Date: Fri, 11 Jul 2003 13:08:03 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 15

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons
alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance
to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions,
customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to
remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back
then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the
bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not
continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right
and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also
contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or
hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you
some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible
Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly
irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever
cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.

As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual
nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If
your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are
not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature,
or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.

This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex
is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts
without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.

I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please write me at
paradegi@rogers.com


The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 15


Todd headed for the short corridor that led to the Chiefs Mess. As he was
about to pass by Fred, who lay on top of the bunk closest to the Chiefs
Mess, Todd glanced down and stopped dead in his tracks. Now why, he
wondered, would Fred be making faces at him? Todd did a double take and
looked again, his eyes bugging out of his head. Fred? FRED?

Todd looked again and took a step back. "Why, Fred, you dirty little . . ."
thought Todd as a huge grin broke the twin's face. "Well, well, well,
another human being checking in!"

Fred, tall, slim, with a perpetually goofy look on his face, was the most
enigmatic of all the cadets. He was quiet, never swore, and never, except
when in charge of a platoon or a company on the parade square, raised his
voice. He went about his duties with quiet dignity and of all the
Regulating Petty Officers he was the most liked. He disliked confrontation
and was always willing to let the picky-ass little infractions slide by.

Although he lived with them, and shared many of their secrets, the cadets
who lived in the Gunroom knew very little about Fred. He kept to himself
and never volunteered any personal information, other than that he had an
uncle who was an Admiral. When he was in the Gunroom, Fred rarely joined in
the games and foolishness that seemed so much a part of Gunroom life. The
boys knew that Fred hailed from Kingston, Ontario, that this was his first
trip west and that he was, at least on the surface, very religious. He
attended the Anglican Cathedral School back home and acted as server for
Dirty Dave the Deacon every Sunday.

Playing silly bugger, nudity, and talking about sex were all part of life
in the Gunroom, except for Fred. He never talked queer, and never engaged
in the homoerotic baiting that seemed to go on constantly. Unlike the other
cadets, he never crowed about the size of his erection (which was
impressive), the power of his ejaculations, or the number of times each day
he sought relief in masturbation. If he beat off, which was conjectural at
best, Fred did it so quietly and so discreetly that no one, at least so far
as Todd could remember, had ever mentioned it.

For the majority of the cadets in the Gunroom, beating off was a nightly
occurrence. Some, such as Thumper, tried to at least maintain a façade
of silence, or waited until they thought everyone else was asleep. Others,
mainly Harry, thoroughly enjoyed the act and moaned and groaned their way
to satisfying, and noisy, eruptions. Beating off was as much a part of mess
life as getting up in the morning and having a shower (before the water was
turned off). Everybody did it.

Thumper beat off in the heads every night. Nicholas, at least until lately,
beat of on a nightly basis, his approach to glory heralded by increasing
panting, culminating in a long, low, rush of breath as he ejaculated into
an old hand towel he kept under his pillow. When Harry beat off the
critters in the woods knew about it. It was universally accepted that
everybody beat off. Even Cory, who admittedly had a fairly active sex life
with, amongst others, his brother, Chris, The Phantom and Harry, admitted
to Onanism, and from time to time consulted Mrs. Fist and her daughters
(usually when he was angry with Todd over some imagined slight, slur or
insult). Todd, when he wasn't with Cory, found a slow, gentle rub very
satisfying at the end of the day. Everybody, except for Two Strokes, freely
admitted that beating off was a major factor in his life. Two Strokes
insisted that he never beat off, which everybody pretended to believe
because they all knew that the skinny Regulating Chief buried his face in
his pillow and humped his mattress, much to Thumper's disgust because he
had to listen to the muffled groans and grunts coming from the corner bunk
until Two Strokes finally popped his nut and shut the fuck up.

Unlike his messmates, Fred never discussed his sex life, or anyone else's
for that matter. Todd assumed that Fred was a well-mannered, naturally shy
young man and this, combined with the fact that he was a relative stranger
to all the other boys, caused him to tread warily. Todd could not blame
him. Getting shit chucked at you for jerking off, particularly when you
didn't, and knew that everyone else did it, was not a pleasant
experience. On the other hand, it was possible that Fred did not beat
off. All things considered, Todd suspected that Fred did indeed keep his
pecker firmly in his pants and did not masturbate, a suspicion confirmed by
the fact that as Todd stared, bug-eyed, Fred was quite obviously, and in
full, living colour, enjoying a wet dream!

Fred was lying on his bunk, naked except for a particularly vile pair of
tri-coloured boxers: yellow, green and red. From the slit of his boxers,
pointed toward his navel, Fred's erection, all eight or so inches of it,
bounced slightly.

Todd had to admit that Fred possessed a handsome and impressive weapon. His
penis was long and thin, and quite well formed, with a perfectly
proportioned, neatly circumcised head. From the little diffused sunlight
streaming through the door leading to barrack yard Todd could see that the
top third or so of Fred's boner was deep red. As Todd watched Fred squirmed
and screwed up his face into a mask of excruciating pleasure. He opened his
mouth and ran his tongue quickly across his lips, a small groan rising from
his throat. From time to time he raised his hips, thrusting his penis
upward.

>From Todd's perspective the whole scene in front of him was actually very
interesting. He had never had a wet dream but he knew what was supposed to
happen, and Todd had never seen anybody having a wet dream, until now, that
is, for Fred was demonstrably having a wet dream!

As Todd watched, Fred began to moan softly and raise and lower his hips
rhythmically. Todd had been around the horn a time or six and knew when a
guy was about to blow his load. From the look on Fred's face he was ready
to blow and Todd wondered if he was a moaner, a groaner or a howler. Some
guys squealed and howled, others groaned and moaned. Sylvain yipped and
yiped. Some guys just came, barely breathing and hardly making a sound.

Todd took a step backward, out of the line of fire and looked, simply
unable to take his eyes away from Fred's long, smooth boner, wondering if
Fred ever fooled around because if he did he, well then, he and Cory could
. . . Fred's cock gave a sudden jerk and a small fountain of semen spurted
out, followed by another. For a brief moment Todd thought that Fred would
not have much of a chance in a cum contest.

Suddenly Fred's body convulsed. His hips thrust violently upward and his
head jerked forward. A huge stream of cum shot out of his dick and slammed
into his chin. His tongue, long like his dick, and very pink, flicked out
and the blob of cum was gone. Almost immediately Fred's body convulsed
again and another, then another stream of thin, milky-white ejaculate
spurted from his piss hole, slamming against his neck, then dead centre of
his chest.

Todd's jaw dropped as Fred, gasping, totally overcome and lost in orgasmic
dementia, continued to spurt decreasing amounts of spunk down his body
until finally, after eight or nine spurts, his dick fell back and a small
drop oozed slowly from his clean-lined helmet. Fred sank back against his
pillow and a long, satisfied groan arose from deep within his chest and a
huge, satisfied grin spread slowly across his face.

"After that display," thought Todd, "you should be happy!"

Fred's right hand moved, lingered briefly on the tip of his softening penis
and then slowly moved up his body, gathering the pools and puddles of his
cum. He raised his hand and much to Todd's surprise he plunged his fingers
into his mouth. Fred suckled happily, cleaning his warm ejaculate from his
hand. When he was sated he dropped his hand and he began to breathe slowly
and rhythmically.

Todd had been so absorbed in Fred's wet dream that he did not realize that
the front of his shorts held a huge tent. He reached down and a huge jolt
of pleasure screamed through his loins and he creamed himself. Gasping, and
feeling a little disgusted with himself, Todd retreated to his locker where
he pulled out a clean pair of boxers. He could hardly go calling on Tyler
with his drawers full of spunk and needed to change. Todd also needed to
clean himself. His soft dick was coated with his rapidly cooling sperm and
his pubic hairs were clotted with the stuff.

As he passed Fred's bunk Todd bent down and pulled the coverlet, which Fred
had kicked off during the night, over Fred's body, covering the still
smiling boy and as he headed into the washplace Todd thought it was the
least that a gentleman could do.

******

Tyler sat at his desk, nursing a small tot of Nelson's blood,
thinking. >From time to time he ran his finger along his lips, tasting
again the long, sweet kiss he had exchanged with The Phantom. He was very
disturbed. He was 18 years old. In three days the world would beat a path
to AURORA for a day full of protocol and ceremony. In three weeks he would
report to Royal Roads and begin what he hoped would be a long and
illustrious career as a naval officer. He should have been thinking about
his duties as Master at Arms. He should have been thinking of his
future. He was not.

He was thinking about the tightness in his groin and the tingling feeling
he always got when he was sexually excited. Unconsciously Tyler reached
down and felt his semi-hard penis through the fabric of his white
briefs. He felt his penis thicken and he jerked his hand away, embarrassed
that he was fondling himself with all the lights on and Val in the other
bed.

What disturbed Tyler, aside from the lingering pleasure that he felt after
kissing The Phantom, was that more and more he was thinking about Val, who
was stretched out on his bunk doing what he always did, scratching and
squeezing himself, a dark, handsome Sicilian prince.

Just the thought of Val's hard, tightly muscled body caused Tyler's dick to
harden. He quickly raised his leg and propped his foot on the rung of his
chair, hiding the bulge that was tenting his underpants from Val's line of
sight. More and more Tyler was beginning to realize that Val meant more to
him than just friendship, and that he was thinking thoughts that he should
not be thinking, and feeling emotions that he should not be feeling.

Kissing The Phantom had set in motion a juggernaut-like train of emotions
and thoughts that had set Tyler's mind to reeling, disgust duelling with
desire, fear jousting with euphoria, the mere thought of Val making him
want to rush into the heads and do a Thumper, if only to relieve
momentarily the feelings of lust that had set his crotch on fire.

Tyler glanced over at Val, who was lying with his drink balanced on his
stomach, his eyes half closed. Tyler sighed inwardly, wishing that Val
would drop off to sleep. He also thought wistfully that now would be a very
good time for the night visitor to come calling.

Which was something else that he should not be thinking about, but Jesus,
did that guy know how to work a boner!  Tyler took a huge gulp of his rum
and water. Jesus, if only that guy would come back. It's been such a long
time that . . . A light tap on the door interrupted Tyler's reverie.

Val's eyes snapped open and he glared at the door. "That will be Todd," he
grumbled. "Come to make sure we cleaned up."

Tyler nodded absently, thinking about what they had found in the locker
room. "We have to tell him." He raised his head. "Come," he instructed, his
voice louder than he intended.

Todd entered the room and glanced about. Val raised his glass, offering a
drink. Todd shook his head, no. He was not a big drinker in any case and
rum in the middle of the night did not appeal to him. He sat on Tyler's
bunk.

"All quiet?" asked Tyler.

"As quiet as it ever is," replied Todd with a grin. Then he thought of
Fred, and what he had seen Fred doing, and his grin grew. "Nothing and
nobody stirring."

"Somebody was," said Val ominously.

"What?" Todd, worried now, looked at Tyler.

"When we got to the locker room the place had been cleaned up," explained
Tyler. He held out his glass for a refill. Val rolled out of bed, found the
bottle of rum, and poured a healthy shot into Tyler's glass. "Val's blanket
was folded and the towels were draped over the back of the bench to dry,"
continued Tyler. He turned his chair and reached for the small jug of water
at the edge of the table, giving Todd a magnificent view of the impressive
bulge in his underpants.  "The shampoo and soap had been put back in the
proper lockers. There was no mess at all," said Val.  "It was like we had
never been there." Tyler held up the rum bottle. "Except for this and my
sea blanket, that is." He poured a small measure of water into his glass of
rum. "Which leads us to ask the question: 'Who?'" he asked quietly.

"One of the cooks. Has to be," stated Val firmly as he returned to his bed.

Todd thought a moment. "Makes sense. But which one, and why so early?"

"Early?" Val raised himself on one elbow. "The cooks are always up and
doing early."

Tyler smiled thinly and shook his head. "Not on Sunday.  Except for the
Forenoon Watchmen nobody gets up before noon at the earliest. The Duty Cook
doesn't come on until 0600."

"Somebody from the Duty Watch copping a shower?" offered Val.

It was Todd's turn to shake his head. "No. That early in the morning, and
so close to their watch ending, no, nobody from the Duty watch. It has to
be a cook."

"Which one?" asked Val. "Sandro? Ray? Maybe the Brats?"

Tyler quickly consulted his copy of Routine Orders, and then looked
up. "Ray. It had to have been Ray. He always takes the early shift on
Sunday because Sandro is usually still in Courtenay. He takes the afternoon
shift." Then he frowned. "Randy and Joey are also early duty."

Todd grinned knowingly. "Not a problem, Tyler. Randy and Joey never go near
the showers unless Ray or Chef chase them into them."

"Would Ray say anything, assuming that it's him?" asked Val.

Todd shook his head. "If Ray says anything, which I doubt he will, just
tell him that Phantom is involved." He shrugged. "He's tight with
Phantom. As for Randy and Joey, they adore Phantom and call him their
Honourary Big Brother. Unless I am totally wrong, none of the cooks will
say anything to anybody if they think that Phantom is involved."

"Assuming that one of the cooks did clean up after us," said Val.

"If it wasn't one of the cooks, then we lie," replied Todd smoothly. "We
simply tell whoever asks that a bunch of us snuck into the Mess Hall
showers and had a wash."

"Which is perfectly believable," agreed Tyler. "I'm surprised the rest of
the troops haven't twigged onto the fact that the cooks and the officers
have working showers and we don't."

Val waved his glass at Todd. "Todd, be a friend and pour me the other half,
please." He looked at Tyler. "I was in the canteen after supper. Some of
the guys were mouthing off about the showers."

"I will deal with the Lower Deck Lawyers," said Tyler sharply. "It's about
time that some of our cadets realized that this is a commissioned ship and
not the Sally Ann Camp for Wayward Boys!" He turned to Todd. "For the time
being we assume that nobody but us three, and Cory, know what happened
tonight?"

Todd nodded. "When I did my walkabout I saw no one. We left nothing lying
around that can connect Phantom or us to what happened in the Petty
Officers Mess."

"And Little Big Man?" Tyler stood up and retrieved the bottle from
Todd. "Will he scream rape?" He poured another drink. "Alternatively, if he
doesn't scream rape, what do you want Val and me to do? Keep quiet? Let him
know that we know what happened?"

Todd, who could not resist Tyler's well-packed ass, enjoyed the view and
waited until the Master at Arms sat down again before replying. "If he was
going to scream rape, he'd have done it by now. Let's face it, if you wake
up and find some guy hanging off the end of your dick, you either lie back
and enjoy it or raise proper hell. Do you hear him doing that?"

Both Tyler and Val had to agree. Everything was as quiet as a tomb.

"Are you going to fill us in on what you plan on doing?" asked Val
presently.

Todd chuckled. "Oh, how about we make him sweat for awhile?" While he had
decided to end the affair with Little Big man as soon as he could, Todd saw
no harm in allowing his barracks mates to have a little fun at Little Big
Man's expense if the opportunity presented itself. Who knew, such "fun"
just might add the extra fillip to convince Little Big Man that he was
toast.

"And how do we do that?" asked Tyler.

Todd leaned forward, a plan coming together in his mind. "Play it by
ear. Maybe, when you see him, you ask him if he slept well, which is a
perfectly normal, legitimate question."

"Why would we care if he slept well?" asked Val. "Why would we even ask him
how he slept?"

"Precisely!" crowed Todd. "Asking after his sleeping habits, or his health,
is totally out of character for any of us."

Tyler started laughing. "Of course! He's going to wonder why all of a
sudden we ask him something that we've never asked after he'd just gotten
fucked! He has got to think that we're up to something, or know something!"

Val sniggered. "Or how about we ask him if he's hurt himself since he's
walking so funny?"

"Now that deserves a drink!" Todd was laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Val got off his bunk, rummaged around the pile of clothing at the foot of
his bed and dug out a glass. He poured Todd a arge rum. Todd cut the rum
with some water and hoisted his glass, first to Tyler, then to Val. "See
how easy it is? You ask him a perfectly innocuous question but," Todd
paused for effect and continued. "While you're doing it you snicker, or
smile, just a little."

Val reached into his boxers and gave himself a contemplative scratch. "That
is the most devious, underhanded thing that I have ever heard of!" he
declared flatly. Then he laughed heartily. "I love it!"

Tyler shook his head slowly. "We are vicious, mean buggers, you know that?"

Todd settled back on Tyler's bunk, making himself comfortable. "We have to
be, Tyler. There is too much at stake for us not to be vicious or
mean. Little Big Man has a goal. So do I!"

Val returned to his bunk and settled in. "And what goal is that, other than
to drive the little prick right 'round the twist."

