Date: Tue, 1 Jul 2003 17:32:22 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 8

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 my
address: paradegi@rogers.com

My thanks, as always, to Peter, who makes the story better by his superb
editing skills.


The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 8


"Now remember what I told you," said The Phantom as he adjusted Joey's
cap. "It's going to be hotter than the hubs of hell so drink lots of
water."

"And take our salt pills," supplied Joey, rolling his eyes.

"And keep our caps on," put in Randy.

"Jeez, Phantom, you are not their mother," interjected Ray, smiling as The
Phantom fussed over the two younger boys.

"And I am not yours, either, but the same goes for you and Sandro. That
little pissant rain we had last night sure as hell didn't cool things down
at all."

This was true. It was barely 0830 and the temperature outside the Mess Hall
was in the mid-80s. The humidity was oppressing and the heat pressed down
on the Spit like a pall. "The range is just an open field, with no shade,
so you're just asking for sun stroke if you don't take care!"

Both boys nodded solemnly. "And we promise to be good at the pool," said
Joey with a smile. "Even if it is Harry."

"Or Kevin!" breathed Randy.

The Phantom glared at the two boys. He had told the pair of them that under
no circumstances were they to prod, poke, pull, fondle, feel, grope or grab
any officer or cadet when they were in the pool. "And no ogling in the
dressing rooms!" he warned.

Joey sniffed. "After swimming it won't be worth the effort!"

"Everybody will be all shrivelled up!" Randy laughed and gave Joey a
push. "Even Harry!  And he has a lot to shrivel!"

"You leave Harry's shrivel out of this," ordered The Phantom sternly. "Now
then, have you guys packed all your dirty laundry?"

With the water supply still restricted The Phantom had offered to do a
laundry run for the cooks and stewards. He had to do one himself. When he
had changed earlier he saw that the pile of dirty socks, cooks whites and
underwear in his locker now filled almost half the locker space. He had
spent so little time at home lately - spending almost all his time in the
Gunner's apartment or working - that he had not had a chance to do his
laundry. A laundry run was definitely required.

When The Phantom told Ray of his plan word had spread fast. Sandro, who had
a tendency to be casual in laundry matters, had two huge bags. Ray was
almost as bad, always waiting until everything he owned was soiled before
he did his washing. Matt and Kevin added their contributions, as did the
Twins who had gotten wind of the run. Todd had also asked The Phantom to
stop at the trophy shop and put in the final Last Course with Balls T-shirt
order. The Gunner's Rover, the cargo area crammed with kit bags full of
dirty laundry was parked outside the loading dock.

"Yes, Phantom," sighed Joey in the same tone he used when his mother was on
his case. "In our kit bags, with our names on the bags."

"Good. Now come on, I'll walk with you to the buses."

They strolled down to the Headquarters Building where the buses that would
take them to the Comox ranges were waiting. Randy and Joey were in high
spirits. It didn't matter that the day gave promise of being a scorcher;
they were getting off the Spit!

******

Almost all the senior cadets were subdued and very quiet. Matt, who had
spent a restless night, sweating profusely, his sleep filled with
nightmares, was pale and drawn. Just a few steps away from Matt hovered
Brian and Dylan. They had spent much of the night keeping watch over their
friend, watching with increasing concern as he tossed and turned in his
sleep, weeping and moaning his distress. They had been sitting on Dylan's
bunk, shooting the shit and sweating, when the Twins had brought Matt into
the barracks. Matt, even to their inexperienced eyes was in distress,
shaking, very upset and unable to even undress himself. They had watched as
the Twins had stripped Matt down and towelled him as dry as they could
before putting him to bed. He had tossed and turned, then slipped into a
fitful and restless sleep.

The Twins had stayed with Matt until Lights Out. They would have liked to
have stayed longer but they had no valid excuse for being in the Gunners'
Barracks. They entrusted Matt's care to Brian and Dylan, not because they
felt compelled to do so, but because Matt was a gunner, and the gunners
always took care of their own. Brian, for all his youth, was a steady,
level-headed boy and the Twins instinctively knew that they could trust
him. He might bluster and strut, but beneath his steely facade there was a
gentleness that few knew existed.

Cory was not so confident of Dylan. As he related what had happened in the
dining hall to Brian and Dylan Cory saw Dylan grow very pale. He also saw
the look of panic that had passed between the two gunners and now knew, as
he had known that The Phantom had visited Brian, that Brian and Dylan were
lovers. Cory had said nothing, of course. What Brian and Dylan did in
private was their business. What mattered was that they were kindred
spirits and that they would look after Matt.

Neither Brian nor Dylan had slept, and except when Todd (twice) and Cory
(once) had interrupted them, they had argued quietly and fiercely about
their relationship. It was Brian's contention that so long as they
continued to be careful they had nothing to worry about. Dylan was not so
sure. He had pointed out to Brian that what they were doing was
unacceptable to their families. If so much as a whisper of their conduct
made its way back to North Bay they could both be sure that all hell would
be let loose. Dylan wanted to stop doing anything remotely sexual until
they got home, and maybe, he had said quietly, maybe not even there.

Brian was at first stunned. He loved Dylan, and he thought Dylan loved
him. Brian understood Dylan's fears because they both had enough street
smarts to know what would happen if their families and friends discovered
what they were doing. Brian was not about to go down without a fight. He
wanted to be with Dylan, always, and while he had his own fears he loved
his friend too much to just give up and roll over. He had quite logically
pointed out that they had no reason to believe that Little Big Man, or
anyone else for that matter, had so much as an inkling that they were
together in Bosun Stores almost nightly. Their secret was safe. They had
been so very careful, to the extent that they had stayed in their own bunks
on the nights that Little Big Man was duty. When they got home, Brian
pointed out, yes, things would be different. They would have to take more
care, and be far more circumspect in what they did, but it was possible for
them to have a relationship. They could be together, always.  All they had
to do was to be very careful.

