A Cappella 3

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.

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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."

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