A Cappella 4

"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."

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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."

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