Dylan remained unconvinced and unmoving. They had been lucky so far, but
sooner or later their luck would run out. Brian might not believe him, but
he did love him, more than he could ever say. But they had to stop. It had
to end. So far as Dylan was concerned there was no future for them as
lovers. Not here in AURORA, not at home in North Bay. Not anywhere.

Brian, in the face of Dylan's obduracy, and tired of their arguing, had
brusquely given in to Dylan's fears. He went off to the Mess Hall where he
filled a pitcher full of cold water. When he had returned Todd was sitting
in a chair beside Matt's bunk, holding the boy's hand and stroking his
sweating brow, gazing fondly at the smooth, flushed face of the boy he was
beginning to realize that he was in love with.

Silently Brian put the pitcher on the deck beside Todd and handed him a
washcloth.  Then he sat on his bunk where he drew up his knees and hugged
them, silently cursing the fear that had just lost him the love of the only
boy he had ever truly cared for.

******

As the last of the buses pulled away The Phantom walked back to the Mess
Hall. He walked about the dining room, straightening the tables, and
realigning the sugar bowls and napkin dispensers that sat on every
table. When he was finished his inspection he went into the galley, which
was eerily quiet. From Chef's office came the sound of a radio playing
classical music, a Bach fugue he thought, remembering his piano lessons.

The door to Chef's office was open. Chef was sitting behind his desk
laboriously writing on a foolscap pad. The Phantom knocked lightly on the
doorframe and Chef looked up. He waved The Phantom into his office and
gestured toward the sofa. "Sit down, my boy, sit down." Chef very carefully
capped the fountain pen he'd used in his writing and lifted the small pile
of papers in front of him. "A gift, Phantom."

"Looks like writing to me." The Phantom grinned and reached out and took
the papers. He quickly scanned the hand-written sheets of paper. Written in
black, graceful, copperplate, was an inventory list.

"It's everything I could remember of the Dining Room, Phantom," said
Chef. "I had some free time last night so I thought I'd write out what I
can remember. I'm sure that I missed a few items. You'll have to fill in
the gaps."

"Jeez, Chef, this is too much." The Phantom looked at Chef and
smiled. "Where did you learn to write like that?  My handwriting looks like
a drunken spider staggered across the page."

Chef laughed and shook his head. "Thank Sister Mary Gonzaga! She ruled with
her rosary in one hand and a sawed off hockey stick in the other. Proper
penmanship was beaten into me at a very early age."

The Phantom scanned a few more pages. "There's so much of it," he said,
referring to the contents of the Dining Room. "Every piece of which I have
to move."

"You'll need help," replied Chef with an understanding nod. "Not that
you'll get much today, not with everybody off to the Ranges. Tomorrow I
think that maybe we can scare up a work party for you. Once Captain's
Rounds are over there will be plenty of gash hands standing around doing
nothing."

"I thought I'd take some today, Chef. Maybe the bigger pieces."

Chef nodded his agreement and looked at his watch. "It's just gone
0845. Why don't you take off now, and be back for say, 1030 or so? I have
that meeting at Base at 1100 and I don't want to leave the place empty."

"I have to do a laundry run first, Chef, but yeah, that shouldn't be a
problem for me. What about lunch?"

Chef shook his head. "There's only Father and Dirty Dave the Deacon
around. I expect Father will want to visit the troops so I don't expect
he'll be eating in. As for Dirty Dave, well, he can have a sandwich and
some soup. When I get back from Base you can take off again until four or
so." The Phantom stood up, about to leave. Chef waved him back to his
seat. He looked directly at the boy, then ducked his head and rubbed his
chin. "Phantom, I don't usually interfere in a cadet's business," he began
slowly, "but, well, to be honest, I care a lot about Ray . . ."

"Chef, you don't have to worry about him.  He's happy."

"That's not what I mean, Phantom." Chef stood up and faced the window
overlooking the roadway and the Guardhouse. He sighed heavily and his
shoulders slumped. "I had a son, Phantom," said Chef quietly. "He's 23 now
and I haven't seen him since he was a year old." Chef turned his head and
looked at The Phantom. "But then, I suspect you know that."

The Phantom smiled sheepishly and nodded.

Chef returned to gazing out the window. "It's no secret. I had a son. I
lost a son."

"You'll find him again, Chef." The Phantom wanted to reach out and hold
Chef, to share the hurt he was feeling.

Chef turned and smiled. "Thank you for that, Phantom, but no, he's gone
from my life, and I know it all too well." He returned to his desk, sat
down, and began playing with his fountain pen. "For a long time I
deliberately avoided getting close to anybody, especially the younger
Ratings. I didn't want to become emotionally involved with anybody."

"Until Ray?"

"Until Ray," confirmed Chef. "For too many years I avoided becoming close
to anybody and then in walks Ray! Don't ask me to explain what happened,
because I can't. He touched something deep inside this alcoholic, bloated
old piece of flesh I call a body and I, well, you might say I fell in love
with him. He's everything I ever wanted in a son. He's kind, he's gentle,
he's smart and he's not afraid of hard work. I love him, Phantom, as a son,
and not the way he loves you, or the way you love Stevie."

