Date: Wed, 11 Sep 2002 00:40:46 -0400
From: StoriesOPassion@aol.com
Subject: A Cappella

"A Cappella"
Billy Primrose- StoriesOPassion@aol.com

This story contains sexual acts between men.but you knew
that already. If you're under 18, don't tell any officers of
the law you're reading erotica.  And, most
importantly.please, please, please send me comments! I'm
very inexperienced at this, and I'd love some constructive
criticism! Please send comments to StoriesOPassion@aol.com.
Thank you, and enjoy.

     When I tell people I'm a high baritone I get very
little respect.  Some people fawn over tenors, loving the
smooth croon in their voices, relishing the fact that they
can be angelic without being quite androgynous.  I admit,
there are times when I love a good tenor voice.  When I wake
up too early in the morning and want someone to sing me back
to sleep, I long for the pure sweetness of a tenor.  Other
people, and I proudly join this group 23/7, crave the depth,
the manliness, the power and the enviable darkness of the
bass voice.  When a man goes down for a low C, and I hear a
pure note within a beautiful rumble, I shiver and nearly
fall into ecstasies. I see girls, even those who usually
love the tenors, give a meek glance of arousal to the source
of a low voice.  It's the same glance you see on their faces
when they giggle over smooth skinned Aryan boys for years
and then see a hot Latin man.  Tenors are cute, and basses
are hotly sexy.high baritones just have no range.  Still, my
voice is pretty, strong, and always on pitch, and when I'm
not using it to seduce, I love it.
     When I arrived at school as a freshman on the last day
of August, I knew my first extracurricular priority was to
enter into my university's intricate world of a cappella.  I
stared at the beautiful and undeniably collegiate stone
walls around me and saw not the politicians they had borne,
but instead, the greatest undergraduate singing scene in the
world and the most gorgeous male voices that would ring out
from those very walls countless times in the next year.
     I'll spare you, my dear, lovely reader, the details of
moving in and the first few days of dorm life. They were
certainly important to me in terms of learning to adjust and
live with peers, but you don't care about that, do you?  No,
no, love, you can read any book or listen to your best
friend kvetch for hours and get the full perspective of
those aspects of the psyche. So, I'll cut back to the
singing.  A few days into school, all of the groups
performed in one long, nearly suffocating concert.  Each
time an all-male group climbed to the stage my mouth dried
up to the point where I never thought I'd be able to produce
another note again.  The blend of their voices was perfect,
into what the Natyasastra might have called a Rasa, a
flavor, of sex and pulchritude. Whether their notes went up
or down, I consistently moved straight up.  I had mentioned
to my roommates that I was gay, but squirming in your seat
to hide a hard-on during Randall Thomson's `Alleluia' is
embarrassing in any situation.  One group especially caught
my eye and ear, well, two did, actually.  One was a co-ed
jazz group whose music was so intricate that I was blown
away, but intriguing singing without the flood of intriguing
eyes and lips can't compete.  The other group, the Hound
Dogs, seduced me in my seat with their pure aesthetic.
Their vibrations were not only those of
resonating sound waves, but also of large groups
of horny, gay college boys. Although the Earl's
Boys, another extremely talented group, caught
me with the uniformity of the homosexuality in
the group, the Hound Dogs, well, there was
something very
special about them.  Although they had quite a
few straight boys, their perfection in sound was
unparalleled.
      For their second song, a soloist stepped
front.  His head bore a chiseled face, a strong
profile, full lips, deep blue eyes and feathery
black hair. The group began to `oo' behind him
and then a voice broke forth from his throat.
Well, breaking forth is the wrong phrase.  It
was as if it had been there all this time and we
were only now allowed to taste it, as if hearing
it too soon would be like seeing Zeus, lethal to
any mortal.  It was the deepest, most resonant
bass voice I had ever heard.  I realized that
tenors were angels and this man was Lucifer: his
angelic voice had simply fallen and it had
fallen oh, so low!  My roommate was giving me
such strange looks as I verged on standing
straight up.  I looked like a child who needs to
go to the bathroom.  My solid cock pressed
against my already too-tight jeans and my
attempts to hold it down with the hand in my
pocket were futile. My face twisted in pain and
yearning.  My jaw tensed with repression as I
held back my urge to rush the stage and see if
my dick could find what it was in this man's
throat to make every sound from it so flawless.
Physically I could not orgasm, but my mind, my
hormones, and every urge was repeatedly stroked,
squeezed and consumed by this man's voice, and
they erupted as his song reached a climax as
great as any ejaculation I had ever experienced.
*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *
*    *
     I `rushed' all of the all-male groups; the
term usually only applied to fraternities is
used for a cappella here. I would have been
satisfied by any one.  Each coven of young men
thoroughly bewitched me until I met the next
group. Shapely forearms twitched as strong hands
beat out pitches for me to sing.  The tones
dominated me as each one seemed to command a
reply. And I replied without cracking, smiling
through each audition, avoiding eye contact with
the smirking, sparkling eyes that judged me.  My
last audition was with the Hound Dogs.
 I stepped into the small basement in which they
                      were
holding the auditions, and immediately all the
men stood up to shake my hand. Their handshakes
were firm, warm, welcoming and held just long
enough to tease me.  I watched their eye contact
for glimmers of possibilities. I remember
reading somewhere that gay men hold eye contact
longer than straight ones do, and I've managed
to pick up on the look. I'd spotted about 4
possibilities in the group of 16 when I was
faced with a pair of deep blue eyes, and a
tempting smile. He spoke only his name, `Ben,'
before retiring to a couch. My face flushed, his
speaking voice was as sweet as the one with
which he sang.  And Ben? Ah, me, the most
benevolent of all names.  Amazing how a man who
could so easily be intimidating had suddenly
become amiable.  Turning instantly to the able
man sitting at the piano to avoid the smoking
stare from Ben's eyes, I performed my solo and
then began pitch exercises.
