Date: Wed, 1 Sep 2010 13:32:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: erik ritler <erikritler@yahoo.com>
Subject: space ship boys chapter 14

Author's Note

Here is chapter 14, ready for your enjoyment. As always, the Yahoo Group
will be kept one chapter ahead. Anyone wanting to access the story from
there can join at the link below. I approve all request for membership, but
require approval because otherwise the groups are hacked and spam messages
filter in everywhere.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/spaceshipboys/

This was a really fun chapter to write. More than any previous, I'd like to
hear what you think. Email me at erikritler@yahoo.com. Also, if you'd like
to send photos or anything that reminds you of this chapter, feel free. I
post appropriate submissions in the Reader Submission folder in the
group. I shall also be posting a folder with some photos that inspired me
for this chapter - check for those in the photos section.

For now, have fun!

erik


Story so far:

Devon and his friends continue their interstellar voyage, travelling on a
ship largely occupied by college-age guys.

Having recently been injured, Devon has a new lease on life, and thinks of
his new, unapologetically exuberant and brazen side as "New Devon." This is
most certainly appreciated by his friends in the jerk-off club - Charlie,
Mike, Sean, Dog, Zane and Nick.  And it's probably noticed by his other
friends. Perhaps even Sneak, the boy who spies on the boys from secret
tunnels, has noticed the changes in Devon.

Devon is also dealing with a growing tension on the ship. One the one side
is civilian mayor Eden Stranton, who has formed a security force to
maintain order. On the other, Steven Caine, perpetual protestor, had a
significant following. Devon is one of only a few people to know that his
best friends, Reid and Patrick, are working both sides in order to figure
out how to relieve tension amongst the two groups.

But these things are, for the most part, shoved out of Devon's mind when he
realizes that his hospital stay had ended right before his favorite holiday
- Halloween.


Space Ship Boys

Chapter 14 - The (Sexy) Devil Is In the Details


I'm moping, alone in the bedroom in our unoccupied flat, and this is why:
Halloween.

Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays growing up. It was a
little different in South California than most places - the television
specials aired that time of year always depicted imagery of cool autumn
weather; trees with leaves that had turned gold and red and were starting
to drift down from increasingly bare branches one by one; fields, recently
harvested, growing damp and cool and foggy each evening.

This was not the case in San Diego.

Growing up, Halloween always occurred right after the height of summer,
September and October usually warmer than June - and sometimes even
July. Early October was sometimes wet, and I would look longingly out the
windows of our little house, hoping for a Halloween where mist rolled off
the bougainvillea leaves in thick, white tentacles, like some movie monster
creeping toward my bedroom in silky silence. Instead, the last week of
October almost always brought the Santa Ana winds, those dry desert breezes
that blew in when the jet stream moved north, and we'd find ourselves in
the midst of the final heat wave of summer.

This could be both good and bad. It meant we could stay out late and wear
shorts, but then one year it was thirty-five degrees, and I'd puked up all
my candy. Into my mask.  Which I'd been wearing at the time. Yuck.

"I want to be a zombie surfer!" I'd proclaimed one year. I'd recently
received a zombie- themed video game, and spent many nights sending my
avatar to eat brains and wreak havoc on the little villages in the game.

"A zombie surfer, or surfer zombie?" my mom had asked, looking up from her
tablet computer.

I cocked my head, not fully understanding the question. "That's the same
thing!" I proclaimed defiantly, the way little boys do.

"Not at all," my mother answered in her patient voice. "A zombie surfer
would be someone who surfed and then became a zombie. A surfer zombie would
be someone who became a zombie and then later took up the sport of
surfing. It's two very different things."

I thought about this play on words, realized how the two phrases were
different, and then began giggling. My mom laughed with me, and we later
made my costume. I settled on zombie mambo surfer zombie, a character I'd
invented who had been a professional mambo dancer who tragically became a
zombie when he went on vacation to Bora Bora, then, in his despair, took up
surfing, partially to pass the time and partially to keep his decaying body
fresher. "I think we can do that," mom said, and zombie mambo surfer zombie
was one of my better costumes.

So this first Halloween on the ship felt special. Or weird. Or special and
weird. Either way, we were a little more than eight hours away from our
first Halloween festival and party - an event that held infinite promise -
and I was in a costume conundrum.

That is, I was currently moping on my bed in the worst costume ever
made. And I'd made it. Well, mostly.

Costume craziness had hit the ship the week before, when the plans for the
festival were finalized. An autumnal festival would be set up in the lobby
of The Commons, with food and cool booths and some skateboard ramps and a
maze and, well, you get the idea.  That night there'd be a huge party on
the Rear Observation Deck, the massive space in the rear of the ship that
provided the one good window looking out into the cosmos. It was going to
be awesome, and everyone had been talking non-stop about what they were
going as.

Then I'd ended up in the stupid hospital, on medication and stuck under
Conner's watchful eyes all week. Damn that hospital. To be fair, I'd been a
little too busy whining in pain and trying to heal to think much about
Halloween. But later, when Conner had reminded me about the party, I'd
hopped into action.

First I'd asked Reid what he was going as, and where he got his costume.

"That's a surprise, Devon," he'd said. "But I can help with a costume for
you. They set up some of the clothing units down on forty-three to do
that. Next year there will probably be shops for that, but this year you
can go program your own and get it made to order. They gave everyone one
free credit, so you can go wild."

"Cool!" I'd said. I'd asked about the single credit thing. Apparently the
mayor's office had been worried that unlimited allowances would impact the
raw material supplies too much, and I could see that. But Eden had offered
a compromise - everyone got one costume, which needed to be recycled
later. Seemed fair, and I was excited to get mine.

Turned out, getting a free costume from forty-three wasn't all that cool. I
thought it was going to be, and I'd shuffled down there first thing
Saturday morning. I expected there to be a lot of other guys, but the room
was empty when I arrived. I guess everyone else got their costumes
earlier. I was cutting it a little close.

So I'd been able to take my time on the machine. The clothing-manufacturing
units can make anything you want in any cut you want out of almost any
material you want. You just have to program them, as Charlie did when he
made his clothes. The units on forty- three looked older than the one
Charlie had assembled, but the principle was the same. I sat at the console
and pulled up the list of costumes that had already been programmed.  I
knew what I wanted.

It had been fun, finding the basic pattern and then altering it to suit
me. I changed one thing, then another, and then changed some things
back. "Nah, that should be red," I said to myself as I worked. When I was
done, I told the machine to make the costume.

It whirred and clicked and banged around while it worked, making an
unsettlingly loud noise in the empty space. Either black smoke erupted from
behind the machine at one point, or I just imagined it did, but eventually
the clothes I'd ordered came sliding down the chute, already packaged in
brown paper and tied up with yellow string - how retro!

I smiled, quite full of myself, and took my package up to the empty dorm on
twenty-four. I was like a little kid, eager to open my creation. I think
I'd actually giggled as I opened the package, peering inside. Then I'd
arched an eyebrow, which immediately preceded the pouting.

I pulled out what looked like a very large and very long pair of red
pajamas. "What the fuck?" I asked aloud. Giving the clothing unit the
benefit of the doubt, I tried the costume on. Big mistake.

I looked in a mirror, and then scowled. I'd told the computer that I wanted
to be a sexy devil. Get it? Devon, devil; devil, Devon. I thought it was
funny. I had this image in my head of looking sensual and a little evil and
cool and...not like this.

The computer had made me a giant pair of red footies, with off-color red
felty material that ran over my arms and legs, covering both hands and feet
and about ninety-five percent of my body. "Wow," I muttered sarcastically,
"Sexy devil is really quite conservative." There wasn't even a fly on the
pants!

But there was a cape. Don't ask me why, but there was a stupid cape, made
of the same wretched red felt, hanging to the floor off my back. Since when
does the devil wear a flipping cape?

"No horns?" I asked myself. I looked in the package and realized they'd
fallen to the bottom. I pulled out about the cheesiest set of plastic horns
ever and put them on. I felt like a tuba somewhere was mocking me with a
sardonic "wah wah wah wahhhhhhhh."

So that's why I'm pouting.

My wristcom beeps, and I realize that I have to manipulate my costume
extensively in order to unfasten the stupid mittens. Why would the devil
have mittens? Oh, never mind.  I consider ignoring the message, not really
wanting to talk to anyone. But when I look at my inbox I see that it's an
encrypted file, which in most cases means an inter-ship communication (or
sometimes something especially dirty that Zane wants to tell me.)

I wonder if Allie has sent me a message. Yes, I've been writing my ex. Ex?
I don't know, was she an ex? Maybe. Or maybe I'd call her the girl I
infrequently bought coffee for before the Earth blew up and I started
sucking every guy who'd drop his drawers.  Anyway, I've been messaging
her. And it's been good - we've stayed friends.

But the message that pops up after I enter my encryption key isn't from
Allie. It's from my parents. I'd recently sent them a message telling them
I'd been in an accident, and then I'd also mentioned my newfound
sexuality. I read the message at once.


Devon,

Thank you so much for your email. We were sorry to hear about your
accident. Please rest and get better soon. Do you remember the year we went
to Santa Monica and you almost fell off the pier? Do try to be careful,
dear.

As for the other thing, what to say? You were a wonderful child, always
full of life and laughter. And you grew into such a wonderful young
man. Your dad and I watched you each and every day, never knowing quite
what to expect. From the time you were two, your dad and I talked about how
we would always support you. We spent a fair amount of time wondering what
sort of man you would grow up to be, but we never questioned that we would
be proud of that man.

In your message you say that you're gay. I'm glad you knew it wouldn't be
too surprising, and I hope you didn't fret about telling us. You have
always been a sensitive, caring, intelligent boy, and you were always very
close with your boyhood friends, in a way that a mother can look at and
wonder.  We always knew you might grow up to love men. When you started
dating Allison, we were surprised by you yet again, but pleased that
raising you is such an adventure.

Now it sounds like you know more about who you are, and the man you want to
be. We're both so happy to hear this! Go and find the things in life that
make you happy. Be the caring boy you've always been. Show someone else
that same love you've always shown us, and the same love I hope you've felt
we've shown you. You are kind and good and a wonderful boy, Devon. We miss
you every moment, and look forward to the day we can talk to you by
video. And the day, of course, when we'll be together again.

Love,

Mom and Dad

PS: When you do find a boyfriend, please tell us all about him!


I take my com off my wrist and set it on the table next to me. The message
I've just read is great - I can actually hear my mom's voice speaking the
words in my head - so I'm a little surprised to find that tears are rolling
down my cheeks.

There's a click from behind me as the door to the room opens. I hurriedly
wipe the salty tears from my face and snort snot back into my nose. Charlie
and Mike enter the room, carrying a bundle of packages.

"No, I'm not picking on you, Mike," Charlie says, sounding a little huffy,
"I'm just asking that we be more careful next time. I needed 240 pairs with
29-inch waists, not 49-inch waists. Those are going to be...hmm, in low
demand on this ship. I'll take care of recycling them, though."

Mike looks defensive and about to say something snotty in retort when he
sees me sitting on the bed. "Hey Devon. What the hell are you wearing?" He
then frowns, setting down his boxes. "Hey, are you okay?"

I take a deep breath. I'm sure the boys can tell that I've been crying. My
cheeks always turn really red. "Yeah," I sigh, "Just reading an email from
my parents."

Charlie pulls out a pair of red briefs. They unfold into a huge tent-like
swatch of fabric.  He sighs, and then looks over to me. "Bad news?
Everything okay?"

"Everything's okay, I just miss them." I explain about what I'd emailed to
my parents, then tell them about the reply. I feel a little silly for
crying, the message truly does make me feel happy. Charlie congratulates me
for taking the step I had.

"One thing, though," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you dressed like Underdog?"

Mike chimes in before I can answer. "I thought he was supposed to be
Superman in his PJ's."

I bury my head in my hands, shaking it and growling in frustration. I
explain my sexy devil idea, and then about the clothing unit and how it
made what I'm wearing, which I'm now realizing is starting to make my
entire body itch - especially my balls, which is weird since I'm still
wearing underwear beneath the costume.

"This sucks!" I proclaim. "I used my costume credit, and the party is
tonight. So I have this wretched thing, and this stupid cast," I hold up my
left arm. The cast, filling the sleeve of my horrid devil costume, looks
like a giant hotdog, "I'm supposed to do some stuff in the cafeteria and I
don't have time to get another costume and my shoulder hurts." I was in
full-on whine mode. "This is going to be the worst Halloween ever!"

"It's not that bad." Mike tries to comfort me, cocking his head to inspect
my atrocity of a costume. "Why would the devil wear a cape?"

"AARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!"

Once I'm finished screaming (and Charlie and Mike finished wincing),
Charlie suggests something. "Devon, you're such a doofus. Did you somehow
forget that your best friend makes clothes?" I look at him curiously.

"Here's what we'll do," he continues. "You go get your stuff done. Then
meet us at the store. Mike and I will get you something...better." He looks
at my flannel PJ footie mitten caped devil disaster and frowns, flicking
the awful plastic horns with a finger; they fly off my head and land on the
floor with a light pat.

"Really?" I ask, hope seeping into my voice.

"Yeah, totally," Mike says. "I mean, you're cutting into our fuck time..."
Charlie slaps his boyfriend on the shoulder. Mike winces in mock pain and
then continues, "...Ow! Hey, it's true. Anyway, you're cutting into our
'work time,' but we don't mind."

I jump on the offer for help. Charlie asks me to explain my concept, which
I do. "That's sexy devil? Sheesh, I'd hate to see 'lame-o devil.' " This
earns a sarcastic smile. Charlie puts some space between us and beckons
Mike to the corner of the room, where the two whisper amongst themselves,
looking back at me now and again. I strain to overhear their conversation,
but can't make anything out.

Eventually they turn back to me, Charlie clapping his hands together in
determination.  "Okay! I think we have a plan. We just need to get some
measurements - can you disrobe for us?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Devon, take that god-awful thing off. You look like a giant red
dildo after a tragic boating accident."