"He knows that, Chef," replied The Phantom.

Chef grinned. "Well, I certainly didn't try too hard to keep my feelings
secret."

The Phantom returned the grin. "He loves you, Chef. And you know he does."

Chef nodded his head in agreement. "I know, I know. And because I know I'm
afraid for him." He threw his pen onto the desk. "Damn that little
bastard!"

"Chef?"

"Little Big Man," explained Chef. He leaned back in his chair and stared at
the deck head. "Phantom, Ray is not the first gay cadet, nor is he the
last, to come strolling down the pike. His being gay is not a problem so
far as I am concerned.  He is what he is and that's all I'll say on the
subject."

"You don't mind, really?"

"Why should I?" demanded Chef. "I have accepted him as my surrogate son! I
accept him and I love him and it doesn't mean damn all if he sleeps with
another boy, a girl, or a chimpanzee! A son is a son and you love him no
matter what!" He smiled slyly. "Even when he uses my office as his
honeymoon suite!"

The Phantom's jaw dropped. Then he closed it, coughed, turned red and
looked frantically around. "I . . ."

Chef held up his hand. "Phantom, I know the signs. Somebody was in here
last night."

"You do? I mean . . ."

Chef laughed and rubbed his nose. "Two normal teenage boys rutting leave a
spoor. I knew it wasn't you, because I know where you spend your nights. It
wasn't the Brats or Sandro, I'm sure of that." He cocked an eyebrow. "That
left Ray."

The Phantom squirmed. Chef obviously knew that he knew more than he was
going to tell. He didn't want to lie to Chef.

Chef leaned forward and looked at The Phantom. "I don't want you to betray
a confidence, Phantom.  All I want to know is that Ray's happy."

The Phantom thought a moment. "Yes, he's happy."

"And the other boy? He's treating Ray okay?"

The Phantom smiled warmly. "More than okay."

"Good. I'll say no more about it, then." Chef chuckled. "I'll let you tell
Ray that the sofa pulls out into a bed." Chef stood up and gestured for The
Phantom to follow him.

They went into the dining hall where Chef poured a cup of coffee for both
of them then led the way to the Chiefs' table. Chef idly stirred his
coffee, gathering his thoughts. The Phantom sipped the hot coffee, waiting
patiently for Chef to tell him what was on his mind. "Phantom, last night I
saw what went on in here with Little Big Man. After everything was over
with, I went home. I went to bed. Then didn't I just lie there, thinking
about what had happened?" He smiled wanly. "I couldn't sleep for thinking
about Ray and, to be honest, his relationship with you."

The Phantom coloured slightly. He liked Chef and would not lie to
him. "Chef, he's very special to me, and you're right, I love him. But our
relationship is not as serious as you might think."

Chef looked at The Phantom. He grinned and shook his head. "What you and
Ray get up to when you're alone is not my concern. I've been around since
the old King died and I know what happens between boys. Hell, it's almost a
rite of passage for boys to be with other boys." He gestured
expansively. "Some do it, experience it, and move on. Others don't."

"I think Ray will move on. He won't like it, but he'll move on. His family
will force him to."

"You know about his family?"

"Oh, yes. A real fundamentalist Come-to-JeeeZUZ crew," replied The Phantom
with a laugh.

Chef raised his arms and raised his eyes toward the deck
head. "Hallelujah!"

"Yeah," agreed The Phantom as he struggled to gain control. "Church twice
on Sunday and every Wednesday just to keep the Devil out of you."

Chef wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and looked very
serious. "That is what worries me.  If his family ever finds out what Ray
has been doing here, God alone knows what they'll do."

The Phantom agreed. "Pray over him, I expect. Or disown him.  Having sex
with another boy is pretty high on their list of sins that get you a
massive dose of hellfire and brimstone!"

Chef snorted in derision. "So much for loving the sinner but hating the
sin." He rubbed his face, concern plainly written in his eyes. "Phantom,
Ray will never have to worry about anything so long as I'm around. If word
does get to his family, and they give him grief, well, I'll be there for
him. What worries me, though, is that he gets the reputation of liking
boys. I don't want him to have to go through life with some jerk whispering
'faggot' after him. I've seen it happen and believe me, it's not a pretty
picture."

The Phantom knew exactly what Chef was getting at. As both The Gunner and
Cory had said, all it took was a word and a guy's reputation, his good
name, was ruined forever. The stigma of homosexuality, once applied, could
never be erased. He knew from reading Little Big Man's letters that Ray had
never been mentioned. He hastened to reassure Chef that Ray was, at least
for the time being, safe. "Chef, Ray is very careful about what he does and
whom he does it with. None of the other boys know about him and me. They
also don't know about him and his, um, new friend."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself," grumped Chef.

"I am," replied The Phantom with conviction. "Ray's like I was, before I
fell in with what The Gunner calls a gang of thieves and cutthroats. To
most of the cadets he's just the guy who works in the galley and cooks the
food. To the others, the ones who are his friends, well, he's Ray, he's one
of them and they would never, even if they knew, talk about him." He stood
up and looked pointedly at his watch. "I better get my ass in gear if you
want me back by 1100."

Chef reached out and grasped The Phantom's hand. "Phantom, talk to him for
me, please."

The Phantom gently pulled his hand away. "Chef there is no reason why you
can't talk to him yourself."

Chef pushed his chair back and waved his arms. "I couldn't do that,
Phantom! I wouldn't know what to say. I'd get all flustered and embarrass
him!"

