Musician, Age 25

Musician, Age 25

"He's lonely and you're a whore."
A witch in New Orleans told me.
We both laughed, 'cause we knew
It was true.
Not that we weren't friends; good friends,
Traveling to the city that care forgot
On my 21st birthday, staying in a red
Brick room with a French Quarter balcony,
Where I played guitar.
I got sick on oysters, but that didn't stop
My old man friend, 65,  from hitting
On me every fucking day...

It's been four years now, as I let him put his
Moist hands all over me; and I give his everlasting
Hard-on a hand job 'cause he loves it when
I hold his dick. Loves it more holding mine,
In so many showers we've taken together
I feel wet just remembering.

Thought I'd have to live with him when
My Parents threw me out at 24.
Let me keep my studio, but threw me out.
Out, now there's irony. I'm no gay-boy.
Then came a miracle. I met a girl.
I met two girls- her and her best friend.
They invited me in and I went in again and
Again. They bought me meals; gave me gas;
Bedded me in their dorm. Gave me whatever.
Damn, if I didn't go from whore to gigolo.
And there I play my guitar, and sing every fucking
Day. 'Cause, you know? I'm living the wet-dream.


Jameson 10-5-'15