Todd regarded Val evenly. "I want him out! I want him out of the Sea
Cadets!" Todd declared with harsh, pitiless candour. "I want him so scared
that he will never, ever, even think of joining the military! I want Paul
Greene so scared that next week, next month, next year, if he sees someone
in a Sea Cadet uniform he will piss his pants because he will be wondering
if the guy knows that last night he committed the one unforgivable
sin. Last night he had sex with a guy and the more people he thinks know
about it the less likely he is going to want to stay in the Cadets."

Val grinned and shuddered theatrically. "Remind me never to piss you off!"

Tyler leaned back in his chair. "What pisses me off is that we could have
solved the problem a month ago. I should have shopped the little bastard
for fighting . . ."

"For fuck sake, Tyler, don't go over that again," said Todd warmly. "You
tried one approach and it did not work.  Okay, fine. Case closed. Consider
it a lesson learned and move on."

"You did not have an Honourary Sea Cadet tell you that you fucked up,"
returned Val.

"Phantom is not an Honourary anything," returned Todd angrily, his face and
voice firm. "He IS a Sea Cadet! Remember? We made him one. We made him the
Chief Steward of the Sea Cadets, you, me, Tyler, all of us."

"Calm down, Todd," ordered Tyler quietly. "There is no need to get all
huffy about what Phantom is, or is not. He is one of us, and he is a
Chief." He took a small sip of his almost empty glass. "And Val, as for
what he told us tonight, it was the truth. We had our chance, we took a
different route and we were wrong. Lesson learned."

Val nodded glumly. "Yeah, you're right.  Sorry Todd."

"Do we kiss and make up?" asked Todd, trying to lighten the
atmosphere. Things were getting entirely too heavy.

"Personally, I'd sooner kiss a pig," growled Val.  Which was a lie.

"I thought Sicilians were partial to sheep," returned Todd.

Tyler tried to be firm but smiled despite himself. "That's enough, you
two." He looked at Todd. "So when do we begin our part of this campaign of
yours?"

"This afternoon, this evening, whenever you see him. Cory and I will lie
low today. Let's lull him into a false sense of security so far as we are
concerned. If he thinks that we do not know anything it will be all that
more effective when we do lower the boom on him."

Tyler stood up and gestured toward the door. "We'll do our part. Now hit
the road.  I'm tired, Val is tired, and you must be tired."

"Aw, Tyler, I'm just getting comfortable," Todd pretended to whine.

"Get comfortable in your own bed. You are not sleeping in my bed!"

Todd stuck out his lower lip, pouting. "I've been told that I am very
cuddly."

"Val says the same thing, but you do not notice me sleeping with him, do
you?"

"Your loss, Tiger," sniped Val. He pulled his top sheet over his head and
rolled on his side.

"Don't go to sleep yet, Val, there is something I want to run by you and
Tyler," said Todd. He left Tyler's bunk, sat on Val's, and gave Val's bum a
pat.

"I'll give you exactly one hour to stop that," came Val's muffled voice.

"Ah, the things that might have been," sighed Todd with heavy
emphasis. "Come on, I need to talk to you about your parade."

Val, ever protective of his authority, quickly sat up. "What about my
parade?" he asked pointedly.

Todd feigned terror and drew back. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." He
waggled his eyebrows at Val. "And very nice knickers they are, too!"

"Todd!" warned Tyler.

"Okay, okay, relax." Todd grinned first at Val, then at Tyler. "I think we
should do something for Phantom, to show our appreciation for what he did
for us."

"Okay, and that is?" asked Tyler warily.

"Well, what I thought was . . ."

Both Chiefs listened intently as Todd outlined his plan for the Tuesday
morning Full Dress Rehearsal. When he was finished Val screwed up his face,
nodded two or three times and then spoke. "It's doable. Except for the
music there's no deviation from what we would normally do.  So, yeah, let's
do it."

Tyler agreed. "The only problem might be the uniforms. Normal routine is to
wear whites in the morning for Divisions and blues at night for the
Ceremony of the Flags. To do things up right I would want to wear my Number
11 uniform. In fact, I would want all the Chiefs and Petty Officers to wear
their Number 11s."

Todd saw where Tyler was going. "Which just happens to be the same uniform
we have to wear at the Mess Dinner tomorrow night."

"We have two sets," Val pointed out. "That Leung guy and his crew took them
for alterations, remember?"

"Which he will have back this afternoon," thought Todd out loud.

"There is also the reception on Wednesday. Number 11, Dress Uniform, White,
shall be worn by all hands, except for those cadets detailed to Work
Parties." quoted Tyler from Routine Orders.

"The trouble with whites is that if you look at them the wrong way they get
dirty," said Val, settling back in his bunk. "It would really help if we
could get the water turned on. If only for the washing machines."

Tyler knew what was coming next. "I'll speak to the Executive Officer first
thing Monday morning and see if we can get the water for the washing
machines, and two showers, one in the morning, one in the evening."

"I knew that your innate officer-like qualities would come to the surface
sooner or later," replied Val snidely.

Tyler ignored his roommate. He turned to Todd. "Anything else?" he asked as
he pointedly opened the door.

"None at all," returned Todd, taking the hint. "I'll speak to Harry about
the music. Other than that, I think I'll go to bed."

"Good." Tyler opened the door wider. "I'll see you later, then."

As he passed Tyler, Todd could not resist. His hand flashed and he gave
Tyler's genitals a quick feel. "Ah, the things that might have been,
Tiger," he said with a snicker as he left the Mess.

******

As the sun continued its slow ascent life at AURORA on a quiet Sunday
morning continued. In the galley, after much cursing and swearing, Ray
managed to get the stoves going, and Andy and the Brats fed. With more
swearing, some cajoling and a healthy threat of emasculation with Chef's
cleaver, he also managed to get the breakfast set-up going.

In the Guardhouse Stuart, who was Duty Chief, at 0715 sent Anson and Steve
out to rouse the Forenoon Watchmen. Anson, who had been standing Watch on
Watch, was dead tired and in no mood for any nonsense. He was still
smarting from the tongue-lashing he had received from his brother, Phillip,
called The Assistant, over his loan-sharking enterprise. He had spent half
the night dozing in the one comfortable chair in the Guardhouse,
half-listening to Stuart and Steve bicker and snarl their way through a
seemingly endless game of cribbage.

Anson first went into the Cooks Barracks where he woke up one half of the
Litany of the Saints. Unfortunately he woke the wrong half. Matthew and
Mark, rudely awakened by a rough shaking of their legs and shoulders for a
Duty Watch they did not have to stand, snarled and snapped at Anson, called
him every name they could think of and pointed to the bunks above them
where the right half of the Litany, Luke and John, who had been awakened by
all the noise, lay snickering. Anson returned curse for curse and when he
left he had four pissed off Makee-Learns plotting revenge.

Leaving the Cooks Barracks Anson carried on to the Musicians Mess where he
endured more maledictions and curses, the first from "Young Brown", which
Anson thought was pretty nervy since the only duties Brown had were to blow
the bugle at Divisions and Sunset. Next on Anson's list was Andre, who was
curled up in a tight ball and not at all pleased with having to get up. He
had been up half the night with Nicholas and they hadn't sinned once!
Instead they had worked steadily on the surprise that Nicholas had planned
for the coming Wednesday.

Andre muttered and sputtered, but got up after calling Anson only one or
two names. In French.

Half convinced that rather than endure all the shit he was getting he
should just stand the next Watch, Anson went into the Gunners Barracks
where he gave Nick a quick shake.

Surprisingly, Nick woke almost immediately, rubbed the sleep from his eyes,
jumped down from his upper bunk and headed for the washplace. Anson reached
below and shook Chad, who opened one eye and gave his tormentor a dirty
look. "Fuck off, Anson," he said without rancour.

"Don't tell me to fuck off!" whispered Anson fiercely. "You've got the
Duty, now get your lazy ass out of bed!"

"No!" Chad rolled over and pulled his covers over his head.

"God damn it!" snapped Anson. He reached down and pulled Chad onto his
back. "Get the fuck up Chad. I ain't screwing around here. You either get
up or I log you." He straightened and stepped back. "I ain't fucking
around, Chad!" he warned again.

Chad raised himself on one elbow and looked up at Anson, who was red-faced
and breathing heavily. A slow smile formed on Chad's broad, handsome
face. What Anson did not know was that Chad was as gay as a duck, which
only Kevin and Nick knew. Kevin knew because he had caught Chad and Nick
going at it one night. Nick knew because Chad had been more or less
servicing him on a regular basis back home in Gananoque. Which service had
not happened at AURORA because Nick insisted on playing his stupid
straight-boy-getting-sex-from-the-local-queer routine, which pissed Chad
off because he was getting tired of all the bullshit he had to go through
just to stick a dildo up Nick's ass while he beat off! As a consequence
Chad was horny and frustrated. Being around 80 horny gunners did not help
matters at all. All those morning woodies! It was all he could do to keep
himself on the straight and narrow. And that was about to change.

"Aw, come on, Anson, get somebody else to do it," pleaded Chad, his grin
growing wider. "You can do it, and I'll be very grateful."

Anson sniffed loudly. "You ain't got nothing I want!  Now get up, asshole."

Chad said nothing at first. His hand reached out and he gently squeezed the
soft bulge in the front of Anson's blue serge bell-bottoms. "Maybe I can
give you something you might want," murmured Chad.

Anson was so shocked at Chad's feeling him up that his jaw dropped. He did
not know what to do. His brain told him to back away at a rate of
knots. His dick told him otherwise, rising smartly and straining the fabric
of his pants. "Cha . . . Chad . . . what the . . ." stammered Anson, his
voice low.

"Shh, Anson, you don't want to wake Kevin, do you?" asked Chad as he slowly
pulled down the zipper of Anson's trousers.

"Chad, stop . . . hey . . ." protested Anson half-heartedly as Chad slipped
his hand into his trousers. He groaned as Chad began to massage his
rock-hard boner and the memory of that night flooded back.

"Look what I found," said Chad as he slipped his hand under the leg band of
Anson's briefs. "Come a little closer."

"I . . ." began Anson. But he moved closer.

Anson wanted what was about to happen to happen. He'd been jacking off
almost every night thinking about the visitor who had blown him in the
middle of the night, fantasizing about the guy coming back. He groaned
softly as Chad ran his thumb across his dickhead. And moved closer still.

Wordlessly Chad pulled Anson's now erect organ from his underwear.

Anson shivered as a rippling wave of pleasure rolled through him. He began
breathing heavier and shifted forward as Chad slowly and carefully pulled
his throbbing penis from his trousers.

Chad looked up and smiled at Anson, then leaned down and down and kissed
the squirming boy's crisp, clean mushroom. "Nice," he murmured. He moved
his hand and fisted the bottom half of Anson's hard, seven inches of warm,
pulsing flesh. He could feel the heat and the pulsing of the blood that
flowed wildly through the thick vein that ran along the top of Anson's
throbbing penis.

Anson's knees buckled against the mattress as Chad lowered his head and his
mouth engulfed the upper half of his sweet, delicious cock. Chad sucked
slowly, savouring the wonderful taste of Anson's cock. With his tongue he
gently rubbed the sensitive underside of Anson's helmet.

Anson buried his face in Nick's bedclothes, muffling the groaning noises
that rose from his throat. Time and motion all but stopped for
Anson. Chad's tongue action was driving him wild and he began slow,
instinctive pelvic thrusts. Except for the soft, barely audible sucking
noise that Chad made on Anson's boner, and Anson's muffled groans, the
barracks room was quiet. "Ah, fuck, man, I'm gonna blow," moaned Anson. He
felt his balls tighten and the wave of excruciating pleasure that had been
building in his balls roared through him.

Chad felt Anson's cock lengthen and thicken. Anson jerked, his dickhead so
sensitive that he all but screamed his delight. With quick, sharp thrusts
he began ejaculating, his cock squirting thick streams of hot, thick semen
into Chad's avidly swallowing mouth.

Chad continued to suck, his tongue lapping and bathing Anson's spasming
helmet. He was slowly drawing his mouth upward, preparing to leave the
delicious flesh that had produced so much wonderful nectar when Anson
gasped, thrust upward and came again. More of his juices shot out of his
dick and as this second orgasm smashed through him his legs collapsed.

As he continued to slowly suck Anson's dick clean, Chad quickly grasped his
waist, holding him upright until his shuddering stopped, then let Anson's
softening cock slip from his mouth.

Anson could barely articulate. Holy SHIT! Was that good! He looked down at
Chad, who smiled and wiped a small, thin line of cum from the corner of his
lip. "I'll, I'll . . . Go back to sleep," Anson managed to get out as he
stuffed his softening dick back into his trousers. "I'll, I'll . . ." He
swallowed hard and backed slowly away. "I'll tell them that you're sick."

"You're a pal, Anson," replied Chad with a grin. He lay back on his
pillow. "And Anson?"

"Yeah?"

"You like sailing?"

Anson nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

Chad closed his eyes. "How about we take out one of the boats this
afternoon. Maybe go for a sail?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Chad opened his eyes and nodded. "About 1300, in the Dockyard?"

Anson rubbed the front of his trousers. "Oh, yeah!" he breathed.

The barracks door had barely slammed behind Anson when Kevin rolled over
and smiled at Chad and raised his eyebrows. He shook his head slowly.

Chad shrugged. "Got me out of duty, didn't it?"

******

As the morning progressed a small storm front moved in and for an hour or
so a light rain fell. It moved off and the sun reappeared, filling the
barracks buildings with light. Little Big Man, whose bunk was directly
under a window, awoke sometime around noon. He opened his eyes, momentarily
confused, then flung his left arm over his eyes, blocking out the harsh
sunlight that streamed through the window.

Instinctively Little Big Man's right hand slowly traced a path down his
naked chest and through his sparse, dark blonde bush of wiry pubic
hairs. He scratched his pubic bush and his fingers gently tweaked the tip
of his morning woody. He gasped as a sharp, quick dart of pain raced down
his dick. He sat up with a start. Jesus! Was his dick sore! And his balls!
Fuck his balls felt so tight and shrivelled! He lifted the covers and
stared at his dick and balls. The curving knob of his dick was cherry-red,
as was the top half of his shaft. His marble-sized balls, which were as red
as his dick shaft, were drawn up tight against his crotch, the normally
smooth, hairless sack slightly wrinkled. His ass felt sore and, strangely,
empty. As he turned to sit up Little Big Man felt his leg brush against
something. He looked down and saw a rumpled pile of dark cloth. He reached
down and held up the boxer shorts.

Little Big Man sobbed, dropped the boxer shorts and buried his face in his
hands. It was true! It was not a dream! He shook his head back and forth,
his body wracked with dry sobs of guilt and shame. It HAD happened. The
thing that he had feared for so long, the fear that he had buried so deep
within his soul, the feelings that he had held in check with an iron will,
everything had burst forth and last night he had slept with another
male. He had been fucked by, and had fucked, another MALE.

At the thought of the vile, abhorrent, filthy acts he had committed in the
night, Paul's stomach heaved and he felt the sour taste of vomit rise in
his throat. He leaned over the bed and spewed, the dark amber liquid
rejected by his stomach obliterating the large, damp stain that soiled the
sheet.

Little Big Man cursed silently, his whole being filled with
self-loathing. He remembered waking in the night. He remembered his
fervent, violent denials that nothing had happened. He rocked back and
forth, moaning softly as vivid snippets of memory flashed through his
brain. He remembered the heavy weight of a body on his groin and the warm,
wet tightness that had enveloped his raging hardon and sent him hurtling
over an abyss of pleasure so deep that it seemed as if no matter how much
he clawed and tried to climb he could never find his way to the top again.

He remembered the smooth, slick, crisply formed cockhead that had filled
his eager, sucking mouth and he tasted again the salty-sweetness of the
liquid that caressed his tongue and filled his throat with delight. He ran
his tongue over his lips. They were slightly swollen and he licked away a
small drop of dried, coppery-tasting blood that stained the corner of his
lip.

Most of all he remembered the thick, satiny rod of flesh that had driven
him close to madness as it rolled with excruciating slowness across
something deep within him, each slow caress a searing river of such
extraordinary delight that he had bitten the inside of his lower lip to
keep from screaming his joy. He lifted his right butt cheek and his hand
felt his hole, which seemed to twitch at his touch, and felt tender and
distended. Without thinking he slipped a finger into his hole, not caring
if anyone was watching, caring only that the feeling of emptiness that
enveloped him was for a few brief moments alleviated.  He heard a loud
cough that seemed to come from the other end of the Mess and quickly pulled
out his finger. His eyes darted wildly about and he heaved a heavy sigh of
relief. Mike's bunk, which was directly across from his own, was
empty. Phillip's bunk was also empty. No one had seen him committing what
he had always been told was an abominable act on himself.

No one knew.

