Dead of the night
They come to me
Crying like babies
Begging like paupers for a release
Of all that’s locked in them
Some married
Some single
Some gay
Some hopeless
Others, commitment phobics
The married ones say their wives can’t pull it off anymore
The single ones had rather pay to have their release
Than sacrifice their freedom
The gay ones say it’s a matter of choice
And what they prefer on the night
Nothing wrong with a bit on the side
The hopeless ones, no one will have them
The commitment phobics say this is heaven
No strings attached
In my hands, they are babies
I wean them
I train them to become boys
Sometimes they pass the test
Sometimes they fail
And their failure stinks
For the married ones who pass the test
I tell them, go home
Teach her how to get you from boyhood to manhood
The gay, single, commitment phobic and hopeless ones…
Some intentionally fail
So they can keep coming back
Selfish bastards
But those who pass regroup and find some missing links
With me, they feel alive and redefine their ‘manness’
Hopefully, they man-up!
I don’t just make them cum
I talk to them
I help them find their soul
And those who keep coming back no matter what I say
I make them cum
Wailing like a widow
But I’m no prostitute
But they, they are my b*tches
© 2010 Belinda Otas
