Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461
They call me Jamie. Or sometimes, just ‘hey you,’ or whatever name they remember from the last town over. It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to be remembered, not really. I’m here to be forgotten. Or, more accurately, to help them forget. My life is a constant hum of tour buses and hotel rooms, a carousel of tattooed arms and whispered insecurities after the lights go down.
I’m a professional groupie, a connoisseur of the rock ‘n’ roll world. These guys…They rip themselves open on stage, pouring their hearts out for a crowd, and when it’s over, when the adrenaline fizzles and the loneliness creeps in, that’s where I come in. I’m the quiet after the roar, the comfort before the crash. Their temporary distraction. Their Band-Aid.
They call me Jamie
I’ve seen it all, heard it all. The aspiring legends, the one-hit wonders clinging to fame, the burnt-out veterans revelling in their own myth. Each one of them, underneath the leather and the bravado, just a guy with a hole inside. And I? I’m the easy fix. The one night cure.
A warm body, a quiet sigh, a shared drink on a balcony overlooking a city I wouldn’t remember by morning. Just two people escaping the road’s endless drone. They’d talk about the show, their families back home, their wives, the weight of expectation. I’d listen, nodding, offering the illusion of understanding. My job wasn’t to judge, but to absorb.
Sometimes, they didn’t just want a body to hold. They wanted a show. Not for me, but for them. A voyeuristic cleanse, I suppose. My body, their stage. Or sometimes, someone else’s stage, with them as the captivated, silent audience. I didn’t question it and simply played whatever part they assigned, my face a mask of practiced indifference.
There’s a strange power in being the temporary. No strings, no expectations beyond dawn. I meet them at their most vulnerable, their most human, stripped bare of their rock god personas. And then, just like a disposable bandage, I’m peeled away, leaving only the memory of a fleeting comfort.
The sun will rise soon, painting the grimy hotel room in shades of regret and resolution. I’ll slip out, leaving a faint scent of cheap perfume and a lingering cum stain on the bedsheets. The bus will roll on to the next town, and I’ll find another band to play with…
Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461
https://phonesexcandy.com/jamie