Timmy's Tush Takes the Stage

Young Timmy Jones, just turned eighteen,
A dreamer with a mop of hair,
He’d strutted in, all fresh and green,
To snag a role with flair to spare,
His résumé? A blank slate’s gleam,
One school play as a dancing bear,
He’d heard of fame on silver screens—
Oh boy, he’d blush at what this means!

The ad said “act,” a gig to try,
He pictured lights, a star’s debut,
In tight jeans stretched, he’d catch the eye,
A casting call he’d blunder to,
The room was dim, some guy named Sly,
Grinned wide with, “Kid, you’ll do, you’ll do!”
Tim blinked, “A film?” Sly winked, “You bet,
A special kind—don’t fret, you’ll get!”

No script in sight, just props bizarre,
A couch, a whip, some leather gear,
Tim’s brow went up, “This ain’t no star,
Like Brando’s gig, that much is clear!”
Sly chuckled low, “You’re cute by far,
We’ll pay you cash to switch your steer,
It’s gay-for-pay, a quick half-hour,
Drop trou, look hot, and earn some power!”

Tim’s jaw went slack, his cheeks turned red,
“I’ve never even kissed a bloke!”
Sly shrugged, “No probs, just nod your head,
You’ll grind with Dave, he’s hung like oak!”
Tim squeaked, “I thought I’d play some bread,
Not hump a dude for some quick poke!”
The crew guffawed, “Kid, you’re a find,
Your virgin arse is gold—don’t mind!”

“Five hundred bucks!” Sly waved the dough,
Tim’s eyes went wide, his morals swayed,
“I’m straight as hell, but cash, you know,
Could fix my truck, get me laid—er, paid!”
He stripped to skivvies, slow and low,
Dave strutted in, a beefcake blade,
Tim gulped, “Okay, where’s lube, my friend?”
A star was born—his straightness bent!

The shoot wrapped fast, Tim’s dignity,
Was left in tatters on the floor,
He’d moaned on cue, quite vividly,
A paycheck earned he’d not ignore,
Sly clapped, “You’re hired, wait and see,
Next week’s a threesome—bring some more!”
Tim grinned, “Well, shit, I’ve got the knack,
From bear to bare—I’ll take it back!”