 We got to blending, where I was to try to match
                       the
tone of another voice in the group.  The pitch,
sitting at the piano, which he had a knack for
delicately caressing, searched the crowd of men
in the group and pointed to the back couch, "Ah,
Benjamin, why don't you come up here?"  Ben
pointed to himself and raised his eyebrows with
an inquisitive look, then smiled and hopped over
the other men to stand before me.
     "All right, now you're both going to sing
`My Country, `Tis of Thee.' Billy," the pitch
addressed me, "try to watch Ben's mouth, imitate
his vowels."  I was instantly unsure whether to
be thrilled or scared under the pressure. Either
way my heart was beating twenty times the tempo.
The pitch gave us a starting note and before I
could think myself into trouble, I was starting
at Ben's lips, singing along with them, losing
myself in his voice and in the appearance of his
moist, hungry mouth.  Saliva glistened on the
inside of his lips, his tongue soft and agile
behind them.  His teeth were nearly perfect and
shone with the wetness that coated them.  I
couldn't help my own mouth.with every new shape
of his mouth, mine fell in synch, as if I were
kissing him over the inches that barely
separated our lips. His hot breath caressed the
skin above my lip and cooled the saliva that
rested to the outside of my mouth. I felt myself
moving in towards the lips, making his my own,
nearly embracing them with my own.  The song
instantly became personal.  While I knew I was
singing at a reasonable volume, I felt that I
was singing into Ben and Ben was singing into
me. I was so close to him, I was nearly kissing
him, and I swear I would have had we not called
out "Let freedom ring!"  The other boys seemed
to notice nothing as I backed away from Ben, but
when I looked back up at the bass God, he was
staring softly and curiously into my eyes. "Oh,
damn," I thought "He knows, he knows so damn
early on and that'll kill it."  I gulped,
nodded, shook hands with all of them again and
headed out.
     That night, lying in my bed, my roommate
     out for the
evening, I fretted. I thought about the
embarrassment of the day, although I figured it
wouldn't be too hard to avoid Ben for the rest
of the year.  He'd quietly slip me on the social
taboo list and I'd be tapped into another group,
never to synchronize myself with that mouth
again.  That turgid, heated mouth that would
excite me all over, sting me with its energy,
its tongue and lips so full that they were about
to burst, about to burst.and my hand had
inevitably moved down to my groin, my prick
stiff, lying in the palm of my hand.  I pulled
myself out of the fetal position of consolation
and turned myself onto my back, cock
optimistically pointing to my roommate's empty
bed above.
I began to stroke freely, licking my own palm to
                      ease
its simple harmonic journey of pleasure.
Thoughts of Ben singing into me and thoughts of
Ben sinking into me were nearly inseparable.
One minute his voice was streaming into my
throat, pulsating heart and esophagus.  The next
minute I was underneath him, as he threw himself
into me, his hot, pleasant breath on my neck,
his voice cracking in high, sharp pitches as he
moaned.  In my bed I sucked on my finger for a
moment and let it slide into my ass as I had
done so many nights before.  My hard abdominals,
an occasional disadvantage for singing but a
blessing during masturbation, kept me elevated
as I pumped and pummeled my pelvis from either
end.  I was violating and servicing myself all
at once, creating a Mobius strip of sexual
control. And yet I knew that the external
presence of Ben was driving me.  The force of
his perfect beauty drove an accelerated
perpetual motion of love and desire.  In my
mind's ear, I felt the wet heat of his mouth,
panting and nipping hungrily.  He was a beast to
me, and I craved his domination. I felt myself
submitting to him, submitting to my own joy, and
submitting to my body.  The entire lower half
tensed, contracted into a center of heat, and
then released itself through my sleek cock in
several thick spurts.  I lay there panting,
exhausted, my body satisfied, but my hungry
desire not in the least sated.  For, although
the image of the God had brought me here, I had
no lips to kiss in the moments after orgasm. My
love was nowhere to be found, and I felt used,
not by Ben, but by myself.  I had deceived
myself into orgasm, and, while that is the
nature of fantasy, I had, through that effort,
convinced myself that there was,
indeed, a possibility.  I told myself `no,' I
should not try to further this.  My only chance
of connecting with the man at all would be to
treat him quite plainly.  I would be my witty,
charming self in groups, but when alone with
him, I would be just on the friendly side of the
polite border. Decided in my efforts, I let
myself sink into my mattress and drift off to
sleep.
*         *         *         *         *
*
*
     Callbacks: need I tell you?  I, in my
angelic glory, was called back for every group,
yes, children, each and every one.  Oh, it was
be-AU-ti-ful. And they went be-AU-tifully.  As
they would, callbacks occurred on a weekend when
nearly everyone was sick. Everyone, that is, but
yours truly.  So, I pretty much aced those, I
believed, and I was enjoying my mandatory meals
with members of the group.  I was, that is,
until I arrived at my Hound Dogs breakfast with
Chris and Andy, to find no Andy, but instead the
smooth figure of Ben awaiting me. "Hey," he said
sweetly, "Andy forgot he had econ now, so I'm
here in his stead. I'm Ben," he smiled crookedly
as he extended his hand.
     "Yeah, I remember, I sang with you," I
said, and dropped my eyes from his glance. Oh,
God, what a pointless response, and then I was
blushing and embarrassed because of it, hence
blushing more.
     "And I'm Chris," said the blond second
tenor.
     "Hey, good to meet you again," I smiled at
Chris, his clean face showed an almost religious
goodness.  After that handshake, looking at the
adorable angel and the dark beast of desire, I
felt pretty ashamed, like I should kneel down
right there and.pray for forgiveness.  I gulped,
`damn you, child!' I scolded myself, `you can't
even keep your repentant thoughts clean!'
