Date: Sun, 1 Jun 2003 16:12:19 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Phantom Of Aurora: Chapter 20

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).


The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 20


Todd yelped as Cory's fingers squeezed and rubbed the tender head of his
still spasming dick, teasing a small drop of his seed from the now closed
slit. Breathing heavily, Todd rolled away from his brother and cupped his
genitals protectively. Ever since they had discovered puberty, two months
past their 13th birthday (a day that will live in infamy), sex with Cory
had been less an act of physical pleasure than adventure in sensual
delights. Tonight had been no different. At about the same time that The
Gunner's car drove out of the parking lot they left the sofa and had fallen
into the bed, taking full advantage of The Gunner's invitation.

For Cory being with Todd was the most pleasurable experience he could
imagine. Despite their reputation they were not as promiscuous as some
believed, and were content to enjoy each other whenever they had the
opportunity and during the course of the evening they had enjoyed each
other to the utmost. Cory, always a quick study, had perfected The
Phantom's technique and taken Todd across the river. Todd had attempted to
reciprocate but Cory, perversely, would have none of it. Tonight, he
proclaimed loudly, was Todd's night. Cory was determined to bring as much
pleasure to his brother as he possibly could and Todd, although surprised,
was happy to comply with his brother's wishes.

For two hours they made deeply passionate love to each other. Cory, after
taking Todd to the heights twice, two mind boggling experiences in
themselves, had finally rolled on his back, pulled his legs to his chest
and presented his smooth, pink, rosebud to his brother, allowing Todd to
return measure for measure the pleasures Cory had visited on him.

Forgetting that they were not in their rooms at home (where they lived on
the third floor in splendid, if somewhat Spartan isolation), Cory gave vent
to Todd's ministrations with loudly exclaimed enthusiasm, so much so that
Todd was afraid that they would wake the occupants of the neighbouring
room, until he remembered that he and Cory, along with Harry and Greg (both
of whom could sleep through a Naval bombardment), were the occupants of the
neighbouring room.

After withdrawing from Cory, Todd was physically and emotionally
drained. The old excitement of being together in the same bed had returned
and Cory's ejaculation, which came seconds after Todd's, was stupendous. It
did not, however, prevent him from terrorizing Todd's sensitive glans, so
much so that Todd, after yelping loudly and cupping himself protectively,
jumped out of the bed and retired to the relative safety of the sofa, where
he watched while Cory attempted to tease and tantalize him by lying with
his legs spread open, a wicked grin on his face, and waving his soft
genitals seductively.

Todd, his legs weak from his exertions, tottered to the bed, kissed Cory
and told him it was time to leave. Cory, very reluctantly, and pouting as
he always did when Todd brought their lovemaking to an end, climbed out of
bed and began dressing.

After dressing they carefully tidied the room and made the bed they had
been using, not wanting to cause any embarrassment to The Gunner. They
carefully locked the door behind them, went to their own room, and to bed.

******

For the Twins Saturday had been a wonderful day. Their time with The
Phantom the night before had been at once illuminating and exhilarating,
Phantom being, much to their mutual delight, a wonderful and consummate
lover. Their only regret was that he would not be with them again. As much
as they had enjoyed being with their friend they would not, if their
plotting and machinations bore fruit, make any attempt to repeat their
session with him, just as they had not, since Chris had found Jon, enjoyed
his company again.

Cory and Todd both realized that they had no one to blame but themselves
for this state of affairs. As they showered after their session with The
Phantom they began plotting to find a way to bring him and The Gunner
together. Once they had determined what they were going to do they slept on
their ideas and, on the bus coming down from AURORA, finalized their plans.

Satisfied that they had a plan of action the Twins, like all the other
cadets, then focused on the accommodation that would be provided for them
when they arrived in Victoria. Being in a sense, veterans, all of the
senior cadets had, at one time or another endured what the powers that were
decreed were proper "alternate accommodations for cadets." These ranged
from "H" huts at Camp Borden (four bunks, two bench lockers), long wooden
barracks built during WW II to house the thousands of recruits that had
joined the Colours, to squad tents at CFB Trenton (double bunks, one
blanket and flies). They had all shuddered when they saw the notation at
the bottom of the Orders announcing the parade, which advised them that
appropriate motel accommodation would be provided.

Their visions of one-room shacks on cinder block foundations with outdoor
facilities, were pleasantly dissipated when the buses pulled to a stop in
front the Admiralty Court Motel, a substantial, U-shaped, two-storied brick
structure that boasted a large swimming pool in the centre of the U, a
restaurant that served "home-style" meals, a large play area for toddlers,
a bar (off-limits to cadets) and an outdoor hot tub (which the cadets were
sternly warned not to go into without their swimming trunks on).

The cadets were further surprised to find that their rooms were clean and
spacious, accommodating four cadets in two queen-size beds, and that each
room had its own en-suite bathroom. The proprietors of the motel catered to
tourists with children and the grounds and hallways were spotless.

Upon arrival the cadets were allowed, within reason, to choose whom they
would bunk with. Not surprisingly, like more or less stuck with like, and
senior cadets with senior cadets. The Twins were more than happy to share
their room with Harry and Greg. Their room, on the second deck, rear, and
overlooking the parking lot, was next to that shared by Andy, Kyle, and the
Gunner.

Across the hall were Mike, Phillip, called The Assistant, Mal, and Anson,
(a small concession, allowed only because he was The Assistant's
brother). Ray and Sandro shared a room with Rob and Ryan while Two Strokes,
Jon, Fred and Thumper, as Regulating Staff, were more or less expected to
maintain their own mess. Tyler and Val, Nicholas and Sylvain, as befitted
their rank and station, occupied the corner room directly opposite that
shared by the two officers and The Gunner and all but two of the cadets
were very pleased with their rooms and roommates.

The two exceptions were Matt and Chris. Matt, as the junior Petty Officer
(albeit only Acting), had been detailed to supervise the Cadet Quarters in
The Barracks at CFB Esquimalt and he was not looking forward to trying to
sleep in the same room with fifty rambunctious Sea Puppies and General
Training Cadets. Chris was more than put out because he could not share a
room with Jon. Being a Boatswain, he more or less had to share with Stuart
and Steve and Willy.

Once they had unpacked their gear and settled into their rooms the cadets
were given the balance of the day off. Those with money went downtown to
shop and generally behave as tourists. Those who were broke shucked their
uniforms and put on their swimsuits. It made no difference that the clouds
were gathering above them and threatening rain. The pool was heated and
most of the rooms on the lower level of the motel were occupied by
tourists, including a few nubile teenage girls who did not object to
lounging beside the pool in their bikinis and being worshiped from afar by
some very fine specimens of Canadian teenaged males. To mollify those
cadets who loudly proclaimed that they had been exiled in the Barracks, a
shuttle bus brought them back to the motel, where they quickly joined their
friends.

Matt, relieved that his responsibility as Petty Officer of the Mess and de
facto Keeper of the Sea Puppies (who only paid attention to Harry, anyway)
ended the moment he stepped off the bus, was more than happy to be able to
spend the day with the Twins, whose plans had been upset when they learned
that their parents would not be arriving until the following day due to a
conflict in their father's schedule. After treating Matt to lunch in the
motel restaurant all three boys went up to the Twins' room where they
changed into swimming trunks, which pleased Cory no end.

Matt was aware of the Twins' sexual orientation and figured that sooner or
later they would dream up some way to find out what he had under his Fruit
of the Looms so he decided to get everything out in the open, so to
speak. He deliberately stripped off and delayed putting on his trunks,
walking naked into the bathroom to pee and pretending to examine the view
of the parking lot behind the motel, thus giving both Twins ample
opportunity to see what they could see.  The Twins were delighted, though a
little surprised, in that Matt was almost a carbon copy of them. His penis
was about 3-inches long and perfectly circumcised, a slim, creamy-white
shaft with a pale-rose coloured helmet rising from a nicely proportioned
deep blond bush of pubic hair. His testicles, which were encased in a
smooth-skinned, low-hanging scrotum, were almost exactly the same size as
Cory's.

Matt took his time in putting on his trunks and twice gave himself a good
feel, just to make to sure that the Twins knew that he knew what they were
looking at. As he had suspected, once their curiosity had been satisfied,
Cory and Todd paid more attention to the faded bruises on his behind than
they did the shape of his penis or the hang of his testicles. They tried to
prise out of Matt the details of what had led to his being beaten but Matt
refused to discuss the subject at all, and threatened to hitch a ride back
to The Barracks if they questioned him any further.

Rather than antagonize Matt further the Twins agreed to his suggestion that
they go for a swim and they all went down to the pool where they lounged
about, teasing the Sea Puppies and, after seeing Harry getting the eye from
several of the female tourists in residence, loudly began discussing The
Pride of the Fleet, much to the amusement and unfeigned interest of at
least two of the girls. Harry was so enraged he chased the three boys
around the pool and, when they jumped in the water to escape him, he set
his Sea Puppies on them.

The Sea Puppies, eager to defend The Pride of the Fleet and Harry's honour,
immediately cornered all three boys and would have removed their swimming
trunks forcibly had not Harry extracted an abject apology from all
them. They were permitted to leave the pool and sit on the sidelines where
the Twins watched Matt preen and flex for the benefit of the girls who
lounged nearby.

