Duncan’s Songbook #4
I can’t stop watching the music video for “Despacito” on YouTube. The singer, Luis Fonsi is almost as hot as Jesse is. And he’s Puerto Rican like Jesse too. I just wish Jesse would sing like that to me, or sing at all. Or was interested in any of the music I like.
The name “Despacito” means “slowly” in Spanish which fits my relationship with Jesse perfectly. Jesse is slower than me. I don’t mean intellectually, but in his style. I’m hyper and anxious and he’s always telling me I need to relax. He takes his time with things, like figuring out a career and, well, sex.
Step by step, soft softly
My ruminating mind slows down when I’m in bed with him. I guess it’s odd that I’m the songwriter instead of him. Usually musicians are cool and hip, not stick-in-the-muds like me. Jesse is cool, hip, and Catholic. He wants to convert to something a little less anti-gay, but that’s not the point. Outwardly, he would seem more likely to be the next Bob Dylan, not me.
The music video for “Despacito” takes place in San Juan, Puerto Rico, where Jesse was born. It looks so colorful, fun, and warm. Why live in Chicago? Jesse wants to take me to Puerto Rico to meet his mother, whom he talks with on the phone: Every. Single. Day. He says all Hispanic young men talk to their mothers every single day. Now, here’s the nerdy programmer in me speaking: let’s do the math. Jesse has five siblings. Six kids. Jesse talks to his mom no less than 30 minutes a night. If each kid does that, it means poor old Mami needs to spend 3 hours a day on the phone alone. What a burden! I guess I should call my mom. It’s been a couple of months.
Even after dating Jesse for 3 years, I still haven’t learned Spanish. I don’t even remember anything from the one year I took in high school. But I downloaded a few translations for “Despacito” and Jesse said they were generally on the mark.
You are the magnet and I’m the metal
This is Jesse and me, totally. But which one is which? I don’t know. We’re like a drug to each other. We fight. I write a song about it. We make up. I write a song about it.
All my senses are asking for more
Nobody can feed my addiction like Jesse. Last week we came home from the bar in the alley and he accused me of not looking at other guys and not wanting him enough. Then we fucked like rabbits.
You know your heart with me makes you boom, boom
You know that baby is looking for my boom, boom
Before Jesse, there was no boom in my life. I just piddled with the guitar and programmed in Java all day. I want Jesse and I to find our comfort level with each other. But I guess we will. Slowly.