I happily slither out of the "costume," kicking it under the bed and making
a note to burn it later. Or blow it out an airlock. I stand in the center
of the room while both boys pull up programs on their coms. These turn out
to be tailoring applications, which they use to measure me. "Undies too,"
Mike says, reaching over to snap the waistband against my butt. "We need an
accurate measurement since we're making something sexy."

I comply, removing my underwear and standing naked for the boys. It's a
little cold in the room today, I think, noting that my balls are riding a
little high. Mike and Charlie run their coms over my body, holding them
millimeters away from my skin. They beep in time, apparently measuring my
contours.

I feel Mike's fingers on my butt, then one slides into my crack, close to
my hole. It tickles and surprises me. "Whoa!" I yelp. "Hey, is this really
necessary?"

"Not really," Charlie says, pointing his beeping com at my nose. "We
measured you from over there, this was just to see if we could get you to
take your clothes off for us."

Both guys laugh, and once I'm done trying to smack them I do
too. "Retards," I mumble, putting my regular clothes back on. Griping
playfully about their antics, I walk with them through the Forward
Concourse, thanking them profusely for agreeing to help me out.  We part at
the entrance to their shop. From there I head to the cafeteria, where Zane
says he needs my help.

Food Services is buzzing with excitement when I arrive, most everyone
assigned to help get things ready for the festival and party. I find Zane
at his usual workstation, covered in the multi-colored stains and blobs
that tell me he's been hard at work.

"Hey, dude," he greets me, and then explains why he needs my help. Turns
out he wants to make some cool hors d'oeuvres for the party, but Zane is
better at assembling dishes than conceptualizing them (and he's not that
great at assembling them, to be honest). I cheerfully agree to help, in a
better mood now that Charlie has taken over the costume problem. I work at
my console and find three recipes that should be simple and delicious. Zane
excitedly agrees that they're exactly what he wants, and we put in an order
for the ingredients.

"I also have that stuff over there," Zane points to a pile of partially
prepared food at his workstation. "If you want to mess with it while I go
get the supplies, feel free. But you don't have to."

Zane leaves and I look at his work. He's making some mini burritos, which
smell pretty good. Heck, after months of tofu and rations, anything with
real meat smells good. I take a finished one from the tray and taste
it. It's good, but not great. "Needs something," I mutter.

An idea hits me, and I smile evilly. This is Halloween, after all. What
would it be without a little prankishness? Moving to my workstation, I
gather up some vegetables from my hopper. I dice and mince and quickly make
an accentuating salsa - a very spicy accentuating salsa - for the burritos,
which I mix into the cooked beef. Then I start rolling up the little
snacks, which is fucking hard with one arm!

"Just over here, Zane says when he and Jon enter the kitchen, arms loaded
with packages. I'd help, but again, one arm. They set the boxes down.

"Whew, busy today!" Jon exclaims. "Those look good," he says, glancing at
the burritos.  "They got you working despite the arm, huh?"

I realize he's talking to me. "Yeah. Well, not really. I was bored, so I
thought I'd help out."

"Cool, cool. Hey, if you don't mind I have something for Colin." Jon
says. I look at him quizzically.

"Colin?"

"Yeah, you know, the doctor. He needed something for a patient, just some
herbal supplements, and I know you hang at the hospital these days. I'd
take it, but we're slammed today."

I figure out who he's referring to. "Oh, you mean Conner."

Jon looks confused, and then smiles. "Yeah, yeah that's him. Duh. I've been
calling him Colin. That's embarrassing. Anyway, if you're heading down
there...."

I nod and agree to deliver the small white envelope Jon hands me, but not
before looking him over. The guys in stores are always really happy, and
now I wonder if there's not some smoking out going on.

I drop the package off on my way back to see Charlie and Mike, finding
Conner in his office at the hospital surrounded by books. He thanks me for
bringing the package, and then takes a break from his studying. "You ready
for the party?" he asks.

"Not even a little," I admit.

"Hey," he says, "I was going to ask you..."

Suddenly I realize I'm running really late. Damn those mini burritos! "Hey,
look Conner, I'm sorry but I'm soooooo late. I gotta run. But see you
tonight?" He smiles and nods before being treated to a view of a hastily
retreating Devon.

When I get to Charlie's shop on the third floor of the Forward Concourse, I
see they're closing up for the day, although the automated system will
still allow people to come in and pick up orders. The store is actually
pretty automated. I think Charlie and Mike work it mostly to socialize and
hang out. "There you are, late as usual," Charlie says when I walk in.

"Who, me?"

He takes me into the back room, where Mike is fidgeting with
something. "Ok, I think we have what you wanted here. But I'll warn you,
you said 'sexy devil', so don't be surprised if you get sexy devil."

"I want sexy devil," I say, "Even if it means just red underwear and
horns. Well, not the horns from earlier. Those sucked."

"Yes, they did," Charlie says. "Ok, the festival starts in two hours, so we
can go ahead and dress you. Take your clothes off."

I laugh. "I'm not falling for that one again." Charlie gives me a stern
look, and I realize he's not kidding. I slip off my pants and t-shirt,
which gets me another stern look. I shuck my underwear too.

"Mike, did you talk to Conner?" Charlie asks. Mike nods yes, and then says
whatever he's working on is almost done. I'm about to ask what Charlie is
referring to when he explains. "Ok, here's the deal. We knew you hated the
cast, so I had Mike ask Conner about it. He says if you are feeling okay,
and if you are very, very, very, very careful, you may replace it with
something we whipped up as part of your costume."

"Really?" I ask excitedly, feeling the heft of the cast; I was really
starting to loathe it.

"Yes, and I think you'll like what we have to replace it, but if you break
your arm again and Conner comes after us, I'm going to kill you."

"Deal," I smile, not wasting a minute before I start unfastening the sling
and cast. It's relatively easy to remove. My arm feels fine, and although
my shoulder is still pretty sore I'm happy to be free of it. I can't help
but wonder what Charlie has to protect my shoulder that will fit in with my
costume theme. I don't have to wait long before Charlie shows me.

"Ok, here's what we came up with," he says. "You asked for sexy devil,
right?"

"Yup."

"We thought about that, and about you. We thought that your costume should
show some skin, and be a little perverse. But we wanted it fun, and also a
little gay. Because of your hair..." Charlie pulls on my blue bangs, "...we
wanted to go a little glam, but also draw from French art, particularly the
late sixteenth century. Combined with some appropriate makeup, body paint
and accessories, I think this will be awesome."

Charlie's rambling has my head swimming, but I think I'm beginning to see
why I ended up with chunky red footies instead of what I wanted.

He goes to work on me, first consenting to cover up my naughty bits with
the lower part of my costume, which takes some tailoring. I casually cover
my package with my hand while I wait. "Jeez, when'd you get so shy?" he
asks. "It's not like anything we haven't seen before."

"Or sucked before," Mike adds, giggling.

"Ok, so I designed the pants for your costume from this great old album
cover I saw in Beck's music collection. In fact, I took most of the basic
idea from that." Charlie pulls a pile of red, lush looking velvet from a
box next to his work table.

I put on the "pants" Charlie hands me, having a hard time figuring out what
to do with them at first. Charlie helps, goosing my butt in the
process. The pants slide over my thighs sensually, coming to a stop very
low on my body, just above the point where my pubic hair tapers into a
fuzzy brown treasure trail. "Wow, low," I say nervously.

"You wanted sexy," Charlie explains. And they are. The red velvet bunches
at the top, sitting higher in front than in the rear, where it loops low
enough so that I can feel a cool breeze on the top of my ass. The velvet
then drapes down my legs in loose, flowing fabric, coming to a wide leg
that pools on the floor.

"This feels great," I say. "But a little loose."

"I'm going to cinch it in place, but you'll have to be careful not to push
down, or the whole party will get a show." I blush at the thought, but it
also excites me.

"And on top?" I ask.

Charlie whacks my stomach with a solid slap. I jump, and happily discover
the pants stay on. "Bare-chested, my friend. But don't worry, I'm going to
do you up all nice and devilish."

"No cape?" Mike asks, putting down the grey metal disc he's been tinkering
with.

"No cape!" Charlie yells in a silly voice. "Besides, Sean took my last
cape."

"You did Sean's costume too?" I ask while Charlie rummages through some
drawers, pulling out various supplies I assume are for me.

"Yep," he confirms. "And Dog's. Mine and Mike's, of course. Well, we sort
of all did them together in the waiting room last week."

"Oh." I'm a little disappointed, maybe feeling a little left out. But I can
see why they talked Halloween - I'm sure waiting around in the hospital was
exceedingly boring. "What about Zane?"

"I didn't help Zane, no idea what he's doing. Maybe nothing. You know how
he is, slacker to the end." I think about Zane up in the cafeteria, and
consider that he looked like he'd been in a tragic accident just from the
stains he was covered in. Maybe he didn't need a costume at all.

Charlie, artist that he is, goes to work, first applying a variety of body
paints. He brushes a body powder on my skin, tickling my nipples with the
soft makeup brush, before moving on and applying dark, sticky ink up my
right side, drying it with a small fan as he goes. I want to look down, but
he insists I remain still. When he's finished, he applies makeup to my
face, which at first I resist. But then I let him have free reign. He
paints my lips, and then puts a variety of different makeup on my eyes.

"We decided to leave your hair as-is," he says after an hour of work. "It
might make more sense if you had red coloring in it, but the blue contrasts
everything else." Although he leaves the color intact, he does put some
effort into giving me an appropriate hairstyle, dabbing in a thick white
liquid and working it in with his palms.

We start to run short on time, so Charlie increases pace, saying that he
and Mike have less complicated costumes, but they still need some time to
dress. Charlie locates a box and opens it, revealing a tangled mess of
metal chains and necklaces. He patiently divides them out, setting some in
one pile and the rest in another. Once he has them divided, he places
several around my neck. He snaps a leather cuff on my right wrist.

"That's almost got it," he says. "I'm gonna go get the next piece. Go over
there and check it out."

I walk over to a floor length mirror, and what I see makes me gasp. "Wow,
mirror Devon, you look awesome!"

My red velvet pants look sensual ("And they are!" I think, wiggling my
ass), and the rest of the costume is fantastic. Well, that sounds arrogant
because mostly the rest of the costume is me. My body emerges from the
folds of fabric, made paler by the powders Charlie applied. My nipples are
pale red circles on an almost-white canvas, as are my lips, which seem
fuller from the lipstick. A henna design adorns my torso, a tribal pattern
of fire and barbed wire that rises from my right hip, snaking across my
stomach and over my pecs to encircle my neck in deep red paint that looks
like gashes in my skin. My eyes shine bright, made all the more intense by
the eye shadow and eyeliner that is heavily applied. Several silver
pendants hang from my neck in chains of varying lengths, dangling with
arcane symbols that contrast with the dark cuff that bounds my wrist.

I look younger, I think. Almost like an angel who is bound in velvet and
fire and blood. A wide grin makes its way across my face.

"You like?" Charlie asks, looking pleased.

"Oh my god, Charlie, yes! This looks...this looks fantastic. You guys are
the best!"

Charlie is carrying a long, mahogany-colored item in his hand. He explains,
lifting my left arm very gently to assist putting it on me. "Ok, you need
to be careful with this. It will protect your arm and shoulder, but not as
well as the cast. We went over to the hospital earlier, and Ian helped with
this. It was tough getting the clothing unit to understand what we were
trying to get it to do, but I think this works."

What Charlie has made looks like a piece of medieval armor, and when he
explains I find out this is more or less exactly what it is. "This is
basically a vambrace," he says, "the piece of armor that protects your
arm. Or in samurai armor these would be the sode and kote." Charlie shows
me the two pieces of the faux-cast he's made - the kote, which is a long
sleeve-like piece that protects my arm, and the sode, a wide piece that
fits over my shoulder and helps balance the weight more evenly across my
frame. Both have been made to look like dark wood, although the material is
actually quite light. A series of occult symbols similar to those on my
jewelry runs down the arm-piece; they look burned-in, as if branded onto
the kote.

Charlie helps me fit the armor over my arm. At first I'm concerned it's
going to be uncomfortable, but when I get it on I realize it's providing
about the same protection and support as the cast. It both limits my range
of motion, preventing me from stretching my arm too far, and allows me to
rest the weight of my arm on it.

"Hey, that looks good!" Charlie says, marveling at his own
workmanship. "This took some doing, but Mike helped work it out. Let's try
it." Charlie flips a hidden switch on the underside of the sode. The occult
symbols light up slightly, looking as if they've just recently been burned
into the "wood." When I move, the glow rises slightly, as if the air fanned
across my arm has fanned the fake embers burning under the symbols.

"Oh my god, this is so cool!" I can't help but act like a little kid. The
boys went all out on this, and I really appreciate it.

"But wait, there's more!" Mike exclaims from his chair, picking up the
objects he's been working on and walking over to me. "Stupid flipping
things. Took forever to...stupid fucking thing better work," he mutters and
grumbles.

"Sorry," I say, feeling like I've been a burden on my friends. Mike's mood
lightens.

"Don't be," he says cheerfully. "I'm just kidding...mostly. I wanted to try
this the second I thought of it. Here, bend down."

I do, and he messes with my hair for a minute, affixing the metal discs
he's been working on with some sort of adhesive. After brushing my hair
around, he tells me he's done. I look up at my image in the mirror. I can
feel the accessory against my scalp, but I can't see it through my thick,
blue bangs. "What's it for?" I ask.

"This," Mike says with a smile, raising his hand to reveal a small disc in
his hand. He clicks a button.

At first I'm startled by what happens in the mirror, and then I do a double
take to make sure I wasn't seeing things. I wasn't. Two long, curving horns
made of dancing blue flame have emerged from my hair, flickering like real
fire - a holographic, but convincing, illusion.

"No. Fucking. Way." I say, ducking and moving my head from side to side,
watching as the "flames" react to my movements the way real fire would. I
just about explode in boyish excitement, grabbing Mike in a hefty one-armed
bear hug before doing the same to Charlie. "Oh my god, I love you guys!" I
gush. "I was so bummed that this would be the worst Halloween. This is
awesome. You guys rock!"

Charlie and Mike beam, both deservedly proud of the work they've put in.