  We went through the dining hall, picking out
                    food.  I
sliced a banana over a bowl of cheerios, put up
some toast for myself, grabbed some orange juice
and sat down with the other two.  Then the small
talk began.  I was questioned about my hometown,
possible majors, other extracurricular ideas,
all the usual stuff, and all by Chris.  In fact,
Ben sat silent for the entire meal, just staring
at me, making me squirm every time I looked up
at him.  So, I kept my eyes fixed on Chris,
trying not to listen to the rhythmic chewing of
Ben's apple.  Whenever I looked over at him,
he'd take another bite, cool juices flowing over
his hot lips, intensifying his gaze.  When Chris
had gone through every typical question to keep
the conversation going, from siblings to
religion to musical taste, I sat back, enjoying
the conversation, but ready for a break.  About
to bring up movies, I was halted by Ben's voice.
     "I got one for you," he spoke through the
juice of his apple, "who was your favorite Ninja
Turtle?"
     "My favorite who?" I asked, to be sure.
  "Ninja Turtle.  Who was your favorite Teenage
                     Mutant
Ninja Turtle."
     "Um, Donatello. Yeah, definitely
Donatello."
     "Hm," grunted Ben as his eyes surveyed me.
He then began to smile and nod fervently. He
stopped, looked up at me amused and paused.
"Donatello! Well, I've gotta get to class in a
few minutes. I'll seeya `round."  With that, Ben
swept his tray off of the table, and Chris and I
both cleared our places and headed for the door.
      Chris chuckled to himself, "Don't worry
about him, he likes to set people on edge. And,
don't tell this to the other kids, but
Donatello's his favorite, too. Catch you later!"
Exeunt all.
*         *         *         *         *
*
*    "Later" turned out to be tap night, the
night when all
the a cappella groups run around the freshman
dorms `tapping' young'uns into their groups.
The air was tense, which was why it was so cold,
even the oxygen molecules refused to move, lest
they miss the results of this important eve in
late September.  First the Earl's Boys came to
my room, chanting "Billy! Billy!" and asking,
with enthusiasm, that I join their group.  At
that moment I was ready to fly off with them,
but I managed to refrain, knowing I was waiting
out for the Hound Dogs. I gave them a polite
`maybe,' the response one gives to a group when
he's waiting for another.  I hating
disappointing the Earlz, especially that hot
tenor of a rush manager, Johnny Jameston, but I
turned away from his puppy dog eyes.  The Earlz
left to move on to their next hopeful tap, as I
squirmed in my uncomfortable desk chair.
Forever, my life until this point, felt like
five minutes, and those five minutes waiting
felt like forever.  My frozen gaze into space
thawed as I heard the cry three floors below:
"Billy! Billy!"  I recognized each voice in the
group distinctly. Chris sounded like he was
singing even when he was only chanting.  The
pitch kept the rhythm of the chant better than
anyone else in the group.  And, of course, there
was Ben.  Even before I heard the voices I felt
the rumble, and that rumble was caused by Ben. I
didn't have much time to savor his scrumptious
vocal thunder, however as the Hound Dogs were
soon knocking at my door.  I flew to the door,
tearing it off its hinges and throwing out the
window, for all I cared, as I faced the cheering
boys.  I gladly accepted their offer and drank
from their big silver cup, and I ran behind the
guys to the rooms of several others, grabbing my
lucky classmates from their rooms, creating
cohesion between the members: we'd touch them,
and they'd come along with us, a part of the
greater Hound Dog body. After we had collected
all six new members of our group, we headed back
to Andy's dorm to party for the rest of the
night.
     We piled into Andy's room.futons blending
with men blending drinks blending voices less
and less as we got more drunk and drunker as the
evening went on.  I couldn't tell Mordechai from
Haman from Chris from the pitch as the Smirnoff
took its effect.  We laughed and got to know
each other better, and the casual physical
contact drove me wild. I rolled on the floor and
furniture with the boys. We wrestled and tickled
without a care or sexual overtone in the world,
which doesn't mean I wasn't getting harder by
the minute.  The liquor had lowered my cock's
inhibitions and raised my cock's shaft.  I
really got to know all the boys (in the secular
sense) that night.  We chatted freely about
where we came from, where we wanted to go.  We
told jokes and anecdotes and took pictures for
scrap books.
At 2 in the morning, Ben plopped down next to me
                       on
the couch. He grinned at me, and stared into my
droopy eyes with his droopy eyes. We stayed like
that for a few seconds, and then he broke his
smile.  I couldn't quite tell whether his eyes
were tearing or merely glazed over, but he
reached his hand out towards my face.  The back
of his hand graced my temple and continued down
my smooth cheek.  He never broke our eye
contact, but as his hand fell from its trace of
my jaw I looked down and blushed.  When I
glanced up, one William Courtney was jumping on
Ben's side, whispering in his ear.no, biting his
ear. Ben started to giggle, and Will pulled him
up.  Ben waved to me through his eyes, and he
was gone for the night. Gone into Will's dorm
room, wherever that was.
      I was emasculated. I had no man, and I was
no man, no
man at all.  So, I slumped back into the couch,
having nothing else to do and nothing of the
clarity of thought that would be needed to
assess my feelings at the time.  I looked down
at my hands and counted my fingers on my
fingers, but only got to ten before I ran out of
fingers to count them on.  I doubt there were
more to count, anyway. The counting got boring
and I wondered what to do, but then I got bored
with wondering and gave that up, too.  So I did
nothing, until I felt a hand on my shoulder.
What was that doing there? A hand on my
shoulder.what an absurd place to put that
spidery little creature.a hand on a shoulder, as
if it were a rest specifically made for the
hand, like a cane or doorknob. No, no. The hand
should not be there. It threw me off balance,
and Ben's sudden exit had me reeled enough for
the evening.  Still, the least I could do was to
pay courtesy to the poor creature who had the
misfortune of landing his hand on my shoulder.
My head drew up my eyes to meet with nothing.
How had the hand fallen on my right shoulder
when there was no person to my right?  Then I
noticed the arm around my back and looked to my
left.
