He never sleeps with his students, no matter how strong a bond he feels with them.
"In the past," he says. "I didn't want anything to get in the way of my students' developing their clowning craft and bringing the art of clowning into society. But now, with the way things are in this country—"
"There might not be any society to clown in very soon," you say, your breath growing short.
"No amount of happy clown makeup can hide the longing I feel for you," your clowning professor says.
You move close to him, stepping up onto his giant shoes so your face is just an inch from his.
"It's unethical," he says. "But watching the world crumble around me, knowing we never made love when we had the chance, that's unthinkable."
He takes off his nose. You take off yours. You trigger the flower on his lapel so it sprays your face, drenching it to remove some of the makeup, the water dripping onto your shirt causing it to cling to the shape of your breasts. He takes off one of his giant gloves and you place his hand over your right breast. When you kiss, your black lipstick and his blue lipstick mix to form a color reminiscent of the night sky. You kiss frantically, tangling your wigs until they both rip from your heads in a clatter of bobby pins. You grip his behind and cause the horn attached to his pants to honk. He grips your behind and an airbag pops and shoots confetti out from what crowds are meant to think must be your anus. Your struggle out of your rotund clown suits and fall to the floor of the classroom and make love, the mess of wigs and floppy shoes and squeeze horns serving as your bed for this one ecstatic moment when there are no happy clowns, there are no sad clowns, there are no drunk children's party clowns, there is only flesh.
When it's over, you hoist yourself back into your clown suit and he does the same. Once your suits and horns and props are in place and your makeup is immaculate, it's like nothing ever happened. You're once again two clowns, amusement is your sole purpose n this earth, and if underneath your artifice there is any stirring of passion for each other, the makeup hides it well.
Happy Your Clown College Professor Is Done Denying What's In His Heart Day!