But of course, that was a lie. Little Big Man knew that he could lie to his
father; he could lie to the Reverend Tumbrel. He could lie to the gods of
the Aryan Brotherhood, but he could not lie to himself. He could lie and
bluster, he could deny, deny, deny to everyone but himself.

Looking down at his naked body Little Big Man saw the crusted remains of
his shame. The tip of his dick, the short shaft, and the insides of his
thighs were clotted and spotted with pale grey blotches of dried
ejaculate. His ass crack and hole felt gritty and sore. Beside him lay a
pair of boxer shorts, not his, which were stiff with dried cum.

What was he to do? If he complained that he had been violated, who would
believe him? They all hated him and after Matt's outburst in the Mess Hall
most of the other cadets would willingly believe that he was queer anyway
so what was all the fuss about?

Who would he accuse? Could he accuse a warm, firm, anonymous, hooded body
that had come quietly in the night, a spectre, a ghost, a wraith? He'd be
laughed out of the Ship's Office!

Think! What to do? Think!

Little Big Man's mind reeled. Whoever had come into the Mess would never
reveal what had happened. There was no reason for him to do so. Who would
admit that he had committed such acts? No, reasoned Little Big Man, there
would be no admission of guilt from that quarter. He was safe. No one
except himself and the boy who had come in the night knew what had
happened. He remembered the dark forms of Mike and Phillip as they stripped
off their uniforms, and he remembered that they had returned to the Mess
after washing up, after the pleasure had left his body. They could not have
seen anything and they knew nothing.

A quick, brief vignette of Mike and Phillip kissing and fondling each
other, of heavy breathing and underpants being pushed down formed in his
mind. He smiled ruefully. For two months he had tried to find cadets in
just such compromising positions and poses. Now, when it had finally
happened, he dared not open his mouth. He could not take the chance, no
matter how slim, that the Chief PTI and his Assistant had not seen
something. He could not!

His breathing slowed and he felt calmer. He could, and would, get through
this. He would have to moderate his ways, but that was the easy part. None
of the other cadets, not even his own brother, bothered with him, or spoke
to him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Tyler's banishing him to the Dockyard was a godsend. Little Big Man had
found a few hidey-holes down there and he would be out of sight and no one
would bother him. He could, and would, get through this. He would act as
normal as possible, only he would keep his mouth shut. He was leaving in
four days and Thursday could not come soon enough. Until he left he would
make no wild accusations, mutter no more heinous assertions. He would lie
low, draw no attention to himself and give no one, especially that one
person who knew his secret, an excuse to point a finger, or make a veiled
hint. Only two people knew of his dreadful secret, himself, and the other
boy. He would not talk, the other boy would not talk, and he was safe.

Once he had decided what he would, and would not do, Little Big Man looked
around his cubicle. There must be no evidence. He stood up and quickly
rolled the sheets and coverlet into a tight ball. He could explain the
soiled sheets when he exchanged them tomorrow for fresh bed linen. The
change in the weather, the heat, the cool nights, hell, was it any wonder a
guy's stomach got upset? Was it any wonder a guy would spew his ring?
Little Big Man smiled tightly. Yeah, that would work.

He was safe.

He snatched up the soiled boxers. There was a gash bucket just inside the
door leading to the outside. He quickly left his cubicle and pushed the
offending boxers deep inside the plastic bag that lined the trash bin,
hiding them under the discarded shaving cream cans, crumpled up paper
towels and empty paper cups that filled the bag. Later, when there was no
one about, he would seal the bag and toss it onto the small pile of bags
outside the door. Tomorrow the civilian day staff would collect the weekend
garbage and the underpants would disappear forever.

He was safe.

He returned to his cubicle and wrapped a towel around his waist, concealing
the crusted remnants of what he considered his night of shame. He gathered
up his soap and washcloth. He could not shower properly, but a stoker scrub
would remove the last physical reminders of last night.

Leaving the imagined safety of his cubicle, Little Big Man headed for the
washplace, cocooned in self-delusion, not knowing that in a few short steps
an act that everybody who lived in the Mess witnessed every morning would
trigger the destruction of his illusionary cocoon and open the floodgates
of terror and paranoia.

******

At the far end of the Mess, in the bunk closest to the door leading to the
heads and wash place Mal lay on top of his bunk performing The Ritual. Mal
was a tall, slim, firmly muscled cadet with black hair and a ready
smile. While not handsome, he had a pleasant face and an easygoing
manner. He held the substantive rate of Boatswain Petty Officer and was
supposed to be in charge of the small sailboats and whalers in the
Dockyard. That he rarely exercised his Boatswain talents was not
surprising, seeing that he was never on the jetty or in one of the small
boats long enough to do anything meaningful.

Mal had one obsession and two habits that annoyed the hell out of his
fellow cadets, primarily Willy and Jack, who slept directly across from him
in the Mess, and Steve, who had to do the work that Mal never seemed able
to get around to doing, all three of which combined to give rise to the
firm conviction that Mal was as crazy as a shit house rat.

Mal was obsessed with diving. He lived, breathed, ate and slept diving. He
talked of nothing else and chattered incessantly about wet suits, valves,
nitrogen levels, oxygen ratios and inspecting ship's bottoms. Steve
grumbled constantly at having to take up the slack because Mal was under
the water doing God knew what to the bottom of one of the YAGs. Stuart
complained loudly about the volume of diving magazines that inundated his
office, each thicker than the last and each full of the latest advances in
aqualungs, scuba suits and assorted diving paraphernalia.

Mal's first annoying habit, if it could be called that, and which drove
Willy and Jack to distraction and, they claimed, threatened to blind them,
was his execrable taste in underpants. He was of the opinion that the more
colourful his briefs the better. Willy and Jack were equally firm in their
opinion that wearing underpants of any colour other than white was nothing
short of sacrilege. They had long since given up vocalizing their opinion
of Mal's taste in undies but cringed whenever he appeared, fresh from his
evening shower, clad in his latest exercise in bad taste, evidenced last
night when he emerged from the showers clad in a pair of violet briefs,
piped at the legs and waist in yellow. Willy and Jack had shuddered, and
pulled the covers over their heads.

Mal's obsession and taste in underwear paled in comparison, however, to
Mal's insistence on performing every morning, except when he had the
Forenoon Watch, The Ritual or, as Mal called it, the Airing of the Monster,
which depended first of all on the production of a woody, which had never
been a problem since before Mal's 12th birthday. The second necessity
seemed to be the need for an audience, almost always the long-suffering
Willy and Jack.

Phillip, called the Assistant, who slept in the bunk beside Mal's, could
not have cared less. He was not at all impressed with Mal's 'Monster',
which was not all that monstrous and was, in fact, compared to his own,
rather puny. Phillip had no interest in Mal or his hooded 'Monster' and did
his best to ignore the whole production.

Mike, who had seen Mal's dick soft, hard, and semi, pretended not to notice
anything. There was only one dick in the Mess that he was interested in,
and it wasn't Mal's, thank you very much.

The Ritual always began in the same way and this morning was no
exception. As soon as his eyes opened Mal stretched, then flung aside the
covers. He continued stretching until he was fully awake, at which point he
would reach down and feel his morning woody, ensuring himself that his
organ had reached the zenith of length and thickness. Satisfied, he could
begin.

He began, as he did every morning, by slipping his thumbs under the
waistband of his briefs and slowly pushing them down. He would then wedge
the elastic waistband of his briefs under his so-so sized balls and gaze
for a full five minutes at his erection, flexing his ass muscles and
causing it to bob slowly up and down. When he was finished admiring himself
Mal would begin the next part of The Ritual. He would lower his hands and
begin to twiddle, twitch, pull and fondle his foreskin. He would open the
thick sheath with his thumb and forefinger and peer inside, though what he
expected to find, other than his cockhead neither Willy nor Jack could
figure out.

Next came the "unveiling". He would slowly pull his foreskin down until the
purple, shiny, conical head was fully exposed. The Monster could now be
aired. Mal would twirl his penis in a circular motion. This he said allowed
his knob to "breathe". Willy said all it did was spread the smell of cock
cheese. Once the Monster had breathed enough, Mal would slowly push his
foreskin up, covering the head of his dick, waggle the dusky-skinned,
hooded beast at Willy and Jack and pull his underwear up, returning the
Monster to its natural habitat and ending the show.

Willy and Jack were so accustomed to Mal's morning exhibition that they
barely bothered to comment any more, except to say that they wished he
would just jerk the thing and get it over with.

Mal claimed that his body was temple. He worked out every morning,
sometimes with Mike, more often alone. His muscles were taut and toned. He
neither smoked nor drank the illicit booze that everybody had. He was also
firmly convinced that masturbation was essential to good mental health so
he jerked off regularly.

Willy and Jack could not complain about Mal jerking off. They did it,
pretended they didn't, and Bob's your uncle. No names, no pack drill. They
knew from experience that Mal jerking off was a hell of a lot quicker than
Mal playing with his dick.

The Ritual took 15 long, excruciating minutes, and Mal never reached
orgasm. At night, however, he popped his nut after 2.04 minutes of heavy
breathing and a loud grunt (Willy's watch had a luminous dial and a stop
feature so one night he timed Mal). 2.04 minutes were his longest
time. Usually he came well under the two-minute mark.

Little Big Man was not unaware of Mal's exhibitionism. He had never
bothered to report The Ritual to his father because Mal was openly and
loudly a straight guy, never even hinting that he had a queer thought. His
exhibitionism, while annoying, was hardly unique, what with guys flashing
their dicks all over the place. Little Big Man filed it all away in the
"Little Known Facts about Well Known People" part of his brain.

Not being a morning person Little Big Man had never actually seen The
Ritual. He always slept as late as he could and by the time he crawled out
of his bunk the other cadets were long up and out of the Mess. This
morning, however, was different. Little Big Man left his cubicle just in
time to see the airing of Mal's monster. His eyes bulged at the sight of
Mal, lying on his bunk, wearing what had to be the ugliest underpants
Little Big Man had ever seen with his furry balls exposed and his dick in
his hand, waving the shiny, wet-looking head at no one in particular.  For
a moment Little Big Man wondered if Mal had been the one . . . but no, the
dick last night had been longer, thicker, and too smooth and finely shaped
to be Mal's. The dick last night had been circumcised, which left Mal out
of the picture (but not Willy or Jack or the other 90 percent of the cadet
population).  Having decided to act as normally as possible Little Big Man
did exactly what Mal expected him to do. He curled his lips and sneered
loudly. "You are a despicable, perverted pig!" he snarled as he passed
Mal's bunk. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Mal detested Paul Greene and as far as he was concerned the little prick
was lower than a lump of whale shit at the bottom of the Mariana
Trench. "What's the matter? Can't handle looking at a real man's dick?" Mal
snapped. "Too much temptation for you?" He lowered his dick until it was
pointing directly at Little Big Man. "Here, pretend it's a cream puff. Puff
on it and you'll get cream."

"Fuck you," returned Little Big Man with all the venom he could
muster. "Fucking faggot!"

Mal grinned evilly and pulled down his foreskin, revealing the deep purple
head of his dick. A small, clear bead of precum oozed out as he slowly
pushed his foreskin up. "You're the one who's giving my dick the once over
and licking his chops," Mal said viciously. "Come on, Paulie, just give it
a little suck. I guarantee that you'll love every inch of it"

Little Big Man was so angry that he could not speak. He opened his mouth
but nothing came out except low, inarticulate, strangling noises.

Willy pulled the covers from his head and looked up. "What the fuck is all
the noise about?"

Jack, who hated Little Big Man with a passion, could not resist baiting
him. "Greene turned queer in the night and wants to suck Mal's dick."

"I do not!" screamed Little Big Man, regaining his voice.

"Well, come on over to my bunk," said Willy, motioning Little Big Man
closer.

"My dick is nicer and I'm so horny the crack of dawn better look out."

"Hey, what about me?" protested Jack. "I ain't cheap, but I'm easy."

"Yeah, Greene, they don't call Jack the 8th dwarf for nothing," called Mal.

Willy grinned at Jack. "Hey, Sleazy, you think Paulie boy would be a good
fuck?"

Little Big Man was all but dancing with rage. His face was so diffused with
anger that he looked as if he was about to have apoplexy. "FUCK YOU!" he
shrieked. "FUCK YOU!"

"Fuck ME?" roared Willy back. "Why you little prick that's what you
want. Come on, Paulie, fuck me!"

But Little Big Man was not listening. He slammed into the heads and fell on
his knees in front of one of the toilets, tears of rage coursing down his
drawn cheeks.

"Fuck me.  Please, fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

Little Big Man vomited explosively into the toilet bowl. Over and over
again the words echoed and re-echoed. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard!"  Another
wave of nausea swept over him and again he vomited explosively into the
toilet.

"Harder! Fuck me harder! Stick that big COCK in me!"

He was so overcome with terror that he voided his bladder, his warm piss
running down his legs, forming a puddle on the ceramic-tiled deck and
filling the small cubicle with the acrid smell of urine. A long, low moan
of utter despair rolled from Little Big Man. He remembered. He remembered!

He remembered the second figure, hazy, seen through half-closed eyes, tall,
slim, and staring down at him as he begged to be fucked and fucked
again. He raised his tear-stained face and looked upward. "Please God, not
him, not him!" he babbled. "Please dear God, don't let it be him!"

******

A door slammed somewhere in the Wardroom and Cory's eyes popped open. He
sat up abruptly and looked around. He heard the murmur of voices in the
corridor outside and left Phantom's side. He pressed his ear against the
cabin door, listening, hearing nothing. As quietly as he could Cory turned
the lock and opened the door slightly, listening carefully. Hearing
nothing, he pulled the door open and looked up and down the
corridor. Whoever it was had gone, probably into one of the cabins. Cory
closed the door and walked to the bed. He gave The Phantom a shake.

"Mmmmf? What . . ." The Phantom shrugged off Cory's hand. "Go 'way,
Stevie."

Cory grinned. Well, no sense in asking just how far along the relationship
between The Gunner and Phantom had progressed!

"Phantom, get up, the officers are coming back," spoke Cory quietly but
with a tone of urgency as he gave The Phantom another small shake.

The Phantom rolled on his back, opened his eyes, and then grinned at
Cory. He reached out and before Cory could protest pulled him down. He
kissed Cory's nose and then reached down and gave Cory's dick and balls a
squeeze.

"Stop that, Phantom," giggled Cory as he struggled free from The Phantom's
embrace. "We have to get out of here."

"Yeah, I suppose we have to," agreed The Phantom. He pulled himself into a
sitting position. "Thanks for everything, Cory."

Cory shrugged and left the bed. Being this close to The Phantom was too
tempting. He found his boxers and pulled them on. "How are you feeling,
Phantom?" he asked quietly. "How are you really feeling?"

The Phantom lay back and folded his arms under his head. "Okay, I think."
He turned his head and smiled at Cory. "I don't regret what I did."

"I don't mean that," returned Cory. He threw The Phantom's underpants at
him. "Get dressed. We have to get out of here." He found his shorts and
pulled them on. "I want to be sure that you're all right. I won't leave you
if you're not."

The Phantom pulled himself from the bed. He opened his arms wide, beckoning
Cory to come to him.

Cory gazed at his friend. God, what a magnificent animal Phantom was. Cory
responded, as The Phantom knew he would. They held each other close and The
Phantom lowered his head. His lips found Cory's and they kissed. After what
seemed an eternity The Phantom slowly pushed Cory away. "I'm fine, and I am
not going to do anything stupid.  It's over and done with, Cory." He kissed
Cory again. "It's sweet of you to worry about me, but I am fine."

Cory nodded. "No dreams?" he asked.

The Phantom shook his head no. He pulled on his underwear, then searched
for something else to wear. Cory handed him the T-shirt and cooks whites
that he had taken from The Phantom's locker. After dressing The Phantom sat
on the bed and patted it. Cory sat down and The Phantom put his arms around
his waist. "I didn't dream," he murmured, nuzzling Cory's neck. "No
nightmares, nothing. All I did was sleep with one of my friends."

Cory could not help himself. He giggled as he pushed The Phantom
away. "Stop that," he admonished half-heartedly.  "And trust me, you did
more than just sleep with me."

The Phantom chuckled.  "Yeah, I know.  I do remember what happened, Cory.
I will always remember what happened." He grimaced. "Even coming out of the
Petty Officers Mess with a belly full of Little Big Man's cum."

Cory, appalled and shocked, pulled away. "Phantom!"

The Phantom stared evenly at Cory. "Don't look at me like that! I know what
I did! I know why I did it! I know how I reacted after I fucked him!" His
voice was very low and he was very calm. "All that is in the past, Cory. I
don't need to be handled with kid gloves." They stood up and The Phantom
walked to the door. "I will never forget what I did last night. I will also
never forget what you and Todd, and yes, Tyler and Val, did for me."