The Phantom grinned and shook his head. "Chef, you can talk to him. He'll
listen to you. Trust me, I know."

Chef cocked an eyebrow.  "Yeah?  How do you know that?

"Because, Chef, only yesterday Ray told me that he loved you very much."

"He did!" Chef grinned widely. "He actually said that?"

"Sure did. Of course, he also said that while he loved you, he didn't love
you enough to take a shower with you."

"WHAT?" The Phantom wheeled and took off running with Chef bellowing after
him. "And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?  Phantom, come back
here!  Come back here you insufferable little guttersnipe! God Damn It!
Phantom, you get your skinny white ass back here . . . God Damn It!
. . . PHANTOM!"

******

The Phantom chuckled most of the way to Comox. Chef was a good old boot and
Ray was lucky to have him as his self-appointed Guardian Angel.

His good mood dissipated, however, as he entered the town. The Phantom for
the first time experienced the frustration of driving. Every street seemed
lined with vehicles of all descriptions and the bay side Esplanade was
choked with slow-moving Sunday drivers admiring the scenery, loading their
cars and vans with purchases, double-parked wherever and whenever the
driver felt like it. Near the docks, where the fishing fleet tied up, huge
refrigerated trucks, loaded with the last of the day's catch, were pulling
into the seemingly never-ending stream of vehicles, further congesting the
town's streets. To add to the confusion and frustration there were the
pedestrians - tourists for the most part - who wandered lemming-like up one
side of the Esplanade and down the other, or darted across the street for
no apparent reason.  It was all very aggravating.

The Phantom spent more time reaching the trophy shop than he had in getting
into the bloody town! Placing Todd's order took all of five minutes. He
then drove to the small Laundromat that his mother used occasionally. It
was owned by two spinster sisters who, when not arguing with each other or
the horde of cats that infested their shop, would separate, wash, dry, fold
and pack your laundry. They charged $2.00 extra for this service. The
Phantom thought it a bargain.

He parked the Land Rover and was just about to open the back door of the
vehicle to unload the laundry bags when he heard a raucous car horn and
someone calling his name. The Phantom looked around and saw Jeff Jenson's
red, Mustang convertible being smoothly wheeled through the traffic.

Jeff expertly pulled his car alongside the Land Rover and stopped. Seated
beside him was his younger brother, Robbie. "Hey, Phantom, how they
hangin'" shouted Robbie. He waved happily and grinned.

The Phantom returned the wave and leaned against the passenger-side
windscreen of Jeff's car. He saw that both boys were dressed in almost
identical attire: white, sleeveless T-shirts, loose, dark blue running
shorts, and Nikes with no socks. The Phantom had known both Jeff and Robbie
forever. He had gone to school with Jeff, and at one time had frankly
lusted after the football player's smooth, chiselled body. At first glance
Jeff did not seem to have changed. His shock of black hair was just as
curly and shining with health as The Phantom remembered. The muscles in his
chest still rippled. His smile was just as brilliantly white as it had ever
been, and the bulge in his shorts was just as enticing as it had been last
month, when they had last met. Yet there was something wrong.

It was not that Robbie had pride of place in the front seat of Jeff's
convertible, though The Phantom did wonder what had happened to the Babe of
the Week, who usually occupied that position. No, it was something else. As
Jeff talked The Phantom looked at his smooth, classically formed face, and
realized what was wrong. The difference was in Jeff's eyes. They no longer
sparkled quite as brightly as they had. The Phantom thought that there was
a special sadness, almost a look of despair in Jeff's eyes.

" . . .So, Phantom, me and the Squirt here, we're going up the valley,"
Jeff was saying. "Going to do a little hiking, a little camping maybe
. . ."

"I told you not to call me that, Jeff!" snapped Robbie, rudely interrupting
his brother. "You know I don't like it when you call me that! I have a
name!"

Jeff paled a little. "Okay, Robbie, I'm sorry. I forgot, okay?" There was a
wheedling tone in Jeff's voice that The Phantom found irritating.

Robbie glared at his brother but said nothing. He turned in his seat and
smiled coyly at The Phantom.

The vision of Robbie and Jeff together, in Brendan's room, flashed through
The Phantom's mind. He remembered again the scene of both boys pleasuring
each other, and he remembered Jeff's confession to him.

Robbie brushed away the hank of his brown hair that had fallen over his
eyes and looked evenly at The Phantom. He was still a beautiful boy, and
his white T-shirt set off his tanned skin to perfection. "You coming to my
birthday party, Phantom?" he asked, his voice low, and husky. "It's on the
1st of September. You don't have to bring a present or anything." As he
spoke Robbie opened his legs and then slowly drew up his left leg, causing
the fabric of his shorts to ride up his smooth, hairless thigh. He spread
his legs slightly, deliberately showing The Phantom that he was not wearing
any underwear.

Despite himself The Phantom looked at Robbie's thin, soft cocklet, tan and
pink, with just a hint of a ridge of skin girding his perfect, soft pink,
rosebud helmet. His balls, small ovals, hung very low, rising slowly as he
breathed.  Surrounding his treasure was a wispy ring of soft, light brown
pubic hair.

Robbie saw the look on The Phantom's face. His eyes lit up and he slowly
reached down to brush his finger along his soft cocklet, all but daring The
Phantom to say something.

The Phantom was shocked at Robbie's blatant display of raw sexuality. He
quickly looked away. "So, Jeff, ah, haven't seen too much of you guys this
summer," he stammered.