Matt, aware that he was the object of more than one lascivious stare and
muttered comment behind raised hand on the part of some of the girls, was
15, drop dead handsome, and vain enough to know it. He was also boy enough
to resent the feminine giggles that ensued when he unconsciously sat on a
lounge chair with his legs spread, his upper deck fittings clearly outlined
under the thin inner lining of his trunks. His muttered comments about dumb
females being only interested in the size of a guy's dick got him short
shrift and no sympathy from the Twins. Cory did not help matters when he
told Matt that he deserved what he got because he was good looking and
straight. Todd opined that Matt should be thankful that it was only some
girls looking up the leg of his drawers.

Matt stomped off in a high dudgeon and went into the restaurant where he
sat in a booth and pouted until the Twins came in and sat beside him. They
poked and tickled him, and gave his bum a pat or thirty, flattering him to
a fair-thee-well. Matt at first squirmed and blushed at their antics, then
said, fuck it, and gave each of them a good feel. Then they had a Coke and
watched as the pool and the surrounding area emptied as the sky opened and
the rain came down.

Tyler, rather than have 70 cadets loitering about with nothing to do,
quickly called Andy who arranged for some buses to take those interested
down to the Base where there was a gym and an indoor pool, although without
nubile teenage girls in bikinis at poolside checking out their packages.

Sandro, who lived in Saanich, near Beaver Lake, sought and received
permission from Andy to go home for the night. After speaking with his
father, he also asked permission for some of the cadets to visit his home
for the day. Andy had no objection so long as the cadets were back in their
rooms or in The Barracks no later than 2230, their official bedtime. Using
all his guile and charm Andy managed to swindle Base Transport into giving
him another bus, which in addition to taking the cadets out to Beaver Lake
would pick them up with time to spare. The only flies in the ointment were
that he had to accompany them and, since they were travelling in a DND
vehicle, they all had to wear their uniforms.

Sandro's mother was not quite prepared for the horde of young boys, all
dressed in blue bell-bottomed trousers, starched, white gunshirts, white
caps and polished boots, that descended on her peaceful home. Being a good
Russian mother, however, with only one son to her name, she quickly rallied
her neighbours and before too long every table in the house was piled high
with Russian delicacies. The neighbours came, as did all of Sandro's
relatives who lived within a hundred miles of the house.

Harry was ecstatic with all the kissing that went on. The Twins almost
fainted when Sandro's Uncle Alexei, a tall, wheat-blond, wickedly handsome
Russian male came into the house and bussed them soundly on the cheeks and
lips in the Russian manner.

Over the course of the evening Tyler was flattered on his good looks and
the fact that he was soon to go to Royal Roads. Val was declared a Latin
lover and bussed and hugged by sundry aunts and female cousins. Ray was
slipped a drink of very potent vodka and turned beet red, much to the
amusement of Sandro's male cousins, who had been sipping the liquid fire
almost from the moment they were weaned. Harry, although of
Prussian/Austrian extraction, lived in a part of Manitoba that was, as he
put it, infested with Ukrainians, whose language he spoke and was at least
understandable by most of the older guests. He chattered away, happily
mangling verbs and tenses.

Andy, as an Amerikanski, was engaged in a deep discussion by one of the
neighbours who had served in the Navy (Andy was too much of a gentleman to
ask which Navy). Andre, who never travelled anywhere without his drumsticks
(he slept with them, actually) demonstrated the skill and precision that
had made him "Sticks" in the Bugle Band. The Twins were told how lucky they
were to have their younger brother with them, which set them to giggling
when they realized that their "younger brother" was Matt, who, having blond
hair, blue eyes, and the same colouring as The Twins, did bear a passing
resemblance to them.

Uncle Alexei brought out his balalaika and played the ancient,
heart-wrenching songs of his motherland, which caused a great outpouring of
Russian-Jewish angst for friends and family left behind, for the steppes
and shtetls of the homeland. All in all a good time was had by all.

As the cadets were leaving Sandro's father asked each cadet in turn to
return in September to celebrate Sandro's Bris and to join his family as he
was Bar Mitzvahed. Uncle Alexei, who was standing beside his brother,
snorted contemptuously and announced that he would never subject himself to
the dictates of myths and fairy tales as demanded by the Talmud. This
resulted in such a magnificent outpouring of Russian outrage on the part of
Sandro's father and three of the neighbours that Uncle Alexei, defeated,
retired to the kitchen where his sister-in-law upbraided him for always
being under her feet.

The cadets thought the whole thing a hoot and would not allow Sandro to
apologize. He told them that it was a good thing that Uncle Alexei was a
Jew in name only, having bribed his way out of Russia into Israel. He had
then fled to Canada rather than obey the rulings of the Rabbinical Council
on all Jews following the Law of Abraham. Which was a good thing, said
Sandro, for if Uncle Alexei had followed the Law he would have ended up
being named for the Russian species of gerbils!

When they returned to the motel Harry, who had had a glass or three of
vodka over the mark, insisted on bidding Matt goodnight by kissing him
soundly. He then proceeded to work his way down the bus, bidding everyone a
slobbering good night until Greg dragged him up to their room where he put
the big moose to bed.  Knowing that Andy had gone off to the Esquimalt
Wardroom to join Kyle and Dave Eddy in a medicinal drink, the Twins changed
and broke into The Gunner's room. After their talk with The Gunner, and
taking advantage of his offer to use his bed, they returned to their own
room. Harry was on one side of the bed he shared with Greg, muttering and
grumbling in his sleep. Greg was curled up on the other side of the bed, a
good prim foot away from Harry.

The Twins quickly undressed down to their boxers and went to bed,
positioning themselves in their favourite sleeping position: face-to-face,
as close as possible. They necked and cuddled a little then, with Cory's
hand down the front of Todd's boxers, and Todd's hand down the front of
Cory's boxers, they drifted off to sleep.

Sometime during the night Greg, who had also had one over the mark, rolled
over and spooned his body against Harry's, his arm around his bed mate's
firm, slim waist.

******

"Well, I certainly hope you're satisfied," said The Gunner as he turned off
the logging road and back onto the highway.

The Phantom grinned and rubbed his crotch, which was still warm from their
recent lovemaking. "You sure know to make a guy feel good."

"I'm happy for you," replied The Gunner, returning The Phantom's grin. "Too
bad that's all you're going to get until we get back to Comox."

The Phantom slumped in his seat. "Hell and sheeit, Gunner, why did you have
to go and remind me."

"Because I want to you understand that life is not going to be all
sweetness and light. If you are old enough to have sex with me, then you
are old enough to understand why we can't, under any circumstances, sleep
together in Victoria, or even be alone together."

A sad look crossed The Phantom's face. Then he brightened. "I wonder what
the Twins are doing tonight?"

"Phantom!"

"You're jealous!" The Phantom giggled and kissed The Gunner on the cheek.
"You're jealous that I got it on with the Twins."

The Gunner scowled and hesitated just a moment too long before
answering. "I am not jealous. And you're one to talk. I saw the look in
your eyes when I kissed Harry."

"You did that deliberately, just to piss me off," countered The Phantom. "I
didn't know that you really wanted me when I slept with the Twins. Besides,
it was only sex."

The Gunner slumped his shoulders and grinned weakly. "I know that. I
suppose that I am a little jealous. They're so damned handsome."

"Yes, they are," agreed The Phantom as memories of the glorious tan and
gold bodies of the Twins flashed through his mind, the wonderful,
golden-haired Twins . . . He gently rested his hand on The Gunner's bare
knee. "Sleeping with The Twins - who would jump you in a New York minute,
by the way, if you'd let them - was an experience. I love them, but not the
way I love you. I do not want to spend the rest of my life with the
Twins. I do want to spend the rest of my life with you."

They passed the outskirts of Ladysmith and were halfway to Duncan before
The Gunner spoke. "It's not so much jealousy that's bothering me,
Phantom. I'm totally in love with you and I want to be with you,
always. But what is bothering me is that I'm a lot older than you are and
I'm afraid that one day somebody, not necessarily one of the Twins, but
somebody as good looking and as young will come along . . ."

"That won't happen," said The Phantom emphatically. "No matter what
happens, I love you, and I will always love you. The fact that you are way
older than me doesn't mean jack!"

"Maybe so, but you're going to be tempted," replied The Gunner, choosing to
ignore The Phantom's comment about his being way older than he.

"Will I now?" returned The Phantom with a snort.

Nodding slowly, The Gunner continued. "Phantom, you are so young. You hang
around with people your own age and it stands to reason that you are going
to be attracted to guys your own age."

"So? Except for The Twins I haven't slept with anybody." This was
technically true. He had not slept with anybody. He had had sex with other
guys, but so had The Gunner had sex with other guys.

"I am not talking about The Twins. We are going to be separated for long
periods of time. I might not see you for months on end. When I'm not around
you're going to get horny. You can't help getting horny. You're at the age
when your hormones are raging and your dick has a mind of its own. Sooner
or later lying in bed and thinking about me while you're beating off is not
going to cut it. You will be hornier than hell and you will want to get
laid. You will go looking for it, and I won't blame you a bit."

"Well that's damned decent of you," flared The Phantom. "As if you'd say no
to some stud muffin twitchin' his ass at you after you've been bouncing
around the ocean for three months!"

The Gunner burst out laughing. "Stud muffin?"

"You know what I mean!" The Phantom glared at him. "You can't tell me that
you won't get just as horny as I will. Will you be satisfied with beating
off thinking about me?"

"Did I ever tell you that your eyes sparkle and snap when you get mad?"

"No, and answer my question," returned the Phantom angrily.

"Okay, here goes. I might get horny, but there's no guarantee I'll do
anything about it. I don't jump into bed with just anyone; I don't go to
the bars, or the baths. A guy has to have a certain appeal for me before
I'll sleep with him. I guess that's part of the reason I was still a virgin
at the age of 21."