Mike checks the time; the party is drawing near. I can't stop looking at my
super-cool outfit in the mirror, but I'm forced to when the boys push me
into the main storefront, asking for some privacy so they can change into
their own costumes.

While they dress I browse Charlie's clothes. He's started making shirts in
addition to the underwear, and they all look cool. I wonder if he'll make
me a shirt with an image of a cast and sling, just in case I miss them when
they're gone.

"Ok," Charlie says when he emerges from the rear of the store. He's totally
transformed, his face covered by a masquerade-style mask featuring emerald
feathers that jut out from his eyes in a wide spray, the nose of the mask
sloping into a sharp looking beak.  The same feathers cover his arms,
attached to special sleeves that give him the illusion of having emerald
wings. But like me he's shirtless, although a swath of feathers covers his
chest and runs down his stomach in the same pattern hair would on a very
hairy man, Charlie's false feathery treasure trail leading into a pair of
green low-rise briefs. He has bright yellow shoes to accentuate the outfit.

"Wow...that's sexy," I say. It looks great, although I don't know what the
avian theme is about.

"You ready, Mike?" Charlie calls back into the stockroom.

Mike's voice drifts softy from just the other side of the doorway. "I don't
know," he says.  "I'm a little embarrassed, I think."

"Oh, please," Charlie says, "I'm a damn bird. Come out here, show Devon."

Mike very slowly emerges, blushing furiously in the costume that, clearly,
Charlie has designed with his boyfriend in mind. It covers very little, but
it does so with great panache. Mike is wearing a very tiny half-shirt with
yellow and black stripes. It cuts off just below his pecs to reveal tan,
smooth skin stretching all the way down to the tiniest possible pair of
black, shiny briefs. Long socks in a similar black and yellow pattern run
all the way to the boy's knees. When he turns I can see that the briefs
feature a black "stinger" curving upward from his round ass in what looks
like a sharp point; I smile when I see that Charlie has given the stinger
the same curve that Mike's dick features. On his back, a set of white
insect wings flutter and flap in a holographic illusion similar to that of
my horns. Two non-holographic antennas extend above his head, bobbing
slowly up and down.

Mike looks more like a little boy than ever, shy and uncomfortable in the
tiny clothes. A little boy dressed like a gay bumblebee, but a little boy
nonetheless. "I thought we were going to make it a little more...covering,"
he says cutely. It makes my dick twitch, the way he smiles as he says it.

"That is the one that covers more, you should have seen the first one I
made," Charlie laughs.

"It's not like we haven't seen it before," I mock, imitating the tone he'd
used earlier on me. "Or sucked it." If I ever wondered if bees had tongues,
my question was answered, because one is stuck defiantly in my direction.

Charlie drapes an arm over his scantily clad boyfriend. "Get it?" he says
with a grin.  "Birds and the bees?"

I think about it, and then laugh. Looking at the three of us, I have to
ask. "Do you think people are going to notice that we look a little gay?"

Charlie arches an eyebrow. "I think most everyone knows already. The ones
who don't, though - yeah. Especially you, Devon. You look like gay sex
wrapped in velvet." I blush at the compliment, and not in a bad way.

Any time there's a ship-wide event it's exciting, but in the case of the
Halloween festival there was a palpable energy buzzing about the ship; it
was the biggest, most elaborate event that had been staged thus far, and
the moment the clocks on our collective wristcoms stated it was eight, just
about everyone on the ship, now dressed in bright, funny, and sometimes
elaborate costumes, moved in eager anticipation toward the main lobby.

Charlie, Mike and I exited his store and descended to the first floor to be
caught up in this tide, a drifting, flowing line of people determinedly
headed toward that spot in the exact center of the ship where the festival
was taking place.

"Wow, people went all out," I say, staring wide-eyed at my fellow
passengers. It was true; the ship was now filled with costumes in a myriad
of designs, colors and styles.  There were super-heroes and animals and
historical figures and gods; there were famous movie characters,
manifestations of death in varying forms, and even ideas or abstract
concepts brought to life in costume-form (as in the case of the guy wearing
a woman's slip with the word "FREUD" printed on it in block letters). We
passed two guys, one unoriginally dressed in a bathrobe and carrying a cup
of coffee, the other made up elaborately as Kali, a thick skull necklace
jangling around his neck and six false blue arms accompanying his real
ones. He gave us a fierce snarl as we walked past, golden headdress
catching the light from overhead.

"Great costume," Charlie tells him.

"I come for your SOULS!" he growls comically, waving a fake cutlass.

When we get to the lobby, we find it transformed, a fact that seems all the
more astounding because this is the one place in the ship where the lights
never dim, the temperature never seems to change, and the decor remains
constant. But not tonight.

"Wow," Mike gasps as we walked into the huge open space. Our eyes
involuntarily lift toward the ceiling, the huge curved dome that hangs
overhead. Normally brightly lit, it was now darkened and made to look like
a night sky, lamps left on here and there to simulate stars. The room was
ten degrees cooler than normal, and damp. I notice a thick, white fog
rolling out of the plant beds, slinking to the floor, which was covered in
several inches of the ghostly substance.

A maze of booths had been set up in the center of the lobby, which we
enter. We're greeted by a wave of smells and sounds that felt comforting
and familiar. My fellow chefs have set up an area serving the comfort foods
you crave this time of year, hotdogs and roasted pecans and candied apples
and beaver tails, those crispy fried doughnuts covered in maple pecan glaze
and autumn spices. Charlie gladly accepts one of these from David, one of
my co-workers, and bites into the hot dessert. He smiles, a smear of maple
glaze sitting seductively on his upper lip.

We turn the corner and almost collide with a group of Catholic
nuns. "Sorry, sisters," Mike says.

"Buzz off!" one of the faux-catholics joke, referring to Mike's costume.

I'm surprised to see Zane standing behind the counter of the next booth,
wearing an apron that is actually moderately clean. He's coating something
with cinnamon sugar.  When he notices us he flashes a huge grin, looking
from one of us to the other. "Wow!"  he exclaims. "You guys look awesome!
Oh wow, Charlie, when you said you were helping Devon out this afternoon I
didn't think you'd get that elaborate. That looks great!  I love the new
cast."

Zane looks at my fiery horns curiously, like a little boy, and then reaches
over the counter to run his hand a couple of inches over my head. The
flames flicker and dance as his fingers pass through the holograms. "Mike
made those," I explain.

"That's great! Dang, Mike, that's some good work. I knew you were an
engineering whiz, but dang."

Mike thanks him, smiling shyly, and then we ask about the booth. He
explains that he offered to man it until eleven so he could be off for the
party and post-party cleanup. I should have guessed he was here as part of
a scheme to get out of dishes.

"Here, try one of these," he says, handing me one of the treats he's
making. It's an orange-colored wheel that is obviously fried. Stringy fried
strands cross through the center of the wheel in a pattern that looks like
spider-webs. It's warm in my fingers, oily, and gritty from a dense coating
of cinnamon sugar.

"What is it?" I ask, turning the snack over in my hand.

Zane smirks. "Oh come on Dev, just put it in your mouth." I shrug and do as
he says. As I bite into the crispy food, Zane turns to Charlie and adds,
"You'd be surprised at how often I find myself saying that to him." I smirk
at him as I chew.

The dessert tastes familiar, and yet not. It's fruity and crispy and
delicious, hints of cinnamon and nutmeg filling my senses. Its texture is
not unlike tempura vegetables.  "This is really good," I say, my mouth full
of hot, sweet deliciousness. "What is it?"

Zane explains as I offer a bite to Mike and Charlie; both boys accept. "So
what I did here is peel and slice a sugar pumpkin, then cutting cross
sections into a wheel. Then I've flash-fried it with some tempura. The
coating is cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg, and I put in a little allspice."

I'm impressed. I would never have thought to prepare pumpkin like
this. "You came up with this?"

Zane nods, suddenly looking a little uncertain. "Is it okay?"

The question is clearly posed at me. "Ok?" I laugh, "It's awesome. So
good." This gets a big smile in response. I've noticed lately, as I get
better and better at cooking, that my approval of Zane's creations is
increasingly important to him.

We leave Zane to his pumpkin frying when a group of recently slaughtered
sorority "girls" (the Adams apples suggesting they were not literally
female) approach his booth and request a sample.

The food area leads into the exact center of the lobby, which has been made
up in a huge maze, bales of hay stacked in nine-foot rows. "Cool," Charlie
says.

"AR-Rooooooooooooooo!" sounds a tremendous (but silly) howl from behind. We
turn to find Sean and Dog, Dog the one making all the noise, and for good
reason.

I would have guessed Charlie had a hand in the costume designs even if he
hadn't told me; both boys look fantastic, and sexy. Sean is dressed in an
outfit of black leather and red silk, a pair of raggedy leather pants
sitting low on his hips; they look worn and somehow impossibly stitched
together, like someone had taken dozens of little leather pieces and
haphazardly sewn them together. A flowing red silk cape hangs to the floor,
held in place by a chain of dark iron fastened over his shoulders and
neck. He's bare- chested under the cape, which seems to be a consistent
with Charlie's costumes. Three deep gashes slash across his chest, small
lines of dried blood streaking down his abs as if some vicious animal had
recently clawed him. A silver-plated hatchet is slung over his shoulder,
reflecting a distorted image of the starry ceiling above, the hedge maze,
and our astounded faces.

Sean wears a black cuff on one wrist, similar to the one Charlie has put on
me, but his is connected to a heavy looking iron chain that leads up to a
similarly heavy looking iron collar around Dog's neck.

Dog, we see, is the animal that has apparently wounded Sean before being
captured and bound. Like with Mike, Charlie has shown how passionate he
feels about conservation by using as little fabric as possible. A pair of
tight black trunks is just about all Dog is wearing, with the exception of
the fur, which sits on his chest in thick, brown, mangy tufts. He's wearing
fake paws and feet, all covered in the same brown animal fur, sharp white
claws extending from each. A bushy brown tail hangs from just above his
ass, swinging delicately above the floor.

"Wow, those came out good," Mike says. Dog smiles and I'm a little
disconcerted. He's wearing black contact lenses, for one thing, and his
canines have been veneered to look impossibly long and sharp. Plus he has
shaggy brown hair and two canine ears on the top of his head.

"Jacob Black and Edward Cullen?" I ask, ignoring the obviousness of the Red
Riding Hood theme and purposefully guessing incorrectly.

Charlie slaps my left arm lightly in a playful manner, then realizes what
he's done and apologizes over and over. I tell him it didn't hurt (although
it did a little) while marveling over Sean and Dog's costumes. I pull on
the chain leading to Dog's collar, it isn't as heavy as it looks but it is
real. "I didn't know you guys were into bondage," I say.

"We may be now," Dog says, his speech slightly funny because of the altered
teeth, "It's really sexy." I get the sense he's not joking.

The five of us, now just about the gayest spectacle ever, head into the
hedge maze together. The lights have been dimmed substantially, so that the
foggy maze feels dark and foreboding.

We take twists and turns, eventually coming to a staged haunted house-style
scene in a clearing. Two boys are sitting down at a dinner table, both
wearing astronaut outfits.  They remove the cover from a large silver dish
in the middle of the table to reveal a "severed" head. The head opens its
eyes and begins screaming, pleading with us to not let the astronauts eat
him. The head spots me, and then says in a flat voice, "Although I probably
would taste better than Tuna Surprise." I scowl, but have to laugh at the
insult to one of my more infamous cooking disasters.

Another scene is a little more abstract and wacky. Entering another
clearing, we find a black backdrop with a model of an exploding sun in the
center. Two boys dressed in large plastic grey suits run in circles,
screaming and plowing into each other. One has "EV5997" imprinted on his
ass. I get it - they're escaping spaceships. I have to laugh, but it's
really dumb and tasteless, in the way only teenagers can be.

Eventually we come to the center of the maze, and find an impossibly long
line of guys.  It's so long, winding up and down the final passageway to
the maze's center, that we can't see past them. "What's the deal?" Sean
asks one of the bystanders, who's dressed like an army general.

He explains that three of the hotter girls on board have set up a kissing
booth as a reward for making it through the maze successfully. With only a
couple hundred girls on board compared to over forty-five hundred college
guys, their services, kissing and otherwise, were in high demand. I look at
my four ultra-sexy friends, who I very rarely have to wait in line to kiss
- or stroke, or blow - and I say a little prayer of thanks to the gods of
genetics, who deemed to activate the gene that made me prefer my friends.

New Devon, quite thrilled to be dressed as a sexy devil, opens his
mouth. "I could save you the wait," I say, "And kiss you right now."

Army general scowls, but then politely says "no thanks." His buddy, a navy
midshipman, doesn't seem so opposed. "I could go for that," he says.

I didn't expect it, but shrug - why not? I move over to navy boy and press
my lips to his, several of the other line standers turning to look at us. I
don't go cheap on navy boy, either, giving him my best, most practiced
kiss, using a little tongue to play with his upper lip. He groans
lightly. Because we're on display, I make it an extra long one, too,
remaining lip-locked for a full minute before taking my hand off the back
of his head and letting our mouths part. "Wow, you're a good kisser," he
says, a little glazy-eyed. "I'm Teo."

"I'm Devon," I say, smiling at the compliment to my kissing. "I'll see you
later, Teo."

I walk out of the maze center with my friends, all four of them grinning at
me. Once we're out of earshot Charlie exclaims, "I cannot believe you just
did that!" They laugh at my antics. I feel a little like Zane, and not at
all ashamed by that.

"Hey, it's Halloween," I say. "Teo deserved a treat. And I did too."

The festival runs until midnight. We spend our time sampling various foods,
making our way through the crowds, and participating in some of the
carnival games that have been set up. We find Nick and Jacob manning one of
these.

"C'mon over," Nick says in his best impersonation of a barker. "Test your
luck, win fabulous prizes!"

We approach his booth, the requisite display of wonderment about our
costumes following. "Dang," Nick says, "I should have let Charlie make
mine. I got 'German beer boy in lederhosen. I'm gonna go get dressed once
we close up here."