Jeff had seen The Phantom's stricken look. He knew from bitter experience
what Robbie had done. "Just hangin' out with the brother, here," said Jeff
as he reached over and, using the pretence of squeezing Robbie's knee,
slowly pushed the boy's leg down. "Not much else to do."

Robbie flashed Jeff a dirty look, then turned his attention back to The
Phantom. There was a strange look in his eyes, and The Phantom felt as if
for some reason Robbie had scored a point with Jeff.

"A day without football, baseball, or some sport is a day wasted as far as
Jeff's concerned." Robbie reached over and idly rubbed his hand along
Jeff's bare inner thigh. He grinned a little devil grin. "We've kept busy,
haven't we Jeff?"

Jeff returned the grin. He raised his arm and placed it across the back of
Robbie's seat, his fingers toying with the soft curls of hair that lined
his brother's neck. "Yeah, we have," he said noncommittally.

The Phantom had never claimed to be the brightest thing to come slithering
out of the scuppers, but he would have to be a bivalve not to understand
exactly what was going on between Robbie and Jeff. It was all too apparent
that the relationship between the two brothers had progressed far beyond
the cuddling, kissing and licking stages. It was obvious that they were
deeply involved in a forbidden passion. Which explained several things:
Robbie replacing the Babe of the Week, the almost identical outfits, Jeff
gently forcing Robbie to close his legs, the gentle rubbings and
touching. There was something else, though, something The Phantom could not
quite put his finger on.

Jeff jerked his chin toward the Land Rover, and then glanced at the
Laundromat. "You takin' in laundry now, Phantom?" he asked, abruptly
changing the subject.

The Phantom grinned and shook his head. He explained the water restrictions
in force at AURORA.

"It's the same in town," put in Robbie. "Dad's all hot and bothered about
that. He can't water the lawn or fill the pool." He looked directly at
Jeff. "But then, it doesn't take much to get him all hot and bothered, does
it Jeff?"

Jeff seemed to shrink back in his seat. "He's just Dad, Robbie."

Robbie waved his hand airily, dismissing Jeff's reply.

"The guys need clean clothes," said The Phantom. "It's so hot we change
clothes at least twice a day."

"Yeah, it's real ball-hangin' weather," agreed Robbie. "It's not so bad if
you don't wear undies." He reached over and placed his hand on the bulge in
Jeff's shorts. With his thumb he began rubbing the head of Jeff's dick
through the thin fabric of his shorts. "Jeff and I don't, do we, Jeff?"
Jeff gave The Phantom a pleading look, hesitated, and then slowly placed
his hand over Robbie's. Robbie shot his brother another dirty look,
deliberately squeezed his brother's dick, and then turned to address The
Phantom. "Sometimes Jeff gets mad at me because he thinks I get too
familiar with him."

"Robbie . . ." groaned Jeff.

"Well you do!" snapped Robbie, his face hard.

"Robbie, all I said was that there are some things . . ."

"We'll talk about it later, Jeff." Robbie's voice was steely.

The Phantom took a step back. He did not quite believe what he was hearing
and seeing. He did believe that Jeff had just received a warning.

Robbie grinned at The Phantom. "So, can you come to my birthday party? He
smiled slyly. "Amy will be there and I know you'll get lucky, because she
likes you."  Jeff's jaw dropped. "Robbie," he gasped.

"Well Phantom will!" insisted Robbie. He rounded on his brother. "She's a
slut and if she's going to give it away she might as well give it to
Phantom."

For a brief moment Jeff's backbone solidified. "Robbie, that's enough. Amy
is our sister and you shouldn't talk that way about her. She is not a
slut."

Robbie was not about to admit defeat nor would he yield an inch. "Oh yeah?
Well if she isn't, how come Greg Langston is spreading it all over town
that she gave him a blow job up by the reservoir last week after that rock
concert he took her to? She likes sucking cock almost as much as . . ."

"That's enough, Robbie," Jeff snarled angrily.

"What did you say?" Robbie's voice was dangerously low, almost a growl.

"Robbie, please, enough!" begged Jeff, his voice a bare whisper. "Please."

A malevolent gleam came into Robbie's eyes. "Maybe you're right, Jeff. We
wouldn't want Dad to hear about it, now would we? You know how
straight-laced he is when if comes to sex."

At the mention of their father Jeff's face lost its colour and a desperate,
haunted look came into his eyes. His hands gripped the steering wheel
tightly. "There's no need to tell Dad anything," he managed to choke out.

Robbie's hand returned to Jeff's crotch. He grinned triumphantly as he
slowly stroked Jeff's dick. "No need to tell him anything at all." Robbie
continued to stroke his brother and the mound in Jeff's hiking shorts began
to thicken and grow longer.

As The Phantom watched wide-eyed the head of Jeff's cock slowly emerged
from the edge of his shorts, the classic, curving helmet bright red with
excitement, a small drop of precum glistening in the harsh August
sun. "Dear God in Heaven!" gasped The Phantom silently, finally realizing
what was going on. He was appalled and disgusted at what he was seeing. He
quickly averted his eyes and turned and began to pull the bags of laundry
from the Land Rover. "I won't be going to your party, Robbie," he said as
he threw a bag over his shoulder. "I made some plans to go camping, so I'll
be away."

Robbie rubbed his thumb along the curving dome of Jeff's spongy,
mushroom-shaped glans, and then abruptly turned in his seat. "Too bad,
Phantom, it might have been a fun day." He grinned what he thought was a
lascivious grin.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll have a good time anyway," returned The
Phantom. He did not return Robbie's grin.  "Anyway, I have to get going,
guys. It was nice to see you both."