"Get outta here!"

"It's true. I never had what you would call sex until I was 21. I was on a
course in England. I was doing the Higher Gunnery Course in Whale Island
and my Term Lieutenant asked me to accompany him and act as his steward
when he was invited to Scotland for the shooting in August of 1972." He
shrugged. "We had an affair which lasted until I left England."

"Were you in love with him?"

The Gunner laughed ruefully. "No. I was just another conquest so far as he
was concerned." He saw The Phantom cocking an eyebrow. "He had places to
go, and so did I. After him, there were a few one night stands, nothing
earth shaking at all."

"That's it?"

The Gunner nodded. "Phantom, I was in the Navy, remember? I had to be so
very discreet and so did the men I was with. We couldn't take the chance
that we would be discovered. To be honest what we had was nothing more or
less than raw sex. We were fuck buddies. I liked them, and they appealed to
me." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "There weren't many, and from about
August of '73 until I went to Saigon in February of '75 there was no one at
all."

The Phantom laughed. "Come on Gunner, you must have had opportunities."

"Yes, I did," admitted The Gunner. "But, as I said, a man has to appeal to
me. No one did so I didn't!" He chuckled and then said, "In Saigon I made
up for lost time. There were Australians, and a few New Zealanders. I spent
a lot of time with an American from the Embassy. That ended when I came
home in April of '75."

"So you had some fuck buddies," growled The Phantom sharply. "It's no big
deal, believe me!"

"No big deal," agreed The Gunner. "But the point I'm trying to make is that
you will meet other men, men you will find appealing, men you'll want to be
with." He squared his shoulders. "Phantom, I am not afraid of those men,
just as I am not afraid of losing you to the Twins." His voice grew
quiet. "I am afraid that you will meet some boy your own age, and, well, I
don't want to lose you."

The Phantom crossed his arms and stared out of the window, not seeing the
passing scenery. "You can't think too much of me if that's the way you're
thinking," he complained presently. "Just because I might meet some guy and
we become fuck buddies does not mean I'm going to shack up with him."

"I know that. But Phantom, I love you so much."

"And I love you. And yes, I just might meet a guy that I'll want to fuck
around with. But that's all it's ever going to be. Just fucking around,
nothing more and nothing less. If you want to do it, go ahead."

"It's nice to have your permission," muttered The Gunner.

"Humph!" The Phantom turned his back and returned to staring out the
window.

"Are you going to pout all the way to Victoria?" asked The Gunner
presently.

"Yes."

"I love you my Phantom."

"You have a funny way of showing it," replied The Phantom with an angry
toss of his head.

"I'd show you now, but we can't. How about tomorrow night at my place?"

"I'll think about it. I might be busy tomorrow night. I'm a pretty popular
guy."

"I can believe that."

"Particular, too."

"Really?"

"Yes, really? After all, it took the Twins two years before I let them get
me. I wonder what they're doing tonight?  The Phantom ostentatiously
studied his fingernails, a picture of studied indifference.

"I was sort of hoping they'd help us get your new uniform ready for the
parade tomorrow."

"What parade?" The Phantom gave The Gunner a sideways glance, his curiosity
piqued.

"The British Columbia Day Parade. I have a very good buddy who is one of
the Public Information Officers for CFB Esquimalt and he is going to take
you to the parade. He has arranged for you to sit in the VIP section. I
thought perhaps you would like to wear your dress whites. They're in the
back."

The Phantom squirmed a bit. "Number Elevens?" His vanity mode was kicking
in.

"Yes."

"With gold buttons?"

"And crowns. From Spink and Son Ltd., By Appointment, etcetera. Nothing but
the best for you, Phantom, seeing as how you are the Chief Steward of the
Roay Canadian Sea Cadets."

The Phantom inched a little closer to The Gunner. "In the VIP section?"

"In the VIP section," repeated The Gunner. "In a seat beside the Lieutenant
Governor if I know my friend. If you play your cards right you might get
invited to the reception afterward."

The Phantom inched a little closer and his eyes cast an oblique glance at
The Gunner. "Dress whites? Just like Tyler and Val's?"

"And a new cap, white shoes, the whole nine yards. You'd look some sharp."

"Yeah, I would," agreed The Phantom with no pretence at modesty. He cast a
sly glance at The Gunner. "I'm not going to sleep with you just because you
give me a new uniform."

"Nobody asked you to sleep with me." The Gunner grinned a small, wicked
grin.

"Mind you, there's nothing to prevent you from visiting my room, in case
you need help putting on your new uniform."

"I'll think about it," replied The Phantom stubbornly. "And just who is
this 'buddy' of yours?"

"He's a buddy, a pal, a friend. If I had a brother I'd want him to be that
brother. I love him and he loves me, and before you start yelling he's
straight and no, we have not slept together."

The Phantom's nostrils flared as he rose to the bait. "I will have you know
that I was not about to start yelling and . . ." He slumped back against
his seat and glared malevolently at The Gunner. "You're a bastard, you
know?"

"I am so," returned The Gunner with a laugh. "But a bastard who loves you."

******

Glenn Stuart Britnell stood 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighed in at a slim,
compact, 125 pounds. That is, he would have stood 5 feet 2 inches had he
not been lying on his tightly made bunk in his room on the fourth floor of
The Barracks. He had a well-formed, oval face, liberally sprinkled with
freckles, and pink, fresh lips almost always formed in a smile. That is his
lips would have been formed in a smile if they had not been drawn back over
his contorted mouth, baring his perfect white teeth. He had hazel eyes that
were frank and open, and alive with life, except today, when they were
rolled back in their sockets. He had bright red hair, flecked with gold,
which he normally kept short and well groomed. Today it flew wildly as his
head jerked back and forth.

His well muscled, chiselled body, as slim as a girl's, was naked, and
flushed. The tapering fingers of his right hand were rubbing wildly on his
light tan and pink erection, savaging the underside of the crimson-hued
head of his circumcised penis. With his left hand he kneaded and pulled at
the wrinkled skin of his hair covered scrotal sac. Oblivious to the bands
crashing and banging as they marched back and forth on the parade square
directly across the road from The Barracks, Glenn Stuart Britnell was
masturbating.

Totally oblivious to the noises assaulting his Sunday peace and quiet Glenn
continued to rub his jerking penis, feeling the waves of pleasure radiating
outward from his crotch. He had not beat off or had sex of any kind in a
month. As his balls began their retreat into his crotch he began to make
low growling noises in his throat. His hand moved faster and faster and
finally his dick pulsed and stream after stream of his watery semen
squirted outward to form a pool in his navel. He continued to grunt and
rub, determined to extract every drop of his seed from his depleted
balls. His body jerked and arched as his fingers passed over his cockhead,
and his face contorted in the agony and the ecstasy of the aftermath of a
wonderful Sunday afternoon wank!

As his body came down from his high Glenn lay idly on his bunk, his fingers
slowly massaging his cooling semen into the soft skin of his stomach. Not
soon enough he would be out of this shit pit, away from his two roommates,
who never seemed to be anywhere but in the room, away from the grind and
muck he'd been forced to endure every day for the past month as he slaved
away in the Small Boat Unit of CFB Esquimalt, gathering information that
would, in a few short days, terminate a drug smuggling ring operating out
of the Dockyard.

Glenn Stuart Britnell, actually Master Corporal Britnell, was a cop, and
had been from the day he when he had been deep selected in HMCS CORNWALLIS,
where he was undergoing his Recruit Training. He had never been a beat
MP. He was an undercover genius, possessed with the face, body, and
personality that allowed him to fit in with any crowd. His steel-trap mind
enabled him to absorb details and his photographic memory was invaluable.

As he lay on his bunk, enjoying the feelings that still seeped through him,
he heard a gunner's whistle sound out on the parade square. He looked at
the clock on the bedside table. 1530. The cadets, and there were so often
Sea Cadets out there, would be gone by 1600. Hearing the whistle brought
back memories. Memories of the parade square at CORNWALLIS where he had run
his scrawny ass ragged; memories of the parade square at HMCS STADACONA, in
Halifax.

Reaching under his bunk Glenn retrieved his briefs and wiped his drying
semen from his body.  He rolled out of bed and wandered over to the
window. Forty feet below and across the road was the Lower Parade Square,
filled with a colourful kaleidoscope of cadets dressed in sports gear,
distinguishable as cadets only by their distinctive round caps. Glenn
watched as a tall figure dressed in baggy shorts and a white T-shirt
approached two cadets, both of them wearing Drum Major sashes and holding
Maces in their gloved hands. Glenn's hazel eyes narrowed, then
widened. Below his window was the man who was, unknowingly, responsible for
his career, the man who had, seven years before, saved his skinny ass and
shown him his true self.

Glenn smiled at the memories that came flooding back, memories that caused
him to unconsciously reach down and feel the semen-slicked glans of his
soft penis. He watched as the man who had first shown him the path
carefully corrected the minor mistakes the cadets had made. Glenn grinned
and then hurried from his room, showered, and threw on some clothes.

As he hurried down the stairs to the main lobby Glenn replayed in his mind
that night so long ago when he had been 18-years-old, fresh from the farm
and fresh out of CORNWALLIS, waiting for final approval by his soon to be
masters in Ottawa to begin his MP training in CFB Borden. While he was
waiting he had been assigned to the Halifax Dockyard Manning Pool, a
catchall of all types awaiting their draft chits to other stations, or for
their ships.