Nick and Jacob's game is the classic milk bottle ball toss. Charlie and
Mike pass on offers to try, but Sean accepts, puffing his chest and walking
up to the counter. He takes one of the grapefruit-sized balls into his
right hand. He's about to toss it with maximum force when Dog yelps,
pointing out that his neck is connected to Sean's wrist. We laugh as Sean
removes his cuff and chide him for almost killing his boyfriend. He winds
up again and throws the ball.

The five of us watch in wonderment as the ball seems to curve upward as it
zooms across the booth, its arc becoming more pronounced at the end so that
it flies over the stacked bottles before flying up to the ceiling of the
booth and rolling around there.  Jacob laughs at Sean's bewildered
expression. They've changed the game by altering the gravity in the booth.

Sean throws two more balls, the second missing again and the third
connecting but failing to knock over all the bottles. "You suck,
Laskaway. Your booth sucks," he gripes in mock-anger.

Dog also passes on an attempt, but I accept. Living your life means taking
risks, even if it's just a carnival game with weird gravity. I'd watched
all three of Sean's throws, and thought I had a good perspective on how
things were aligned. I wind up in an elaborate comic flourish, and then
throw the ball directly at a spot on the floor to the right of me. It
streaks away, seemingly way off-course, before starting to "fall" up, a
dizzying graceful spiral that seems to defy logic. My ball smashed into the
center of the bottles, knocking them all over.

"YEAH!" My friends yell in unison; I smile at their praise, quite pleased
with myself.  Everyone within a thirty-meter radius turns to look at us.

Nick is smiling, but he's also disgruntled. "Nobody's supposed to get it on
the first try," he whines, reaching under the counter and pulling out a
silver package. He hands me the prize, which I recognize to be a pair of
Charlie's briefs.

"I donated the prizes for Nick's booth," he explains. Nick takes the
underwear back from me. I frown, thinking he's denying me my reward, but
then he explains that he'll put them in the room for me when he goes to
change.

We wander around some more. We're watching a "daredevil" shoot apples off a
guy's head with holographic arrows (hitting the guy squarely in the head in
most cases) when the "stars" overhead go out. A low rumbling bass line
begins thrumming through the carnival, thumping and throbbing in a regular
rhythm.

At first I jump, perhaps a little concerned that another riot has just
broken out. I look at my friends, who haven't noticed the brief flash of
fear on my face. They're all smiling, looking up to the sky. Lasers light
the lobby "sky," cutting across the open air in greens and blues and
reds. It's midnight - the carnival is over and the party has begun.

As if of one mind, the crowds begin to make their way toward the main
elevator banks, circling around the hay maze and then the elevators
themselves to stream into the long tunnel leading to the Rear Observation
Deck. Those who'd worked the carnival start stowing their supplies and
closing up their booths, some of them heading straight into the party
without costumes and some of them going off to change.

The boys and I join the throng, pushing our way through the increasingly
narrow passageway until we've entered the tunnel proper. There's a palpable
excitement to the crowd. Parties are hugely fun. Plus there was no liquor
at the festival by order of the crew - but the booze would flow freely at
the party. I wanted something fruity and neon and tasty that would make my
head spin a little.

The tunnel is usually brightly lit, the white floor and ceiling contrasting
the colorful murals that decorate the tunnel walls. Tonight, however, the
lights have been shifted to ultraviolet; eerily incandescent images shine
in glowing greens and purples over the murals. The decorations look great,
demons and ghosts and monsters painted on the walls in glow-in-the-dark
paints.

The tunnel cuts through the engineering sections, although it doesn't open
to any of these areas except by emergency access hatch, leading solely to
the Rear Observation Deck, the one area in the rear third of the ship
accessible to the general populace. I think about what lies to either side
of us on the other side of the tunnel walls, the massive cavernous spaces
and then those two mighty Rolls-Royce engines, god-like structures that
propel us through space at near-light speeds.

We come to the end of the tunnel, where it opens into the spacious deck, a
multi-use space most notable because of the towering "glass" windows
looking out into space - the only openly available portholes on the ship.

Music drifts into the tunnel, the words to that all-too-appropriate
Halloween anthem, I Put a Spell on You, reverberating off my naked
chest. When we enter the deck, I see Beck at his usual party spot,
surrounded by the audio and video equipment that is the heart of the
party. I look to see if his ubiquitous helper, AJ, is around, but I don't
find him.

"Wonder where he's snuck off to," I ask out loud.

"Huh?" Dog asks, canines glinting in the darkened room. I shake my head,
gesturing that I wasn't speaking to him.

AJ, who I now knew to be Sneak, that boy who spies on my friends and me
occasionally (by which I mean all the time), was probably here somewhere. I
felt like our game was progressing a little each day, and thinking about
where it should go next was getting me a little damp down deep in my velvet
pants.

I recognize a familiar face across the room. Well, a familiar back, to be
more precise.  "Hey guys, I'll be right back." I take my leave of the guys,
who've spotted some food on a nearby table and are wandering in that
direction. I see a plate of mini burritos amongst the food, and grin evilly
as I walk away: no one expects my habanero lime salsa until it's too late,
bwa ha ha ha!

I approach a group of three costumed guys, their backs turned to me. "Hey
Conner," I say politely, not wanting to rudely interrupt their
conversation.

He turns around, smiling at something funny that's been said. "Hey Devon, I
was wondering when you'd..." he sees what I'm wearing and stutters, then
finished with a completely different thought, "...wow! That's some
costume. You look...good, I think. I mean...you put that together?"

Conner's friends are staring at me, and I feel myself blush. New Devon is
really into this costume, but that doesn't mean I'm not a little shy about
it. "Uh, yeah," I say, inadvertently playing with the velvet around the
waistband. I stop, realizing it would be easy to make it accidentally fall
off. "I mean, no. Actually, my first costume sucked.  Charlie helped me fix
it."

Conner is wearing a suit that looks Victorian in cut, a black coat with
wide lapels sitting smartly over a crisp white shirt with a high
collar. For some reason the coat has a cape in the same black
material. He's carrying an odd device, which appears to be a metal disc
connected to a mahogany board by two arms. I have no idea what he's
supposed to be. "I like your costume too," I say, "Um...what are you?"

He looks a little downcast, but then seems to realize his costume may be a
little abstract.  "I'm Michael Faraday," he says, "Father of
electromagnetism?"

I try an expression to convey that I get it and find it very interesting,
but I feel it comes off as really patronizing. "Ah."

I see Ian across the room and wave; he walks over and greets us. "Hey
guys," he says.  He's wearing a pair of pink scrubs. Most guys might not be
able to pull it off, but with his pale blue eyes and blonde hair it looks
good. Still, it's a weak attempt for a Halloween costume, and I say so.

"You went with nurse," I joke flatly, "original."

Ian slaps me on the shoulder, which stings since it's naked. "Dork," he
mutters, "I was working, and I have to go back later. But I got somebody to
cover me for a couple of hours so I could come for a bit. I like the
cast...er, armor. Wow. Charlie asked me to help with how it should hold
your arm. I didn't expect...this."

"Thanks. They did a really great job."

Speaking of the boys, Charlie and Mike shuffle into our rapidly growing
circle. Mike looks distinctly unhappy about something, but Charlie is
laughing, tear-tracks evident down his red cheeks. "Oh my god, Devon, you
have to try one of these burritos, they're like eating fire!"

He holds up a plate with several mini burritos on it. I decline, not
wanting to fall into my own culinary trap. Ian and Conner take one apiece,
though. Charlie looks Conner over and asks, "What are you?"

Conner sighs, and then explains. "Michael Faraday, father of modern
electromagnetics."

"Oh."

"That burrito was too hot," Mike says, whining. "I'm going to go find
something else to drink." He walks away, shuffling off like a hurt little
boy, and I feel a little bad. I hadn't really intended to kill him with the
peppers, just random people. Maybe I should have warned him. Nah.

"I don't get the spinning wheel thing," Charlie says, still obsessed with
Conner's costume.

"It's a Faraday Disc," he explains, using a finger to spin the metal wheel,
which whirs and clicks as it spins. "He used it to prove the law of
induction."

"Oh. That coat looks hot. I mean, like, too warm to wear."

"It is," Conner says a little awkwardly. "And it itches. And the costume
machine gave it a cape, I don't know why."

"Holy fuck!" Ian exclaims suddenly. Everyone looks at him to see that he's
turned bright red, tears streaming down his cheeks. He's fanning his mouth
with both hands. "That is the fucking hottest thing ever. Oh my
god...fuck!" he gasps.

Ian, proving another victim of my habanero lime hijinks, steals Conner's
drink and gulps it down greedily, sputtering and coughing. Conner looks at
the hors d'oeuvre he'd accepted from Charlie and apparently thinks twice
about eating it, setting it back on Charlie's plate. "I think I'll stick to
Devon's cooking," he says.

I smile - little did they all know. Bwa ha ha ha!

"Hey, nice Faraday outfit," says a familiar voice behind us coolly. Ian
looks up, his expression changing from one of pain to one of utter shock. I
turn to see Zane, decked out in style for Halloween as only Zane could...or
would.

Zane's hair, that floppy brown mess I so love, has been slathered in some
product that makes it three shades darker and wet, so that it hangs shiny
in long, curly locks. A band encircles his head, a gold ring in a
laurel-leaf pattern looping from temple to temple. This matches the gold
sandals he's wearing, which come up to shin-height in leather straps that
tie around his calves.

And that's the extent of Zane's costume.

When I say "extent of his costume," I don't mean these are the only two
accessories he's added to an outfit - I mean this is his entire
outfit. Other than the headband and sandals, he's completely stark naked. A
fine sheen of oil covers his frame, which makes me notice that he's
completely hairless, having apparently shaved his body for the occasion.
And I'd guess he'd lifted weights right before - his muscles are taut and
hard, the way they get right after he's worked out.

I can't help but stare at one muscle in particular - the one that makes his
appearance so very shocking. He's not wearing underwear, or a jock, or even
the teeny-tiny pouch undies Charlie had made him. Zane's cock, that
hanging, ample organ that was a physical symbol of his rampant masculinity,
was completely exposed, lying long and thick from his freshly shaved body.

Everyone in the circle stares at him - or tries not to stare, in the case
of some - for a long moment before Conner speaks up, responding to Zane's
praise.  "Um...thanks...er...hi," he says. I can't blame him for stuttering
and falling all over his words - even I'm blushing, and I've seen Zane nude
lots of times before.

But then I stop blushing. I think I'm beginning to understand my
friend. He's brazen, bold, and unapologetic, but he also has a sensitive
side. I'd seen this earlier when he'd confided in my how he felt about my
accident. Those emotions worked through, we were being treated to an
unadulterated Zane in all his glory, both physically and emotionally.
Whatever fear he might feel in life, these were gone for the moment, and
Zane's costume, his beautiful naked body on display, was a proclamation to
this effect, if not to the world, then probably to me.

Zane doesn't even acknowledge our reaction; he steps into the circle and
reaches over to Conner's wheel-device-thing, spinning the metal disc with
his finger. "You even got the homopolar generator, that's awesome! We gonna
prove the Faraday Paradox later?"  he asks.

There's nothing quite like a nude guy to make a conversation at a party
awkward, or so I discover. Conner shrugs and mumbles something about
Faraday; Ian looks the naked guy up and down. Conner's other friends, who I
don't know, stare awkwardly into space.  Zane helps cut through the unease,
making conversation.

"My costume is still nowhere near as sexy as yours, Dev," he says, reaching
over to pinch one of my exposed nipples. I squeal and pull away, partially
in pain and partially embarrassed by the physical touch in public. I like
being naked with Zane, I just wasn't used to it in front of thousands of
people. "Look at you, all sexed out. Hot. I love the arm guard thing."

"Thanks," I reply, flexing my left shoulder, which feels good but is still
sore. "Conner let me out of the cast for tonight." I smile at my friend,
who probably acted more as my friend than my doctor in offering me a
reprieve from the cast and sling. He smiles back.

Zane takes a burrito from Charlie's plate without asking and pops the whole
thing in his mouth. After chewing for a moment he says, "Wow, those are
great. I think I'd put a little more habanero in them, though. I like the
spice."

The conversation resumes, a little slowly at first, but ultimately the
group seems to grow comfortable with Zane's nudity. Mike returns, looking
our naked friend over but not asking about it. Sean and Dog find us
too. Across the room, an older man in a tan suit is staring at us. He walks
toward us. He seems familiar - a balding forty-something man with a bit of
a paunch, but I can't quite place him.

"Mr. Flynn," he says when he's within earshot. He then seems to notice the
group with a small expression of surprise, as if he didn't realize we'd
been standing here the whole time. He acknowledges us before continuing to
speak to Zane. "Gentlemen...Mr. Flynn, while I am no longer your advisor, I
do feel compelled to point out the inappropriateness of your...outfit. I
believe you should go find some clothes."

Zane smiles and looks quite genial, which makes me cringe because I know
something bad is about to come out of his mouth. "Nah..." he says, drawing
out the word for several seconds. "I don't think I will, Morrie."

The older man scowls at this, shifting his weight and flustering. Ian and
Conner look from Zane to "Morrie" curiously. "I prefer Dr. Atchens, as you
well know. Should we go speak to those gentlemen over there?" Morrie asks,
pointing to two security force guys standing at the buffet table. One is
fanning his mouth, a half-eaten burrito in hand.  "There are laws against
public nudity, you know."

Zane shifts his weight onto one foot, and raises a hand in a very lecturing
posture. He looks like a Greek statue of a boy about to give a lecture,
something Aristotle might have jerked off to in between sessions of writing
Nichomachean Ethics. "Actually, Morrie," he says dryly, his tone as
patronizing as possible, "As you may know, we are standing on what we call
a "space ship," and as such we're governed by EU maritime law, which not
only doesn't prohibit public nudity, but explicitly states that it's
allowed so long as there is no reasonable risk of injury. And trust me, if
there was reasonable risk of injury, I'd cover my junk."

"I find it very hard to believe that you are reading that law correctly,"
Morrie says.

"I've no doubt," Zane retorts, his quick wit and fearlessness making him
more than a match for Dr. Atchens. "Check the ship legal files, section
sixty-three, subsection fourteen. And while we're on that topic - being in
space, I should point out that we found a MIP of your book in the archives
the other afternoon. I owe you a thank-you. I pulled it up on my wristcom
next to some seedlings, and the roses are doing great, we assume from being
exposed to that much shit."