 The pitch was there, looking with concern into
                       my
eyes.  He had pretty eyes, mush-colored, and
although most people call mush hazel, I only
associate hazel with a greenish brown, and the
pitch's eyes were a mush of blue, grey, and
green.  The eyes suddenly looked beautiful. Mush
was my new favorite color, and the concern held
in them only intensified them.  I suddenly knew
how to get back at Ben for abandoning me, how to
get back at myself for being such a damn wuss,
and get back at the alcohol for putting halos
around everything.  "Hey, are you all right?"
asked the pitch.  I braced myself, anger and
frustration raging in my heart, tension and
desire raging in my loins, and alcohol raging in
my blood stream.  I licked my lips and leaned in
to kiss this purty effigy, but instead I missed
his lips and fell unconscious into his lap.  I
hadn't even vomited. Goodnight, mush.
*         *         *         *         *
*
*
     I survived the night, although my trip to
the Department of Undergraduate Health was not a
pretty sight, so I'm told.  I totally ruined tap
night for the pitch and Andy, both of whom
dragged me there to be sure I was looked after.
I felt horribly guilty and still horribly angry
at Ben for ditching me. Worse yet, he and Will
were now, apparently dating.  I never saw Ben
anywhere without him. Sure, they were both
friendly enough, but every glance Ben gave me
tightened the rack one more notch.  His smile
was broad, cordial, platonic, but in his eyes I
could see the same natural heat that I saw
through the Smirnoff on that fateful tap night.
Still, he had his own `Will glance': a look they
would share privately in public.  I knew what
that look meant.  It was the sex look. There was
something they were sharing, just the two of
them, and that something was cock. Goddammit, I
wanted to bite them both, for entirely different
reasons, of course, but my horny body and
frustrated heart had developed a strong
consumption instinct.  I wanted to own both of
their bodies, and, more importantly, both of
their minds.  I would take hold of Will and
throw him into his place, into my dungeon, where
I would treat him well because he hadn't
actually done anything wrong.  And Ben! Well,
God knows what I'd do with him.  I wouldn't hurt
him, I loved him too much.did I say loved?
I'm not sure. Did I love him? Impossible, I
barely really knew him.Yet I thought about him
constantly and cared so much about him and would
do anything for him.  By my Lord, I loved him.
Why? Pheromones?  It was totally inexplicable,
yet I knew I was totally head over heels for the
boy. I loved him. And he loved somebody else.
     My mind raced in this sort of patterns
daily. Reevaluating and, from there on,
confirming my feelings for Ben, my months held a
strong component of oblivion.  Adonis could have
asked me for directions to my bed, and I
probably would have given them to him, asking
that he be done with it by the time I got back.
No other man was an option, which meant no man
was an option.  My interactions all seemed
flavorless. Rehearsals were a period to be
avoided if possible, although I learned the
music very quickly, as I used it as a method of
distraction.
     I truly thought that my sadness was going
unnoticed until I had dinner with the pitch one
night and we went back to my room.  We sat on
the tattered sofa and talked, until he said
something that made me think of Ben. Once again,
my head took a nosedive into Ben-mourning.  Time-
lapse photographs of my life showed me growing
older and more miserable and uglier by the day,
as Ben and Will just became hotter, like an
incredible reversal of the picture of Dorian
Gray.  In another moment I was pummeling Ben,
first with my fist in his abdomen and then my
cock in his mouth, "That'll teach you! Fuck with
my head, I fuck your head, bitch!" And then I
was forgiving him and cuddling him on a warm
beach at dusk, nuzzling into his chest, covered
by the soft, clean fabric of his open shirt that
carried the scent of man combined with fading
cologne and salt water.
     "So that's how I raped your mother, seduced
your father, and out-drank your dog, Clifford,"
brought me back to the room.
 "Wait, Clifford doesn't drink." I stuttered in
confusion.
     "Billy, where have you been for the last
five minutes?" Asked the pitch with both
annoyance and concern on his face. "Oh, let me
take a guess. You've been with.Benjamin! Yes,
that's it.  You've been within him and without
him. You've been hating him, killing him, making
him suffer, yet loving him and worshipping him
at every turn.  You've been taking power over
him, while you know all along he has power over
you.  You've been abasing yourself with every
thought and loving the masochism and sadism of
your entire mentality.
Is that it, Billy? Am I right? Is that where
you've been?"
     I looked down in shame, unable to defend
myself in any way. "Yes, it is."  I blushed, but
summoned the courage to meet the pitch's eyes.
The mush was hard and stale.
     "He's no good, Billy," said the pitch,
tears welling up wetting and softening the mush,
"Believe me, you'll only get hurt.  It's best to
get out of it before you're in too deep."
     "Ha, I think I'm in too deep already," I
smiled at the pitch, for the first time
confessing my crush openly.
  The pitch smiled at my honesty, but then his
                      face
hardened. "You're in deep, but you're not in too
deep. You're in too deep when you're drunk in
his bed and he's fucking you, telling you he
loves you, while he has a date with his
boyfriend 2 hours later.  You're in too deep
when the man whose cock you sucked on February
13th laughs in your face when you ask him to be
your Valentine. You're in too deep when you have
no health plan at school so you have go home to
your mother to get antibiotics for your
Chlamydia. That's too deep, Billy, and I'd
recommend you never get there."
     "I-I'm sorry.I had absolutely no idea." I
wasn't lying. The thought of the pitch and Ben
had absolutely never crossed my mind.  I didn't
even know the pitch was gay. I became self-
conscious and put my hands on my legs, rubbing
them back and forth so maybe the friction would
give them some life.
     "No, no, Billy, it's ok.  I've forgiven
him, mostly, because I've realized that he's not
truly mean hearted, just self-absorbed and
inconsiderate.  He doesn't really know what it
means to be in a relationship. He doesn't know
what romance is or what commitment is, or even
what dating is. That doesn't mean I can't carry
on a cordial professional relationship with him
through singing.  I just don't want you to get
hurt.I care too much about you for that." His
eyes stayed focused on mine.  They were no
longer crying, now much more secure.
     "All right," I was disheartened, but I knew
that he meant what he said. "Thank you for the
advice.  It's just hard to let go of someone you
think you love.to know they feel that way, or at
least something like that way, towards someone
else."