It had been a Saturday night and he had been sitting, alone, in his
barracks room in A Block, HMCS STADACONA, reading over and over the letter
he had received only the day before. The letter was from home, and it told
him in stark terms that the girl he had planned to marry not only did not
love him, but that she was also going to be married. She had met another
boy and was, well, she was "that way" and couldn't wait. She hoped that
Glenn understood.

Try as he might Glenn could not understand. They had been going together
since they were 11. She had always told him that she loved him, and he was
convinced that he loved her. She had accepted his ring, which he had given
to her the day before he left for CORNWALLIS. He loved her so much that he
had never laid so much as a finger on her. He only beat off when his case
of blue balls gave him no other option. He was saving himself for her, for
when they were married, which would happen as soon as he received his first
posting.

Glenn stood on the wide steps leading to The Barracks and snorted
derisively. God he had been a jerk back then, believing every word that she
had told him, never thinking that every word she told him was a lie and
that within four months of his leaving her she would have found another
so-called true love and got herself knocked up!

Glenn now had a reputation as a stone cold, ruthless investigator, who
would stop at nothing to prove his case. The 25-year-old Glenn was a far
cry from the 18-year-old romantic he had been. He had been so crushed that
he had left his room in A Block, blindly hurrying through the cold, winter
rain mixed with snow that seemed to be the only precipitation that fell on
Halifax from October to March, across Gottingen Street and into the North
End Tavern, which stood opposite the main gate of STADACONA. He ordered a
jug of beer and a double rye, straight up. One boilermaker led to another
and at some point during the evening Glenn had left the tavern and
travelled south, hitting every bar and haunt on Gottingen
Street. Eventually - he no longer remembered how - he had ended up in the
bar of the Lord Nelson Hotel, where he sat drinking rye shooters, totally
wasted.

The bar had been busy. Some sort of a reunion dinner was being held, and
Glenn knew some of the patrons. One of the diners, a tall guy, about six
feet with close cut light brown hair, he knew because he saw the guy every
morning, an Able Seaman gunner, part of the Parade Staff. He had deep
hazel, almost jade green eyes and Glenn remembered how those eyes had bored
into him after he had fucked up on parade. He also remembered the verbal
ass reaming the AB had given him.

Glenn had another drink, then another. The bartender, who had been around
since the VE-Day Riots, knew a drunken matelot when he saw one and had
thrown Glenn out. Outside the hotel Glenn had taken exception to something
an Australian sailor, a huge and hulking brute who was almost as drunk as
he was, had said or done - he could not remember just what. What Glenn did
remember was lying on the sidewalk, his nose broken, and bleeding all over
someone's Number One blue uniform.

The next thing Glenn remembered was waking up the next morning, feeling
like death. His head was pounding and his nose, Jesus, his nose, was all
swollen under a protective plaster. He was in bed, somebody's bed. He
quickly checked and saw that he was wearing his briefs. "Well," he had
thought at the time, "I guess I didn't get laid." Glenn had had no idea
whose bed he was in, how long he had been in the bed, or how he had come to
be in the bed.

Shortly after he woke up the man came into the room. Glenn asked him what
had happened and The Gunner told him. He had found Glenn, drunk, lying on
the sidewalk in front of the Lord Nelson Hotel, bleeding from what was
obviously a broken nose, with the Creature from the Outback looming over
him, hell bent on ripping off various and sundry important body parts.

Glenn moaned and The Gunner continued, telling the suffering boy how he had
had managed to calm the Aussie down and hustle Glenn into a cab. Since he
could not take Glenn back to STADACONA - coming back on board drunk was a
chargeable offence, good for at least ten days in the George's Island cells
- The Gunner had taken Glenn to his apartment, stripped him down to his
briefs, cleaned him up and put a plaster on his nose.

A loud, despairing moan had escaped Glenn's lips. His whole career was down
the tubes, over before it had even started, if anyone found out. Drunk,
beaten up, a broken nose. Jesus, Jesus, he was fucked! He could kiss his MP
career goodbye. He had been drunk and disorderly, he had been in a fight
. . . his career was gone and his fiancé was gone.  Everything he
thought he wanted was gone. He lost it and burst into tears, not
understanding why his whole fucking life seemed to be going so fucking
wrong.

The Gunner, surprised at the flood of tears, had taken Glenn into his arms
and listened patiently while the young man poured out his story between
great heaving gasps. For the first time in a long time Glenn was a little
boy again, held in warm and protecting arms.  The arms held him close and
Glenn, overcome, had made the first move, initiating something in him that
he had only suspected existed. They had kissed.

Glenn stayed for three days. Thinking about it now brought a smile to
Glenn's lips. Today what he and Stephen Winslow had done would be dismissed
as little more than two boys playing - Stevie was only 20 - and neither of
them had really explored their sexuality. They had fondled each other's
body, they had humped themselves into oblivion and they had discovered the
joys of oral sex. They had pleasured each other in every way possible but
one, and for some reason they both held back. They both seemed to
understand that they were too young, and much too new to what they were
doing, to make the ultimate commitment. Their relationship was a fleeting
thing and they both knew it. It had not been the time to give, or receive,
the ultimate gift.

At the end of the three days The Gunner had handed Glenn a piece of paper,
a Leave Pass dated the day before his monster drunk. The Gunner smiled as
he told Glenn that it was too bad that the piece of wood he'd been chopping
had flown up and hit him in the nose. Glenn, mystified, had asked where
that had happened and been told that they had been down in the Annapolis
Valley, camping. Chucking, The Gunner had then observed that the blow Glenn
had received to his head must have also affected his memory.

The next morning Glenn had returned to STADACONA, much the worse for wear,
much wiser in the ways of the Navy and the world, and much wiser about
himself.  The Gunner had countersigned Glenn's Report of Injury form and
driven him to the RCN Hospital where his nose was re-broken and set. Two
days after his discharge from hospital Glenn was on his way to CFB Borden,
Ontario, carrying with him memories of three days of heaven with a man he
barely knew but would never forget.

Because of the nature of his job (and the fact that he was living with the
Chief Investigator for Special Branch CID), Glenn was privy to bits and
pieces of seemingly unrelated information, much of it trivial, but all of
it kept in that part of his brain that stored little known information
about well known people or events. Seeing the cadets had caused him to
remember a letter he had seen. Seeing The Gunner with the cadets led him to
the decision that the contents of the letter, while unimportant and having
no direct bearing on the investigation he would soon be a part of, could
have implications that would adversely affect his friend. Glenn knew that
while the letter had been dismissed as sour grapes and destroyed, the
author of the letter, and his son, was still very much around. One letter
could very well lead to another letter, and another.

For Glenn it was time to return a small measure of the kindness shown to
him so many years ago.

******

Glenn waited patiently until the cadets were dismissed before he crossed
the street to stand at the railing separating the road from the sunken
parade square. He saw The Gunner approaching the steep steps and waved. The
Gunner saw Glenn waving and hurried over. As he climbed the stairs leading
to the street he broke into a warm smile. He greeted Glenn warmly, giving
him a hug, as old friends often do, and looked the handsome young
investigator up and down. "Glenn, you haven't changed a bit," he enthused.
"You still look 18."

"In my line of work, looking young helps," replied Glenn. He returned The
Gunner's hug and cast a critical eye at his first lover. "You seem to have
aged, my friend," he said jokingly.

"Up yours, Glenn."

Glenn laughed and punched The Gunner's shoulder. "Captain Maslen would not
be amused if you did."

"Rick? How is he?" The Gunner remembered the good Captain. He had been the
star running back for the University of Saskatchewan until his knee did him
in and he had taken his degree and entered the Army.

"He's good. Still wearing those green issue drawers of his, still leaves
the bathroom in a mess and still won't let me cook."  Glenn laughed
heartily. He and his Captain had been together for almost four years.

"What brings you to Victoria?" asked The Gunner as they sat on the grass,
their backs to the parade square.

"Some work." Glenn could not tell his old friend what he'd been doing.

The Gunner understood. He knew what Glenn did for a living. "You going home
anytime soon?"

Glenn laughed and nodded happily. "White Knuckle Air out of Vancouver on
Wednesday. The holiday fucked up all the schedules."

"Home to fireside and slippers."

Glenn shook his head, and then looked around. The cadets were all at the
other end of the parade square, skylarking and playing grab ass, waiting
for their buses to pick them up. "Stevie, I will be in Ottawa for two,
maybe three days to pick up some documents and attend some briefings "

"And then?" asked The Gunner. He knew that Glenn was deep undercover and
that the documents he was picking up were more than likely a complete new
identity.  Glenn hesitated before answering. Once again his experienced
eyes scanned the area. He dared not say too much but . . . A man always
remembered his first lover and Stevie Winslow had been kind to him and held
him when he needed holding . . . He lowered his voice and, as his eyes
constantly scanned the area he said, "I am going on a case, something big."
He remembered the letter and continued. "It is so big that it's going to
set DND on its ass. I shouldn't be telling you anything about it, but
before I left Ottawa I saw a letter. The only reason I saw the letter was
that it was signed by one of the people we're investigating."

Four feet directly below the railing where The Gunner and Glenn were
sitting, six sets of ears perked up. The Twins, Harry, Greg, Ray and The
Phantom had just sat back to enjoy the western sun when The Gunner and his
friend had parked themselves directly over their heads.

The Gunner, never thinking to look back and down, frowned slightly. "What
sort of a letter?

"Stevie, Special Branch CID has known for a long time that an outfit called
the Aryan Brotherhood has had members in the Forces," Glenn went on
quietly. "What Special Branch does not know is how far up the chain of
command this shit goes. We know who the lower ranking members are; we do
not know who the higher ups are. Somebody is protecting these bastards."
Glenn laughed bitterly. "We move heaven and earth to root out the gays, but
a guy wearing a white sheet just gets to keep on trucking."

