I met him at the height of my addiction to coke.

 

I was the preppy boy dealer to the frats. He was a gymnast from New Orleans. The night I met him, he was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen.

 

I was at the Sig Ep house making deliveries and all that. The guy I dealt with there was this Hitler-youth looking kid named Stein who was a death camp guard in another life. He was the sort of asshole that gets off on the misery of others. The bunch there were hungry and he wanted to be the man. Some old story, different assholes.

 

One of the kids he was dealing to was so slight and vulnerable that I just wanted to protect him.

 

When I finished up with Stein, I started talking to him. One thing lead to another and we were naked, drinking champaign in a hot tub and totally into each other.

 

His name was Mark and he was one of the prettiest cajun boys you've ever seen. He was small and slight but had a swimmers/gymnasts body and holy shit it was sporty. He fit in my arms and felt so good. Hell... he even smelled good.

 

I like to kiss him under his ear through his long black hair. That sort of made him muy loco. That was good for me.

 

We spent that semester smoking dope, f**king, snorting coke, drinking wine and listening to Emerson, Lake and Palmer.

 

Sad part was when it was over, it was over. When the semester ended, he went back to New Orleans and I never saw him again.

 

I didn't know that he was gone until I found his square on the quilt.

 

I can think of two song that we used to enjoy and I'll share them here.

 

 

 

Still.. you turn me on by Emerson, Lake & Palmer

 

Do you want to be an angel,

Do you wanna be an angel

Do you wanna be a star

Do you wanna play some magic

On my guitar

Do you wanna be a poet

Do you wanna be my string

You could be anything

 

Do you wanna be the lover of another undercover

You could even be the

Man on the moon

 

Do you wanna be the player

Do you wanna be the string

Let me tell you something

It just don't mean a thing

 

You see it really doesn't matter

When you're buried in disguise

By the dark glass on your eyes

Though your flesh has crystallised

Still...you turn me on

 

Do you wanna be the pillow

Where I lay my head

Do you wanna be the feathers

Lying on my bed

Do you wanna be the cover

Of a magazine

Create a scene

 

Every day a little sadder

A little madder

Someone get me a ladder

 

Do you wanna be the singer

Do you wanna be the song

Let me tell you something

You just couldn't be more wrong

 

You see I really have to tell you

That it all gets so intense

From my experience

It just doesn't seem to make sense

Still...you turn me on

 

 

 

Wish you were here by Pink Floyd

 

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,

blue skies from pain.

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,

Running over the same old ground.

What have you found? The same old fears.

Wish you were here.