     "Ha! Believe me, I know! You don't even
know how much I know!"  The pitch looked like he
was sharing an inside joke with himself. I
assumed he was still just having more memories
about Ben. He shook his head, rattling around
his silky mush colored hair.  This time mush
colored meant a light brown with a hint of red
and blond. "I should get going; I need some mad
sleep tonight."
     I stood up with the pitch and walked to the
door of my room.  Suddenly he spun around
towards me with a look nervous determination.
He must have seen my shock, because he dropped
his face, and looked sheepish.  He looked up in
my eyes again and started towards me. His motion
hesitated, glancing down and licking his lips
nervously, and came towards me again, this time
with open arms.  I was pulled into the warmest
hug ever.  I rested my head in the crook of his
neck and he rested in mine.  Our bodies were
soothing and soft, despite the obvious muscle
under our shirts. I almost felt him begin to cry
in my arms, but at that moment he pulled away.
     "I'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow," said
the pitch dropping his hands from my arms as he
walked out the door.
I looked after him smiling. How wonderful it is
to know you have such a good friend.
*         *         *         *         *
*
   The next night the Earlz put on a wonderful
                    show, and
the Hound Dogs were out in fours. We claimed a
couple of rows for ourselves in the large chapel
and cheered for our brothers in the Earl's Boys.
Sometimes I even thought they had a better
repertoire than we did.  And, boy, were there
some cute kids with stunning voices on stage! I
was sitting between Chris and the pitch,
whistling at the kids on stage, when, after half
of the first set, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Ben sat behind me, solemn and red.had he been
crying? And when did he get here?
     "Hey, Billy."
     "Hi, Ben, what's up?"
     "Listen, Billy, could I talk with you after
the concert?" Ben nearly begged as he tried to
smile through obvious sadness.
     "Sure thing." I told him.  The pitch might
have said he was an ass, but he was still a
friend of mine, and he was just as sexy as ever!
    The rest of the concert went more slowly.
                    Still, I
managed to have a good time, enjoying the fresh
faces and bodies in front of me as well as the
familiar but attractive ones surrounding me.
     After the concert, Ben dragged me away with
him.  I waved goodbye to the other guys,
ignoring the pitch's look of warning, and I was
soon walking with Ben up the stairs to
his dorm room. We sat on his couch and Ben
opened up a bottle of warm red wine.  He poured
two glasses, plastic, but attractive, and handed
one to me as we curled up on opposite ends of
his couch.  Ben didn't look at me, he just eyed
his wine and then began to sniff and finally
sip.  He looked so beautiful drinking his wine.
He moved the glass so elegantly, allowing the
blood-like fluid to ease to his lips at a pace
he chose.  The wine moved into his mouth like it
was born there, except for the occasional drop
that would linger on the corner of his full
lips.  He would languidly reach his tongue out
to the drop and reabsorb it back into his mouth.
He said nothing for the duration of the glass.
     "Will and I broke up," came suddenly after
     his final
swallow.
     I glanced up, shocked at his sudden
ejaculation of this particular sentence. "I'm so
sorry, Ben," I couldn't help the sympathy, and
all warnings about Ben's ineptitude at
relationships flew away as I realized that this
beautiful man was in such pain.and he had come
to me to ease it.  I reached out my arms toward
Ben and pulled him toward me, enveloping him,
waiting for him to cry into me, but he did not.
     "Naw, don't be sorry Billy.  I really
should have never been with him in the first
place.  He was cute and everything; I mean, he's
a pretty cool guy and everything, but it's hard
to stay with someone when your heart's not
really into it, know what I mean?"
     I simply nodded as I stared at him.  He
looked so cool on the couch, allowing his body
to fold into the corner and curl forward where
the arm curled back.  He placed his wine glass
on top of his small refrigerator and began to
fondle the soft arm of the couch, his delicate
but strong fingers lightly running across the
top of the fabric. His toes, too, petted the
couch underneath his casually bent legs. Oh, his
legs, soft black hair conformed to the shape of
his legs, outlining a vector field for his
muscles.  He moved his legs from under him so he
was sitting straight up on the couch and then
leaning slightly towards me.
     "There are better men than Will in this
school.  There are hotter men, men with sweeter
voices, men who are good to me.  There are men
in this school who would console me when I'm
sad, men who would watch out for me when I don't
even know that they're watching.maybe even when
I don't want them to be watching." Ben chuckled
and looked up at me with a heated private
glance. He bit his lower lip and shook his head.
"For one, there's you, Billy."  And the next
look he gave me pleaded for my affection with
such desperation and such openness that I lost
power. His head was lowered and his deep blue
eyes were raised.  His lips hung loose from his
mouth.  His left hand moved to my shoulder and
neck.
     "Oh, Christ!" I thought.  He was too
     attractive, his
sight, his sound, his smell, his touch: each
made me shudder as the weight of the year thus
far crept slowly towards me. His face neared
mine.  I was paralyzed.was I imagining this? Was
I going toward him? Would I embarrass myself
again? Soon, I realized I had never moved and I
felt his warm breath with warm wine on my lips.
I could swear I felt some real moisture, and
then his lips were on mine.  They moved slowly,
alternately enveloping and releasing mine.  His
mouth caressed mine, cared for it, nurtured it,
certainly brought blood to it. I hadn't been
actively kissing thus far, but I unfroze and
moved my face into his, loving his mouth as he
was loving mine.  His tongue was persistent but
considerate as it probed my mouth, exploring,
sensing.
The lips left mine, and Ben rested his forehead
                      on
mine, rubbing our noses together as he
unbuttoned my shirt.
He peeled it, gently off of my shoulders,
dragging his lips behind it, caressing my skin.
The shirt dropped to the couch and his hands
explored my torso, lightly gracing my pecs,
outlining my abs, massaging my back. He pulled
his own tight sweater over his head, revealing a
torso only Michelangelo could have sculpted.
All of his muscles were visible as individual
packets of power, but they weren't bulging or
offensive. A controlled sprinkling of black hair
emphasized the pectoral and abdominal regions.