After making sure that the coast was clear they left the Wardroom and
walked slowly across the parade square toward the Mess Hall. When they
entered the cavernous dining hall they saw less than a dozen cadets eating
the brunch buffet. This did not surprise them at all. A quick glance at the
clock told them that it was just gone 1300. Brunch was served until 1400
and never all that well attended. Sleep was a more valuable commodity than
food for most of the cadets on a Sunday. They would sleep and stuff
themselves at the barbecue that Chef provided every Sunday for supper.

The galley was almost as empty as the dining room. Sandro, as Duty Cook,
was busily directing Luke and John in preparing the massive amounts of
salads needed for the barbecue. Randy and Joey were laying steaks, T- bones
from the look of them, in large trays and spreading a marinade over the
fresh, red meat. Neither Chef nor Ray seemed to be about.

"You hungry?" asked The Phantom as he and Cory entered the galley. Not
waiting for an answer he walked to the prep table and looked over the food
about to be taken out to the steam line. "We have pancakes, sausages and
bacon."  He gestured toward the pans of food.

Cory joined The Phantom and they filled their plates. They sat at the mess
table and started to eat. Sandro, carrying cups and a carafe of coffee,
joined them.

Sandro briefly wondered why The Phantom was here. Phantom was off duty, but
then, he was never really off duty for he popped in and out of the galley
at all hours, even on his too few days off. That he was with Cory was not
surprising. Sandro knew that Phantom and Cory were close, just how close he
did not care to speculate, and their being together was nothing new. Sandro
also knew that The Phantom's parents were away. As being alone in an empty
house was not all that pleasurable, he assumed that The Phantom wanted some
company on this fine Sunday so had come to AURORA. He was also glad to see
a friendly face. Ray had been, well, not Ray, all morning, snapping and
complaining about everything and anything. He smiled and poured cups of
coffee for all of them.

"Thanks, Sandro," said The Phantom, returning Sandro's smile. He looked
around. "You doing okay?"

Sandro nodded. "Is . . . It's been fine. Not too many eating. Randy and
Joey, they have been behaving, so I did not need a bucket of cold water."

Cory and The Phantom snickered. "They're very much in love, Sandro," said
Cory between bites of sausages.

Sandro sniffed disdainfully. "They are very much on heat!"

Cory laughed loudly. He looked at The Phantom and gave a quick jerk of his
head towards Sandro. "There sits a man who has never been in love."

"Maybe I have, maybe I have not," replied Sandro enigmatically.

The Phantom reached over and gave Sandro a small punch on his
shoulder. "Come on, Sandro, have you ever been in love?"

Sandro blushed. "Well, no. There was a girl, in school, but she was not
Jewish and in Russia, well, they think Zhids are only slightly better than
Golden Boys."

"Zhids? Golden Boys?" asked Cory.

"In Russia, Jews are Zhids. It is like calling us kikes." He sighed
heavily. "It is very bad for Jews. But, you know that." Both The Phantom
and Cory nodded. "In Russia, it is worse for Golden Boys, boys like Randy
and Joey, and you and Todd. They have no place to go, they cannot meet each
other, like here. When two boys are found together, when people find out,
the boys are sent to prison. The People's Militia, they have spies
everywhere. Also the KGB. There are plenty like him to spy on people.

Neither Cory nor The Phantom had to ask whom Sandro was talking about. "Has
he been around?" asked The Phantom.

"No, not since I came on duty."

"Must have decided to sleep late," said Cory, chuckling.

The Phantom nodded and stood up. "Well, I didn't sleep late so I am going
home. What are you doing this afternoon, Cory?"

Cory stretched, yawned and patted his belly. "I've been fed and watered so
I think I shall have me a zizz-ex." He stood up and began clearing away
their dirty dishes. "I think I shall sleep until, oh, five or six, then
have a nap!" He looked at the Phantom. "You coming back for the barbecue?"

"Can't," replied the Phantom as he too began cleaning up. "My folks are due
in today and I have to pick The Gunner up from the airport later tonight."
He turned to Sandro. "Unless you need me?"

Sandro shook his head. "Ray is due back later on. Also Chef."

"Chef isn't in?" asked The Phantom. This bit of information was surprising
for Chef was always around. "He isn't sick, is he?"

Sandro shrugged. "I do not think so. He called and spoke to Ray. Ray said
something about Chef staying home and working on something for the big
dinner tomorrow night. Then he went off somewhere." Sandro leaned forward
and looked at The Phantom. "Ray was in a very bad mood this morning. I
think maybe he have a fight with you."

"I haven't seen him since yesterday" said The Phantom carefully. Ray was
normally the most placid of individuals. If he was in a bad mood there had
to be a reason. He assumed that Ray and Kevin had had words. What other
reason could there be?

Sandro shrugged and stood up. "Then maybe he is mad because he had to get
up early. The stoves would not work so he had to get up and fix them."

The Phantom thought it best to let the matter of Ray's bad mood drop. If
Ray had had words with Kevin, which was possible, given Ray's doubts about
their relationship, there was no good reason to pique Sandro's curiosity by
asking questions. The Phantom did not know how much Sandro knew about Ray's
relationship with Kevin and he did not want Sandro so much as thinking
along those lines. The fewer people who knew about that relationship the
better for both Ray and Kevin.

"I guess getting up when you don't have to will piss you off.  I know it
would me," interjected Cory.

"Yeah, that must be it," agreed The Phantom quickly, mentally thanking
Cory. He turned to Sandro again. "I'll be at home all day. If you need me,
call."

Sandro waved away The Phantom's offer. "We are okay. Everything is just
about ready for tonight. Chef is coming in soon." He shook his head
emphatically. "No, we will not need you. You have a good rest."

Both The Phantom and Cory left the galley, Cory through the main door, The
Phantom through the loading dock, where he had parked The Gunner's Land
Rover the night before.  As he passed through the loading area he did not
see Ray sitting in the shadows, nor did he hear Ray follow him from the
building.

The Phantom got in the car and started it. He was just about to put the
gear in drive when the passenger side of the vehicle opened and Ray got
into the car. The Phantom, surprised at Ray's sudden appearance, stared at
him.

Ray stared back. "You fucked Little Big Man," he said bluntly, without
emotion.  "And you blew Cory."

******

The Phantom slowly turned the key in the ignition and the sound of the
motor died away. At first he thought that someone had told Ray what had
happened in the Petty Officers Mess. Then he remembered that only he and
Cory had been in Cabin 5 when he had . . . "You followed me!" he declared,
an angry tone in his voice.

Ray stared straight ahead, not wanting to look at The Phantom. "No, I
didn't," replied Ray just as hotly. "I got up to have a piss and heard
Todd, and Tyler, and Val, and Cory talking in the change room."

"It was none of your business, Ray," said The Phantom tightly. "It . . . is
. . . none of your business."

"None of my business?" yelled Ray. He slammed the dashboard of the
car. "None of MY business that you feel the need to protect me, to make me
safe?"

The Phantom had never seen Ray angry before. Nor had he seen his friend so
upset. "Ray, this is hardly the place . . ." he began.

Ray crossed his arms. His face was set in stone. "I want an explanation,
Phantom. I want to know why you felt the need to fuck Little Big Man. I
want to know what I am being protected from. I am not leaving this FUCKING
car until I get some answers!"

The Phantom started the car and pulled away from the Mess Hall. "You won't
like what you hear, Ray," said The Phantom slowly.

"You let me be the judge of that," returned Ray sharply.

"I'm going ashore," replied The Phantom tightly. "Once we're across the
causeway you're in trouble. You don't have permission to go ashore."

Continuing to stare straight ahead Ray snorted. "So, I'm jumping ship. Sue
me. You are not getting rid of me that easily."

Faced with Ray's obduracy The Phantom decided to tell him everything. They
drove in silence until they came to the turn in the road leading to The
Phantom's house. Instead of turning The Phantom drove on. Ray pointed in
the direction of The Phantom's house. "You live back there," he pointed
out.

"You want to talk, we'll talk," replied The Phantom. "But not at my
house. My parents are due home today. For all I know they're home already."

"So where are we going?" asked Ray, curious.

"The Gunner's apartment," The Phantom replied. He nodded toward the ring of
keys dangling from the ignition. "I have the key. We can talk there and you
can yell as much as you like."

Ray ignored the obvious gibe. "Fine."

******

After unlocking and opening the door to The Gunner's apartment, The Phantom
gestured for Ray to enter. Once inside The Phantom leaned against the
serving counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and offered
Ray something to drink. Ray politely declined The Phantom's offer and sat
in the lounge chair. "Please do not treat me as if I am a child," Ray said
coldly.

"I don't intend to, and I didn't mean to," returned The Phantom. He sat on
the sofa opposite Ray. "If I gave you that impression I apologise."

"Don't patronize me, Phantom."

"Ray, I . . ."

Ray held up his hand, not wanting The Phantom speak just yet. "Hear me out,
Phantom."

"All right."

"Last night you went into the Petty Officers Mess and you fucked Little Big
Man." Ray's tone was matter-of-fact. "I was in Chef's office with Kevin. I
woke up and had to take a piss. I heard the others talking. I heard Todd
say that they would take you to Cabin 5."

"You obviously heard more than that."

"I heard enough," snapped Ray. "After I cleaned up the mess you and your
friends left I went toward the Wardroom. I saw Tyler and Val, and
Todd. They didn't see me. I went into the Wardroom and I heard you and
Cory."

The Phantom considered what he was going to say. He couldn't, and wouldn't
lie to Ray. Ray's anger had surprised him. Perhaps he had misjudged
Ray. "Ray, I am not trying to patronize you. I can't deny that I fucked
Little Big Man. But, please understand, I did it for a good reason . . ."

"Don't tell me that you did it to protect ME!" shouted Ray. He balled his
fist and waved it at The Phantom. "Don't automatically assume that I can't
protect myself! Maybe I am not as strong as Harry is! Maybe I am not as
smart as Todd is! You still do not have the right to appoint YOURSELF my
protector! You had no fucking RIGHT to take away my RIGHT to at least TRY!"
Ray stood up and pointed his finger at The Phantom. "You had the gall to
tell Cory that I am one four people that you love more than anyone else in
the world."

"I do, Ray," said The Phantom quietly. "And it wasn't gall. It was the
truth."  Ray swung his arm and pointed toward the bedroom. "No, Phantom. In
there is the truth! In there you sleep with The Gunner! Did you sleep with
the Twins in there? Well, did you, because you have slept with them,
haven't you?"

"Yes, I have," replied The Phantom simply. "But not here."

Ray punched his chest. "And what about me? Answer me, Phantom, and tell me
the truth! Climb down from that fucking white horse of yours and tell me!"
He knelt in front of The Phantom and took his hands in his. "Tell me why,
Phantom. Tell the guy you came to night after night. Tell the guy you made
love you!"

The Phantom took a sharp breath as he pulled his hands away and then placed
his palms against Ray's red, hot face. "Ray, I do love you. I love you in a
way that I can't explain. I want to hold you, to make love to you. I want
to protect you and, ah, fuck, Ray, I wish I had never started with you." He
pulled away his hands and beat on the arm of the sofa. A smile curled his
lips. "Before The Gunner, before Cory, before Todd, there was you. Yes,
there were others, but Ray, they never meant to me what you mean to me." He
reached up and pounded his forehead. "Why couldn't I just have left you
alone!" He smiled gently at Ray. "I should have done with you what I did
with the others. I should have just done it once, then walked away." He
laughed cynically. "Instead I kept going back and the one thing I never
figured on happened."

Ray reached up and ran his finger down The Phantom's face. He smiled his
warm, sweet smile. "That I would fall in love with you?"

The Phantom nodded. "Got it in one."

Ray gave The Phantom a knowing smile. "Well, I did. And you fell in love
with me." He held up his hand. His thumb and forefinger were barely
half-an-inch apart. "Even if it was only that much."

The Phantom closed his eyes and moaned softy. "It was more than that, Ray,"
he whispered.

Ray stood up and then sat on the sofa beside The Phantom, who put his arms
around him. Ray did the same and for a long time they sat there, just
holding each other, savouring the moment.

The Phantom wanted to be held. He wanted to be held by this very special
young man. He had not lied when he told Ray that he loved him. He leaned
forward and kissed Ray gently. "When we were in Victoria, when we slept
together, I wanted to make love to you."

"And I wanted you to," whispered Ray. "With all my heart, I wanted to feel
you in me, I wanted to be a part of you, and I wanted you to be a part of
me." He ran his hand up The Phantom's chest, feeling the hard muscles under
the white cook's shirt.

The Phantom placed his hands on Ray's thin waist. "I couldn't. I wanted to,
but I just couldn't." He moved his hands upward, feeling the warm, soft
flesh under Ray's T-shirt. "I felt guilty. I still feel guilty."

"Guilty? Why would you feel guilty?" He moved his hands again and his
fingers found the buttons of The Phantom's shirt. He was not sure how far
this was going, but he was going to make the most of it.

"Ray, there were other boys before you. But, I never felt about them the
way I felt about you." The Phantom chuckled ruefully. "At first, all I did
was masturbate them. I did them once and I never went back. There were so
many, you see."

Ray had unbuttoned The Phantom's shirt and was slowly rubbing his thumbs
over and over the small nubs of The Phantom's nipples hidden under the soft
cotton of his T-shirt. "What happened?"

The Phantom trembled with the delight he felt from Ray's caressing
hands. "I sucked on you. I had never sucked a dick before, and when you
came in my mouth, God, Ray, I had never tasted anything so sweet, so
. . . desirable. I wanted more." He slipped his hands under Ray's T-shirt
and pushed it over the boys' head. "I sucked you off and I wanted more and
I kept going back to you. I knew what was happening. I knew that the more I
came on to you the more you fell in love with me and the more I wanted
you. I'm in love with The Gunner and I love you." He sighed heavily. "I was
in love with another guy and there I was sleeping with you. I thought that
I was leading you on. I wanted you, but not for the reasons you wanted me."

Ray pushed The Phantom's shirt off of his shoulders and let it drop to the
floor. He reached down and pulled The Phantom's T-shirt over his head. They
were both naked from the waist up. Ray's arms enveloped The Phantom and
their lips met. When they parted Ray looked at his first lover and
smiled. "You never led me anywhere, Phantom. The first time you came to my
bunk, I was startled, and afraid. At first I tried to tell myself that the
feelings I was having were not true, that I didn't want to feel them." He
undid the button of The Phantom's white trousers and pushed them, and his
underwear, down. He ran the back of his hand up the underside of The
Phantom's iron-hard erection.

"But, you did feel them," replied The Phantom. His hands found the
waistband of Ray's briefs and he slipped them down under the elastic and
cotton. He felt Ray's firm, round butt.

"I felt them," confirmed Ray as his hand grasped The Phantom's wonderfully
hard erection. "In time I realized that those feelings had always been
there. I wanted you. I wasn't afraid anymore and I wanted you to make love
to me." He wrinkled his nose and scowled slightly. "I would lie at night in
my bunk, waiting for you to come to me. When you didn't . . ."

The Phantom's hands slowly circled Ray's thighs, meeting and grasping Ray's
turgid, warm, erect penis. With one hand he slowly traced the outline of
Ray's hard five-inches. With the other he cupped Ray's smooth, hairless
balls. "There were other boys I was seeing, Ray. Boys who were just boys
with hard dicks." He thought of Tyler and Val. "Boys I enjoyed giving
pleasure to, maybe a new sense of themselves."

"Were they special to you, too?" he asked. He began massaging The Phantom's
firm, smooth helmet, which was leaking precum.

The Phantom shook his head. "I just liked the way they tasted. I guess, in
a way that made them special. But not like you. Never like you."

The Phantom's hands left Ray's genitals and he pulled them out of the boy's
pants. In two swift motions Ray's trousers were undone and gathered in an
untidy heap at his ankles. Simultaneously each boy reached around and
cupped the other's bum, pulling each closer until the sensitive tips of
their dicks were touching.

Ray closed his eyes and buried his face in The Phantom's curving
shoulder. He drank in the sweet essence of the boy he wanted to make love
to him.

The Phantom rested his cheek against the back of Ray's head, feeling the
short hair tickling his cheek and smelling Ray's fresh, clean odour.

They stood there, not moving, holding each other, and feeling the warmth
that both now knew would never leave them. After what seemed like an
eternity Ray raised his head and gazed into The Phantom's sparkling,
emerald eyes. "Please Phantom, please don't let it end."

The Phantom kissed him, a long deep kiss. "It won't end, Ray," promised The
Phantom. "It may not be the way you want it to be, but it will not end!"

******

With slow, deliberate, clumsy movements they divested themselves of their
remaining clothing, shoes and socks, and then went into the bedroom. They
lay side-by-side on top of the bed, exploring each other's body, touching,
fondling, stroking, kissing, oblivious to the world outside, lost in the
adoration each felt for the other. Wordlessly they paid homage, each to the
other. Then, it was time. The Phantom gazed into Ray's eyes, silently
imploring, wondering at the deep, dark brown pools of sparkling life that
gazed back at him. Ray nodded slowly. It was time.