Morrie gives Zane an evil stare. "My work speaks for itself."

"Yeah, it really does," Zane says, pantomiming a huge explosion with his
hands. "Ka- boom!" he says with a laugh. Our group is watching the
confrontation like it's some great tennis match, as are several others
within earshot of the arguing men.

"I stand by my theories," Morrie says coldly. "Everything I wrote was
correct, and you're far too impetuous for your own good."

Zane laughs again, this time in a bewildered manner. "Oh my god. How can
you say that? Does the sun have to explode a second time for you to admit
you were wrong? I mean, fuck." He thinks for a second, but begins speaking
again, before Morrie can. "If we were on Earth, I'd be all polite and show
you my math. But here, out in space because our planet exploded, I'll tell
you to go suck yourself, and leave us the fuck alone, dickwad."

Morrie's eyes narrow, and for a moment I think he's actually going to deck
Zane. He doesn't, instead hissing in a low voice, "Learn to show some
dignity, Mr. Flynn." He gives the naked Zane one last look of disgust.

Zane offers a big, mischievous smile in return. "I am showing dignity,
Morrie," he says, "And also my wang." Zane reaches down and grabs himself,
flopping his flaccid dick from side to side so that it slaps audibly from
thigh to thigh.

Mike lets out an involuntary laugh, which pierces the circle with a nervous
energy. He looks shocked to have made the noise, and then clamps a hand
over his mouth. Morrie looks at him, disgust and anger smeared all over his
fat face. Mike offers him the plate Charlie had been holding, where
Conner's surrendered burrito lays unclaimed. Morrie looks at the boy, then
the plate, then Mike again. Muttering "Thanks," he takes the food and then
turns on his heels, walking away from us while biting into the hors
d'oeuvre. We hear him squeal a moment later, quickening his pace toward the
nearest water fountain.

"Bye, Morrie!" I call after the man playfully, wanting in on the fun.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That. About?" Ian asks, speaking in a slow
staccato. His eyes are curious and as wide as they can get, dark pupils
floating on pale blue discs.

"That guy is a total dick," Zane says, disgusted but smiling at his own
behavior.

"That guy was Dr. Mortimer Atchens, right?" Conner asks. The name rang a
bell.

Zane nods, then scratches himself right above the base of his shaft, which
is something guys do, but it's really funny when they're naked. "Yeah, the
one and only."

"I remember him," Charlie says, "Didn't he write those books?"

Again Zane nods. "Yeah. I was his grad student, once upon a time. God, he
was such a total dick. All his theories revolved around the idea that the
gravitational forces in the interior of the sun would counteract the
effects of the singularity, causing it to become unstable and eventually
dissipate."

I then remembered where I'd heard of Atchens before - I'd had to read one
of his books in sixth grade. His work in astrophysics postulated that the
man-made singularity that had accidentally made its way to the center of
the sun wouldn't destroy it. Instead it would eventually puff out of
existence, like so much dust swept under a rug.

"The guy was a quack," Zane complains. "I mean, obviously. My thesis showed
that mathematically not only was the process not slowing, it was speeding
up exponentially.  My stuff was solid, building on Crazner and
McDonnagan. But Atchens gave me a C, just because my results conflicted
with his work. That was three weeks before...ka- boom." Again he pantomimes
a massive explosion.

The group laughs, and then we retell the confrontation amongst ourselves,
laughing at the blustery Atchens and applauding Zane for his quick wit. I
cock my head curiously at my friend, who apparently is as adept in
astrophysical mathematics as he is at sex. Who knew?

After a few moments a crewmember approaches, dressed in the white uniforms
they wear on special occasions. It's Lieutenant Jonathan Olin, a
dark-haired man in his early thirties whom I'd become friendly with when my
farm duties placed me in his favorite reading spot one
afternoon. "Gentlemen," he says, nodding to the group formally.  "Devon,"
he says, reaching out to shake my hand. I stop to wonder if greeting me
separately is because we're friends, or because I'm not a
gentleman. "What's got Atchens all poofed up and agitated?" he asks. "The
guy is about to have a heart attack."

"God only knows," Zane says, not admitting that he, in fact, was who had
annoyed the obnoxious physicist.

Lieutenant OIin looks at Zane, at first clearly surprised that the guy is
nude, but then his face returns to its normal, neutral state. "EU maritime
law, section sixty-three?" he asks.

"EU maritime law, section sixty-three," Zane confirms, nodding slightly,
his cock swaying in time with his head.

"Good man," Lieutenant Olin says before reaching over to give Zane a solid
slap on the shoulder. He turns to me. "And good to see you up and around,
Devon. I hope you're feeling better."

"I am," I say, "But if we can forego the shoulder slapping I'd appreciate
it."

Lieutenant Olin smiles, understanding what I'm saying, and nods. He turns
to the group.  "Gentlemen, have a good evening. I just wanted to say
hello." He walks away, joining another circle of partygoers; we hear him
greet them in the same manner he had us.

I feel restless, and ask if anyone wants to dance. Some do, others
don't. Those who do make their way with me to the dance floor, which has
been set up right next to the windows. Lasers and holograms shine above and
around, and the stars twinkle in the background, glorious in their
non-atmosphere obscured splendor. My fire horns glow blue above my head, I
can see them dancing and flickering in my peripheral vision.

Beck is standing up on his perch above the dance floor. He sees me in the
crowd and I wave. Smiling, he gestures to me, a finger in the air that
means "just a second."  Manipulating the knobs and dials on his DJ console,
he works furiously, until the music that's playing slowly fades out, the
light show dimming and dropping off.

Before things quiet down, however, another tune starts playing in a loud,
thumping rhythm, the lasers and holograms exploding with color and light. I
recognize the song immediately - it's one of my favorites. Eyes wide in
delight, I give Beck a thumb up and a smile, which he acknowledges with a
cool wave. And then I go wild.

Letting loose, showing the whole world that I love this song and life
itself, I move my body, shaking my head and arms and ass wildly, in an
expression of utter joy. The arm piece Charlie has made works perfectly,
holding my wounded arm in place so that I can dance relatively wildly with
little pain.

My friends join me, laughing at my uninhibited "Devon dance" before taking
up grooves of their own. Dog is the most comical; he's trying to figure out
how to dance with his wolf's tail. I grab him by the hand and pull his body
against mine. The faux-fur on his chest tickles my belly, but doesn't stop
me from pulling him closer and grinding a little harder. "That's how you
dance with a tail," I think to myself, as I feel the lump in Dog's skimpy
shorts throb and grow a little.

We dance into the night, taking breaks occasionally to partake of the
fruity, alcohol-laden drinks I'd been craving. We all get a little tipsy.

On one such dance reprieve, Reid and Patrick approach Mike and me at the
bar.  They're dressed as cowboy and Indian, which strikes me as really
funny. "Reid!" I exclaim, rushing to embrace my friend affectionately.

"Whoa, good to see you too, Devon," he laughs. I hug Patrick in a similar
fashion.

"Somebody's feeling no pain," Patrick tells me. "Great costume." I pick up
my pineapple passionfruit blueberry acai martini - a manly man's drink -
and take a large swallow in agreement. I notice that Reid's costume, a
suede leather cowboy shirt and chaps over jeans, features a long, pink
cape. Likewise, Patrick's Indian brave getup has a green cape attached.

"What's with the capes?" I ask. My friends look like they're part of some
horrible frontiersman-themed Vegas act.

Patrick tugs at his cape. "Dunno. We told the machine "cowboy and Indian,"
then later when we tried them on they had these. No idea why."

I giggle uncontrollably at this, no one else really understands why.

"How'd you get the horns to do that?" Reid asks. I explain how Mike had
made them for me.

I feel like I'm on exhibit, but I don't really care. I mention this to my
friends. "I guess after tonight everyone will know...you know, about me
being gay."

Reid gives me a big smile and pats my naked shoulder. "Devon," he says,
"you crack me up. I think everyone in the world already knew, but good for
you." I reflect on the events of recent months, and how Reid was probably
right. I guess I'd eased into my sexuality so slowly I didn't even really
realize I'd been announcing it to the world. But this, this costume and
attitude and drive...this was new Devon, and it felt good. Really, really
good. I give both Reid and Patrick a big smile.

Mike suggests we go dance some more, and I agree, letting him lead me
through the crowds. I grab onto his stinger, making him pull me along. He
sighs at the violation of personal space, but plays along.

We walk through the dance floor, finally locating our friends. Ian and
Conner have joined them, although both boys are staying arm's length away
from Zane, who's joined in the dancing and is flopping around in all his
glory. I laugh at him and then glance over his shoulder, stopping in my
tracks.

Across the room and through the crowds I spot a guy in a Mardi Gras themed
costume.  A sequined masquerade mask covers his face, and long, elaborately
decorated pants adorn his legs in green and purple fabric. But his torso is
bare, a pale lean frame leading into his waistband. He's beautiful, but
what catches my attention is a black mark on his left hip. I think about it
in my slightly buzzed stupor, and then realize why I'm staring.  Sneak has
a black rose tattoo on his tummy, as I'd learned months back when I'd first
encountered him.

Hey, that's Sneak over there! Otherwise known as AJ Mendell. Otherwise
known as my loner, quiet flatmate. Otherwise known as my secret stalker
webcam wank buddy.

"You okay?" Zane yells in my ear, his words barely registering over the
noise. I look at him and then back to where Sneak had been standing. He's
gone.

"Yeah, good," I yell back, mouthing my words so Zane can understand me even
if he can't hear me. "I'll be right back."

I push past Conner and Ian, who are dancing a little less fervently than
the rest of us, and then walk to where I'd seen Sneak standing. The room is
getting a bit blurry, and I can't seem to locate the Mardi Gras costumed
boy. I frown, annoyed to have been outwitted by Sneak yet again.

"Done dancing?" Charlie says behind me. When I look, he has his arm over
Mike's shoulder and both boys are glistening with sweat. Charlie's costume
is starting to fall off, so that there is a trail of emerald feathers
floating on the air behind him. One falls into Ian's blonde hair as he
trails them.

"Just takin' a break," I say. In addition to feeling good, the alcohol is
ramping up my hormone levels. I can't help but see the boys dressed like
this and start to think about them doing naughty things to each other. We
circle the room, walking off some of the heat we've accumulated dancing.

We come to the edge of the party, a back corner of the observation deck,
where the noise and commotion are at a minimum. Out of the corner of my eye
I catch a white streak. I crane my neck in that direction, thinking maybe
I've spotted Sneak again. This isn't particularly logical - Sneak hadn't
been wearing white. Still, it's what I do.

What I see is odd, even by our standards.

Hidden from view from most of the room is a small alcove. Right now, it
seems to be haunted - a couple dozen "ghosts" having taken up residency
there. I watch as one of the ghosts makes his way slowly through the room,
approaching one of the refreshment tables, which in this case is manned by
someone making drinks. The "ghost" waits until the bartender moves to the
other end of the makeshift bar, and then reaches up to grab a bottle of
amber fluid from the table. Apparently comfortable that he's not going to
be caught, he takes a second before making a measured dash back to the
alcove.

I watch as the scene is repeated, like a video stuck on a loop. There's no
need to ask what the deal is, the "ghosts" are considerably short, so their
identity is pretty obvious.

"Hey, Charlie?" I say. My friend turns his attention to me. "Those your
guys?" I nod in the direction of the alcove, where the ghosts, who are
almost certainly the scrubs in disguise, are hiding.

Charlie looks, and then watches a performance similar to what I had. This
time a green- eyed ghost snatches a martini from under the bartender's
nose, the bartender looking quite confused when he notices the drink has
gone missing. He looks in my direction with an accusing glare. I shrug.

"Yeah," Charlie sighs. "Those are my guys. They're supposed to be having a
sleepover down in Bottomside tonight. Ugh. I can't believe Kevin lost them
again. I wonder if they drugged him."

"You gonna go round them up?" Mike asks.

Charlie thinks about it a second. "Nah. Let them blow off some
steam. Besides, I don't have them tomorrow. Let Kevin deal with twenty-five
twelve year-olds with hangovers." I laugh, and the green-eyed ghost looks
across the room at me. I think he smiles under his sheet.

We return to the party proper, relocating our little group. Sean has pulled
his red hood up over his head, and Dog looks extremely sexy, coated in a
sheen of post-dancing sweat.  He seems a little drunk.

"You guys having fun?" I ask.

Dog nods an emphatic "yes" before grabbing Sean and planting a huge, sloppy
kiss on his boyfriend's face. Sean doesn't seem to mind.

Suddenly, a guy in green fatigues crashes into me, or I crash into him,
it's hard to tell. I feel my arm smack into him, and pain streaks down my
shoulder despite the "armor."  Dismayed, I look up to see the smirking face
of Steven Caine, our resident rebel, lover, fighter, dickwad.

"Sorry," he says, but not in a manner that makes me think he means it. He
looks me up and down. "What the hell are you supposed to be, the world's
gayest Santa Claus?"

I hate the guy and know he's a total douche, but I'm still not impervious
to criticism, particularly like that. I like my costume, and was proud of
it. His words sting, but not as much as running into my wounded shoulder
had. Conner, Ian and Nick have found us, and Conner looks appalled to see
me rubbing my wounded arm.

"Let him alone, Steven," Conner says sharply.

"Whatever, McLaglen," Steven sneers. "He should watch where he's going,
especially in that...thing." Steven nods at my arm piece, and then rubs his
shoulder as if running into the shoulder piece has hurt him. It may have, a
little, but I doubt he's in any real pain.  Sandor Lewis and Brian Fervson,
two of the guys who'd followed Steven around since the beginning, are
standing behind their friend looking angry.

"Whoa," I hear Zane's voice chime in behind me. "The gang's all here. Hey,
and I thought I was the biggest dick in the room. Hi, Steven," he says. His
comment causes an immediate and discernible tension.

Steven looks at Zane with a somewhat appalled
expression. "Zane. Great. Just what we need."

