"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.