Robbie snorted. He recognized the tone of dismissal in Phantom's
voice. Anger flashed briefly in his eyes, and then disappeared. He should
have known better than to try putting the moves on Phantom. He was such a
straight arrow! "No, it wasn't," he drawled insolently. He turned to Jeff
and waved his hand, a silent order to get going. "Let's go, Jeff. I'm
starting to sweat and my balls are hanging down to my knees!"

Jeff nodded woodenly. "Sure Robbie, whatever you want." He started the car
and as it pulled away he looked sadly at The Phantom. "See ya, Phantom."

As the car pulled into the stream of traffic The Phantom watched it go,
sadly shaking his head and firm in the opinion that while Jeff's hands
might be on the steering wheel, Robbie was firmly in the driver's seat.

******

" . . .Now you remember to tell your mother that we asked after her," said
the thin, white-haired lady behind the battered and chipped counter top.

"Yes, I will Miss Doris," replied The Phantom patiently. Since entering the
laundry he had been complimented on how handsome he was (much blushing),
gently chided for not visiting (working) and had his parents asked after
twice.

"And tell your young friend that he'll have white things or we'll know the
reason why," said the other white-haired lady, a heavier version of her
sister.

"I surely will, Miss Margaret," said The Phantom as he moved toward the
door.

"He'll appreciate it and I do thank you for trying to help him out."

Miss Doris laughed a tinkly, old lady laugh. "Phantom, we haven't done
anything, yet, and it's no trouble. It is not the first time this has
happened."

The Phantom grinned his goofy, lopsided grin. "I brought you a lot of
work."

"Yes, you did," agreed Miss Margaret. "Not that we mind."

He pulled open the door and waved. "I still appreciate it, Miss
Margaret. And I know the other boys will."

As he stepped into the street and was about to pull the door closed The
Phantom heard Miss Doris speaking. "Phantom is such a nice boy."

"Of course he is," replied her sister. "His mother raised him right.  Not
like some I could mention."

"Now, Margaret . . ."

The Phantom smiled and closed the Laundry door. He walked across the
street, dodging the tourists and cars, and leaned against the waist high
railing that lined the seawall.

The harbour was all but empty. The ferry for the mainland had sailed, the
fishing boats were tied up at their wharf. There were two small sailboats
tacking back and forth, not making much headway, there was so little
wind. As he watched the helmsman on the nearest boat bent forward and
presently a young boy came up from down below. He immediately began taking
down the sails while the helmsman flashed up the boat's outboard motor.

As the boat put-putted toward the marina it turned slightly, coming closer
to the Esplanade, affording The Phantom a perfect view of the boy. He was
leaning against the mast of the boat, taking advantage of what little
breeze was generated as the boat passed through the water, and was young,
no more than 14 as far as The Phantom could judge, with dark hair and a
slim, lithe body. He was wearing a dark coloured swimsuit. A Speedo? No,
the suit was cut high in the waist and thighs. Not a Speedo. As the boat
passed the boy waved to The Phantom, who waved back.

The Phantom stared after the boat, and the boy, as the small vessel receded
into the distance, thinking of the first time he had become aware of Jeff
Jensen, of the seminal moment when he had realized that all his fears, all
his feelings, were personified in a boy he had really known all of his
life.

Four years ago, and a few months, The Phantom had sat in the bleachers of
the Highland High School pool, watching a swimming demonstration. It had
been an open house, a sort of welcome for all the new students who would be
entering high school in the coming September. The Phantom had been 12 years
and 9 months old, a soon to be freshman. Jeff had been a sophomore, a dark,
handsome, slim youth already on his way to becoming the fair-haired, golden
boy of Comox.

>From the moment Jeff, a member of the Junior Boys Dive and Swim Team,
stepped onto the podium, preparing to show off his skills, The Phantom had
been infatuated with him, to the extent that on that early summer morning,
he had sat stupefied, oblivious to the other divers, seeing only Jeff as he
dove gracefully, twisting, turning, sliding through the water with barely a
ripple, proudly displaying his wonderfully formed body, his barely hidden
genitals thick and heavy in the tight, thin fabric of his Speedo.

Up until that moment Jeff had always been just one of the neighbourhood
kids, somebody to play pickup ball with, who had a bratty baby brother and
a sister who every time she saw The Phantom seemed bound and determined to
get her hand up, down, in or around his shorts. Thinking back on, it The
Phantom was thankful that his mother still bought his underwear back
then. Tight briefs under your shorts at least kept little girl hands from
touching IT!

All that had changed at the open house. The Phantom had been so overcome he
had orgasmed, twice (dry, if the truth was told. His first true orgasm, a
wet dream, would not occur for another five months. He would be dreaming of
Jeff when it happened).

For the next three years The Phantom had watched Jeff grow and move from
sports triumph to sports triumph. Jeff moved effortlessly from swimming to
baseball to quarterback of the football team. He was the golden boy, the
boy every father wanted his own son to be, and the boy who smiled and
beckoned and every girl fought to be with. Jeff had it all: looks, brains,
fame, and just enough notoriety to make it all interesting.

For three years and more, The Phantom had dreamed his dreams of being with
Jeff. At night, in the still darkness, again and again he returned to the
vision of Jeff. When he and Sam had sat, naked from the waist down in the
broken down shack, fisting each other's dick, and pumping like madmen, it
had not been Sam's thick, skinned-covered organ with the tight, angry,
red-rimmed opening that hid, then uncovered with each stroke of The
Phantom's hand the ugly, deeply purple, oversized head. It was Jeff's slim,
circumcised, perfect cock. It had not been Sam's hand on The Phantom's
smaller, thinner replica of Jeff's cock. It had been Jeff's hand.

