gang bang blog

Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461

I love weiners. It’s not a secret, not really. It’s more of an operating principle. A hunger. Tonight, the hunger felt particularly strong, mixed with something colder. It wasn’t about pleasure, not exactly, not tonight. Tonight it was about filling a void, a hollow place that echoed with every breath. Three of them were already there, sprawled on the floor, passing a bottle of something cheap and smelling of regret. Two more were on their way, or so I’d been told. Good. The more, the better. More bodies, more heat, more noise to block out the silence inside my own head.

I watched them roll their eyes over me, appraising. A part of me, a small, shriveled part, recoiled. But the larger part, the hungry one, just felt a numb sort of anticipation. It wasn’t about being wanted, it was about being consumed. About letting go of the reins and letting the current take me. The first one, a burly guy named Mick or Mark, I forget, pulled me down. His breath was sour with whatever he had been drinking. There was no tenderness, no soft words.

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groupie

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.

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