The Phantom reached up and pulled down one of the pillows. He placed it
under Ray's butt, and then found the Vaseline. After preparing Ray's hole,
and his own throbbing, leaking hardon, he knelt between Ray's legs,
positioning himself.

Ray groaned softly as he felt the firm roundness of The Phantom's glorious
mushroom probe carefully at his opening. The Phantom pushed slowly forward,
carefully inserting himself. First his glans, then just the first inch or
so of his shaft was enveloped by the tight, warm wetness of Ray. As he
pushed into Ray, Ray pushed back. He pushed Ray's legs back and slowly
completed his penetration. He felt Ray's balls crush his public hairs.

Ray lay back, his eyes closed, breathing heavily, his body filled with the
length and thickness that he had so longed for. He whimpered softly as he
felt the fullness lessening as The Phantom slowly withdrew until just his
glans was still inside Ray.

The Phantom, using every ounce of his willpower, with excruciating
slowness, pushed forward again, so slowly that Ray clawed at the top sheet
of the bed as his body convulsed.

Ray felt the slow advance of The Phantom's penis, the pleasure so great
that his mind refused to believe that so much pleasure was
possible. Suddenly, from deep within him came such a powerful jolt of
electric, exquisite PLEASURE that his eyes rolled back in his head and he
screamed loudly.

The Phantom continued his slow, deliberate movements, feeling with each
inward thrust the top of his penis caressing Ray's prostate, hearing Ray's
muffled groans as wave after wave of pleasure smashed through his spasming
body, resisting the urge to reach down and grasp Ray's swollen, red,
pulsing dick, so red and expanded that it looked about to explode.

Ray began to thrust back, unable to stop the momentum of ecstasy that
pushed him higher and higher and toward the ultimate plateau. Suddenly he
was there. His whole body shuddered and he thrust his hips higher. His head
thrashed back and forth and a long, keening moan rent the quiet of the
room. His balls withdrew into his body. His dick lengthened and thickened
and a huge gout of his juices spewed outward smashing against the flushed,
heated flesh of his chest. As he continued to thrust uncontrollably his ass
muscles clenched, encasing The Phantom's penis in a vise-like grip, pushing
him over the top, his gaping piss slit squirting explosively, filling Ray
with his hot, thick semen.

They moaned and groaned as their bodies jerked and bucked, draining their
life fluids, until finally The Phantom, gasping uncontrollably, collapsed
on Ray's chest. Ray's arms and legs enveloped him, and they lay there,
spent, barely able to move. When The Phantom tried to withdraw his still
hard cock from Ray's tight, grasping hole, Ray growled low. "No!"

The Phantom raised his head, grinned, and nodded his head. "Yes."

He pulled out of Ray and began rolling, pulling Ray with him until the boy
was on top. He looked into Ray's wide brown eyes. He reached down and his
hand found Ray's still hard penis. He pushed the hot, raging flesh down
slowly, running his thumb across the slimy, wet glans. Ray shuddered as The
Phantom raised his hips and whispered one word, "Yes!"

******

After Todd left the Mess, Tyler lay down on his bunk. He told himself that
he should get some sleep. He thrust his arm under his pillow and lay on his
side, hugging the pillow, and without realizing he was doing it, he slipped
his left hand down the front of his Jockeys, holding his soft
genitals. This was the way he always slept and normally once he had assumed
this position he would drop right off. Except this morning sleep would not
come. He tossed and turned, squeezed himself, sat up, and then lay back
down again. He lay in his bunk, staring at the deckhead, refusing to
confront the real reason he could not sleep.

Tyler's mind was reeling with emotions that had long lain dormant within
him, feelings that now sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He rolled onto
his side and stared across the small cabin at his sleeping roommate. Val
was also lying on his side, with his back to the room. Tyler's eyes
followed the smooth, flowing contours of Val's body, rolling downward from
his broad back and shoulders, dipping gently to form his slim waist, and
then rising again to mound his firm hips.

Stifling a sob, Tyler rolled on his side, facing the bulkhead and hugging
himself. At long last he was admitting to himself his true feelings, and
the object of all those feelings was lying in a bunk not ten feet away from
him.  He was in love with Val.

Until now Tyler had refused to admit that his feelings for Val were
anything other than the normal feelings one boy would have for another. Val
was his best friend, his confidant, and his confessor. Val was his brother
in spirit if not the flesh. They had done everything together. In school
they had shared a room. In school they had been teammates, joining the
soccer, field hockey and swim teams together. They had joined the Sea
Cadets together and had attended Sea Cadet camps together, spending most of
their summers together, first at HMCS ONTARIO, in Kingston, then the
Esquimalt Sea Cadet Camp, and now here, in AURORA.

For a long time Tyler had tried to tell himself that what he felt for Val
was just a phase, a silly crush, a slight bump on the road to manhood. For
an even longer time Tyler had tried to tell himself that the feelings he
felt for Val were the same feelings that every boy going through puberty
felt. Puberty was a time of new awakenings, right? A time of curiosity,
right? A time when a boy not only wondered about girls, but also about
other boys, right?

With the onset of puberty Tyler had wondered what it would be like to kiss
another boy, to maybe fool around with another boy. And there had been more
than enough opportunities to do THAT. Upper Canada College School was a
"boys only" school, full of pubescent and prepubescent, curious and, in the
upper forms, constantly horny boys. The masters might rail against special
relationships and roam the halls in the middle of the night making sure
that every bed was occupied by the person assigned to it, and only that
person; the Chaplain might thunder every Sunday at Chapel about sins of the
flesh and the evils of the Devil; the Headmaster, a kindly old duffer might
assume a sad face, puff reflectively on his pipe, but still he quietly
expelled, at least once a year, boys found in compromising positions.

Thinking about his schooldays, Tyler started to chuckle. Some nights the
house where he and Val lived all but heaved rhythmically from all the
jerking off going on. He also knew for a proven fact that at least six of
the senior "gentleman scholars" had active and apparently very satisfying
sex lives within the confines of the school.

Tyler and Val had never fooled around, not when they were smaller, and
sometimes slept together. When they were older each boy stayed firmly in
his bed of a night.

Val twitched and snuffled in his sleep and Tyler returned to looking at
him. He smiled, thinking of what they were like when they were little, when
they were only seven years old, two skinny little boys with brush cuts, two
lonely, homesick, frightened little boys.

One night, not long after they had come to the school they were both so
consumed with loneliness that they had huddled under their covers, weeping
silently, not wanting the other to hear. That was the night that their
friendship had been forged. Val, emotional, missing the warmth and
affection of his voluble and demonstrative family, had left his bed and
silently gotten into Tyler's. They had cried together, agreed that they
were big boys and not babies and too old to cry.  But they had not parted.

>From that moment on they were inseparable. They told each other
everything, consoled each other, laughed at the stale schoolboy jokes they
both told, fought on occasion, but always, at the end of the day,
together. For a long time, before they knew what sex was they snickered and
giggled at their adolescent boners that pooched out the front of their
Fruit of the Looms, or pretended indignation and disgust when one or both
of them would jack up while they slept together. They would laugh, they
would giggle, once they had measured each other, but they had never fooled
around. Later, after Val had graduated to boxers (Tyler stubbornly refused
to give up the imagined snugness and security of his briefs) and morning
erections were an accepted fact of life, they had not fooled around. Tyler
sighed with regret at the memories. He and Val had not shared a bed for
years.

Val was now the quintessential Italian Stallion, the bane of the
Headmistress of Havergal College, the Dean of Branksome Hall, and the nuns
of Loretto Abbey and St. Joseph's Convent school, and self-appointed
despoiler of the virgins who attended those schools. Val was so damned
straight!

They had come a long way.  They still comforted one another. But not like
it had been. Before, they would lie together, and wake up with their arms
and legs entwined, their morning boners pressed together. Now, it was all a
sympathetic pat on the back, maybe a shoulder hug.

Now they were no longer innocent little boys. Now they were men, and men
did not cry, or hug, or, God forbid, kiss. Now they were young men and
required to do manly things in manly ways.

Tonight he had kissed Phantom. Tonight Todd had given him a gentle
feel. Tonight the yearnings and desires that he had kept repressed for so
long had surfaced. Tonight Todd had spoken of things that might have
been. Tyler preferred to think of opportunities lost. The phrase echoed
through his brain as his eyelids grew heavy.

Opportunities lost and never to be found again.

******

As the sun climbed higher, reached its zenith and began its slow descent,
as most of the cadets slept away their day, as Anson discovered that
getting there was half the fun and Ray found a happiness he had only
dreamed of, a battered, rust-eaten, black 1969 Chrysler Imperial, huge and
as graceless as an under-ruddered, flat-bottomed steamer, sputtered and
coughed its noisy way down Comox Road and across the causeway.

The behemoth stopped briefly at the Gatehouse where the driver exchanged
pleasantries and greetings with No "H", who was Duty Officer, and Willy,
who was Duty Quartermaster. The driver was directed to park his beast in
the area directly in front of the Mess Hall.

With the car safely parked the driver and two passengers got out. The
driver was tall and tanned with firmly chiselled features, his head crowned
with a mass of curly, sun-bleached blonde hair. He had sparkling blue eyes
and when he laughed he displayed startling white, perfect teeth. He had
long, muscular legs and a marvellously round butt.

The second boy was as darkly handsome as the first was fair. He was short,
slim, and as finely muscled as the driver of the car.  His coal-black hair
was cut short in a military manner.  His deep brown, dark eyes smouldered.
Like the first boy he had a ready smile and an easy laugh.

The third boy was as distinctly handsome as the other two, though not as
spectacular. He had a long, oval face set with flaming sapphire eyes. His
hair, cut short and high on the sides and back, was still long enough on
top to curl invitingly over his high, wide, forehead. Like the other two he
exuded total masculinity.

They were all dressed alike, in wide, dark blue shorts, white T-shirts, and
low-cut sneakers and white socks. That they were military was evidenced,
not only by their dress and haircuts, but by the way they carried
themselves and by the way they automatically fell into step as they walked
the short distance from their car to the Mess Hall.

Inside the Mess Hall they renewed acquaintances with Sandro and the Brats,
who did not let opportunity slip by when the three young men sat and
chatted with Sandro. Both Joey and Randy managed to "accidentally" drop
something and peek up the open legs of their visitors' shorts. Two, the
driver and the first passenger, were wearing boxers, the third white
briefs, which made him all the more interesting. Sandro, who knew exactly
what the Brats were up to, sent them packing with a few choice Russian
oaths.

After refusing the offer of lunch - they had stopped to eat beforehand -
the three boys strolled leisurely toward the far side of the parade square,
heading for the Staff Barracks. They greeted the few cadets about with the
restrained hand waves and nods that fashion dictated all males use.

In the Chiefs' Mess Tyler dozed fitfully. He had not slept well and had
been beset with images and dreams that were at once disturbing and
erotic. He heard the crunch of gravel and the sound of low voices outside
the cabin window but paid no attention. From the amount of sunlight
streaming into the room he knew it was well past noon. The troops were
stirring and so long as they did not start a riot, rape Matron, or kill
each other, he was content to roll over and ignore the world.

Tyler snuffled and was just settling back when the door to the cabin
crashed open and a short, slim, dark-haired figure flew through the air,
landed on Val's bunk, and bounced twice. Val yelped and struggled as the
figure attempted to tear away the entangling sheets and coverlet.

"Val, paison, brother!"

Val shook his head, stared, and shook his head again. "Tony!"

"Who else? Of course it's me!" replied Tony. He grabbed Val's head and
planted huge, wet kisses on his cheeks and then slapped an even wetter kiss
on Val's lips.

"ACH! Ptui, Ach fuck." Val struggled to free himself but Tony held him
down. "You're disgusting!" Val snarled.  He stopped struggling long enough
to glare malevolently at his tormentor. "Tony, what the fuck are you doing
here?"

Tony grinned and kissed Val's forehead.  "I came to visit my Italian
brother-in-arms, my brother-of-the sea. And to tell you a joke!"

"A joke?  You came all the way from Seattle to tell me a joke?"

Val pushed Tony, who pushed back. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Tony grinned a wider grin. "I gotta tell you this joke. Help me out, or
I'll have to give you a kitty-lick."

That sounded dirty and Val was almost afraid to ask what a kitty-lick
was. He asked anyway.

"You don't want to know," came the voice of the tall, blonde boy. He was
standing in the doorway shaking his head at Tony's antics. He saw Tyler
pulling himself into a sitting position. "Hey, Tyler."

Tyler smiled broadly. "Hey, Mark." He looked and saw another figure behind
Mark. "Who's that with you? Is it, nah, it can't be Nathan."

Nathan grinned and nodded.  "Yeah, it's me."

Ignoring Tony, who was trying to tickle Val, Tyler got out of bed and
walked over to shake Mark and Nathan's hands. He looked at Tony and then
gave Mark a quizzical look. Mark raised his eyes. "He's been like that ever
since we crossed the border. He's either glad to be here or he ate some
loco weed."

"He ate some loco weed," said Nathan with a straight face.

"Will you get off me, you Calabrian ox!" yelled Val, feigning anger.

"Not until you let me tell you my joke!" Tony waggled his tongue at
Val. "Either I tell the joke or you get a kitty-lick!"

"Let him tell his fucking joke," said Mark, laughing. "It's a sick joke,
but trust me, it's way better than a kitty-lick!"

Val, who didn't want to hear the joke in the first place, but fearing
whatever a kitty-lick was, acquiesced. "Okay, Tony, tell your fucking
joke!"

"You mean it? You sure you don't want a kitty-lick instead?"

"Tony, tell the fucking joke already!" bellowed Mark and Nathan in unison.

"Hey, don't get your balls to flopping," returned Tony. He grinned at
Val. "You ready?"

Val, having finally managed to untangle himself, punched his
mattress. "WILL you get on with it?"

"Okay," agreed Tony. "Here goes. Val, why did the Sea Cadet cross the
road?" he asked seriously.

"WHAT?"

"Why did the Sea Cadet cross the road? Come on, work with me."

Val thought a moment. He could think of a few reasons for a Sea Cadet to
cross the road, the most important one being to get away from Tony. "Now
how the fuck would I know?" returned Val. "Why would the Sea Cadet cross
the road?"

Tony's face lit up. A huge grin creased his features.  "HIS DICK WAS STILL
IN THE CHICKEN!"

Tyler, Mark and Nathan groaned loudly. Val, totally disgusted, grimaced and
pushed the laughing Tony off the bunk. Tony hit the deck with a loud
thump. He looked up at Val, who was leaning over and looking back down at
him. "It's fucking good to see you, Val. I mean that. I missed you
buggers!" Tony reached out his hand.

"It's good to see you, Tony." Val reached down to take Tony's hand.

Tony clasped Val's hand, cackled like a loon, and pulled Val from his
bunk. Val, in a flurry of legs, arms, dark hair and tartan boxers, landed
with a crash beside Tony, who rolled and pinned Val before he could do
anything about it. "Now, Val, my brother, it is time for a KITTY-LICK!" He
lowered his head and opened his mouth wide.

Val let out a high-pitched shriek. With a Dracula-like laugh Tony lowered
his head and stuck out his tongue. "NOOOOOO!" screamed Val as Tony's wet
tongue traced a long, slow, path along his neck. Val struggled mightily and
finally succeed in breaking Tony's limpet grasp. He pushed Tony away and
they lay on the deck, gasping and laughing. "You son of a BITCH!" Val
grinned at Tony.

"That's me! Does this mean you're glad to see me?"

Val struggled upright and pulled Tony to his feet. He looked at Tony and
then shook his head. "Yeah, I am."

Val and Tony embraced, giving each other a huge, uninhibited Italian
hug. When they broke their hug Tony turned and grinned at Tyler. He looked
Tyler up and down and nodded at Tyler's tighty-whiteys. "Ah, shit! They
started the Zulu Warrior without us!"

******

Ray lay on his side, gazing into the deep emerald eyes of the boy who had
brought him a pleasure that words could never describe. He reached out with
his hand and traced the outline of The Phantom's sweet, pink lips. "I love
you Phantom. I always will," he said with a shy smile.

The Phantom leaned forward and gave Ray a small kiss. "And in my own way, I
will always love you."

Ray reached down and began to rub The Phantom's firm chest. "But, it's
over, now, isn't it?" he asked without rancour. "You belong with The
Gunner, and I, well, I guess I belong with Kevin."

"Ray, I . . ." began The Phantom.

Ray shook his head slowly. "No, don't Phantom. It's true, and you know
it. I wish we could be like this, together, always, but we can't."

The Phantom exhaled loudly. "Ray, all I want for you is happiness."