Eventually, as The Phantom grew older, and had begun to work at AURORA, the
nightly images of Jeff had faded, replaced by images of other boys. Harry,
the Twins, and later, after he had begun his night-time forays, vivid
memories of the then nameless boys he visited.

The Phantom rummaged through his trouser pockets and found his crumpled
pack of cigarettes. He lit up, inhaled, filling his lungs from the noxious
weed, then exhaled, watching as the tobacco smoke formed a thick cloud in
the still, warm air. He looked toward the marina. The sailboat, and the boy
on it, had disappeared into the jumble of hulls and masts that marked the
marina slips.

"Full circle," thought The Phantom as he took another drag on his
cigarette. Four years ago Jeff, a slim, lithe, awesomely handsome creature
in a dark Speedo, envied and lusted after, the real Jeff had come into his
life. And now, just as the boy, slim, lithe, in a dark bathing suit had
disappeared into the anonymity of the marina, so too had the real Jeff
disappeared down a dark, anonymous highway.

The Phantom shuddered and replayed in his mind the horrible, depressing
scenes of Jeff and Robbie, mourning the loss of the handsome, bright-eyed
boy whom only a month before The Phantom had wanted do be with, if only for
a little time, a boy whom, in the time before AURORA, The Phantom could,
and probably, would have loved.

That Jeff was gone, replaced by a frightened boy, so afraid of offending
his little brother that he would endure any humiliation rather than have
his underage lover divulge their secret. Which, in a way, was unfair to
Robbie. Jeff had walked into their affair with his eyes wide open. He was
in love with Robbie. He was also jealous that Robbie would find other boys
attractive and would try, as he had, to attract other boys. Jeff's pushing
down Robbie's leg - no matter how gently - to hide the boy's treasure from
The Phantom's gaze had held a wealth of meaning. He was signalling that
Robbie was his. Robbie's fondling, blatantly, openly, without fear, was
also a signal: Jeff was his, and his alone, not to be shared with a girl,
or with another boy.

At the end of the day, though, Jeff's fear was palpable. Robbie, for
whatever reason, had chosen to play the dominant role in his relationship
with his older brother. Jeff, out of fear, was the passive one. The Phantom
threw the remainder of his cigarette over the railing and turned, resting
against the iron, rust-pitted rail, asking himself if sex plus fear
equalled power. Or did sex plus power equal fear? He was not all that sure
just what the answer was.

The Phantom watched the colourful kaleidoscope of humanity, tourists and
townsfolk, strolling by, filling the sidewalks and occasionally stepping
into the motorway. Every age group seemed to be represented. There were
grey-haired pensioners, sometimes alone, more often couples; young
marrieds, always it seemed with a baby in a stroller and a young child at
their side; groups of teenage girls, laughing and giggling as only girls
could laugh and giggle; troops of teenage boys, scrubbed, hair slicked
back, strutting and posturing in hopes of catching the attention of the
girls. There were others, young couples, mostly teenagers, male and female,
strolling, arms around the other's waist, stopping to window shop, admire
each other, or kiss lightly.

As The Phantom watched one couple they stopped before a shop window. The
boy lowered his head, nodded at something on display, and whispered in the
girl's ear. She laughed delightfully and playfully slapped his shoulder.

Seeing the flirtatious interplay between the boy and the girl, The Phantom
smiled cynically. The boy, as were all the other boys, was doing what his
culture told him what he must do: pursue the female of the species, a
pursuit that would, more often than not, end in denial, for the same
culture forbade him from reaching the ultimate goal, save with the blessing
of God and Church.  In pursuit of the almost unattainable goal each boy
dressed himself in the plumage he thought best attracted the females:
tight, white T-shirts or singlets (once called "Giuseppes", now for some
reason called "wife-beaters"), brightly coloured swimming shorts or sports
shorts, which showed their long, muscular legs and accentuated their firm,
round butts and tight packages.

The Phantom shook his head ruefully, knowing, as the others should have
known, that good girls, the ones who "saved" themselves for marriage, would
keep their legs firmly closed, because their culture told them that they
must. Bad girls, those who enjoyed sex and boys, were condemned and
labelled as sluts or whores, pitiful creatures to be tut-tutted after and
talked about behind their backs, just as Robbie had condemned his sister
out of hand for blowing Greg Langston.

Not that The Phantom blamed her. Greg was a muscular, dark-haired
sleepy-eyed, moderately handsome young man who had played football with
Jeff. He wondered if Amy realized that by committing what society
considered an unnatural and deviant act - sucking Greg's penis - the
condemnation for that act would follow her as long as she remained in
Comox. Just as it would follow Jeff if ever the truth about his relations
with his younger brother was ever revealed. In Jeff's case, however, the
condemnation would be violent and vitriolic. Amy's sin would be whispered
about. Jeff's would be proclaimed from the church steps. Greg, for allowing
his penis to be sucked by a girl would be snickered after, but as everyone
knew, boys would be boys.

Jeff would be driven from the town. The culture in which he lived
abominated homosexuality in all its forms. It saved its vitriol for young
men who had sex with young boys. Jeff would be condemned from bench and
pulpit.  If he managed to avoid jail, he would be cast out, a pariah, never
to be spoken of except in the most scornful tones. His family would disown
him, neither knowing nor caring what happened to him. His past prowess as
an athlete, the unnumbered trophies, ribbons and championships that he had
helped bring to the town, all would never be remembered. The glories that
were Jeff would be forever submerged in a tidal wave of hate.

