Be a Good Boy part 1

Be a Good Boy- Part One

As I walked into choir that day, my eyes were as always drawn to Stephan. I know what you might be thinking- with a name like that, this guy must either be foreign or impossibly gay. Unfortunately for me (on the later count, at least) neither was true. He was as obviously straight as he was unnaturally beautiful. It always seemed to me such a shame that someone so deeply pretty would preoccupy himself with creatures concerned with making themselves look more like him. Could any woman really appreciate a man like him? Him, of the delicately raised cheekbones. Him, of the eyelashes so effortlessly long and graceful. Him, of the silky auburn hair playfully splayed, casual in its absolute perfection. Him, aware of his own looks just enough to create the kind of magnetic confidence that everyone wishes they had.

I tried, as always, not to stare too long, and as always I failed. He obviously knew why I was looking- in our casual friendship, I'd been very open about my sexuality, and he had not needed to explain his own. He didn't usually say hello, at least not unless I did first. His attitude toward me seemed to be a kind of pleased lack of acknowledgment. He knew I saw him, knew I appreciated him, and understood that if he ever suffered from a deficit of attention I would be their to fill the gap. I had an inferior kind of attention to give (the non-mammaried variety) but still, in a dire situation it was better than nothing. At least that was the way it seemed.

As the class settled in I stole the occasional glance, each one both pleasant and awful, a lift from desire and a slap from denial. He was usually flippant and distracted, but today it seemed he was actually concentrating- his lips parted with an exquisite pop as he formed each subsequent vowel, looking down at his music, his smooth brow furrowed temporarily. Such productive work could never be the norm- our overly cheerful choir director frequently lost control and explosions of chatter would erupt without warning. In these he participated eagerly- as he sang bass two and I sang tenor one, I never heard the conversation fully, but I saw the sly grins and saw the easy, open mouthed laugh. His voice was a deep rumble across the room, and I listened fore each snippet I could hear, cherishing these almost as much as I did the borrowed glances.

Suddenly, something caught my attention- one of the guys had made that quick, bark-like noise people sometimes make in a crowd when they agree with something. I saw Stephan lean forward and in a lull, heard him say “No, you've got to make it deeper. Like a big dog.” And he demonstrated.

I stuck my thumb involuntarily into my mouth and bit down. I leaned back in my chair, reeling with lust. I couldn't count the number of times I'd fantasized about hearing that exact noise come from his mouth. It was too much to bear- luckily class was over moments later, and I shuffled out, my thoughts still a jumble of heated sexual images. I couldn't stand it any more- I had to make him mine.