"You can't possibly suspect me, can you?" asked The Gunner warily. He had
taken great care to preserve his secret life. Very few people knew that he
was gay and he planned on keeping it that way.

Glenn chuckled at his friend's obvious discomfiture. While he and Rick
Maslen did know that Leading Seaman Stephen Matthew Winslow was gay,
Special Branch did not and both men were in a position to ensure that The
Gunner remained a certified heterosexual, at least so far as the Navy was
concerned. "You have nothing to worry about, Stevie," Glenn assured The
Gunner with a smile. He sobered and continued on. "Special Branch knows,
because I know, that you are not a racist or involved in any way with this
so-called Brotherhood . . ." His lips curled into a sneer. Then his gentle
laughter broke the sombre mood. "I happen to know that the last time you
wore a white sheet was when you had horse races in the Lord Nelson Hotel
after some wedding. Pissed off the management right royally."

"Don't remind me," replied The Gunner, matching Glenn's laughter. "Well
then, if you know that I am not involved what would your investigation have
to do with me?"

"Not you. Your cadets."

The Gunner arched an eyebrow. "My cadets are not racists, Glenn," he said
stiffly.

Glenn, who had known The Gunner long enough to know that the man was
capable of great loyalty, was not surprised at The Gunner's
reaction. "Stevie, before you get all huffy and start quoting Kipling and
defending the honour of your boys, let me assure you that racism has
absolutely nothing to do with what I'm going to tell you."

"Okay, spill," replied The Gunner, mollified by Glenn's words. He
remembered Glenn's job when he asked, "Are you at least able to give me a
little information, tell me something that will not compromise your
position?"

Glenn nodded. "One of your cadets wrote home from AURORA claiming that the
place was a nest of queers and faggots. His father, a Sergeant, wrote SIU
complaining that his son was in danger of losing his morals and his
soul. He demanded an investigation and wanted all the degenerates
turfed. Because the writer of the letter was under investigation, and on
our slop chit, SIU forwarded it to Special Branch. The letter was quite
incoherent for the most part, but Rick got the gist of it."

The Gunner did not have to be told who had written the letter from
AURORA. Nodding slowly as Glenn described the complaints, The Gunner
groaned and replied, "Paul Greene, the little bastard! I suppose he named
names?"

Glenn nodded and thought a moment. "There were two names mentioned. Twins?
Yeah, Twins. They are the head degenerates, according to young Greene."

Directly below the two men six mouths dropped open and four heads turned to
stare at the Twins.

The Gunner's face was tight and there was an angry glint in his eye. "They
are nothing of the kind!" he growled, his anger palpable. "They are
17-years old and probably the best two cadets I have. Sure, they fuck
around, but so does everybody else." It was all The Gunner could do not to
lash out and give vent to the white-hot anger he felt. How dare that little
bastard? He stood up abruptly and stared at the all but empty parade
square, his hands gripping the railing that surrounded the parade square so
tightly that his knuckles were white. "The best Mace tosser in the Cadets,
no, in Canada, goes around kissing everybody at the drop of a hat. My Chief
Steward just last week had to take two of the younger kids into his bed
because they needed some good old fashioned cuddling during one fuck of a
thunderstorm." The Gunner saw the look on Glenn's face, a look of shock and
surprise at the fury he was generating. It was not Glenn's fault. He had
not written the damned letter.

The Gunner took a deep breath and cooled down considerably. He gave Glenn a
quick nudge with his elbow. "Fuck Glenn, they're all just kids, doing what
kids do. Nobody's getting their rocks off in AURORA." The Gunner thought a
moment, relaxed, and grinned. "Well, nobody except Thumper, but he's
special, so it's okay."

"Who?"

"An 'in' joke."

Glenn shrugged, pursed his lips and then shook his head. "Not to worry,
Stevie. Your boys are safe. Rick shit-canned the letter and doubled the
surveillance on the father." He fixed The Gunner a steely glare. "That
Greene kid, though, is your problem. My Dad would have taken a strap to
him."

"Mine too, and won't Rick get into trouble?"

"For what? Do you really think that little bits and pieces of paper don't
up and conveniently disappear from time to time? Rick's no dummy. He knows
what he's doing. Besides, there's no risk to anyone. No risk at all."

"No risk?"

"An unsolicited, unsubstantiated letter from the father of an obviously
disgruntled kid, telling obvious tales about other kids?" Glenn waved his
hand dismissively. "We don't waste our time on such crap. The letter went
into the burn bag. Even if the accusations were true, we wouldn't do
anything. Cadets are cadets and not subject to our investigations. They are
not a part of the military, so we couldn't touch 'em even if we wanted
to. So we don't, and won't." He placed a reassuring hand on The Gunner's
shoulder. "I'm the agent in place out here and I do not investigate gays,
of any age, period!"

Feeling relieved The Gunner nodded his thanks. He gestured toward the
hulking barracks block. "Walk me over to Ankle Biter Alley," he said. "My
Snotties Nurse is a Petty Officer who is a little young and the Sea Puppies
are making his life hell. Rumour has it they're going to tie him naked to
the flag pole tonight."

"Won't be the first time that's happened," returned Glenn.

"True, but then I really don't want it to happen. The kid has had enough
trouble in his life."

Glenn looked at The Gunner and nodded slowly. "I remember a kid like that."

The Gunner returned the nod. "This kid deserves a break, Glenn. So far he's
managed to avoid being fucked up by his father and his brother. He's young,
and he's scared, I think, and I can't let him go home thinking that no one
cares about him, or what happens to him."

Glenn scratched the side of his nose. "Why am I getting the feeling that
this has something to do with the Greene family?"

The Gunner ducked his head. "Because my Snotties Nurse is Matt Greene, the
letter writer's younger brother." He saw the look of doubt creeping across
Glenn's face and continued. "Matt is not like his brother. He has a good
heart and he doesn't go around hating people. He's just a sweet, good
natured kid who likes everybody and who would like everybody to like him."
A faraway look came into The Gunner's eyes. "Glenn, the boy was beaten
badly because of his friendship with a Jew. God knows how many beatings
he's had to endure because he won't be a part of whatever it is his father
and brother are involved in. A boy like Matt, he needs someone to keep an
eye out for him."

"Are you making yourself his rabbi, then?" asked Glenn.

"For as long as he needs me, yes," replied The Gunner earnestly.

Glenn thought a moment. "I'll speak with Rick."

"I appreciate it, Glenn."

Glenn waved away The Gunner's thanks. "I owe you, Stevie. I'll do what I
can.  It's too bad you can't do something about his brother."

As they crossed the road, heading for The Barracks, the Gunner replied with
a note of despair in his voice. "Paul Greene is a lost cause. He believes
and I can't stop him from writing letters home."

******

Harry did not hear Corporal Britnell's reply. His nostrils flared as he
stood up, his handsome face suffused with anger. He grimly surveyed his
friends. "The Gunner might not be able to stop that little fuck from
writing letters," he growled, all but breathing fire, "but I damned well
intend to try!"

******

When he returned to the motel The Gunner retired to his room and gathered
Andy, Kyle and Dave Eddy for a Council of War.  He told the officers as
much of what Glenn had told him as he could, and they all agreed that there
was not much they could do about the situation. They could not tamper with
the mail, which was illegal. They did not dare say a word to the cadets for
fear that the boys would take matters into their own hands. They agreed
that they had to tell Tyler and Val. Beyond that, their hands were more or
less tied.

Across the hall the senior cadets gathered for their own Council of
War. Harry was livid at yet another betrayal of them by Little Big Man. The
Twins, strangely enough, given that they had been named in the letter, were
quite calm.  "Harry, shut up and sit down," ordered Tyler. "There is no
point in us going off half-cocked and losing our temper! What we have to
figure out is what to do about that little bastard."

"I can, and will, stop his mail," said Greg venomously. He punched the arm
of the chair that he was sitting in. "Little prick bastard!" Greg was in
charge of the Cadet Post Office and could make certain that anything Little
Big Man put in the Royal Post bag would end up in the Dead Letter Office.

"As I see it, Tyler, it is not us that we have to worry about," said Cory
quietly. He was not at all surprised at Little Big Man's letter writing, or
in being named in the letters.

Tyler thought a moment. "It's the officers?"

Todd and Cory nodded in unison. "And you, Tyler," murmured Todd. Like Cory
he realized that it had been only a matter of time before Little Big Man's
letters home would catalogue their real and imagined sins.

"Me?" Tyler's face registered his surprise.

"Yes, you. As of the 1st of September you are a Naval Cadet at Royal
Roads." Todd stood up and began pacing. "That makes you a member of the
Canadian Armed Forces, subject to Forces discipline." He scanned the room
looking at each of the other cadets in turn. "Dave and Kyle are officers in
the Naval Reserve. Andy is planning on joining the US Marines. Do I have to
spell it out for you guys?"  Cory lowered his eyes and whispered, "A hint,
a word and . . ." He looked up at his brother earnestly. "We have to make
sure that Little Big Man does not make trouble for Tyler, or for the
officers."

"How could he make trouble for them?" asked Greg, not understanding the
implications of Todd's words. "Tyler is the best fucking Master at Arms I
have ever served under, and he sure as fuck hasn't done anything wrong."

"And neither have the officers. Dave and Kyle are A-One, and Andy has
always been straight with us," said Nicholas with a heretofore unseen
passion.