The Phantom started, realizing that he had been looking at the wrong
equation. It was not a question of sex plus power equalling fear. Jeff had
been reduced to a quivering husk, a grovelling, obsequious Uriah Heep,
because sex plus the fear of discovery equalled power. Jeff might be
vaguely aware that any hint of his relationship with Robbie becoming public
knowledge would result in total, apocalyptic destruction. Robbie knew it.

Sly, manipulative, sneaky Robbie knew it! Just as surely as he knew that if
what he did with Jeff came to the attention of the authorities Jeff would
go to jail! Just as he also knew that the responsibility for their dark and
forbidden relationship, the blame, would all be placed squarely on Jeff,
for Robbie was after all a minor child, incapable of initiating or
sustaining an immoral relationship. Jeff, at 18, was an adult, and would be
portrayed as the predator. Robbie was a minor, and would be seen as the
innocent victim of his own brother's lust!

Thinking of Robbie caused a low growl to rise in The Phantom's throat. He
recalled with distaste the morning Robbie had tried to seduce him. The
Phantom had no particular feelings for Amy, but Robbie was hardly one to
talk. If The Phantom's suspicions were correct, and Robbie's body language
and Jeff's whimpering demeanour suggested just that, then Robbie was doing
a hell of a lot more with Jeff than Amy ever dreamed of doing with Greg
Langston! God how The Phantom wished now that he had lashed out at the
little bastard for calling his sister a slut! But then, that would not have
been wise. It would do no one any good to antagonize the little bugger. It
could also be dangerous for Jeff. Robbie's threat to mention his
relationship to his father had all but reduced Jeff to a slavish wreck. The
Phantom did not know what malevolence Robbie was capable of and he had no
desire to find out. Jeff needed a friend, not an accuser.

Shaking his head sadly The Phantom glanced at his watch. It was time that
he was no longer standing here. Chef would be waiting impatiently for him
to get his skinny white ass back to AURORA.

The Phantom dodged the slow moving traffic and got into the Land Rover, his
thoughts returning to Jeff as he started the engine and pulled into the
traffic. Jeff had obviously discovered, as the poor saps who wandered the
Comox Esplanade had not, that the Grail of Pleasure was not female, but
male. He had discovered that only another boy could bring him to such
pinnacles of ecstasy that mere sex with a girl paled in comparison. Only
another boy knew instinctively the secret places, the secret ways that
brought boys to the ultimate heights of passion.  It was a pity that Jeff
had made his discovery in so frail a vessel as his brother. Robbie was
almost 13 going on a venal, vicious 30. Jeff, having tasted the contents of
the Grail, and been transported to heights of lust he never knew existed,
would do anything to keep Robbie happy, contented, and more importantly,
silent.

The Phantom thought of the parallels between Harry's relationship with
Stefan, and Jeff's relationship with his brother. He felt truly sorry for
Jeff. While Harry had knowingly, and happily entered into his relationship,
Jeff had, so far as The Phantom could tell, been victimized into his
relationship with his brother. Hell and sheeit, what a fool Jeff had been!

Jeff had initially tried to offer comfort to his younger sibling during a
storm - as The Phantom himself had done with Randy - and then gone and
allowed his innate homosexuality to come out and allowed himself to be
seduced. In a way The Phantom could understand what had happened. He
remembered the night that he had slept in the Mess Hall lounge with Randy
and Joey, when both boys had huddled against his body, seeking the warmth
and comfort that at times only an older brother could provide. The Phantom
tried not to be too judgmental. Had he not already been aware of his own
sexuality, he might have succumbed to temptation as easily as Jeff had
unwittingly done.

As he remembered his conversation with Jeff after the Sunday barbecue The
Phantom realized that Jeff's actions had never been predatory. If there was
a predator it had been Robbie. Jeff's mistake in accommodating his
brother's initial advances had been compounded by his succumbing to
Robbie's further, lustful demands. Jeff, too late, had dug himself deeper
and deeper into a hole, a hole that could destroy him. Robbie would never
let him forget what they had done, and were doing. Jeff was Robbie's stud,
there to pleasure him, to satisfy him, and would be until the day came that
he could break completely free of his life in Comox and his brother.

Harry's affair with Stefan had ended partly because Stefan had returned
home, and partly because Harry had the good sense to realize that what he
and the boy were doing could not be condoned. Jeff's affair with Robbie
would end if Jeff had the intestinal fortitude that The Phantom had always
credited him with, very soon. Jeff would be taking up an athletic
scholarship at UBC, and moving to Vancouver. The question would be then,
would the affair end and Robbie move on to prey upon another unsuspecting
boy, or would Jeff resume his disastrous accommodation every time he came
home? The Phantom did not have the answer. He could only hope that Jeff
did.

******

As he drove slowly along Comox Road The Phantom analysed Jeff's situation,
and he began comparing it to another, far more serious situation, a
situation that demanded action so drastic that he could not quite bring
himself to make the decision he felt deep inside had to be made, a decision
that could initiate an action almost too horrible to contemplate.

He pulled over and stared at the white buildings of AURORA shimmering in
the heat. A cold tremor ran through his body as he wondered just what the
consequences would be. Robbie had awakened a beast in his brother, a beast
that Jeff could not control and for a long while The Phantom wondered if by
his own actions he would awaken such a beast, a beast that could not be
controlled or contained and, once the beast had been awakened, how high a
butcher's bill would have to be paid.