"I know, Phantom. I'm happy now, and you've given me something that I'll
remember and cherish forever. This afternoon has been wonderful. But is has
to end.  I knew that before we ever made love."

"No regrets?"

Ray shook his head. "No, no regrets." Then he giggled and reached down and
fondled The Phantom's soft dick.  "I'll miss this, and what's attached to
it."  "You're insatiable, you know that?" He returned Ray's gesture,
feeling Ray's warm, juice-slicked penis. "You're a beautiful person with a
beautiful dick and if I ever hear that Kevin treats you badly I'll come
gunning for him and steal you away!"

Ray giggled, basking in the warmth and love. "You mean that?"

The Phantom nodded. "I mean it, Ray. I always say what I mean, and do what
I say. If Kevin, or any other boy you meet treats you badly, and I hear
about, God help the guy!"

Ray, while he was enjoying The Phantom's gentle fondling, pulled away. "Did
He help Little Big Man last night?" he asked quietly.

The Phantom sat up, looked at Ray for a moment, and then left the bed. He
found his trousers and fumbled in the pockets for his cigarettes. He lit up
and returned to the bed, sitting beside the recumbent Ray. He smoked for a
few minutes and then began to speak. "In Victoria, after we finished the
practice, some of us overheard The Gunner talking to a friend of his . . ."
he began slowly, his voice low and calm. The Phantom told Ray
everything. He told him about the letters that Greg had confiscated, about
the letter Little Big Man's Father had written to Special Branch. He left
nothing out. "So, now you know," The Phantom finished.

"The little cocksucker!" spat Ray.

The Phantom burst out laughing. "He is that, in more ways than one!"

Ray joined in The Phantom's laughter. The he sobered. "So that was what
yesterday was leading up to."

The Phantom nodded. "You were happy with Kevin, Little Big Man didn't know
about you and Kevin, so there was no need for you to know what I was going
to do." He lowered his head and kissed Ray's lips. "I don't think you're a
wuss, or weak. I wasn't all that sure that what I was doing was going to
work out the way we all thought it would.  I didn't want you involved."

"Protecting me again, huh?"

"Yes, I was protecting you. I wanted you far away from what was going to
happen. If everything came a cropper I wanted to be damned sure that none
of the mud would be thrown in your direction. I'm not sorry for that, Ray."

Ray ran his hand along The Phantom's bare thigh. "I understand,
Phantom. But you must understand that I would have stood by you. No matter
what happened. I meant what I said yesterday."

The Phantom smiled his thanks. "I know that now. I should have known it
yesterday. I'm sorry I doubted you."

Ray sat up and put his arm around The Phantom's waist. He gave his lover a
small, firm hug. "Just so you know now that no matter what, I'll be there
for you."

"And no matter what, I'll be there for you." The Phantom took another drag
on his cigarette. "There's one thing, though. You must never, ever tell
what I told you today to anyone. Not Kevin, not Joey or Randy, not
anybody."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody anything. What they don't know sure as
hell won't hurt them." Ray groaned. "But what the fuck am I going to tell
Chef?"

"Chef? What has Chef got to do with the price of beans in cans?"

"I have to be on duty at 1600. Shit, Phantom, if I'm late Chef will kill
me!" Ray quickly scrambled out of the bed and began pulling on his
clothes. The Phantom calmly snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray on the
bedside table, and then left the bed. Ray was bending over to pick up his
socks so The Phantom patted his bum.  Ray stood up abruptly and saw The
Phantom pointing at the small clock sitting on the table beside the
bed. The time read 1515. Ray breathed a sigh of relief, then stepped back
as The Phantom slowly undid the top button of his white trousers. He
giggled, and then grinned slyly. "Do you think we'll have enough time?"

The Phantom pretended exasperation. "Don't you ever get enough?"

Ray chuckled. "After an afternoon of brilliant sex with you? Never!"

The Phantom shook his head as he pushed Ray's shirt over his shoulders. "IF
we were going to be doing what you'd like to think we're going to do, no,
we would not have enough time."

"What are we going to do?" asked Ray as he wiggled out of his trousers.

The Phantom slipped his hands under the waistband of Ray's briefs and began
to push them down. "In case you haven't noticed, goof, we are both crusted
in spunk. An afternoon of brilliant sex does that, you know."

Ray wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, I guess it does. Still, I can hope, can't I?"

The Phantom shook his head firmly. "Nope. What you CAN do is get your
beautiful, pink ass into the shower."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone. I have to strip the bed and put on clean sheets. The Gunner
might forgive me having an afternoon of brilliant sex with you but he'll
get some shitty about spooge on the sheets."

"You're not going to tell him about us," gasped Ray.

The Phantom began walking Ray toward the bathroom, and the shower stall. "I
love him, Ray, and if he asks me I'll tell him the truth." He chuckled as
they entered the bathroom. "To be honest, he's been more or less expecting
us to be together." He reached in and turned on the shower.

Ray shook his had in wonderment. "IF Kevin finds out, or IF I tell him, I
sure as fuck hope that he's as understanding as The Gunner." He stepped
into the shower and then turned to look at The Phantom. "Will The Gunner be
as understanding if he finds out that you fucked Little Big Man?" he asked
quietly.

The Phantom shrugged and turned away. He could not give Ray an answer. He
could not answer because he was not all that sure that he was going to tell
The Gunner anything at all.

******

Nathan left the tomfoolery of the Chiefs Mess and walked quietly into the
Gunroom. The long chamber was very quiet. He noticed that about half the
bunks were empty. Only one bunk interested him and he saw that it was
occupied. A slow smile spread across his face and he sat down on the bunk,
gazing fondly at the golden-haired god whose image had filled his thoughts,
enthralling him and frustrating him almost beyond bearing.

After looking around quickly, and seeing that the coast was clear, Nathan
leaned down to kiss Cory's warm, pink cheek.

Cory was sound asleep in his usual position, on his side, the coverlet
pulled up over his shoulders, with his hand stuck down the front of his
boxers. He felt the light caress on his face and stirred slightly.

Emboldened, Nathan used the back of his hand to trace the soft contours of
Cory's face.  He so wanted to lean down and place his lips against Cory's,
but did not dare.

At the second touch Cory opened his eyes. He glanced sideways and saw
Nathan looking back at him. "Nathan?" he whispered as he struggled into a
sitting position. "Nathan?"

Nathan grinned and nodded his head. He reached out his arms, and then
quickly drew them back. "I missed you, Cory."

Cory, without thinking, and not really caring, bent forward and his arms
enveloped Nathan. Their lips met and they kissed passionately. Nathan
moaned deeply as the taste and feel and smell of Cory threatened to
overwhelm him. When they parted Nathan held Cory at arm's length, not quite
believing that this golden knight, this wonderful, glorious boy was once
again in his arms.

Both Cory and Nathan would have been content just to sit and hold each
other but Harry had chosen this moment to wake up. He heard the breathless
greetings and saw the two boys embrace. Harry had no objections to Nathan
and Cory doing what they were doing. Hell, given half the chance he'd be
sitting on Cory's bunk. A quick glance told Harry that while he might have
no objections there was someone in the bunk opposite who
might. Fortunately, Two Strokes was a heavy sleeper. "Not in the Gunroom,
you clowns," Harry grumbled, just loud enough to be heard. "You'll curdle
the spit shine on my boots!"

Cory and Nathan, startled at the sound of Harry's voice, pulled away. They
glanced nervously around, and then snickered. Cory gave Nathan a very quick
peck on the lips. "Just let me get dressed, okay?"

"Sure," replied Nathan, watching as Cory swung his legs over the edge of
his bunk, then stood up.

"What are you doing here?" asked Cory as he pulled on his shorts and began
hunting for his socks. "How did you get here? Why didn't you tell me that
you were coming when I talked to you last week?"

Todd's head popped from under the covers. "If you'd shut up he might get a
word in," he snapped. "Jesus, Cory, you two were quieter when you were
making out!"

"We were not making out," retorted Cory hotly as he reached into his locker
for a clean T-shirt."

Todd sniffed loudly. "Balls! Either you get a room or I break out the fire
hose!"

Nathan, not wanting a scene, and knowing the Twins as he did, quickly
interrupted the two brothers. He took Cory's hand. "Come on, Cory, it's too
nice a day to be inside. Let's go for a walk, or something."

Todd snickered loudly. "Or something is right!"

Cory gave his brother a malevolent glare but did not deign to reply. He
turned to Nathan. "Yeah, let's get out of here." He could not resist one
last dig at Todd. "Animal!"

******

They left the Gunroom and paused briefly, sitting on the low stoop while
Cory put on his sneakers. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "The canteen is
open. We could go to the Mess Hall. They serve a super brunch." Cory knew
that he was chattering away but could not help himself. He was truly
nervous. "Of course, it might be too late, but that's okay, because if
Phantom is around he'll feed us . . ."

Nathan abruptly placed his hand across Cory's mouth. "Will you shut up?"

Cory nodded.

"Let's go for a walk on the beach," suggested Nathan.  "I'm not hungry and
I just want to be with you."

Cory coloured. "Nathan, I want to be with you."

They walked slowly together, not daring to hold hands, toward the channel
leading to Comox harbour. Once they reached the beach they took off their
shoes and walked toward the Strait. "I missed you Cory," began Nathan
tentatively. "I missed you a lot. When Mark told me that him and Tony were
coming up here and asked if I wanted to go with them, I jumped at the
chance."

"I'm glad you've come, Nathan," replied Cory, his voice soft and
tender. Then a strange look came over his face.  "But, aren't you supposed
to be in Bellingham?"

Nathan snickered. "Yeah, I was. Fortunately Broadhurst hit the jetty."

Cory remembered that Broadhurst was the Commanding Officer of the Seattle
Sea Cadet Corps. He also remembered that the gentleman had a more than
passing acquaintance with the bottle. "What jetty?"

"The one in Seattle that we always tie up to. He hit it with a hell of a
bang, opened the bow, snapped the fluke from the starboard anchor and
almost killed Jeremy Cohen." He laughed heartily. "You have not lived until
you've heard somebody called a half-fucked fool in Hebrew."

"I think I've heard it in Russian." He gave Nathan a slight jab. "So,
explain!"

Nathan lay back on his elbows, looking out to the smooth, rolling waters of
the Strait of Georgia.  He noticed a whaler under power, putt-putting along
about two hundred yards out. "Isn't that one of AURORA's boats?" he asked,
pointing with his chin.

Cory shaded his eyes and looked seaward. He nodded. "Yes. I think that's
Anson coxing."

"Shouldn't he have a crew? At least another guy?"

As they watched, and before Cory could answer, the whaler veered to
port. Anson rose from his seat, bringing another head into to view. The
whaler heeled toward the shore, clearly revealing what was going on. Cory
and Nathan exchanged glances. Then they burst into barely controllable
giggles. "Gives new meaning to cock-sing a whaler!" gasped Nathan.

Recognising but refusing to rise to the pun, Cory pretended to be
shocked. "Some people have no shame!  Doing that in a whaler!"

"Well, I wouldn't mind trying my hand at it," replied Nathan with a grin.

"With Anson?" asked Cory artfully, finally twigging on the puns. "Or maybe
Chad, 'cause that's who was handling the tiller!"

Nathan, having been out-punned, gave Cory a playful slap. "No, fool, with
you! He sat up and rubbed his chin. "Of course, it doesn't have to be in a
whaler."

"And it won't be on a public beach in the middle of the day, either!" Cory
knew what Nathan wanted. The trouble was that he was not ready to give it
to him. He abruptly changed the subject. "So, what happened with Broadhurst
and the jetty?" he asked pointedly.

Nathan gave Cory a sour look, but decided to humour him. "Well, last
Saturday we went for a day steam, which we always do if we're in port," he
began. "It was all right as day steams go, and Broadhurst was actually
sober for most of it. We started back in around 1800, and we were steaming
down the harbour at about half speed. When we got near our jetty we pointed
the ship bow on and started in."

"Normal routine," nodded Cory.

"Yeah, if you don't forget that the tide is running in the same direction
that you are steaming and you don't forget to reduce speed."

Cory laughed quietly. "A collision at sea can ruin your whole day."

Nathan agreed. "By the time Broadhurst realized what was happening it was
too late. He rang down for full speed astern but we still hit with a fuck
of a bang. The fluke of the starboard anchor snagged on the jetty and
snapped off, which sent the shaft barrelling up the hawse pipe at a rate of
knots. It just missed Jeremy, who was standing on the forecastle waiting to
heave the line. The whole thing missed him by about an inch. He was some
pissed off."

"I can't say that I blame him."

"Me neither. Anyway, the boat's in dry dock. We had bugger all to do so
Mark borrowed his brother's car - he's on his two weeks of Army Reserve
training - and here we are."

Cory gave Nathan a quizzical glance. "When you were here last month I got
the impression that you and Mark were hardly bosom buddies."

Nathan nodded his agreement. "That was then. When we got back to Seattle
they sort of helped me get through a few rough patches." He glanced
nervously at Cory. "That's a lie. They helped me get through one rough
patch."

"Me?"

Nathan swallowed hard, reluctant to start anything with Cory. "I love you,
Cory, and I really couldn't understand why you did what you did to me. I
didn't understand why we had to wait until you came down for the Labour Day
holiday."

"And I do not understand why you took it upon yourself to discuss my
private business with Mark and Tony," growled Cory.

"It's my business as well, Cory," returned Nathan hotly. "I didn't have
anybody else to talk to! I couldn't go to my brother, because he's an
asshole! I don't have any friends close enough to talk to about things like
that! There was only Mark and Tony!" Nathan stood up and gestured for Cory
to follow him. He walked purposely along the beach, stopping from time to
time to toss stones into the grey-green water. "Mark and Tony are
lovers. They have been ever since they were here last month," said Nathan
presently.

"I know. They borrowed the keys for the Ropewalk from Todd," replied
Cory. "That hardly entitles them to know my business, Nathan."

Nathan stopped and turned. He grasped Cory by the shoulders. "I've never
been in love before, Cory. I don't know how to think, or act, or
anything. I had to talk to somebody and Mark and Tony seemed the logical
choices."

Cory pulled away. "Go on." he said calmly.

Nathan shrugged. "We talked. They made me realize what an asshole I'd
been. They told me to think about how I really felt about you, and not push
it, to let you set the pace."

"They were right." Cory saw that they had retraced their steps and were now
abreast of the small forest that covered the southern part of the
spit. "Come on."

They walked into the trees and Cory indicated a small hummock of
grass. They sat together, hidden in the trees, while Cory gathered his
thoughts. He turned and looked at Nathan, smiling gently. "Nathan, I want
to be sure about us. I want to be sure that we both want the same thing, to
be sure that I'm not being used and that I'm not using you."

"That's not the way I feel about you, Cory. I would never use you,"
protested Nathan. "I know we got off to a bad start, and I will always
regret that . . ."

"That is not what I mean, Nathan." Cory placed his arm around Nathan's slim
waist. "What happened last month is over, done with. It's the future I want
to be sure about. I want to be sure that being with you is not just my
hormones kicking in. I do not want another one off. There have been too
many of them."

"Cory, I love you. I want to be with you. It's not my hormones, or my dick,
or my balls, that make me feel the way I feel," said Nathan earnestly.

"I understand, Nathan. But, if I commit to you, and that's what I'm going
to be doing, then I want to be damn sure that I'm doing the right thing! I
want to be sure that I am in love with you. When I get in your bed, IF I
get in your bed, I want to be sure that you'll be there in the morning, and
be there every morning for as long as we're together."

"What makes you think I wouldn't be?" demanded Nathan.

Cory laughed ruefully. "Come on, Nathan, we are neither of us
virgins. We're two gay boys. We're attracted to other boys. There will
always be other boys that we'll want to get into the sack with. Can you
honestly say that you haven't been with another guy since you were here
last?"

Nathan's face fell, and a stricken look marred handsome his features. Cory
nodded slowly. "I don't want to know who he was, or when it happened,"
began Cory quietly. "It's not important. What is important is that if I
decide to be with you, there will be no more bed hopping. It will be you
and me, together. If we are going to be together, then I want to know the
real Nathan Berman. I want to live with you, not just sleep with
you. That's my commitment, Nathan."

Nathan sighed and pulled Cory closer to him. Cory was, of course,
right. There had been other boys. There was Bob Herzog, but he didn't
really count. He was a football jock who liked to have his dick
sucked. Then there had been Alex Valpone, Tony's brother, who also liked to
have his dick sucked and, unlike Bob, didn't mind returning the
favour. Their coupling had been the drunken aftermath of a beach
party. They told each other that they were drunk and that a guy couldn't be
held responsible for what he did when he was drunk. It was a shallow
excuse, but it allowed them both to blow their loads without feeling guilty
in the morning. The funny thing was, there were a lot of parties and they
both seemed to get drunk a lot.