"Hiya, roomie," Zane says, comically leaning an elbow on Sean's
shoulder. His body tilts so that his flaccid penis leans to the right.

Steven's attention now on Zane, he says, "I see you still have trouble
keeping it in your pants."

I don't know what it is about getting thousands of guys together in a
confined space and giving them free alcohol, but it sure brings about the
best in everybody. Without pausing, Zane replies, "Yeah, well. When you
have an incredible tool, you should let it hang out."  He flops his assets
around a little with his left hand, then adds, "But if you are an
incredible tool, you should learn to keep your fucking mouth shut."

What happens next is a little difficult to describe.

Steven's face flashes with anger, and he moves toward Zane as if to assault
the naked boy. Later I'm told there is no love lost between the two boys,
who had been roommates their first year at college. I'm sure Zane could
have handled himself, but he doesn't have to.

Steven's comment was still ringing in my ears, and the pain from our impact
was tingling in my shoulder. I think about this guy and how much contention
he was causing on the ship. I think about the riot, and about how I almost
died from it. I think about how great my friends are - all of them: the
guys in my club, my flatmates, my co-workers, everyone else I interacted
with on a daily basis. We were all alive because we worked together on this
ship, making sure that we each had a place to sleep and food to eat and air
to breathe. I had earned many a blister in pursuit of these endeavors, and
I was proud to have done so.

This guy, this stupid, annoying guy, stood in opposition to all of
this. He'd been griping about the work since the first day we'd been
assigned shit detail, and he'd stayed griping ever since. I was tired of
it. I was tired of the anger and the vitriol, but most of all I was tired
of his blatant, obnoxious stupidity. So I did what any slightly drunk
wounded gay teen would have done in my shoes.

I stepped closer to Steven, reached across my chest with my armored arm,
and then I backhanded the snarling boy in the nose, the "wood" surface of
my wrist guard landing on Steven's face with a very satisfying "Thwack!"

He looks shocked - I hadn't hit him that hard - and then enraged. Fire
burns in his eyes, and I consider for a brief second that new Devon may be
a complete and total idiot, one who's about to get his ass kicked.

"Ok, ok, what's the deal here?" someone says loudly from behind. We turn to
see Reid, Chris and Peter approaching the scene, the latter two dressed in
the makeshift uniform of the security force, navy pants with a light blue
tee-shirt, a bold yellow line crossing the chest in a faux-sash.

Reid, looking not very official in his caped cowboy costume takes
command. "Steven, for fuck's sake, this is a party. Can we have one night
without this shit?" he asks, annoyed.

Steven is instantly defensive. "This fucking punk hit me. I want him thrown
in the brig!"

A flash of panic crosses my chest, and then I look at Reid and immediately
understand this isn't what's going to happen. Chris speaks, sounding very
authoritative, "Just go back to the party and forget it," he says. "He
didn't press charges when you got him thrown over a rail, you can deal with
a sore nose."

Steven looks amiable to this, although still pissed about what I'd
done. Patrick steps into the group. At first I think he's going to try and
calm things down like Reid had, but then he opens his mouth and starts
speaking. "This is just like security force, isn't it," he says, sounding
quite disgusted. He shoots me a sad glance, and I know immediately what
he's doing. "One of our guys puts up a flier, and you're all over it. One
of your guys assaults us, and it's 'look the other way.' I, for one, am
fucking sick and tired of the hypocrisy."

Patrick steps into the center of the circle that has formed around the
conflict. Others in the room have stepped closer, looking to see what's
going on and straining to hear over the music in the background. "You're
living in a police state, gentlemen," Patrick says, raising his voice for
the benefit of the newcomers. "We do what they say, when they say, and how
they say or we go to the brig. We let them track us with these," he gripes,
pointing to his wristcom. "And we don't speak up."

"Now Eden Stranton, your mayor, has formed his own army," Patrick
continues, "the so- called 'security force.' And what is the purpose of
this security force? To stop new ideas - ideas about how we should
distribute the work load, or ideas about how a free economy could benefit
us all. Take a good look, gentlemen. Democracy died the day we let Eden
Stranton dress his first puppet in those fucking uniforms."

Steven nods, looking like he very much agrees with what Patrick is
saying. Although I'm in the loop and aware Patrick is saying these things
to earn credit with these guys, the look of disgust on my face is real.

"Ok, ok," Reid says, reaching out to take Patrick by the arm. "Great
speech, but this is still a party. Let's just break it up and do the
political thing some other time."

Patrick's eyes flare with anger. He pulls his arm away from Reid, and
swears vehemently at him. "Keep your fucking hands off me, you fucking
twonk smeghead!"

It feels like things are about to erupt again, but then Patrick storms off,
Steven and his crew following closely behind. "Fucking losers," Reid
swears, looking red and angry. He gives me a sad glance, and I see through
the act.

"What the hell was that about?" Nick asks, fidgeting nervously with his
suspenders. No one answers, and most everyone who'd been watching turns
back to the party. Conner steps over to me, looking both concerned and
angry. He insists I let him take me away to inspect my arm. I agree,
wanting out of the room anyway. We walk over to the alcove where the scrubs
had been. Apparently they'd scored all the free drinks they wanted or
needed, because it was now unoccupied.

"Devon, sheesh, what am I going to do with you?" Conner asks. The lights
are bright enough here so that he can inspect my shoulder. I'm a little
tipsy, but I try not to show it.  I'm sure Conner wouldn't appreciate the
idea of me running around the ship drunk. He removes my armor, carefully.

He pushes and presses on my shoulder, which is sore but not hurt. My arm,
likewise, seems fine. "See, told you," I say, "No problems. You have pretty
eyes," I say drunkenly.  He does. Little brown flecks seem to dance around
in green pools.

Conner smiles at my comment, and then scowls. I think he's going to scold
me before I realize he's just concentrating. "Yeah, the arm looks
okay. Still...I'd like to get a second opinion. Fractures can be tricky."

"No hospital," I whine. The thought of going back there tonight makes me
want to throw up.

"That's not what I mean," he says. He motions to someone in the crowd. A
large man dressed as a blue bear comes over. I see that it's Doctor Moreno,
the senior medical officer on the ship. Conner explains what had happened;
as he does two of the other student doctors meander over to us, looking on
as Doctor Moreno gives me a second exam, handling me a little rougher. I
feel like I'm on display at the zoo despite the fact he's the one dressed
like a bear.

"Well, I think he's fine," Doctor Moreno says, "But I'd like him to lay off
the alcohol for the rest of the night and put his cast back on. Did you do
the work on the lacerations?" he asks.

"Um...yeah," Conner answers, referring to the cuts along my arm that he'd
stitched up after the fall, then later gone in and fixed.

"Very good work, Doctor McLaglen. I can barely see where they were. This
young man shouldn't even have a scar, which is great." He shows Conner's
repair job to the other doctors, pointing to the places where my arm had
been torn up. He was right; I could hardly see where the wounds had been
myself.

"He's a really good doctor," I say truthfully. Conner beams at the
compliment. He has few other goals than being a good physician, and I know
the comment is welcome. Once everyone is done inspecting me (some of them
looking at more than my arm, I think), Conner and I search for our group in
the crowd, which I see is starting to thin out. "You should probably head
to bed," he says to me.

"What? I'm not even tired!" I proclaim. "Besides, it's too early to leave."

"Um, it's almost four," Conner points out. I look at my wristcom to verify
the time, but realize that I didn't wear it. He's probably right. I yawn.

We find our group. Conner tells them he wants me to go to bed, which makes
me a little angry even though I know he's just looking out for me. I resist
the idea of leaving, but Charlie and Mike reinforce Conner's opinion and
gang up on me. A confusing discussion ensues, at least one that would be
confusing to anyone who's had five pineapple passionfruit blueberry acai
martinis, as I had.

Conner offers to take me to my flat. Then Reid shows up and claims custody
of me.  Conner says he'll walk with them, but then Mike and Charlie suggest
they take me by their store so that I can get my cast. Zane offers to fetch
it so I can go straight home, and while all of this is talked over in
excruciating detail I sit down onto the floor, collapsing cross-legged and
playing with a piece of feather that's fallen off Charlie's chest. I am
getting tired, and my emotions feel like they're about to get out of whack.

Eventually, the group decides to swing by the cafeteria for pancakes. Don't
ask me where that came from. "Hey Zane," I say, looking up at my friends,
who tower over me like giants, making me laugh.

"Yeah, bud?" he asks. My view of him is best, as you can imagine.

"Would you walk me home? I'm ready for bed. I think I had a little too much
excitement."

"Yeah, dude, sure," he says, reaching down to help me off the
floor. Absentmindedly I grab onto both his hand and dick to pull myself
up. He yelps and pulls away. "Whoa, ho ho!" he exclaims. "I'm gonna have to
mark that down as one peril of this costume. It doesn't need stretching,
Devon."

I laugh, and steady myself. The group splits up after we all say good night
to one another. Conner looks serious and concerned about my arm, and I tell
him I'll be fine. I promise to stop by the hospital the following day for
an exam, asking that he promise he won't admit me unless I'm literally
dying.

As we leave the party, we pass the food table, now a complete and utter
wreck, the leftover food smeared more across the table's surface than
sitting in the serving trays.  Steven is talking with some friends - guys I
recognize as some of the dicks who usually hang out with him, along with
Patrick; he picks up one of the remaining hors d'oeuvres and pops it in his
mouth, almost instantly spitting it out and swearing about the unbearable
spiciness. I smile evilly as we leave the party, then sigh. It's November
1st; Halloween is over for another year.

Zane and I walk through the concourse, passing tired costumed boys every
couple of feet. Everyone is looking droopy and sleepy now, and barely
anyone seems to notice Zane anymore.

"You didn't want pancakes?" Zane asks as we walk.

I breathe in the night air, which being on a space ship is the same as the
daytime air.  Still, it smells damp and sweet. "God no," I reply. "I ate
too much at the party." I fall a few steps behind Zane, noticing that
there's a great view here, his ass flexing as he walks. "I like your
costume," I point out.

Zane looks over his shoulder at his ass; he's correctly guessed that's what
I'm looking at. "Figured you would," he says. "But it's still nothing
compared to yours."

I laugh, a chuckle at first but then louder. Zane looks at me, wondering
what I've found so funny. I explain. "Hah, ha, well...yeah. I mean, it is
nothing compared to mine.  Because it's literally nothing, get it?" He
does, but doesn't find it nearly as funny as I do.

"I'm serious, though, Devon. You are beautiful tonight. I mean, you're
always beautiful, but tonight you're astonishing. Remember what I told you
a while back? About how you're getting better and better looking? You
are. I mean, look..." Zane turns and points down at his waist. I see that
his dick has started to pop up, a drop of shiny precum glistening at the
end of the tip.

I smile. "Just be glad that didn't happen at the party."

He runs ahead of me, jumping to smack a high tree branch hanging over the
walkway, his semi-hard dick bobbing violently when he lands. Turning back
to me, he says with a wide smile, "Who says it didn't? Did you notice me
going to the bathroom over and over?  I had to rub one out three times just
to keep it down. I thought of this costume before I considered how you guys
would dress. Did you see little Mikey...damn."

Zane's com beeps and he checks it. "Speaking of Mikey," he says, reading a
message on his screen, "He says everybody changed their mind because
Steven's guys are pamphleting the cafeteria. They want to know if we're up
for meeting them in the flat?"

I know what they mean by "meeting in the flat," and although I'm a little
tired I feel a surge of adrenaline. The alcohol is wearing off, and Zane's
body is having an effect on me. "I'm always up for that," I say with a
smile.

Because Zane and I are already close to area twenty-four, we beat everyone
else back.  Entering the bedroom we use for poker night, I see that someone
has cleaned up the mess that was there earlier, I assume Zane. The beds,
which we usually reconfigured so that we could arrange them in the center
of the room to create a circle of recessed seating, were not back to their
normal positions, however. They'd been configured as two king-sized
platform beds lying low on the floor and pushed together to form one giant
bed. I ask Zane about this.

He sighs. "You have NO idea how long I worked trying to figure out how you
and Charlie got them the other way. This is the best I could do."

"It's not bad," I say, plopping down on one of the low mattresses. It
reminds me of sleeping on a futon.

We hear the front door to the flat open, and the loud sounds of five
semi-drunk boys, high on dancing and drinking and being boys, emanate into
the bedroom. It isn't very long before the boys themselves emanate into the
bedroom, Charlie and Mike are holding hands; Sean is mercilessly tickling
the nearly-naked Dog, who is still being kept on a short leash; Nick, the
least hyper of the five, brings up the rear, smiling at the antics of his
somewhat-drunk peers. He has brought me - oh joy - my stupid blue cast,
which apparently they stopped off to pick up under Conner's orders. I put
the cast on reluctantly, watching my friends bounce around the room.

If someone were to tell me that some alien device had sucked all the energy
from the festival and party and then imbued it into my friends, I'd almost
have to believe them - because the boys are hyper, just the right blend of
drunk and excited and aroused to have them jumping around the room as only
teenagers can.

The alcohol seems to have regressed their maturity by seven or eight
years. Dog frees himself from his chain by undoing his collar, smacks Sean
hard on the ass, and then leaps onto the double bed where I'm lying. Mike
tries to follow, but Charlie grabs his boyfriend by the stinger. It doesn't
stop him, but it does slow him and pull his bee underwear halfway down his
ass, Mike's butt showing in cute little half moons.

"Ow! You're gonna pay for that!" Mike yelps.

"Oh yeah? Make me!"

Mike goes after his boyfriend, but this leaves his rear exposed to Dog, who
tugs firmly on Mike's shorts, causing them to slide another couple of
inches down the boy's legs.

"Ha!" yells Charlie, making a tremendous leap for his now even more naked
boyfriend.  Nick reacts quickly, though, grabbing at Charlie as he
jumps. "Erk!" Charlie squeaks awkwardly, his leap thrown off balance when
Nick gets a firm grasp on his green briefs.  They're low enough that
sliding them just an inch lower, as Nick has, causes Charlie's dick to pop
out the top. He laughs and tries to slip it back into his shorts.