I immediately fell to his body, trying to eat it
all (without the use of teeth, of course).  I
thought, sometimes, that women were the only
ones with a consumption instinct. Sometimes
ended this night when I sucked somewhat
frantically on his nipples, attempting to absorb
their essence.  My hands pressed his thighs on
either side of the groin that began to steal
blood from his head. It, the head, swooned,
rolled, and moaned as I allowed myself to enjoy
the delicacy that was Ben's torso.  A cool
breeze eased past my hands, and I saw that Ben
was repositioning himself and slowly stroking
his physically repressed cock.  I pulled my
mouth away from his now wet chest, and I brought
my hand and face towards his crotch.  I
momentarily buried myself in it, taking in the
aroma and the heat and the power. Then, with my
hands on the button of his pants and my eyes
cast upward in awe of him, I asked, "May I?
Please?" Ben's mouth curled into a smile of
pleasure as he moaned a "yes."
     I unbuttoned then unzipped the pants,
reaching my hand into the fly and grasping a
king-sized prick that was a gorgeous scepter
just screaming to be turned into the most
comfortable of thrones.  We both let out sighs
as that moment came: he had waited for minutes;
I had waited for months.  Already my standards
for what I would savor had risen, so I wasted no
time in yanking the line of his boxers over his
cock and pulling them down with his jeans.  I
threw them off the couch and took a moment to
gape at his beautiful, adorable piece of meat.
I had eaten filet mignon before, but this
particular piece had been hot for so long I was
sure it would be quite well done, while, as a
find, it was certainly most rare.  "No time to
think," I thought, and dove straight down onto
him, sliding my tongue along him as my mouth
covered it all. A deep bass rumble reverberated
from Ben's diaphragm.
     "Oh, yeah, Billy boy. Just like that, oh,
yeah, this is fucking amazing and just wonderful
and don't stop, please, please don't and
just.yeah.oh, Christ, yes!" His sentences turned
to nothing as he grabbed the back of my head
with a delicate yet strong hand.  He held me in
place while he slowly thrusted down my throat.
When I was twelve, I had read a book about Harry
Houdini, and how he could hold things in his
throat and move them up and down within it.
He practiced by tying a potato to a string and
trying to move it around, using the string as
aide, if necessary. Already a proclaimed
homosexual, I took this advice to heart and
executed my potato exercises daily.  I used the
results on Ben, much to his delight.  "Holy
Mother of fuck, Billy! Where did you learn
that?"  I would have answered, but I figured Ben
would rather save that for later.  I kept
manipulating his prick in the shallower depths
of my ribcage. Soon Ben's moaning picked up, his
cock stiffened, and his balls moved in towards
his body.  He screamed his last, a nonsensical
sound (I could just picture Henry Higgins asking
Colonel Pickering precisely how many vowel
sounds he heard), and shot a thick, creamy load
into my awaiting mouth.  I lapped it all up,
loving the taste, the idea, and the sight of
Ben, spent and relaxed above me.
     I sat up, proud of a job well done, so to
speak, and
looked at my work.  Ben's eyes were a little
glazed and goofy, his skin flushed with
returning blood. I crawled on top of him and
pressed my mouth to his; our tongues stopped
fighting and started to play. He playfully bit
my lip and pulled his head back. "You ready?" he
asked, with one eyebrow cocked. Was I ever! To
have that mouth on my cock, to have that deep
voice and its vibrations shaking my loins was
the most wonderful thing I could fathom this
side of heaven.
  "God, I can't believe you're going to suck me
                     off," I
muttered almost unwittingly.
     "Suck you off? I have better plans than
that," said Ben as he lifted himself onto his
knees and pulled off my pants. He bent over the
couch (my Lord, what an ass!) and produced from
his pocket a condom and a tube of lube. Now, I
had blown guys before and fooled around with a
lot of them, we'd even fingered each other up
the ass, but I had never fucked a guy.
     "Um, Ben, I'm not quite sure about this.
I've never done this before.I mean, I've been
with other guys and all, a whole bunch of them,
and we've done lots of fun stuff.I've just never
taken a guy up the ass."
 Ben didn't answer; he simply moved close to me
                       and
panted in my ear, something that turned me on so
much because it tricked my mind into thinking
that there was a wild animal yearning to get
inside me. "I want you so much, Billy. I've
wanted you for so long and I'd do anything to
have you, babe.  I'll be your servant, but oh,
man, little pig, let me in. I was hoping not to
have to blow your house in. I'd rather help you
build that house of sticks.  Come on, you sexy,
sexy bitch."
     I was too hard, way too hard and horny to
resist anything.  I responded by falling to my
back and lifting my legs over Ben's shoulders.
Ben, instead, ducked out from beneath them,
grabbed my hips and flipped me over in one swift
motion.  My ass faced him, where I would rather
my face faced him, and I would have complained,
but I then felt a warm tongue on my asshole.  I
gasped. Most men I knew were too creeped out by
the idea of rimming to execute it.  Ben had no
qualms and no flaws in his technique.  My ass
fluttered with pleasure, and it was very sad to
soon feel the cool air. The cool air was
followed by cool lube, which he worked into my
ass with one, then two (ouch), then three (eek!)
fingers, pumping me until I loosened enough to
accommodate him.  I heard the tearing of the
condom package, and I braced myself for what was
to come. He entered slowly, but the pain was
substantial.  I grunted harshly, to which he
responded, "It'll be worth it, Billy, believe
me."  At that point, his head popped in, he slid
in the shaft and he held the position for a few
seconds as I adjusted to the new addition to my
internal organs.  Ben started to pump, and the
pain turned to a warm and deep pleasure inside
me, varying in waves with his motion. Suddenly
he reached some resonant frequency.no, it was
just my prostate, and I moaned uncontrollably.
Noticing this was a hot spot, Ben pounded harder
and my penis reached its hardest. Then it got
even harder, and suddenly, with one hard punch
against the prostate, it exploded all over Ben's
soft couch. Simultaneously, I felt Ben's meat
stiffen and then pulse in orgasm inside me.  I
waited for him to slide out.  When he did so, I
turned over and lay on my back.  He removed the
condom, tied it off and mimicked a fadeaway into
the garbage on the other side of the room. "He
shoots, and he scores!" Ben shouted.
