Editor Spotlight: Lyndsey Honor, Co-Editor in Chief

Written by Lyndsey Honor, Edited by Samuel Johnson

Self Portrait of Lyndsey Honor

Tongue-Tied 

Lyndsey Honor 

Inspired by Carlos Murillo Zamora’s  

Dark Play or Stories for Boys 

CHARACTERS 

DAHLIA 

SADIE 

* CW: Sexual content 

DAHLIA sits cross-legged  

on a bed center stage.  

She faces the audience.  

SADIE lies next to her,  

staring up at the ceiling. 

DAHLIA I make shit up. 

I make shit up all the time 

not because I like to or find joy in 

making shit up.  

Lying is therapy. 

Cheap therapy, I might add. 

You can deflect all your problems 

and make yourself into something you’re not. 

It’s easier than facing difficult situations head on. 

Plus, I’m never more confident than when I’m 

lying. 

I make shit up when I’m uncomfortable. 

And I’m uncomfortable a lot. 

Especially when it comes to 

love. 

I convinced a girl once that 

I was related to Hillary Clinton. 

I sat next to her in a politics class 

with an iPad in hand, 

lookin’ like I was ready to take on the world with 

my wisdom. 

When in reality, I was dissociating, unconfident, 

drawing my signature over 

and over, occasionally drawing a pair of  

tits on the page.  

But she didn’t need to know that. 

All that she took from that conversation was  

that she was seated next to  

Hillary Clinton’s cousin’s sister’s daughter once removed. 

Ah, gotta love gullible people. 

But god was I in love with her. 

I know that there are consequences. 

I’ve gotten caught up in too many bear traps 

I’ve set out for myself.  

Take this moment for example. 

See: there’s this girl next to me. 

Sadie. 

And I’ve known Sadie since the first day of 

Politics 101 with Professor Mouth Breather. 

And yes, Sadie’s the one who believed I was a Clinton. 

The actual love of my life. 

She’s actually less gullible than you’d think. 

She figured out I was lying less 

than 20 minutes into the class when I couldn’t 

name the 15th president of the United States. 

Yet, here we are. 

Lying on a virgin bed I’ve 

advertised as “a palace of action.” 

I’m a virgin.  

But Sadie thinks I’m a slut. 

And she’s into that. 

Otherwise she wouldn’t be here, 

on my bed, 

waiting impatiently for me to rip her clothes off. 

Sadie keeps telling me that she enjoys my company. 

She also keeps saying something about the mood being 

“just right.” 

I’m sure she’s talking about the sexual tension, 

but I have LEDs on my wall. 

The mood lighting is  “just right.” 

We’ve had our fair share of conversations surrounding… 

Intimacy. 

But she hasn’t exactly had a chance to test my… 

Expertise. 

But that was from the comfort of her car 

where there was a center console between us 

and Justin Bieber’s prepubescent 

voice singing “Baby” in the background— 

Sadie’s guilty pleasure song I may add. 

Not exactly my biggest turn on, 

but to each their own. 

There was something so innocent in this encounter.  

Unhinged and naughty all the same. 

Sadie’s been here for two hours just staring up at my ceiling. 

She occasionally turns on her side and continues  

whatever small-talk conversation we’re having, 

drifting her gaze between my eyes and my lips. 

But I haven’t made a move. 

And I know she’s waiting for a move. 

And I know she knows I know she’s waiting for a move. 

Full disclosure: I have no idea what I’m doing. 

If that wasn’t evident in my stream of consciousness 

or simply from my virginity status. 

But I fear that the whole future of our relationship hovers  

over what happens in the next hour or so. 

Like a threat. 

This could go one of three ways. We could start bumpin’ and 

grindin’ and Sadie’ll know right away that I was lying. 

Again. 

*** 

SADIE A palace of action you said, huh? 

DAHLIA Ohhhh you thought I meant I’ve had a lot of real sex on this bed? 

HA. No. No. No. I’m just best friends with my vibrator. 

SADIE Are you trying to tell me that you’re a virgin? And you  

just weren’t going to let me know? 

*** 

DAHLIA We could start gettin’ frisky and Sadie could assume I’m just really bad in  

bed. 

*** 

SADIE Yeah, uh, that was… good. 

Real good. 

I’ll uh, see you in class on Friday? 

Yeah, I’ll see you there. 

Don’t, uh, sit next to me though. 

I, uh, think we’re better off sitting on opposite sides of the room.. 

DAHLIA Oh, god, was I really that bad? 

SADIE No! No!  

DAHLIA (Aside.) Bless her heart. 

SADIE It’s just, uh, there’s always this weird tension the first time you see 

each other in public after a ba—I mean—bump and grind. I’m  

sure you know what I’m talking about. 

DAHLIA (Aside.) I don’t. 

DAHLIA (To SADIE.) Oh yeah, I totally get it. Yeah, 

we should sit on other sides of the room. Yuup. 

SADIE Lovely. 

*** 

DAHLIA OR she could sit up afterwards, looking up at me with 

her big, beautiful, blueberry eyes, and tell me that I’ve 

just rocked her world. 

*** 

SADIE Where did you learn how to do that? 

DAHLIA Oh, that? I don’t know…experience? 

 
DAHLIA (Aside.) Hehe. 

SADIE Damn. That was fantastic. You’re fantastic.  

God you’re beautiful. 

A beat. 

Want to go again? 

*** 

DAHLIA That’s all just wishful thinking unfortunately. 

Because I’d never find out the answer. 

Sadie eventually gets up, 

puts her shoes back on, and claims she has a train 

to catch. She lives four blocks down. She doesn’t 

need to catch a train. I’ve just waited too long. 

But hey, I’ve had a girl on my bed. 

Which means it’s no longer a virgin. 

I guess that takes some of the sting out of the fact that 

I still am.