Things proceed in this fashion, my friends all leaping onto the mattresses,
jumping around wildly, tugging at one another's clothes. Charlie and Dog
shuck their wings and paws; Mike and Dog manage to get Sean's cape off,
although it costs them a couple of very firm ass slaps. There is no
question what they have come here to do; the raw energy pulsing in the room
indicates that they are each overloaded with hormones, laughter, alcohol
and boyish lust.

The boys grow even more energetic when Zane joins in, giving a mighty yell
and jumping into the middle of the action, already mostly naked and buff
and awesome as he is. He starts a round of tickling, and pretty soon the
guys are laughing, trying to defend their sides from prying fingers.

I've scooted into a corner. The play is a little rough, and the scare
earlier has me conscientious about my arm. Unfortunately this makes me a
target, everyone seeming to note my non-participation simultaneously.

Six hyperactive horny guys descend on me at once, hands grabbing at my
sides and tummy and neck. I howl in protest, and then laughter. Needless to
say, it's impossible for me to protect myself on all fronts, and I lose the
battle. I feel my pants slide down off my body, exposing naked Devon thighs
and butt and everything else.

Mike smiles at me, already naked from the waist down, but is distracted
when Zane's hand reaches between his legs and gives his cock a firm tug,
causing him to yelp and turn his attention to the other boy. Dog reaches
down to grab my dick, which is starting to appreciate the attention, but
everyone scrunching so close has pressed me in the wall a little so that my
left arm twinges uncomfortably.

"Ok, wait...heh...wait, wait, wait," I laugh; my friends don't relent
tickling me. "WAIT!" I say considerably louder; the boys get the message
and give me some space. "Sorry, guys," I say. "If you don't mind, this is
awesome, but I think I'll just watch, if that's ok. I'm a little sore."

"Want me to rub it and make it better?" Mike says coyly.

I sigh. "Nah...Sorry. I mean, you guys are hot. This is fun, just I'd like
to...erm...take care of myself. If I could just watch?"

"Devon likes to watch!" Dog chimes, and while the boys give me the space
I've requested, they do it by bouncing around the mattresses, chanting
"Devon likes to watch!! Devon likes to watch!! Devon likes to watch!!" over
and over, half of them naked with growing boners flopping as they leap.

The schoolboy antics continue, a sock being pulled off here, undies being
shucked there, and before long everyone on the bed is completely nude, the
other six boys still hopping around, laughing and groping each other, dicks
fast becoming longer, heftier, and swinging between firm thighs in a proud
display of youthful vigor.

This gets me boned, of course - all the sensuality and energy and emotion
from the night coursing through my blood and deep into my body, pushing my
cock higher and straighter and higher still until I'm completely erect,
lying back against a pillow to watch the show my friends are putting on for
me.

And it's quite a show.

Zane, huffing from the jumping around, pulls Nick into his body and kisses
him firmly, passionately; as he does so he makes an audible slurping sound
with his lips and moans loudly, slipping his hand down to make contact with
Nick's half-hard cock. About two seconds later, Zane is stroking a now
fully hard cock slowly, feeling the skin of the shaft with light brushes of
his fingertips.

Nick's moan, an involuntary response, is the match that ignites the tinder,
his pleasure seeming to shoot out and instantly bring all our hormones to a
full roiling boil.

Dog and Mike collide, kissing and grinding against one another. I'd seen
them grind on the dance floor earlier, their little pants rubbing together
in time to the music. I had to say - this was better, the two naked and
erect. Their cocks fit together almost perfectly - Mike's curving up and
Dog's pointing straight up - so that when the two boys were pressed
together they made contact from tip to balls, their shafts slipping and
sliding together with their movements. I gulp at the sight of these two
beauties frotting like this.

Sean steps behind his boyfriend, stroking his waist and butt with ready
fingertips. He kisses Dog lightly on the neck. "You were so hot tonight,"
he says huskily, "I want to fuck you so bad, Doggy." And he clearly does
want it, his dick hard and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The
mushroom head, a deeper red than most I'd seen, was larger than it normally
was, a testament to how very bad he wanted it.

"Speaking of which," Zane says to Nick, taking a break from kissing the
boy. "I owe you, and tonight I'm paying you back."

Being owed anything - or owing anything to - Zane is a prospect that would
concern even the dimmest of individuals. It's therefore completely
understandable when Nick responds with uncertainty. "Uh...ok?" he says, his
voice almost breaking.

"Yeah," Zane smiles, taking the two largest cocks in the room into his
hands and stroking them together. "I totally owe you for last time - after
the hospital. That was unbelievable.  Need to return the favor, if you
want. Up for fucking me?"

A light goes off over Nick's head as he comprehends what Zane is saying - a
very, very horny light. "Hell, yeah! I mean, if it's ok...I mean..." Nick
blushes deep enough that we see it on his face, across his chest and on
both cheeks of his ass.

"Wow, nice butt-blush, Nick," Charlie laughs. Nick looks over his shoulder,
trying to get a view of his own perfectly bubbled ass, which goes two
shades darker. He gasps when Zane starts rubbing his cock a little more
intensely.

The boys all slip deeper into heat. The talking turns to moans and groans
and sighs, laughter dying down to give way to the gentle cries of boys in
sexual ecstasy.

Charlie drops to his knees and moves into position so that he can take both
Mike and Dog into his mouth, or at least try to. The two cocks slip and
slide between his red lips, both seeming to want to penetrate them, but
both also playfully retreating to dance around their counterpart once
again. Charlie responds by pulling down on Mike's dick and releasing it so
that it slaps against his firm tummy. He does the same to Dog; both boys
squeal in pleasure at this simple but effective maneuver.

Dog makes a second, deeper groan, guttural and lusty. He leans into Mike
slightly, and I see that Sean has penetrated his boyfriend, or at least I
assume he has, my view slightly obscured by Mike, Charlie and Dog. I slide
over to get a better view, and see that indeed Sean, who has procured a
bottle of lube from somewhere, is root-deep in Dog's ass.  Dog's eyes close
and his mouth turns into a lustful smile as he gets accustomed to his
boyfriend's cock inside him.

Mike drops to the floor and sits on his ass, tugging on Charlie's hand to
request that his boyfriend move down to our level. Charlie does, dropping
to his knees and moving toward Mike's cock with his mouth. But then Mike
makes a little whimper that gets his boyfriend's attention.

The sly frown and huge puppy-dog eyes Mike flash don't have any special
meaning for me, but they do for Charlie. "Yeah," he whispers loudly, taking
Mike's ear between his lips and biting it, talking through clenched teeth,
"You can fuck me. I want it. I want you so bad."

My dick is throbbing; I run my fingers over the shaft, but realize that
watching my friends has me so turned on that I could easily jizz too
soon. And I don't want that, for sure. I try to be extra careful around the
sensitive pink helmet - I still have to use my right hand, and the lack of
total dexterity makes it harder to pleasure myself just right. But I sure
try.

Charlie and Mike move into position, Charlie sitting on Mike's awaiting
member once it's properly slathered with slick lubricant. Mike slides
easily inside, and Charlie moves up and down on his boyfriend in a
practiced maneuver. Again I almost come - the sight of Mike's dick, curving
and throbbing and so eagerly moving in and out of his boyfriend is almost
too much for me. But I hold on, looking at Charlie's panting face, his eyes
scrunched close as he's fucked.

"That's so hot," Dog says, eyeing Charlie and Mike while Sean fucks him
slowly.

"You ready?" Zane asks Nick.

Nick seems hesitant. "I think so. I mean, I don't think I'll be as good as
those guys.  Maybe we can just do something else." It's truly endearing,
seeing this perfect boy go all shy because his friends are more
experienced.

"You'll be awesome, do it," I encourage him.

"Yeah, do me," Zane agrees.

Nick clumsily approaches Zane, clearly uncertain how to proceed. The other
boy, always patient and considerate of his lovers, and always in tune with
what's happening around him, takes Nick by the hand, pressing him gently to
the mattress so that Nick is lying face-up, actually almost shoulder to
shoulder with me, still looking a little confused about what comes next.

Zane grabs the lube off the mattress and squirts a healthy glob onto Nick's
shaft; it makes a slurping sound as he spreads it over Nick's thick and
hefty penis. "Ah!" Nick inhales sharply when Zane pleasures him this
way. The older boy straddles Nick, putting his legs on either side to lower
his body ever closer to Nick's primed stick.

"Oh wow," Nick says as Zane makes contact. And then Zane lets him slip in,
sliding his ass down and over the entire shaft. Nick makes a little
chirping noise, lifts his chest off the bed and convulses, eyes staring
wide at the ceiling. He gasps sharply.

I feel a streak of embarrassment pass over me; I assume that Nick has just
come. "That feels...awesome...wow...yeah, do that," he says lustfully, and
I realize I was wrong. He was just shuddering from the initial sensation of
slipping into Zane.

The other four boys had been staring at Zane and Nick, and now that they
begin fucking in slow, deliberate thrusts, the others get back to it, Sean
thrusting up into Dog and Mike letting Charlie ride his curved shaft.

I scoot down the pillow so that Nick and I are lying side by side. He looks
over at me and I stare into his big, brown eyes, which are glazed over with
boyish lust. We connect, in a way, me touching myself and him being ridden
by Zane. Every time Zane pushes Nick's cock into his ass, the long, thick
shaft sliding between Zane's perfect orbs and deep into his hole, Nick
grunts, and his eyes cross ever so slightly, which I find immensely
arousing. I know how he's feeling.

Except, that's not true - I don't really.

Our Friday meetings had always been more of a wank club than a fuck club,
but looking at the scene in front of me, three couples all participating in
penetrative sex - that holy grail of gay love - I realize something that
makes me a little sad: I'm the only virgin in the room.

It's true. Sean and Dog have been a couple since before leaving
Earth. Charlie and Mike were fucking like rabbits every chance they got
(or...er...fucking like birds and bees, I guess). Zane certainly wasn't a
virgin, and now Nick, my once "straighter than an arrow" roomie was nine
inches deep in Zane. How did this happen?

I sigh, a sound that's lost amongst the grunting and groaning around me.

It wasn't as though I didn't have plenty of opportunities to screw or be
screwed. Any of these six guys would probably be very willing to let me
play either role. But I hadn't pursued it with them. Why? I didn't quite
know, and it made me feel lonely despite the intimacy of six great friends
screwing one another right next to me.

I guess the excitement of forming the wank club and having all these
awesome friends as willing partners had masked something - a desire within
me to find someone who would be to me what Mike was to Charlie, or what Dog
was to Sean. As the boys around me formed more substantial relationships,
this part of me was coming out stronger and stronger. I'm snapped back to
reality by Nick, who Zane is torturing with his best skills.

"I...uh...uh...you may have made me an addict," Nick groans, looking away
from me and rolling his eyes into his head.

Zane slides up and down, his dick still completely hard. "You...ugh...can
have me...ugh...anytime. I haven't taken many this...ugh...big, but it
feels...ugh...awesome."

Mike gasps and groans. "Aw fuck...I'm...uh...I'm close...I love you...I
love you." He's holding onto Charlie's sides, helping guide him up and down
on his dick; his fingernails are dug firmly into his boyfriend's flesh,
leaving red half-moon imprints.

"I...uh...I'm close too, baby," Charlie moans.

Sean is in a similar predicament. He is slamming Dog, who's moved into his
namesake position, harder and harder. The sound of Sean's groin slapping
into Dog's ass is the loudest in the room, and it seems to drive everyone
else into a frenzy. I can't help but gawk at the way Doggy's butt shakes
and wobbles each time Sean thrusts into him, the hard muscles flexing and
moving in a hypnotic rhythm.

Zane pulls off Nick. "Here, you need to try humping," he says. "Think
you'll like it."  Without missing a beat he rolls over onto his front,
arching his back and propping himself up on folded arms. He guides Nick
verbally, having the younger boy get on his knees and enter Zane in a
downward thrusting motion. It takes Nick a moment to adjust, but when he
does he's able to easily slide into Zane's anus.

"WOW!" he groans, sliding hilt-deep into hot, slick boy ass. "This is so
much better!"

"Heh, yeah it is," Zane laughs. He looks me in the eye, his expression both
lustful and sleepy. "Hey there, Dev. How you doing?"

I connect with my friend, smiling. "Uh...uh...good. You're looking pretty
hot there." I stroke myself a little faster. Nick is a fast learner, and
figures out how to use the muscles in his legs and butt to press himself in
and out of Zane in a rapid, piston-like motion. He loses himself in the
moment, grunting in a primal panting moan, which gets me even more boned
and excited.

"Ohhhhhhhhh...Ohhhhhhhhhhhh...Ohhhhhhhhhh," Mike gasps in three long
groans.  Everyone knows he's about to blow and all attention turns to the
youngest boy in the room. Charlie reaches around and takes Mike's head into
his hand, feeling the younger boy's hair between his fingers. "OH, NOW!!!"
Mike yells, remaining deep in his boyfriend when he sprays. We can tell
he's cumming - he's thrashing, gasping and pressing his cock as deep into
Charlie as he can, his face going red and his eyes shut tight.

"Yeah, baby," Charlie coos, then assumes a shocked expression when his own
orgasm sneaks up on him. "I...guh,,,wow...oh my GOD!" he yells. Charlie's
dick erupts in his hand, several shots of white sperm shooting out onto the
mattress. "UH! UH! UH!" he gasps, his prostate apparently having been
rammed just right so as to cause an immediate orgasm. Mike and Charlie
thrash together in bliss, sweating and tan and beautiful. I run a finger
over the tip of my cock - my body seethes with pleasure. And then I do it
again, and again, and again, watching my sexy friends grunt and groan and
cum.

The spectacle electrifies Sean. He fucks Dog harder, pumping his meat in
and out of his boyfriend in rapid, deep thrusts. "You! Guys! Are! So! Hot!"
he grunts, expelling one word per stroke in a furiously lustful voice. Dog,
remaining on all fours (as dogs will) reaches under his own body and grabs
onto his own organ, his voice rising in frantic moans that are almost
screams. The sharp points of his false canines glint in the dim light of
the room.