"He sure did," I punctuated, kidding him lightly
                       on
those beautiful lips.
 "That was great, Billy. Thank you." Ben smiled
                       and
hugged me to him.
     "The pleasure is mine." I grinned at the
man.  My anus was empty and cold, but my heart
was full and warm. We kissed again, one more
sweet kiss before Ben mentioned our rehearsal
tomorrow and how we should get some sleep.  I
put on my clothes, piece by piece, and left
Ben's room as he strutted naked into his
bedroom. "That was the best hour of my life," I
thought as I sunk into my own bed and fell into
the deepest, warmest sleep of the year.
*         *         *         *         *
*
   I whistled my way to rehearsal.  I actually
                    whistled,
wait, I actually whistled "Zippety-doo-da."
Yup, the layer of air I floated on was so thick
that I could flutter corny Disney tunes through
my lips and not crash down into reality.  I had
had him.had I had him? I had, and I had not been
had. "Hello!" I screamed to the custodial staff.
"Good morning!" I shouted to the ugly kid who
stalked everyone. "Wussup, dude?" I hailed my
physics professor.  Boy, man, hot dingitty-dang,
I felt like Ned Flanders. I sauntered into the
rehearsal building, saw the chalk writing on the
door: "HD: 203" and hopped up the stairs into
room 203 where almost all of the Dogs stood
chatting.  The last one to come in was Ben.  I
flashed him a subtle but certain grin as his
eyes flickered toward me.  He didn't respond,
but I agreed that it might be best to keep our
relationship under wraps until it had developed
into something more stable.  We wouldn't want
the other boys getting involved if we were to
get into a bit of a fight early on.  Those sorts
of things can split groups; I've seen it happen
too many times.
     So we rehearsed for three hours, and Ben
didn't give me more than a casual side glance
that rehearsal.  As we hopped out of the
building, I put my hand on his shoulder.
    "Hey, man, how's it going?" I flashed him
                     another
killer grin.
     "Well, kid, well," he rumbled as he pat the
back of my arm and smiled slightly.
     "And don't forget," shouted the pitch,
"jazz a cappella, best co-ed group on campus,
this Friday night at eight!"  Right, this Friday
at eight.I should invite Ben to come with me.
Or, maybe, I could instead play "cooler than
thou" and go stag.  He'll be there; I'll just
sit down next to him, casually. "You'd better
show, Billy boy, and support your local jazz!"
The pitch punched my already abused arm and ran
forward.
     "I'd rather support my local Jazz!" We
heard from Will in the background. "That Karl
Malone is such a hottie.thank God I'm out of
Mormon country, boys." And he ran off to his
dorm.  And I ran off to mine to read all about
what the hell was wrong with the first version
of Ampere's Law we had learned.
*         *         *         *         *
*
     Friday never came.well, of course Friday
came.but by Monday it hadn't come, and by
Tuesday it hadn't come, and when it hadn't come
on Thursday, I resigned myself to the fact that
Jesus was the Messiah and Friday had come last
week, and any attempts to see either one in this
world again would be futile.  But as things turn
out, just after I had given in to a Friday-less
world, there it was, the next day, glorious
Friday.  While God took off his shoes and put on
his slippers to prepare for the Sabbath as if he
were Mr. Rogers, I donned my sexiest attire for
the concert.
     I walked into the chapel, eyes scanning for
Don Benjamin, but all I saw were a bunch of the
guys from the dogs sitting in a little clump in
the middle.  The pitch waved my over with an
"Oh, Billy, darling!" and I slumped
into the chair next to him. He noticed me
glancing around the room.  "Hey, Billy.Billy!"
he shouted, as I was too absorbed in my own Ben-
seeking world to hear anything. "Would you keep
your eyes and brain in your own head for a
second, and hang out with us?" The pitch
playfully slapped the side of my face.  "Sweet
Jesus, Billy," he began to whisper, "Haven't I
told you to keep your head, don't give any to
Ben."  I paused, wondering whether the
implication that I was giving him head lay in
the comment, but before I could ponder the point
to conclusion, I felt a slight bustle behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes landed on
Ben, staring directly at my face.  I was about
to smile, when a dark, elegant hand fell across
his shoulder.  To Ben's right sat Will Courtney,
dressed to the nines, and beaming ear to
cartilage-pierced ear.
 I couldn't say anything. I couldn't scream, nor
                      cry,
nor mope and sulk sufficiently. I just looked at
the stage where the performance was soon to
start.
  "You all right, Billy?" questioned the pitch
                     from my
left.
"Um, yeah, fine.just a little burnt out from the
                      week
and stuff.  Out of curiosity, didn't the two of
them break up?"
     "Ha, yeah, for about two days," scoffed the
pitch, "Really, Ben doesn't know what the heck
he's doing.  He and Courtney just bicker or get
sick of each other, split, each nail some poor
fool, and then get back together.  They just
keep hurting everyone that way, themselves not
least of all."  I could tell the pitch was a tad
bit sloshed by his candidness, but he was
talking painful sense.
     "Each nails some poor fool, huh?" I asked
quietly, but the pitch could sense he had said
something wrong, as he focused concern from his
eyes to mine.
     "Well, not a fool, necessarily.someone
na‹ve or easily blinded.or maybe even not so
easily blinded.  They're both hot shit and
talented in everything they do. And I mean
everything they do!" He gave me a smirk and an
eyebrow raise.  I returned the expression,
nearly forgetting the second man behind me,
adding in a verbal "Aw, yeah!" when he imploded.
All of the pitch's smirking and nervous
drunkenness turned stone cold.  "So, he did get
you.  I told you not to let him get you. He was
your first? Yeah.he's a horrible first."
"No, he was wonderful." Tears just started in my
                      eyes
as a choked.
 "Did he make you feel like he cared about you?"
     "Yes!"
