A Cappella 2

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 abs, 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.

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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.

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