Admiring Fans

acoustic guitar in his hands with hair falling down or shoegazing with tight black jeans or black leather, his bulge showing, thick, long, like a python growing & slinking down his inner thigh & sweat rolling down or perhaps the oil that gets sprayed on him by the cronies trying to market him like PEZ, straddling his Les Paul like it was an eager Friday night groupie or riding his Fender as if he thought it was his last night before a 10 year stint & her heart beats like a Labor Day parade drum roll, eyes wide like she’s been chomping on black beauties (as if they were M & M’s) all early morn, nipples hard, moist down below, vein pumping in her neck with the need to grind out her own satisfaction--- so she worships at the alter of the man & another ticket’s been sold. strutting in tight jeans that hug the curves or tight lycra, tight mini skirt, tight anything that pulls right up, leaving nothing to the imagination, with breasts heaving, hips swaying, coated in oil (showered on her by the PEZ marketers), lips dripping lip gloss & a Lez Paul between her legs, or a microphone gripped tight in her hands bringing it up to her mouth, she stares back at him with the bass pounding into his brain--- he is sprung & hard as a rock, vein in his neck pulsating in rhythm with the bass, wanting nothing more than to consummate his craze by climbing up on stage--- so he is devoted to her every word, bathing in idolatry & another ticket’s been sold.