  "Did he make you feel like you were beautiful
                       and
wonderful?"
     "Yes!"
"Did he make you feel like you were choosing him
                       as
much as he was choosing you?"
     "No, I suppose not. But why does that
matter?"
"Because that's respect, Billy.  Consent doesn't
                      just
mean that you didn't shout `no.' You should both
say `yes' before it begins.  If it's not totally
awkward for both of you, it's probably not worth
it. You're not on an even playing field with
him, Billy."
     "Shut up and let me watch the concert." I
snapped at the pitch as the lights dimmed. I was
so confused. I hated Ben; he had betrayed me and
played me, but he had given me a happiness that
nobody else had ever given me.  He had let me
ride an emotional high that I could have bottled
and traded for E. Was the cold, dull pain so bad
that it wasn't worth that. Seriously, who was
the pitch, my musical, not spiritual and
emotional leader, to tell me with whom I
should be angry? Who was he to guide my romantic
life? He's not my Mom, he shouldn't care this
much.even Mom shouldn't care this much! It's my
life, and my boyfriend, or my onenight-stand, or
whatever we made of it? Whatever I made of it!
And I could fight Will for him, or I could bang
him on the side, if I wanted to do so, thank you
very much.  What's a loss of sexual power if I
get what I want?  It's not a loss of power if I
am totally gratified!  Man, the pitch is just
contradicting himself up the wall.whoo! Tough
cookies to him.  Maybe he's just so upset that
Ben dumped him that he's going to try to deny
him all possible pleasure and deny anyone near
him the pleasure of Ben. Selfish, power-tripping
pitch-prick, who can shove his finger-baton
exactly where I tell him.
*         *         *         *         *
*
     His smile woke me up, I suppose. Not that I
was sleeping, I was more seething in my own
world, but when I turned left and the pitch was
the only man there, in the entire chapel, I
screamed and jumped out of my seat.
"Where did they go? Why are you here? Get out of
                       my
life and my room! You're haunting me! You're
like a vampire.sucking the pleasure out of my
life. Sucking the sex out of me!"
     "Ooh, sounds fun," he looked mildly amused.
     "You're evil. Ben's not evil, he's just
such a sexual beast he can't control himself.
You want other people to be unhappy. You're
jealous of me and Ben and you're here to.eat me
and take my luck and love and lust and life!
Wait.are you going to kill me out of jealousy?"
I didn't know how else I had wound up alone with
the pitch in a large room in the middle of the
night.he might have knocked me unconscious and
brought me here.
     "Billy, didn't I tell you not to mix the
acid and the prednisone?  Seriously.you just
totally spaced out. Where have you been for the
past two hours, man? You missed the whole jam!
And I'm not going to hurt you, so stay!"  His
last comment was cued by my attempted exit.
     I calmed down, slowly, when I realized that
nobody had died.I had just been used by my crush
and provoked by a somewhat drunk friend.  "Man,
are you jealous or what? I mean, why are you
trying so hard to interfere with my relationship
with Ben?  I mean, I know he hurt you bad, but I
think I just might be able to make it work.
It'll take work.hell, it'll take a battle, but I
think I can get him if I try." I slumped into a
comfortable seat, ready to argue my case in a
calm, mature manner.  `You can't lose if you
keep your cool,' I told myself, hoping that my
outburst hadn't totally blown the effect.
   "Why do you want him?  Because he's pretty?
                     Because
he's cocky?" The pitch sat in the chair in front
of me, looking over the back.
     "Because he excites me.  Because he's an
unconquerable adventure that I've somehow gotten
just a finger around. Nobody ever gets the
crush.the real, unattainable crush. And I got
him! Maybe not entirely, but he's older and
beautiful and sexy as all hell and I got just a
bit of him.  Why would I want to abandon that
quest?"
     "Well, if you're looking for an adventure,
then there's no reason to abandon it, I admit.
If you're looking for a relationship, then the
answer's clear.  You need a real, honest-to-God
nice guy."  I snickered at the phrase. "No,
seriously.  Studs make great crushes, but it's
the homely demi-dweebs who will make you happy
in the end. He's not the pinnacle, Billy, you
deserve someone so much better than he is.  Will
and Ben deserve each other. They're both."
     "What?"
     "Well, total assholes."
 "Shut up! Get out of here! I don't want to see
                       you
anymore."
     The pitch just smiled at me calmly, gazing
into my eyes and shaking his head, a motion that
tossed his hair around the contours of his face.
     "Out, out, out! Mush, dog, mush!"  I
stopped at my own words, as the vowel changed in
my head. I realized I was staring into his eyes
and loving the hair.the mush colored hair
capping the mush colored eyes. He just kept
smiling.  I was in tears. "Why are you still
here?"
     "Because I'm the pitch.  If I leave,
everything collapses.  I have to keep the rhythm
intact and the tune pretty." He gave a big,
toothy grin, I laughed beneath my tears, and he
leaned in.
     Would it be too predictable to say that my
heart turned to mush? I suppose so.but I
absolutely melted into his soft, soft lips. I
was at home, so at home in the chapel,
underneath the religious iconography, kissing a
sweet boy. Perfect.  I rubbed my face against
his.feeling the softness of his cheeks, the
gentle tickle of his stubble, the flutter of his
eyelashes.  We kissed and intertwined some more
and then broke our kiss.
   "Would you like to come back to my dorm?" I
                    asked the
pitch.
  "Yes, I would.but I don't think I will.  I'd
                     love to
have dinner with you tomorrow, though."
We called it a deal.  Ben, well, I still thought
                       Ben
was hot.  He was, hell, he is! To be perfectly
honest, had the pitch not been such an amazing
kisser I might not have even tried the
relationship thing, but boy am I glad I did.
After I blew my physics final, after I got into
a screaming fight with my mother that nearly got
me disowned, after I pulled an all-nighter and a
fast in one day, I had someone to hold me and
love me in every sense of the word.  I never
have an excuse for not knowing my music, but no
matter what my problems are, as long as he is
there the beat goes on.