.


Connie’s Aria: Making Friends

An author of note once wrote, I quote: “Only connect.”
A piece of advice quite nice that I’ve come to accept.
I believe in expanding my circles,
Deepening contact with associates,
Enhancing those social bonds,
And facilitating community relations.

I like making friends.
New friends. True friends.
I like an acquaintance that isn’t high maint’nance,
I do enjoy making a friend.

A friend is eager to lend a hand,
Is there in a pinch,
If you’re low, they buck you up,
Some even come with benefits.

I like making friends.
You can never have enough.
New friends.
You can never have enough.
I like a companion who’ll never abandon me,
Even if things get rough.

We each must cultivate a network of peers.
I have grown a large one over the years.
My address book is simply bulging,
Not that I’m divulging any details.
Some people are good with names,
Others are good with faces,
I’m best when I see friends in unusual places.

I like making new friends.
Best friends, guest friends.
I like a new chum who likes having fun,
I like a new bud to play in the mud,
I like a new ally who won’t leave me dry,
I like a new pal—a guy or a gal.
I do like making friends!
Making friends!


Larry’s Aria: Not My Night

I’m angry with myself.
Well, just a part of myself—
The part that lies there like a shrunken lump.
I could take that magic pill,
But I’d rather use my will,
Not an artificial bump to end this slump.

Two of them, two of them, what more could you ask?
Two luscious ladies, eager and game.
That makes three of us, three of us, all in our masks,
The lighting is low, the cushions are deep,
It’s my favorite dream but I’m not asleep.
And Little Larry Junior’s not making a peep.
I guess it’s not my night.
Not my night. Not my night.

I’m beating up myself.
I should be nicer to myself.
I want to keep on playing in the game.
But despite my healthy hunger,
The other team is so much younger
And my pitching arm is feeling awful lame.
When did the wild man get so very tame?
Not my night! Not my night.


Jessie and Marcus Duet Aria: So, That Happened

JESSIE
So, that happened.
That really happened.
You wanted and you got,
And the getting, well, it’s not
Exactly what you thought
You wanted all that time ago.
There’s wanting and there’s getting,
Then a process of forgetting,
And strangest is the stranger that you know.

MARCUS
I’m pretty sure that wasn’t Jessie.
So, we transacted.
Yes, transacted.
She was selling, and I bought,
Or did I steal and then get caught?
But what if I had fought,
And tell me who exactly is the foe?
There’s wanting and there’s getting,
Then a process of regretting,
And strangest is the stranger that you know.

MARCUS & JESSIE
So, that happened.
That really happened.
We were flirting then we clicked,
Or was she fooling, was I tricked?
It’s not as if I didn’t want to go.
There’s wanting and there’s getting,
And the difference is upsetting,
And strangest is the stranger that you know.

MUSIC BY ROBERT PATERSON | LIBRETTO BY DAVID COTE