"They don't have to do anything wrong," replied Tyler patiently. "All
Little Big Man has to do is write a letter about our trip to Texada and
Harwood Islands."

"Or see the pictures," said The Phantom. "I got some shots of Andy and
Kyle, and The Gunner. In living colour!" He was not worried as much about
the officers as he was about The Gunner.

Tyler looked at Nicholas. "What about the pictures you sent to Base for
processing?"

"I can crop them," Nicholas quickly assured Tyler. "When I get finished all
you'll will see will be cadets, and damn few of them. Most of the pictures
are just of bums and dicks, anyway, so it's not a problem. If none of us
goes around exposing ourselves nobody will know who is who."

Val turned to Todd. "What about Matt?" he asked.

"He's okay." Todd returned to his seat beside Cory. "He has no love for his
brother and he won't say a word about anything. In fact, if we took Little
Big Man down to the Boat Shed for the blanket party he deserves, Matt would
be first in line."

"As long as you're sure . . ." replied Val, not at all convinced that Matt
could be trusted.

"They've seen the bruises on his ass, Val, and so have Steve and I," said
Stuart. "His fuck of a father beat the shit out of him because he was
friends with a Jewish guy.

"We know," said Harry. "Tyler, where's the jug?"

"Under my underwear in the dresser."

"I hope your drawers are clean."

"Just get the fucking bottle."

"If you want my opinion we should tie a rope around the little bastard and
take him out on a YAG. He'd make a good fucking sea anchor." Harry poured a
large drink of rum from Tyler's bottle. "Or maybe a fog dodger."

******

When the Councils of War concluded the participants scattered. Andy, Kyle,
Dave and Sandro piled into the staff car Andy had at his disposal. Their
game plan was to drop Sandro off at his home in Saanich and then they would
carry on down to the Wardroom where Dave was staying, much against his
better judgement and inclinations. Because there were 50 cadets staying in
the Ankle Biters' Mess in The Barracks, an Escort Officer was required to
be on Base in the event of an emergency. Dave, as the junior officer, was
the designated Escort Officer and as a consequence was billeted in the
Wardroom.

At first Dave had been more than pleased, a cabin in the Wardroom being
considered quite a perk for a Sea Cadet Officer. Until, that is, he
discovered that the cabins surrounding his were occupied by Naval Reserve
Officer Cadets, all of whom treated the Wardroom as an annex to their
college dorms and all of whom seemed to think that partying hearty,
vomiting in the corridor and copulating in the stairwells with anything
female (at least Dave hoped they were female humans - Saturday night was
"Pig Of the Port Night" in the Wardroom and one never knew), were core
components of their course requirements.

Dave's illusions had been quickly shattered and as far as he was concerned
the officer cadets were nothing but a pain in the ass. His Sea Cadets were
a hell of a lot smarter, cleaner, and much more mature than the sorry
examples of Canada's last hope inhabiting the Wardroom cabins.

Dave, together with Andy and Kyle, was pleasantly surprised when Sandro's
mother insisted that all three officers stay for dinner. Sandro's father
grinned and brought out the vodka.

Tyler and Val went to an early supper while the other Chiefs went down to
the pool and joined the other cadets congregated there.

The Gunner found that he had little difficulty in maintaining the fiction
that he and The Phantom had concocted on their way down from Comox. When
they had arrived at the Esquimalt parade square The Phantom had told
everybody that, faced with a boring Sunday following a boring Saturday, he
had hopped on the train and come down for the Parade. He told Ray that he
had gone to the motel and met The Gunner, who had given him a lift down to
the parade square. The Phantom did not see the amused look in the Twins'
eyes.

As luck would have it no one questioned The Phantom's story. First of all
they were much too busy trying to rehearse the Ceremony of the Flags, and
secondly all the senior cadets went into a tizzy when The Gunner casually
announced that he had acquired new Number 11 uniforms for all of them. The
Phantom's accommodations were easily arranged. With Sandro sleeping at home
his place in Ray's bed was available. This pleased The Phantom because he
liked Ray and sleeping with him, even if nothing happened, sounded nice.

The new sleeping arrangements also pleased Ray for while he loved Sandro
like a brother, sleeping with him was like sleeping with a corpse. Last
year he and Sandro had shared a bed when they attended the Annual Cadet
Regatta. Sandro, once he fell asleep, never moved a muscle and his
breathing was so slow that Ray had awoken several times to check on
him. Ray also found the idea of sleeping with The Phantom intriguing. He
was aware of the identity of who was visiting him at night and the thought
of sleeping with him was a turn on. Not that anything more than a quiet
grope in the night was possible, not with Rob and Ryan sleeping in the next
bed.

To maintain the fiction that The Phantom was just another cadet The Gunner,
as casually as he could, brought out the packages he had stowed in the back
of his car and carried them up to The Phantom's room. Since the door was
open he knew that someone was inside. There was an unwritten rule that
during the day, before Lights Out, room doors remained open if there were
cadets inside. This allowed the officers and senior cadets to visit and
stay with their charges without fear. An open door ensured that no
suspicion of untoward conduct was visited on the officers or the cadets.

The Gunner found Rob just finishing changing into his swimsuit and heard
the toilet flushing in the bathroom. He laid the packages on the bed The
Phantom would sleep in later, chatted with Rob, and was assured by Ryan
(he'd been in the bathroom, peeing) that his little problem was solved. The
Gunner smiled affectionately at Ryan and winked. Ryan grinned and winked
back.

After leaving the room The Gunner returned to poolside. He told The Phantom
that his uniform was in his room and that he had asked the Twins to help
him get his kit ready for tomorrow. Then he joined Tyler and Val in the
restaurant. After supper he returned to his room and watched television. He
could have gone into town and taken up Glenn's invitation to have a few
beers in the Junior Ranks Mess but thought better of it, afraid that Glenn
would want to recall, in more ways than one, the old days.

******

When The Gunner left them The Phantom and the Twins, trailed by Matt, went
up top to check out the uniform. The Twins were anxious to find out if
their machinations had borne fruit and, truth be told, The Phantom wanted
to share with them his happiness and doubts. Unfortunately there was
Matt. The Phantom was not about to say anything in front of him. Cory
solved that problem neatly. When The Phantom came out of the bathroom,
where he had changed into boxers and a T-shirt, Cory immediately reached
over and pulled down the front of his boxers.

"Hey!" yelped The Phantom. "What the hell are you looking for?"

"Shrinkage," returned Cory. "Yep, about half its normal size."

"Fuck off," giggled The Phantom as he pushed Cory away.

Seeing the look on Matt's face Todd explained shrinkage to him. Matt rolled
his eyes, shook his head, and announced that he was going down for Cokes,
removing temptation. The Twins would just have to wonder about his
shrinkage!

As soon as Matt left the room Cory turned to The Phantom. "Well?" he asked
with a grin.

The Phantom blushed and collapsed on the other bed, his arms spread. "Cory,
Todd, it was wonderful," he exclaimed. "He loves me, and we . . ."

"We know what you did," chuckled Todd. "How was it?"

"Todd!" said Cory with a grimace. "Talk about nose trouble!"

"Piss off, Cory, you want to know, too."

Cory stuck his nose in the air. "A lot you know. Phantom, get up and put on
your pants. I have to measure your inseam." When his new trousers were on
The Phantom stood on a chair while Cory knelt down and, as he began
adjusting the length of the uniform trousers he looked up and stared into
The Phantom's green eyes. Cory's eyes were twinkling with amusement as he
asked quietly, "Was it good?"

The Phantom grinned widely, threw out his arms and nodded vigorously. "He
loves me. He made love to me. And he was so, well, gentle, that . . ."

"We get the picture," chuckled Todd.

The Phantom jumped down from the chair, removed his trousers and handed
them to Cory, who sat on the bed opposite, and began sewing the new hems of
The Phantom's trousers. "It was wonderful, Todd. Friday night with you and
Cory was great, but being with him . . ."

"That's because you're in love. It's always better when you do it with
someone you love," said Todd, who was busy sewing a grommet in the sleeve
of The Phantom's tunic.

"And how would you know, might I ask?" asked Cory dangerously as he plied
his needle.

Todd grinned and kissed his brother. "Because last night I slept with the
person I love more than any other in the world. That's how I know."

Mollified, Cory smiled and handed the hemmed trousers to The
Phantom. "Here, you'll have to iron them yourself.  We've got to get ready
to go out to dinner with our folks."

"Thanks, Cory."

"So what else is going on? Did you two have your first fight?" asked Todd
with a grin.

"How did you . . .?"

"One minute you're happier than a pig in a puddle. The next minute you get
this look on your face. You've had a fight, haven't you?" Todd finished the
grommet and started on another.

The Phantom nodded, and explained what had happened during the drive down
from Nanaimo.

****** Cory, who had made himself comfortable on the bed, snickered softly
when The Phantom finished his tale. "You're sure that The Gunner is okay
with us being together, then?" he asked. His eyes slid down The Phantom's
slim body and came to rest, his bright blue eyes studying the delicious
mound in The Phantom's boxers. If The Gunner wasn't all hot and bothered
about Phantom having a few special friends from time to time why, perhaps
then . . .

Todd, who saw where Cory's gaze was riveted, knew exactly what his brother
was thinking. He coughed loudly and shot Cory a dirty look. You are such a
PIG!

Am Not! Cory's look shot back.

" . . . He said that I was young and that he understood that from time to
time I might want to be with boys my own age," The Phantom was saying when
the Twins returned to earth. "He also said that I might also have sex with
them, but all it would be was sex. You know, just a release and . . ."