And then there was Jeremy. Jeremy Cohen had come on to him, and Nathan had
responded. He couldn't help himself. He had felt an enormous attraction to
Jeremy, a tall, slim, muscled boy, a Jewish American Prince with
brownish-blonde hair, a square, clean-lined face, bedroom eyes and a dick
that had been created to be sucked.

A week after returning to Seattle Nathan had begun sleeping with
Jeremy. Unlike Alex, Jeremy did not need to find an excuse to get into the
sack with Nathan, and also, unlike Alex, did not feel the need to pull up
his Jockeys and Adidas shorts after he'd popped his puppy, and wander off
looking for a beer. Jeremy liked sex, an infinite variety of sex, and in
truth, his Hanes briefs spent more time under Nathan's bed than they did on
Jeremy's firm, round ass.

Nathan realized that his infatuation with Jeremy was just that, an
infatuation. Jeremy was a cockhound, and the cock that he wanted happened
to be attached to Nathan's body. Their relationship would never last and
sooner or later he, or Jeremy, would end their relationship, which had no
hope of going anywhere. Jeremy might be a secular Jew, rarely seeing the
inside of a synagogue, but he was Jew enough not to want a long-term
relationship with a gentile.  He wasn't about to give up life as a Cohen
for a bit of rough sex on the side.

The more he thought about it the more Nathan realized that while Cory
could, and would, make a firm commitment, he could not. As much as he
adored Cory, Nathan could not make a commitment. As much as he wanted Cory,
there would always be a Jeremy and or an Alex, there would always be little
bits on the side.

Tears formed in Nathan's eyes and began to weep softly. He was enough of a
realist to know that when Cory chose his partner, it would be for life. He
would give everything to that partner. Cory would ask a great deal of his
mate, but in return he would give a great deal, and he would not
countenance infidelity.

Nathan buried his head in Cory's shoulder, sobbing, angry and ashamed that
he could not give Cory what he wanted. Cory held Nathan close, comforting
the sobbing boy as best he could. He was hurt, but he was not
disappointed. His feelings for Nathan were deep, and they would be lasting,
but he understood why Nathan could not give him the commitment that his
soul yearned for.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Cory, but I can't," murmured Nathan between sobs. "I
can't promise you. I want to, but I can't!"

Cory patted Nathan's shoulder. "It's all right, I understand."

Nathan pulled away from Cory, his tear-streaked face as mask of
anguish. "Do you understand?" he asked plaintively. "Do you understand why
I can't be what you want me to be?"

Cory nodded. "You're 18, Nathan, and you have your whole life ahead of
you. There's college, a job, a career, a life. It's unfair of me to ask you
to give up so much. I know that, but it's the way I feel."

Nathan wiped his eyes and gazed longingly at Cory. "I still love you, Cory,
please believe that."

"I do."

"It's just that," he shrugged apologetically, "I love guys. I can't help
myself. If I went with you sooner or later another guy would come along,
and I would not be able to resist. You've been totally honest with me, so I
have to be totally honest with you. If we were together I'd be catting
around. I'd meet a guy and if he gave me any encouragement I'd end up in
bed with him. That would be unfair to you, and it would make me a sneak,
and while I admit to a lot of faults, I am not a sneak."

"I don't want to force you into anything Nathan," replied Cory. He stood up
and offered his hand to Nathan. "Come on, then."

Cory pulled Nathan to his feet and together they walked back toward the
Gunroom. "Do you hate me, Cory?" asked Nathan as they approached the
barracks.

"No, Nathan, I do not hate you. You told me how you feel, you were honest
with me."

"I guess you won't be coming down to Seattle, then."

Cory shook his head and laughed quietly. "Nathan, I didn't say that."

Nathan looked at Cory. "I don't understand."

"We can still be friends," replied Cory slowly. "We just won't be lovers."

"Oh." Then Nathan grinned. "Sometimes friends fool around, you know."

Cory chuckled. "Sometimes they do," he replied noncommittally.

******

They showered, the water laving away the lassitude that followed their
afternoon of blissful and glorious lovemaking, and changed into some of the
clean clothing that The Phantom kept at The Gunner's apartment. Then,
reluctantly, they returned to AURORA.

As they turned down Comox Road they saw that AURORA had returned to
life. The bay was full of sailboats and whalers. The YAGs were in and the
jetty was full of activity as the crews visited back and forth. In the
middle of the long jetty some barbecues had been set up and they could see
the small figures gathered around them, the officers cooking, the cadets
eating.

The closer they came to AURORA the more activity they saw. The swimming
beach, while not packed, was busy with cadets sunning themselves, or
splashing about in the waters of the bay. In the middle of the parade
square a game of touch football was in progress. From the look of the game
all of the Sea Puppies were involved and, as The Phantom steered the car
toward the Gatehouse, he and Ray could hear the shrill cries and laughter
of the young boys as Harry, prominent and towering over the younger lads,
directed traffic, tossed the ball, bellowed and generally acted as judge,
jury, and executioner in the event of fouls or misplays.

As they neared the Guardhouse, and the Mess Hall, they could see Sandro and
the Brats fussing over the barbecues while both halves of the Litany
scurried in and out of the Mess Hall, loading the long tables that flanked
the barbecues with salads, foil-wrapped baked potatoes, and huge bowls of
butter, sour cream, chives and assorted condiments and mustards.

>From three of the four barbecues small tendrils of smoke drifted
skyward. As the Rover rolled past the Gatehouse and turned towards the Mess
Hall The Phantom was momentarily distracted by a huge flash, and a rising
column of black smoke. Ray sighed and shook his head. "He's done it again."

The Phantom braked to a stop and laughed. "Sandro will use too much fire
starter."

"Yeah, well one of these days he'll either burn the whole place down or end
up a crispy critter!" replied Ray as he cracked the passenger-side door.
"I better get over there before Chef . . ."

There was a huge bellow of outrage from the Mess Hall.

"Too late!" said The Phantom with a straight face. "Poor Sandro."

Doing his best to ignore the shouting and tumult that always seemed to
surround Chef, Ray reached over and squeezed The Phantom's hand. "Thanks,
Phantom, for a wonderful afternoon." He smiled sadly. "Too bad that it
ended too soon."

The Phantom reached over and ran his fingers along Ray's smooth
face. "You'd better go now.  Chef will be looking for you."

Ray nodded and got out of the car. He turned back and smiled. "Phantom, no
matter what happens, I'll be there."

"I know. Now git."

Ray grinned, waved and trotted around to the side of the Mess Hall where
the barbecues were. As The Phantom backed away from the Mess Hall he could
hear Chef bellowing at Ray, demanding to know where he'd been.

"Poor Ray," thought The Phantom. "Old Chef will give him the third degree
for sure." He spun the wheel and pulled ahead, wondering what Ray would
tell Chef. He also wondered, briefly, who owned the huge black boat parked
in front of the Mess Hall. "Tourists," he thought, noticing the Washington
plate, or somebody's relatives up from the States to see the show on
Wednesday.

Dismissing the black car from his mind The Phantom turned onto Comox Road
and headed for home.

******

The Phantom drew up in front of his house and parked. The driveway was
empty and he planned on leaving it that way. Chief Lascelles never used the
garage at the back of the house and always parked his car in the driveway.

Once inside The Phantom went up to his room, stripped, walked down the
corridor naked, which he figured would be the last time he could do that,
showered and slipped on some shorts. He returned downstairs, snagged a beer
from the fridge and went out to the pool.

He sipped his beer, contemplating his next moves. He doubted that Little
Big Man knew who had been in the Mess. He also doubted that the little
bastard would open his mouth. He had responded much too eagerly, and while
he was a consummate liar, Little Big Man's reputation was such that few, if
any, of the cadets would believe him. At the very least, most of them would
think that he'd gotten exactly what he deserved.

Little Big Man crying rape was not a major concern so far as The Phantom
could determine. Little Big Man had no proof, and the cadets in the Mess
had been too far away to hear anything. They also hated Little Big Man and
would not, even if they knew about his night of sex, support him in any
way. Quite the opposite if past comments and insults were any
indication. The second part of his plan, the actual confrontation and open
declaration of knowledge that Little Big Man had not only had sex with
another boy, but also enjoyed it, he would leave to Cory and Todd. They
knew what to do and they knew how to do it.

The Phantom was not worried about Ray. He was worried about how The Gunner
would react if he told him that he had popped Little Big Man's puppy. The
Phantom finished the last of the beer and crushed the flimsy aluminium can.
Whether he liked it or not, he would have to tell The Gunner. He would have
to tell The Gunner what he had done, and why he had done it. Far better to
let the man know first hand than to risk him hearing second or third hand.
Better to risk the wrath now, than to risk losing everything later.

Leaving the poolside chair The Phantom returned inside, debated on having
another beer, then decided against it. He was driving later on and the road
between the town and the aerodrome was winding in places and, thanks to an
ongoing feud between the town, the Province and the military, unlit.

He decided to watch some television and, as usual after the set warmed up,
he was confronted with an endless stream of mindless commercials. When the
ads ended he was faced with even more drivel, this time in the form of what
the CBC considered prime time entertainment, a documentary on the life of
the Eskimos, replete with huskies, old, toothless women gumming whale
blubber, and what looked like some sort of mating ritual. The Phantom was
about to turn off the set when the front door opened. His parents were
home.

******

With the almost ritualistic hugs, kisses, handshakes and back pats
associated with homecomings after long absences, The Phantom greeted his
parents. He was genuinely glad to see them. He loved them and he had missed
them.

His mother, as mothers will, remarked that he looked thinner, and cast
surreptitious glances around the house making sure that her son had not
destroyed anything during her absence. His father, as fathers will, said
that he looked fine, expressed the hope that his son hadn't held too many
parties, and suggested that he could use some help with the luggage.

The Phantom helped unload his father's car and carried the suitcases up to
his parents' room, except for one small bag, new and purchased expressly
for the gifts his mother brought back with her from any trip. The Phantom
did not have to see the bag opened. He knew that it contained souvenir
T-shirts from every town and village his mother had visited. These were for
him. There would also be silver teaspoons for her burgeoning collection,
and small pieces of china and porcelain that she would give to her friends
and co-workers at the bank.

With the luggage upstairs The Phantom returned to the kitchen where he
found his mother fussing over the teapot. One of the first things she
always did, after her inspection, was to brew a pot of tea. Tea, she always
said, never seemed to taste the same away from home, and as for the
Americans, well, all they ever heard of was iced tea and the less said
about that the better.

With a cup of tea in front of her his mother settled in, prepared for what
she hoped would be a report on what she had missed while away. The Phantom
told her truthfully that he had only been into town twice in the last week
or so and except for the water shortage he knew very little of what was
going on.

"I did see Jeff and Robbie Jensen last week," said The Phantom. "Jeff was
taking Robbie up island for some camping."

"How nice," replied his mother. She took a sip of her tea. "It's not often
you see older brothers so devoted to their younger brothers."

The Phantom bit back the reply he wanted to give. If his mother only knew
how "devoted" Jeff was to Robbie, and the reason behind that devotion,
she'd faint. As for his father, well, that did not bear thinking about.

"It was sort of a goodbye trip from Jeff to Robbie," said The
Phantom. "Jeff's off to the university next month, you know."

His mother nodded. "I can remember when Jeff was just a child, and Robbie
when he was just a baby. They are both such sweet boys." Once again The
Phantom bit back his reply. "It's too bad you have you work, Phantom, you
could have gone with Jeff and Robbie. You do enjoy camping."

The Phantom reached for the teapot and poured himself another cup of
tea. His mother had just presented him with an opening. "Not much chance of
camping for me, Mom," he sighed. "You know I like to go later in the
season. But, Sam isn't getting back until the day before school opens and
Jeff will be heading south to get himself settled in at the university." He
shrugged. "Nobody to go with."

"Surely there's someone. You need some time away," returned his
mother. "Perhaps one of the boys from the base?"

The Phantom grinned inwardly and shook his head.  "Most of them leave next
Thursday and the ones that are staying will be too busy closing the place
down.  So I guess camping this year is out." He paused for effect and then
said, slowly, "Although . . ."

"Although?"

With feigned reluctance The Phantom continued. "Well, The Gunner did say
something about going camping when the training was finished." He shook his
head. "But, nah, he wouldn't want to be saddled with me. Not after two
months of cadets."

"What do you mean, 'saddled with you'?" asked his mother. "You've been
camping all over this part of the island since you were old enough to carry
a backpack. You could show him the better places and he'd never get lost
with you there to guide him!"

"I don't know, Mom. I would really hate to ask him. He's already done me a
lot of favours. He even loaned me his car while he's away."

"His car?" replied his mother, astonished. "Why, Phantom, you can't drive!"

"Mother, I've been driving for years. Dad taught me when I was twelve,
remember."

His mother thought a moment. "Oh, yes, so he did." The she brightened. "But
you don't have a license!"

The Phantom laughed. His mother hated to be proven wrong. "I do now. I got
it last week."

"You did?"

The Phantom nodded. "Last week. I got tired of riding my bike and what with
all the running around I do, I went for my license. The Gunner let me use
his car."

"Did I hear you say you got your license?" boomed Chief Lascelles as he
entered the kitchen. He had a fistful of envelopes. He held them out and
his wife took the envelopes from him.

"Bills?" asked Mrs. Lascelles.

"And then some," complained Chief Lascelles. "There's an invitation to
attend the Passing Out Parade at AURORA. It's next Wednesday. A letter from
your sister, and the usual junk mail." He sat at the table and squeezed his
son's shoulder. "So, you finally got your license."

"Yeah. Like I told mom, I got tired of riding my bike, and what with all of
the running around I do now, I figured I might as well get it. The Gunner
loaned me his car while he's away so I've managed to get a lot done."

"He's away?" asked Chief Lascelles.

"In Vancouver. Been there since last week. Some sort of meeting," replied
The Phantom. "I have to pick him up at the airport later on." He looked
downcast. "No more car after tonight."

Chief Lascelles rubbed his chin. "Well, I might be able to help you
there. The Impound Auction is coming up. I can put a reserved bid on
something. I will pay half."

"You will?" It was The Phantom's turn to be surprised.

"Sure. It's the least the Deputy Chief of Police for the City of Courtenay
can do for his son." He grinned broadly and held up a long, buff
envelope. "Effective the 1st of September."

"Oh, Tommy, how wonderful!"  Mrs. Lascelles left her seat and hugged her
husband. The Phantom joined her in hugging his father.

"Of course, I'm not going to be able to go to your function on Wednesday,"
said Chief Lascelles after he managed to shoo his wife and son
away. "There's a lot to be done between now and September."

Mrs. Lascelles frowned. "And I can't go, Phantom. I've been away from the
bank too long. They'll think I've retired!"

"You don't have to work, Betty," said the Chief.

"I want to work, Tommy. Brendan's gone, Phantom is never here half the
time, so what would I do with myself?"

"Well, gee, I would like you to be there. It might be the only time I get
to see you both before next week." The Phantom had been thinking
quickly. With The Gunner returning he knew where he wanted to spend his
nights. "I've been thinking about staying over at AURORA. We've got a big
dinner tomorrow night, plus all the preparation for Wednesday, plus . . ."

"Oh, Phantom, we've only gotten back and you want to leave!" said his
mother.

"Now, Betty, he's a man now, and he's got a job to do." Chief Lascelles
winked at his son. "It's important for him to do his job well. He'll get a
good recommendation from the Commanding Officer of AURORA. Which he'll
need."

"He will?" Mrs. Lascelles looked blankly at her husband.

Chief Lascelles nodded. "He needs a letter from his employer, which is the
Commanding Officer, a letter from the school, which he'll get easily
enough, and one from his minister or priest. I'll get Hennepin and McMaster
to write something as well." He looked at The Phantom. "Do you think that
the Mayors of Comox and Courtenay are good enough character references to
get you accepted for the UNTD programme?"

"You found the application? I left it on your desk and . . ."

"I found it, I signed it."

"And you don't mind me spending the next few nights away from home?"

Chief Lascelles shrugged. "You're old enough to know what you want, and
you're hardly travelling to the moon. You're only across the bay, for
Christ's sake."  "Language, Tommy," admonished Mrs. Lascelles mildly.

Chief Lascelles snorted and then grinned at his son. "He's heard worse and
I'm willing to bet he's used worse."

The Phantom thought it best not to reply.

"You will be home for dinner, then, on Thursday?" asked Mrs. Lascelles,
abruptly changing the subject,

The Phantom looked puzzled. "Sure.  But why Thursday?"

"Because that is the night you are going to invite The Gunner over for
dinner."

"I am?"

"You are."

"But, Mom, why would I invite The Gunner for dinner?"

"Because how else can I convince him that he'd love to have you as a
camping companion?"