"He actually said that?" asked Cory hopefully.

The Phantom nodded. "He said it's the nature of boys." He grinned
self-consciously. "Then he said a few more things and we had the fight."

"I should have such a fight!" sniffed Cory. "The man adores you!"

"Then why would he say it would be all right for me to . . .?"

"He told you why," said Todd. "You're a young guy." He looked pointedly at
The Phantom. "You are also a very desirable young guy. The Gunner knows
that so he understands and wants you to be happy," Todd looked thoughtful
and then said, "You also have to understand his point of view,
Phantom. He's way older than you. You are this proven young stud and . . ."

"Stud?" The Phantom laughed delightfully.

"Yeah, stud. You're not bad looking, your parts are great . . ." He winked
lasciviously. "And after the other night I do not have to look down the
front of your boxers to know that!"

The Phantom blushed deeply and ducked his head. "You're pretty good,
yourself," he murmured softly.

"I am, yes," agreed Todd with unabashed honesty. "But, Phantom, we are not
talking about my parts. We are talking about The Gunner and you." He looked
at The Phantom and smiled. "Do you like what you and The Gunner do
together?"

"God, do I ever!" replied The Phantom honestly.

"Good." Todd's smile faded and his face took on a serious look. "The
problem, as I see it, is that The Gunner is suffering from Old-timer's
Syndrome."

"What in hell is that?" demanded Cory.

"It's when an older guy has a younger guy. The older guy worries that the
younger guy will dump him for somebody his own age."

"As if you'd know," sneered Cory.

"I read a lot," shrugged Todd, a bland expression on his face. What Cory
did not know would not hurt either of them, in more ways than one. He
finished the lie. "You'd be surprised what you can learn when you read."

"I read, asshole . . ." began Cory. He did not believe for one minute that
Todd had read any such thing!

"Uh, guys," interjected The Phantom.

"Oh, sorry." Todd handed the tunic to The Phantom. "All you can do is just
keep on telling him how much you love him. Eventually he'll get the
message."

"I guess. I'm not going to leave him, ever."

"Good. Did he give you any buttons to go with the jacket?" asked Todd.

"Yeah, they're here somewhere." The Phantom reached around and found an
oblong wooden box. "Here they are. He said they came from England and
. . . What the hell! It's a knife!"

The Twins looked at the contents of the box.

"It's not a knife, Phantom, it's a Midshipman's Dirk," said Cory
knowledgeably.

"A what?"

"Midshipmen don't wear swords. They wear dirks." Cory pointed to the dirk.
"Ergo, that is a Midshipman's dirk."

"The son of a bitch never gives up!" snapped The Phantom. "If he thinks by
giving me this knife I'm going to join the Navy he's got another think
coming!"

Todd reached over and made to take to take the box from The Phantom's
hands. "If you feel that way about it, give it to me. I might decide to
become an officer."

Cory sniffed disdainfully.

"Well, I might!" returned Todd tartly.

"Well you don't have to worry," said The Phantom. "I'm keeping it. It's the
first thing he's ever given me."

Cory snickered. "Not the first thing . . ."

Todd and The Phantom glared at him. "I shall remember that, Cory, when a
certain party drags his skinny ass back from Seattle," said Todd coldly.

"Who's going to Seattle?"

They turned and saw Matt, his hands full of cans of Cokes, standing in the
doorway.

******

Sunday night passed quickly. The Phantom and The Gunner had no opportunity
to be together at all, only managing a quick kiss and a hug when The
Phantom went down the corridor to show off his newly tailored and pressed
whites. They kissed and made up but as much as they both wanted to be
together they knew they could not. The corridor was alive with cadets
walking back and forth, wandering from room to room, borrowing kit, or just
visiting.

When he left The Gunner's room The Phantom met the Twins and Matt coming
out of the Twins' room. The Twins were resplendent in their best Number One
blue uniforms, so much so that The Phantom drew in a sharp breath. Jesus,
but they were good looking. He accompanied the Twins and Matt down to the
main entry, laughing at Matt's complaint that he felt seedy beside the
three of them, all dressed up as they were.

They had barely reached the main entry when Mrs. Arundel, a tall,
statuesque woman with silver-blonde hair, arrived in a taxi to collect her
sons. It was more than evident that The Twins favoured their
mother. Mrs. Arundel was dressed in a knee length evening frock, and a hat,
with discreet, but very real diamond clips in her ears, and a magnificent
strand of pearls. She was charming and charmed by the other cadets, whom
she pronounced a welcome change from her scruffy sons. She complimented The
Phantom on the cut of his uniform and told him that he was positively
handsome and was quite taken by Matt, who squirmed and blushed furiously,
so much so that Cory asked him if he had to go to the
bathroom. Mrs. Arundel promptly upbraided both The Twins for their lack of
manners, which put Todd in a snit. After all, he hadn't said a word to
Matt. The Twins then complained that they were hungry and could they leave,
please.

Smiling fondly at her sons Mrs. Arundel swept them away, off to dinner at
the Empress, again reminding them to mind their manners, because if they
did not she would not give them the two envelopes she had for them in her
purse.

The bus for The Barracks arrived soon after the Twins left and Matt,
together with the other cadets billeted in the Barracks, left the
motel. The Phantom went up top to his room and changed into his swimming
trunks, then returned to the pool area where he joined Harry, Greg and Ray
in the hot tub. Nearby, in deck chairs, lounged The Gunner, Tyler and Val,
drinking beer.

The Phantom had never been in a hot tub before and he found it stimulating,
so much so that he started to bone up, which was all he needed. He quickly
left the tub and sat on the deck, chatting with Ray.

Around nine or so Rob came over and asked The Phantom if he and Ray were
coming up to bed any time soon as he and Ryan were heading for their
rack. The Phantom, seeing the look in Rob's eye, told him to leave him the
key to the room. "We'll be at least an hour," said The Phantom. "The Gunner
is going to treat us to a burger and Cokes."

"I am?"

"Sure. I left my money up top."

"Did I hear that somebody's buying hamburgers?" yelled Harry, climbing out
of the tub.

"Thanks a bunch, Phantom," complained The Gunner.

"You're welcome," replied The Phantom with a grin.

As the cadets left the pool area Rob leaned over and whispered to
Phantom. "I owe you, Phantom."

The Phantom pretended that he did know what Rob was talking about.

******

Around 2230, with half the cadets abed, The Gunner called it a night. "Okay
guys, tomorrow's the big day. We all could use a good night's sleep."

The cadets trooped up top and dispersed to their rooms. As Harry and Greg
passed their door, Ray and The Phantom bid them goodnight. Harry smiled and
waved, unlocked the door to his room, and entered.

Greg locked the room door behind him, immediately stripped off his wet
swimsuit and dug into his kit bag for his soap and fresh underwear. Harry
turned on the television and as it warmed up he stripped off his swimming
trunks. He threw them in the general direction of his kit bag.

"Jesus, Harry, be neat, will you." Greg kicked Harry's trunks over near
their bed. "I'm getting tired of the Twins complaining about what pigs we
are."

Harry looked around. He could see nothing wrong with the room, which was
scrupulously neat on one side, where The Twins slept, and a complete
shambles on the other, where he and Greg slept. "There is nothing wrong
with this room," returned Harry blandly. If the Twins did not like living
with him they could find another hole!

As naked as the day he'd been born Harry sat down on the edge of the
queen-size bed, absorbed in the football game being broadcast, idly
scratching himself and scowling at the television set.

Greg shook his head. Harry was incorrigible and there was nothing anyone
could do about it. "Me for a shower. It will save time in the morning," he
said, moving toward the bathroom.

"Take your time," murmured Harry, too involved in what he was watching to
notice that Greg was nude.

"If you want to go first, it's okay, Harry," offered Greg.

Not looking up from the television set Harry waved Greg toward the
bathroom. "Nah, you go ahead. I'll just watch this fucked up excuse for a
football game."

Greg laughed and entered the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind
him. He showered, brushed his teeth, wrapped himself in a clean towel, and
went back into the bedroom, where he found Harry shaking his head
sadly. "The Blue Bombers lost, I take it." Greg dropped his towel and
stepped into his clean underpants.

Harry nodded and stood up. "Yeah, the bums! Lions won 44-11. You want to
watch something?" he asked, nodding toward the television set. Then he
scratched his balls and stretched.

Greg shook his head and pulled on his briefs. He climbed into the bed,
fluffed one of the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chin. "Nah, turn
it off. There's nothing on that thing that interests me."

Harry turned off the television set and went into the bathroom. He checked
his reflection in the mirror and decided that he needed to shave. His beard
was growing in quicker and darker every day. He returned to the bedroom for
his razor and a clean pair of underpants. All he had were briefs. He would
have preferred boxers, but with one thing and another he hadn't had time to
do his laundry. Briefs would have to do.

When he was finished shaving and showering Harry pulled on his briefs,
turned out the lights, and went to bed, laying beside Greg, feeling his
warm back against Greg's.

Greg was not asleep. He had heard Harry return and, once the lights went
out, felt him crawl into bed. He could feel Harry's warm butt barely
touching his and he moved slightly, pushing his bum closer to Harry's. Greg
had to admit that Harry's butt against his felt nice. He thought about
their conversation when they had been in Powell River, and how they had
slept beside each other on Texada Island, and again on Harwood Island. He
remembered the kiss Harry had given him at his wet down and he remembered
Stephen Tyler and . . . Greg rolled over and faced Harry's broad back. "Can
I ask you something, Harry?" he asked quietly.

"You can ask. I might not answer," replied Harry. He rolled over and faced
Greg, their faces scant inches apart. "What?"

"What's it like, you know . . ." Greg began with hesitation.

"To be queer?"

Greg pursed his lips and grunted. "Don't start that shit, Harry! Please
don't."  He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, feeling the muscles tighten
slightly at his touch. "You are not queer, so don't start. Besides, that's
not what I'm curious about."

"Have it your way," shrugged Harry. "What do you want to know?"

"Don't get mad, but what's it like, to be with another guy?"

Harry stared at Greg. "You've never been with another guy?"

"No, never!" Greg shook his head emphatically. "I mean, a couple of times a
guy came on to me, but we never did anything." He sat up and pulled his
knees close to his chest. "Harry, I don't know what I feel right now. I've
been thinking about Stephen Tyler, and, well, about other things, too."

"Maybe you're just on heat," Harry chuckled.

"Harry, come on, I'm serious," replied Greg sternly. He hugged his knees
and sighed. "I see the way the Twins look at each other, and I sense how
much they love each other. Then I think about Stephen Tyler." He lay back
down and put his hands behind his head. "We didn't do anything, really. We,
um, we kissed a lot and we felt each other up, but we never took our
clothes off and, like, well, we just didn't go all the way."

"Did you like it?" asked Harry softly.

Greg nodded. "When we were doing it, yeah. But deep down inside I really
felt, I dunno, bad, but I didn't want to stop."

"Bad because you were doing it or bad because somewhere along the line
someone told you that what you were doing was bad?"

"I, well, I guess because someone said it was bad, what we were doing."
Harry snorted. "So you stopped it."

"Yeah. I made him stop."

"So now you're wondering what it might have been like if you'd kept on
going?"

"Yes, I am," confirmed Greg. "Please, Harry, what's it like?"

In the darkened room Harry thought about Stefan and grinned happily. "Greg,
when I was with Stefan, it was heaven. When we made love, Greg, I felt
things I can't describe. It was like him and me were the only two people in
the whole world. It was . . ." The darkness hid Harry's smile as he said,
"Greg, I felt I was a part of him and that he was a part of me and Greg, I
never want the feelings to go away." Thinking of Stefan, and their love
making, had made Harry hard. He reached into his briefs and felt the tip of
his dick as he adjusted himself. "Of course, that was with Stefan. I never
felt that way when I was jerking off my brother, Nicky. That was just sex."

Greg was confused. Harry had just admitted to making love to Stefan, which
everybody assumed had happened. Harry had on more than one occasion readily
admitted beating off his brother. Harry had had sex with Stefan. Harry had
had sex with his brother. Sex was sex as far as Greg was concerned, and
said so.

Greg felt the bed move as Harry shook his head. "No, it isn't," he said
forcefully. "Stefan and me made love. When I was with my brother Nicky we
had sex."

Greg was even more confused. "Harry, you and Stefan made love. You had
sex. You and Nicky jerked each other off. You had sex. What difference is
there between the two?"

"The difference is that when two guys make love it means something. It
means you have feelings for the guy that you don't have for anyone
else. Deep, deep feelings." Harry propped himself on one elbow. "When you
have sex with a guy, you drop your pants and he drops his. You beat each
other off and then you pull your pants up and he pulls his pants up and you
go out and try to beat the shit out of each other playing football. Then
you go and have a Coke together. You're still friends, still the same two
guys you were before the game. Sex is just two guys helping each other out
when they need it. Once it's over, it's over."

"So, you just beat a guy off, he beats you off, just two friends together,
huh?" snickered Greg.

Harry ignored Greg's snickering. "That's about it. It don't mean nothin',
nothin' at all. He's horny, you're horny, and so it's your own hand or
his." He lay back, staring at the darkness. "It's just two guys getting
their rocks off. It's not like you're fuckin' each other up the ass. Now
that is queer."

Greg, who was getting turned on and could feel the tip of his dick
tingling, digested Harry's words. Harry's definition of what was making
love and what was just sex, was intriguing. Masturbating another guy was
just sex, and therefore permissible, because there was, bottom line, no
emotional attachment to the act. "I think I understand, a little," said
Greg, moving closer to Harry. He now understood that in Harry's mind
fucking another guy for the sake of fucking, was queer, and not
permissible. Making to love to Stefan, and going all the way with him, was
love, and permissible. Stefan was the love of Harry's life, and always
would be.

Harry put his arm out and pulled Greg to him. Greg nestled his head on
Harry's wide shoulder. He snuggled close to Harry and put his arm across
Harry's broad chest. "Harry, is kissing another guy queer?" asked Greg,
feeling very warm and contented, and thinking about his wet down.

"Well, I sure don't think so. I mean, some guys would, but I don't. I'm a
guy who happens to like kissing." Harry sighed and smiled. Greg was an okay
guy and if he wanted to get his rocks off, that was okay. Harry felt Greg's
fingers playing with his nipple, bringing it to hardness. "I figure, if it
feels good, there's no harm in doing it," continued Harry. "When me and
Nicky started fooling around together we tried kissing. He liked it, and I
liked it. He's a good kisser, by the way. Better than a lot of the girls
I've kissed."

Harry could feel Greg's hand moving down his stomach and then massaging his
treasure trail. He was very horny, and could feel the dampness spreading
across the top of his briefs. He reached over and rubbed his hand along
Greg's hard stomach. Greg's hand moved again and slowly caressed Harry's
thick, seven-inch hardon. It felt very warm, and jerked when he touched
it. Harry moved his hand and felt Greg's slim, curving erection under the
fabric of his briefs. Then he reached down and rubbed Greg's warm balls.

Greg groaned at Harry's touch. He raised his head and his lips touched
Harry's. Harry responded and they kissed passionately. When their lips
parted Harry kissed the tip of Greg's nose. "This don't mean nothin',
Greg. It's just a guy thing."

Greg nodded and slipped his hand under the waistband of Harry's tight
briefs. He felt the wide, spongy head of Harry's cock and his
velvet-skinned balls. His lips brushed against Harry's again. "We're alone,
we're horny," murmured Greg. "I want this, you want this. We both need it,
Harry."

"Aren't you afraid you'll turn queer?" asked Harry. He pulled Greg closer
to him and slipped his hand down the front of Greg's underpants, rubbing
his palm across the top of Greg's slick mushroom. He fisted Greg's dick and
began to pump his hand slowly.

"Umf," groaned Greg. "Shit, Harry, that feels sooo good." He slowly pumped
Harry's thickened penis and began moving his hips up as Harry's hand pumped
his dick. "It's . . . umf . . . just a . . . umf . . . fuck that feels good
. . . guy thing!" Greg began breathing heavily as Harry's smooth hand
massaged him toward ecstasy.

With each pass of Greg's hand over his leaking crown Harry thrust
upward. His dick began to thicken and lengthen; his balls were slowly
drawing upward. He was getting close. So close . . . Harry groaned a
strangle warning. "Jesus, Greg, I'm gonna cum!"

Greg's pumped his hand faster, concentrating on the magic part of Harry's
dick, his helmet and the shaft just under it. Harry felt himself rushing
forward, approaching the crest. He desperately wanted to prolong the
feelings raging through his body, but he could not hold back. He grunted
loudly and thrust upward. Thick jets of semen began spurting in rapid
succession from Harry's wickedly thick penis, coating Greg's wonderfully
hot hand.

Harry's orgasmic thrusts and the warm cum oozing down the back of his hand
was all Greg needed. "Umf . . . I'm . . . shit . . .cumming . . . umf
. . ." he moaned as the first wave of glory rushed from his balls and
smashed outward from his gaping slit. As the waves passed over him Greg
bucked and thrust, forcing his body to eject every drop of his semen.

They lay together, bodies clasped close together, as they continued to hump
each other's hand. Harry grimaced and winced as Greg's hand passed over his
screaming mushroom. Greg jerked as Harry's hand passed over his sex-charged
helmet. Almost immediately they both cupped each other's ball sac, avoiding
momentarily their incredibly sensitive dickheads.

They turned on their sides, facing each other, faces together. Neither
cadet removed his hand from the other's briefs. Greg continued to gently
squeeze Harry's still hard boner. Harry stroked and rubbed Greg's slim,
curving erection. For what seemed liked hours they lay there, one arm
entwined around the other's body, kissing, their tongues searching and
entwining.

For the second time Greg began groaning softly as he buried his head in
Harry's shoulder. Once again Harry's breath came in harsh gasps. Greg, his
second orgasm building, moaned and raised his head, kissing Harry deeply as
he thrust his hips upward and his cockhead erupted, spewing more of his cum
across Harry's hand. Within a second Harry ground his hips and his pee slit
gaped opened. A fresh torrent of his thick, creamy semen crashed mightily
outward, flooding his briefs and coating Greg's pumping hand.

When they were finally finished they lay quietly until their breathing
returned to normal and their hearts started beating again. Wordlessly,
Harry withdrew and got out of bed. Greg heard water running in the
bathroom. When Harry returned he turned on the light, pulled down the
bedclothes and smiled at Greg. He reached over and pulled down the front of
Greg's briefs. With the warm, damp, towel he had brought from the bathroom,
he cleaned Greg's now soft penis and testicles. When he was finished he
handed the towel to Greg, then lay back down on the bed.

Greg grinned, pulled down the front of Harry's briefs, and cleaned
him. Then he bent down and kissed the dark rose tip of Harry's dick. "The
Pride of the Fleet," he murmured as he slowly sucked Harry's penis into the
warm depths of his waiting mouth.