The Phantom's jaw dropped. Chief Lascelles chuckled. "I am sure that your
mother will tell me what she is up to later on. I suggest you just nod your
head and agree with her." The Phantom did as he was told. Chief Lascelles
looked at his wife and grinned. "Now that you've all but solved Phantom's
problem, don't you think that you should tell him about Brendan?"

The Phantom, who was not all that fond of his brother in the first place,
was even less interested in whatever problem, or problems, that Brendan
might have this time. Still, Brendan was his brother . . . "Is Brendan in
trouble?" he asked innocently.

Mrs. Lascelles flashed her husband one of her unmistakeable "don't you
dare" looks. Chief Lascelles ignored his wife. "Brendan isn't," he said
with a grin. Then he started chortling.

Mrs. Lascelles glared venomously at her husband and then turned to her
son. She was obviously very uncomfortable about something. She cleared her
throat, and then spoke in hushed tones. "Brendan is engaged to be married."

"He is?" asked The Phantom, a shocked look on his face. "To a girl?"

Mrs. Lascelles pursed her lips in displeasure. Chief Lascelles roared with
laughter and leaned so far back in his chair that it tipped over and he
cracked his skull on the tile floor.

******

The Phantom chuckled and snickered every time he thought of Brendan
knocking up his girlfriend. As far as The Phantom was concerned it served
Brendan damn good and right. For years he'd bragged about what a swordsman
he was, of how many of the local lovelies he managed to get in the
hay. "Should have kept that weapon in your pants, Brendan my lad," thought
The Phantom as he deftly swung the Land Rover onto the road leading to CFB
Comox.

There was a light rain falling and The Phantom drove carefully. All he
needed was to crack up The Gunner's beloved Land Rover. Fortunately there
was almost no traffic and even though the sun was setting there was still
enough light to see. Which would not be the case on the return trip. There
were no overhead lights at all on the stretch of road leading from the town
up to the base and at night the carriageway was as black as the inside of a
cow's stomach. To make driving even worse than it was both sides of the
road were bordered by thick stands of pine trees.

With an audible sigh of relief The Phantom saw the lights of CFB Comox come
into view. He had changed into his uniform and, as he expected, was waved
through the gate. He parked outside the Departures/Arrivals Lounge and went
inside where he was informed that the flight from Vancouver was on
time. Rather than sit in the car in the rain he hung about the lounge,
smoking and occasionally looking out of the windows for sight of the plane
carrying The Gunner.

As he waited The Phantom felt his nervousness increasing. He was not
looking forward to telling The Gunner of what had happened, yet he realized
that it was something that he had to do because he knew Steve Winslow. The
Gunner was a straightforward, blunt, honest sailor who never flinched from
his duty and never procrastinated. A guy always knew where he stood with
The Gunner. He might not approve of what you did, but he never stood in
judgement for he understood the failings of men and boys. A case in point
was what had happened between Harry and Stefan. The Gunner had not minced
his words when he told Harry that he did not approve of what had
happened. He had not approved, but he had not judged and he had done
everything possible to ease Harry's pain. For The Gunner there could be no
secrets and no dishonesty. He judged a man by his conduct and never failed
to do the harder right rather than pursue the easier wrong.

As The Phantom chain-smoked his cigarettes he realized that his
relationship with The Gunner would founder if he did not tell him the
truth. For any relationship to grow and flourish there had to be mutual
honesty and no secrets.  A relationship built on a foundation of lies and
secrets was bound to fail. And that The Phantom did not want to happen.
Better now to do the harder right.

At exactly 2100 the long, white-painted Boeing appeared on the northern
edge of the field and glided smoothly onto the runway. The landing stairs
were driven out and placed, the door opened, and the first of the
passengers, a General, debarked. The Phantom snorted quietly. The only way
he could tell that the man was a General was the wide, gold coloured cloth
band on the sleeves of his jacket. "Not even gold wire," The Phantom
thought. He sniffed disdainfully at the General's gold coloured cloth and
plastic button and then dismissed the cut-rate General from his mind as The
Gunner appeared in the doorway of the aircraft and descended the metal
steps. Within minutes he was coming through the door and it took every
ounce of restraint The Phantom could muster not to rush ahead and enfold
The Gunner in his arms.

They both knew that any display of affection would be disastrous. With
proper military decorum they greeted each other, an instructor greeting a
student. They waited impatiently for The Gunner's bags to be unloaded and
then, bags in hand, walked slowly to the car. The Gunner took the driver's
seat and as The Phantom passed over the keys to the vehicle he squeezed the
boy's hand. "You have no idea how much I missed you, Phantom," said The
Gunner, his voice full of longing. "You have no idea how much I want to
take you in my arms and just hold you."

The Phantom opened his mouth to speak. He had tried to steel himself for
what was about to come, but the tears that trickled down his cheeks
betrayed him. "I love you, Gunner, so much.  I . . ."

The Gunner did not reply. He put the car in gear and backed out of the
parking spot. He remained silent until they were well away from the bright
lights of CFB Comox. He pulled into a logging road and stopped the
car. Except for the drumming rain and the slow tick of the engine as it
cooled they sat in silence. "Are you in trouble?" asked The Gunner
quietly. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his packet of
cigarettes. He fumbled badly as he tried to extract a cigarette, then
cracked the window, oblivious to the drizzle of rain that came into the
car, soaking the sleeve of his uniform shirt.

The Phantom shook his head. "No. At least I don't think I am."

The Gunner looked and sighed softy. "Sleeping with Ray is not the end of
the world, Phantom," he said softly.

The Phantom stared at The Gunner. "How did . . .?"

The Gunner chuckled cynically. "I've been expecting it. You've never hidden
the fact that Ray has always been special to you. It was only a matter of
time before you slept with him."

"It's not what you think," protested The Phantom weakly.

The Gunner shrugged. "Yes, it is. He's young, good looking, and you love
him. It should have happened in Victoria. It didn't, so it happened here."

"Damn it, Gunner, don't do this," snapped The Phantom.

The Gunner shook his head and smiled ruefully. "Phantom, Ray has always
been, and always will be, my greatest rival." He gripped the steering wheel
tightly. "I don't own you."

"No, you don't," returned The Phantom. "Yes, I did sleep with Ray. Yes, he
is special to me. I did not start out intending to sleep with him. It just
happened. "

The Gunner nodded slowly and turned the key in the ignition. The engine of
the Land Rover roared, breaking the silence. "I'll take you home."

The Phantom quickly placed his hand on The Gunner's arm. "Please don't. I
have to tell you something," he said, his voice a raspy croak.  The Gunner
turned off the engine and waited.

"Ray means a great deal to me, yes. He always will," began The Phantom. He
was crying softly. "Last year, before you, or the Twins, or even Ray, I did
some things that were bad. This year, I did the same things again. I
shouldn't have, and I know it was wrong, but I did them. I haven't done
them since you and I have been together."

"What has Ray got to do with the things you did?" asked The Gunner,
confused. "I can understand if you flat out love him. I can understand if
you want to be with him."

The Phantom smiled through his tears. "Ray has a lover. It's not me he's
going to be with."

"Then what are you talking about?" The Gunner ran his hand across his
face. "You're talking in riddles!"

"It's not easy, Gunner, for me to tell you what I have to tell you," said
The Phantom, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He stared into the
darkness and the rain. "Last year, and for a part of this year, I went into
the barracks at night.  I did things to them, to the cadets when they were
sleeping."

The Phantom did not see the look of stunned shock that crossed The Gunner's
face. "You molested them?" The Gunner could barely get the words out.

"Yes," replied The Phantom, nodding. "I played with their dicks, and I
jerked them off."

"Jesus!"

The Phantom did not hear him. "None of them said anything so I kept on
doing it. At first, this year, I did the same things, then I went down on
Ray."

The Gunner could hardly absorb what The Phantom was saying. "You . . . You
. . ."

"Yes! I sucked their cocks, and again nobody said anything," murmured The
Phantom. "Ray was the first I did that to, and he responded in a way I
never expected. He fell in love with me."

The Gunner lowered his head and tried to think, tried to rationalize what
The Phantom had done. "Why are you telling me this, Phantom?"

The Phantom wiped the tears from his eyes and turned to face The Gunner. "I
am telling you everything because I want you to hear it from me. I do not
want you to have to listen to rumours and innuendo. I want you to know the
truth about me, to know what I've done."

"Why? You said it yourself. Nobody knew anything about what you were
doing."

"Except the boys I did the things to," retorted The Phantom. "They knew,
and the Twins know because I told them."

The Gunner stared, unbelieving. "Why would you do that?"

The Phantom shook his head. "Because, Gunner, they almost caught me. I
thought I was so smart, sneaking around in the night all dressed up like
some cat burglar. I made a mistake and they found me out." He shrugged. "I
learned then that no matter how well you plan, how careful you are, there
is always the chance that something will come along and fuck you up."

"And are you afraid that now, after the fact, that someone will come along
and report what has been going on?  Is that what this is all about?"

"No. If that was going to happen, it would have happened by now." The
Phantom looked levelly at The Gunner. "I want you to know everything
because there is a small chance that tomorrow morning you might not want to
have anything to do with me."

"And why would you say that?"

The Phantom took a deep breath. "Because last night I went into the Petty
Officers Mess and, I suppose technically, raped Little Big Man."

******

The Gunner felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He listened with
increasing dismay and disbelief as The Phantom told him everything, told
him how he had conceived the idea of seducing Little Big Man, how he had
enlisted the aid of Cory and Todd, how he had gone into the Petty Officers
Mess. Calmly and dispassionately The Phantom related every detail of what
had happened in the Mess, how Little Big Man had responded beyond anyone's
expectations. He told The Gunner what had happened afterwards, how the
Twins, and Tyler and Val had cared for him. He left nothing out.

"So, the Master at Arms, my Chief GI, and the Twins, were all in on it!"
The Gunner growled. "I might have known that the Twins would be involved,
but Tyler and Val . . ."

"The Twins kept trying to talk me out of it," replied The Phantom, refusing
to allow The Gunner to assign any blame to Cory and Todd. "Don't blame
them. Tyler and Val were not involved until after the fact. I sort of lost
it, afterwards, and the Twins needed help. They went to Tyler and Val."

"And Ray?"

The Phantom hesitated. There was no need for The Gunner to know the details
of how Ray had come to know about last night's activities. "Ray overheard a
conversation between the other guys. He didn't overhear everything and he
couldn't understand why I would have sex with Little Big Man. He was angry
and upset and, well, we had a confrontation. After I explained that I did
it because I wanted to make damned sure that you, him, all my friends, were
safe from Paul Greene, he began to understand. I held him to calm him down
and before we knew what we were doing, we slept . . . had
. . . sex. Neither of us planned it that way. It just happened."

When he was finished speaking The Phantom shrank back in his seat, afraid
of what might happen next.

******


The Gunner sat in stony silence, digesting what he had just heard. He could
understand Ray, but Little Big Man? To have sex with him so he could be
threatened, blackmailed, into silence? Through his mind flashed visions of
Phantom, naked, having sex with one of the most despicable human beings
ever whelped. Through The Gunner's mind raged the question: "How could he
have done that? How could Phantom have so distrusted ME, so doubted MY
given word that nothing would happen, that Little Big Man would be
thwarted, how could Phantom do it? How COULD he?"

The car seemed to be closing in on him. The Gunner could not breathe and he
had to get away, had to think. He pushed open the door, left the car and
began to walk down the dark, muddy logging road, oblivious to the rain, to
the wet and cold.

What was he to do? How was he supposed to react? What was he supposed to
say to The Phantom?

On and on he stumbled until finally he slumped onto a fallen log that
blocked the road. Stupidly The Gunner tried to light a cigarette. The rain
turned the paper cylinder of tobacco into mush. He tossed the sodden mess
aside and tried to get his breathing under control.

Once he was more or less in control of his feelings, The Gunner started to
think, trying to rationalize what Phantom had done, trying to determine why
the boy would take matters to such depths. He had promised Phantom that he
would take care of things! He had given his solemn assurances that no
matter what Little Big Man did nothing would come of it. He had . . .

The Gunner groaned and laughed mirthlessly. He suddenly realised how stupid
he was to think that he could avoid mistakes any more than The Phantom
could when playing at being a cat burglar! How blind and selfish,
egotistical and stupid! Here he was, sitting on a log in the middle of
nowhere, soaked to the skin with his underwear sticking to his ass, and
what was he thinking about? The Phantom? NO! He was thinking about himself,
thinking about how he could fix everything! As if he actually had the power
to contain the problem!

"What a selfish, conceited bastard I am," The Gunner muttered aloud. "I am
sitting here, thinking about myself when I should be thinking about a
frightened, teenaged boy!" He had finally realized that The Phantom did not
deal in abstracts, did not deal in ifs and maybes. The Phantom's world was
made up of friends and enemies. Suddenly every word The Phantom had said
about being gay, about helping gays, came flooding back to The
Gunner. Those whom he loved The Phantom cherished and held close. Those who
were his enemies he would crush without emotion, without thought for
himself, or the possible consequences of his actions. Little Big Man was an
enemy of those The Phantom loved and had been crushed.

The more The Gunner thought of it the more he realized that The Phantom had
only done what he himself had sworn to do: defend his gay brothers, without
fear, without favour, pay any price, perform any deed required of him. The
Phantom had identified a danger and had had determined that the danger
would not go away after Little Big Man left AURORA. And he had done
something about it and he had not acted out of fear. He had acted out of
cold, dispassionate logic. He might not know it but he had identified what
was sometimes called "the Pucker Factor", the unexpected, seemingly
improbable monkey wrench that all too often fucked up a plan.

For all his machinations and scheming with Major Meinertzhagen and Rick
Maslen, The Gunner knew that he had missed the Pucker Factor. He had
approached the problem of Little Big Man with the logic and reasoning of an
adult. Which was wrong, because Little Big Man was not an adult. He did not
think or act logically. He was a teenager who thought and acted like a
teenager.

The Gunner shook his head in wonder. He had been logically content to let
Paul Greene leave, sure in the knowledge that all of the boy's lines of
communications to the authorities were closed. What he had not considered
was that Little Big Man could, and no doubt would, if given the chance,
open his mouth to a teacher, the parent of a friend or, since he lived and
went to school on an Air Force base, squeal to another service brat who
would tell his service father, who would . . .

The Phantom had recognized that danger and decided to do something about
it. He had coldly, logically, and methodically, decided what needed to be
done and acted. Phantom had done what he had always said that he would do.

The Gunner started. "Dear God," he muttered. Now he understood why Phantom
had seduced Little Big Man. The fire that burned within the boy had flared
and he had acted as he had declared he would act. Phantom was hotheaded,
yes, but he was less hotheaded than he was rationally, if naively,
dedicated to his principles and sense of responsibility. He had fought the
enemy, using a dirty trick, to be sure, but he had fought back.

The Gunner looked up at the overcast sky, the teeming rain mingling with
his tears. He had stomped angrily into the night, refusing the silent plea
for understanding. Phantom had told him everything, had confessed his
innermost, darkest secrets, and instead of taking the boy in his arms, he
had run away. He had to get back. He had to tell Phantom how he felt. God,
please let him be there.

The Gunner ran through the mud of the road, oblivious to the ruination of
his smartly polished shoes and of his trousers, turned into waterlogged
rags by the incessant downpour. As he neared the car he saw the dome light
on and the shadowed figure sitting inside. He rushed to the passenger side
of the car and pulled the door open. "Get out," he commanded.

"What? Why?" asked The Phantom, confused and a little frightened at the
look on The Gunner's face.

The Gunner reached in and pulled The Phantom from the Land Rover. For a few
moments they stood there, just looking at each other. Then The Gunner
reached out and pulled the boy to him, enveloping him with his arms,
holding him tightly, and then kissing him, his kiss so deep and passionate
that The Phantom's legs began to shake with excitement.

When their lips parted The Phantom gasped with the pleasure of their kiss,
and opened his mouth to speak. The Gunner stopped him. "No, don't talk,
just let me hold you, let me love you. Let me tell you what a blind, stupid
fool I have been. Let be beg your forgiveness and let me tell you that what
you did was heroic and wonderful."

The Phantom grinned and shook his head so enthusiastically that his white
cap fell off his head and landed in the mud with a dull plop.

"No matter what happens, Phantom, I love you. Unconditionally, without
question."

The Phantom reached up and touched his beloved's face. "I belong with you,
Steve."

They embraced tightly and then The Gunner pulled away. "God, I want you."

"And I want you." The Phantom reached out and felt the bulge in the front
of The Gunner's trousers. He looked pointedly at the back of the car. Then
he grinned and tugged at The Gunner's erection. He looked around and
laughed softly. "A logging road, the back of the car. Remember?"

The Gunner nodded. "You took advantage of me."

The Phantom smiled and before his lips once again met The Gunner's he
whispered huskily, "And I plan on doing it again."