Sean sprays hard, his body tensing and showing off the work he's put in at
the gym in recent months. He pulls out of Dog suddenly, cupping a hand
under his dick and letting the rest of his semen spray into his
palms. "Oh...FUCK! I love you, Doggy, yes!  Ok...ok...wow," he huffs and
puffs, a considerable load shooting into his awaiting palm.

There seems to be an established order now. We look to Dog, who arches his
back to give himself better access to his cock. "Ah, yeah," he laughs, as
if enjoying a tickling sensation deep within his frame, "You fucked me
really good. Oh, wow, Seanie. That feels so...uh...good...uh...baby."

Sean puts on an evil grin, and then using the hand he caught his semen in,
he runs it down Dog's face, smearing warm, sticky boy juice all over Dog's
forehead, down his nose and over his lips. When he moves his hand away a
white strand connects Dog's upper and lower lip. I wonder if Dog is going
to protest the prank, but his eyes open wide when he realizes what Sean's
done. "OH FUCK!" he screams, shooting instantly. His hips almost
immediately buckle so that he falls into the mattress and begins humping it
rapidly. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" he humps and screams.

"Good doggie," I think wickedly.

Nick has been watching the show, and it makes me wonder if precum is going
to start flowing out of Zane's mouth soon. He picks up pace penetrating
Zane, pushing in and out in an increasingly rapid rhythm.

I stare, mystified once again at the sight of cock entering ass. I'm
fascinated, entranced, hypnotized. Whether he knows it or not, in this
moment Zane has complete power over me; I could not tear my eyes away from
the flexing flesh of his buttocks or the way Nick's cock looks penetrating
his hole, not even if my life depended on it.

Nick increases pace again, succumbing to raw, uncontrolled lust. He moves
in and out of Zane faster and faster, all eyes in the room on his
fucking. Behind him, I see Dog scoop his load off the bed and smear it
across Sean's chest. It isn't long before Nick can't hold out any longer,
and we all know it. His breathing grows rapid and ragged.

"Do it, come in me, come in me," Zane says, repeating this mantra over and
over as Nick humps him. He looks lustful, but relaxed, like Nick fucking
him is about the same as a really great massage. And hey, maybe it is, I
think.

Working harder and harder at it, Nick finally breaks past that point of no
return. He doesn't say anything, but thrashes and gasps and bucks. I wonder
if he's hurting Zane - probably not. Moaning, his panting a near-scream,
Nick comes deep inside our sexy friend. "OH MY GOD!" he exclaims, seeming
to not know whether to thrust harder and faster or to hold completely
still.

And then, mid-orgasm, he looks me in the eyes, his expression one of shock
and awe and lust and sex and what it is to be cumming deep, deep and hard
into a warm, wet hole. We connect. I begin spraying immediately.

It caught me off guard, I'd been stroking, but not furiously. Still, it's
enough, my body demanding immediate release. "AHH...what the...AHHH!!!" I
scream, bucking my hips.  And all the energy of the night rushes into my
cock, like it is a bow that had been drawn tighter and tighter and tighter
every time something sexy or funny or fun happened. I spray, and I spray
hard, jets of semen erupting forth. One hits me in the eye and mouth, the
taste instantly salty. "AH...Ah...ah!" I whimper through my orgasm.

When it subsides I open my eyes. Nick has slid off of Zane, who says, "Wow,
somebody's been eating his vegetables." I look at him curiously, and he
gestures above me. I look up to see a glob of semen firmly stuck to a spot
on the wall four feet over my head.

"Whoops," I laugh.

Zane shrugs, and then grabs his dick. With aplomb, he manipulates his shaft
and erupts in the seventh climax of the evening. "You boys are the BEST!"
he exclaims as he cums, his semen landing in white globs on his tan chest.

The sexual sounds in the room die down, but seven boys continue breathing
at an elevated pace, all of us glistening in a fine sheen of sweat.

For me, something odd happens. I'm not greeted with the usual haze of
happy, giggly endorphins. Instead, my mind fires up, flashing through the
events of the evening in a rapid, unpleasant succession. I see everything
that's happened over the past twelve hours all at once, intense and vibrant
and uncontrolled. It makes me nauseous.

Not wanting to puke all over my friends, especially Zane, who's turned back
onto his tummy to lazily hump the mattress in his post-coital glow, I jump
up off the bed.

"You ok?" Charlie asks, his head lying on Mike's tummy.

"Yeah, gotta pee," I lie, doing a little naked pee dance to sell it.

The boys accept it, and I make for the bathroom, dick still hard and
swinging in the breeze. Reaching the door to the room, I look back at my
friends, these six guys in their naked, post-party, increasingly sleepy
glory. I love each of them, I decide.

I notice a movement in the room that doesn't come from any of the six boys
on the bed.  It's subtle, but in the corner of my eye I catch a shadow move
across the vent in the center of the hatch leading to the emergency access
tunnel. I almost jump, but then very carefully allow my expression to
remain neutral. I walk back into the room and grab my com from a table. The
boys look at me curiously. I shrug. "Gotta poop," I lie, but in a sheepish
voice, insinuating that I'm taking my com so I have something to do.

I walk toward the bathroom, keeping a slow, deliberate pace until I'm well
out of sight and earshot from the room. Then I take off at top speed,
bolting to the bathroom.

I choose this route because the bathrooms are the one room in the flats
where the hatches into the emergency access tunnels are located lower to
the floor so that you don't have to climb up into them. Ours is located on
the rear wall. My key to the emergency tunnels is hidden in my com, and I
use it to open the locked hatch.

I climb into the larger access point easily, taking the short ramp leading
up into the tunnels without having to do any climbing. In the event of an
emergency, the larger hatches are designed to allow for equipment or the
disabled to be moved into the tunnels. In this case, it helps me access the
tunnel without breaking my arm.

Wondering if I should have put on at least underwear, I pad silently toward
the hatch that looks down into our meeting room, where I suspect Sneak is
spying. It's not far, obviously, just around another corner, where I
find...nothing.

"Dang it," I say to myself. A large marker on the wall indicates that I'm
standing just on the other side of the bedroom. I hear a clink from down
the passage - someone is here, they've just taken off. I run after them, my
naked feet plopping on the cold metal floor.  Up ahead, I hear someone
quicken pace.

"Wait, Sneak, come back!" I call at a volume I figure is loud enough for
him to hear but not the boys. I can hear heavy footfalls now, the sound of
someone in full sprint. I'll never be able to catch up to him, and it hurts
my arm to try to run. "I just want to talk to you," I continue in a small
voice, knowing the retreating boy can't hear me.

I have to admit feeling a bit dejected by my "friend." I mean, I know I'd
always implied to him that I wouldn't push for a face-to-face meeting, but
something about knowing he'd been up here tonight to witness our group play
compelled me to. I hadn't wanted to scare him off, and I hoped he knew my
intention wasn't to reveal him to my friends. I'd just wanted...I don't
know...somebody to talk to. In a lot of ways, I felt like I could relate to
Sneak better than anyone else.

I pad back to the place I'd come into the tunnels. When I pass the hatch to
the bedroom, I glance through the vent. The boys are all still there, some
of them seem to be sleeping.  Nick's cock is lying long and thick over his
leg. Yep, Sneak had had one of the better seats in the house, all right.

When I return to the bathroom, careful to lock the hatch behind me, I
pee. Then, feeling a little stinky, I rinse off before making my way back
to the bedroom.

The tunnel had been cool, and I hadn't waited for the shower to warm up, so
my skin was chilled. The boys seemed like they might be cold too, everyone
had cuddled in closer to one another. "Hey, Dev," Zane whispers when he
notices me. "Climb in."

I climb into the center of the giant bed, delighting at the feel of Zane's
warm skin close to my body. Unfortunately it doesn't last long. He notices
my wet hair and says, "Hey, shower. That'd be good." I feel a draft as he
leaps up, heading for the bathroom. Nick follows suit, and then Dog. What
follows is a sleepy, silent revolving door of naked boys, each of my
friends rising groggily from the mattress and leaving the room, coming back
moments later freshly showered and smelling faintly of citrus.

Dog returns first, lying next to me but his head pointing toward my
feet. He smiles sweetly, then slides into my body. When Sean returns he
lies behind Dog, wrapping an arm around both his boyfriend's chest and my
thigh. Mike and Charlie return to cuddle down by my feet, both looking like
they're about to pass out. Nick comes into the room, yawns, and then lies
next to me, patting my shoulder before he settles in. Zane is the last to
return, his body now cleansed of the oils he'd been wearing and smelling
fresh.  He lies next to Nick, tousling the boy's hair and saying "You fuck
really good" before rolling over and falling asleep. We all move into one
another's bodies a little tighter, the heat of our skin all we need to keep
us warm and comfortable.

As I drift off, I think to myself that this has been the best Halloween
ever.

Sleeping with a lover is a learned behavior, I think. It can be difficult,
finding a position you both enjoy and then remaining relatively still
throughout the night. A new lover can be a particular challenge, since the
constant buzz of hormones felt every time you think about them lying next
to you can keep you slightly awake and on edge.

Sleeping with six lovers is something I don't think I'd ever adjust to, not
even if I lived for a million years and took these boys, young and firm and
sweet and soft, to bed every single night (and here's hoping!).

I slip in and out of sleep, and in and out of dreams. In the soft reality
of the bedroom, I shift my body, sliding against warm, soft boy flesh; I
feel that Nick has turned so that he's facing away from me, and he's lying
higher on the mattress so that the round flesh of his butt is pressing into
my side just under my arm. Dog is on my other side, his face nuzzled up
against my thigh - I can feel his hot breath splash against my skin in a
deep, slow cycle.

And then I'm lying in the sun on a grassy hill in Balboa Park, the blue and
yellow tiled Spanish-style dome of the California Building sitting regal
against the horizon. There's a scent on the air, fresh and potent and
organic, the smell of the trees at the height of the day. And there's also
the smell of food - of warm, fresh corn tortillas and fried fish and lime
and cabbage. It wafts daintily on the breeze, seductive and delicious.

And then I'm at my favorite taco place, just off the main stretch at
Pacific Beach. A crowd of surfers, barefoot and bare-chested, wetsuits
pulled low on saltwater buffed bodies, stand in line waiting for food -
heaping plates of fish tacos and nachos and steaming hot crispy steak
taquitos piled high with large globs of delicious green guacamole, so
irresistibly tempting that they must be shoved into waiting mouths
regardless of the burn that overly eager tongues will inevitably receive.

And then I'm sitting on my surfboard, bobbing up and down on greenish
waves, which lift and lower me with each swell. The noble expanse of
Crystal Pier sits to my right, a gentle wooden giant lying lazily in the
surf. A new set comes in, the waves growing in height and intensity. I take
the opportunity, pushing myself into position and then standing on my
board, riding it for fifty or sixty meters before losing my balance and
falling happily into the surf.

The water is briny and delightfully refreshing against my lips and face. I
let myself sink slowly, coming to rest cross-legged on the soft, sandy
ocean floor four feet below the surface. The cool oceanic water feels
unbelievable against my exposed skin; a layer warmed by my own body heat is
held in place against my chest by the thick material of my
wetsuit. It's...sensual, actually. I feel the sand between my toes, soft
and gritty, and this too provides a near-sexual stimulation. I lie back,
looking up at the blue sky, which shimmers distorted and eerily beautiful
through the water. Pleasure washes over my body, and I feel that I could
lie here forever.

And then I'm lying on a soft bed in a darkened room, sleeping boys
breathing deeply all around me. The sensuality of the dream fades, my brain
momentarily confused about where I am and what's actually real. A streak of
pleasure shoots through me, warm and wet, and I'm surprised to discover
that this part of the dream was true.

I groan lightly, and let my eyes adjust to the dimness. I look down to see
that I've become considerably hard in my sleep - and apparently grown a
Charlie on the end of my penis. The boy is attached to me at his mouth,
sucking slowly on my dream-aroused cock.

"Um...hi," I say in a barely audible whisper, not wanting to wake the
others. Charlie looks up at me, smiling with youthful joy. He's scooted up
to rest between my open legs, although Mike still seems to be sleeping,
curled in a fetal position on the other side of me. I smile back, a goofy
grin that displays my boyish satisfaction at being awakened this
way. Charlie leans into my body and licks at my dick some more; I moan
lightly, again careful not to wake my friends.

Dog lies to my right, his boyfriend spooning his lean frame from
behind. I'm presented with a very close-up view of my friend's package, his
body inverted from mine and only inches away. I shift slightly, not so much
that Charlie is forced to abandon his gentle caresses, but enough that I
can turn my head to get a better view of the sleeping boy, his lower tummy
rising and falling with each breath he takes.

Dog's penis is cute, lying on his left leg as if it's also asleep. He's by
no means "small," but of all the boys here Dog experiences the largest
ratio of flaccid size compared to erect size. When hard, his beautiful cock
is long and slender, like his arms, legs and torso. When soft, it shrinks
down considerably, resting softly on medium-sized boy balls.

I move my face closer to his groin and inhale; he smells slightly sweet,
almost like talc. I extent my tongue and press it against the tip of his
penis. He doesn't stir, so I take his entire cockhead between my lips,
enjoying the sensation of the flaccid organ in my mouth.

But it doesn't stay flaccid for long. I feel it swell in my mouth, slowly
beginning the pulsing, throbbing growth that will increase its size almost
threefold. Something I've always found fascinating about Dog is how his
dick sticks straight up and lies flat on his belly. I'm entranced now by
the way his shaft becomes more and more rigid in my mouth, striving to
press in this direction. I wonder if it would remain somewhat soft if I
used my mouth to prevent it from pointing upward, but that's an experiment
for another day. I release my lips now and then, letting Dog's dick grow
fully hard to rest against his tummy.

I feel fingertips brush the back of my calf, and look down to see that I've
woken Dog up, but his sleepy smile indicates that there will be no penalty
for my doing so. I take his cock in my mouth, feeling a rush of intimacy
and hormones, accentuated by the licking that Charlie is still doing to me.

Mike has also woken up, and moves to flip his body on the bed so he can
access his boyfriend's dick, which is now also hard. He maneuvers himself
quite gracefully, considering how we're all piled together, and mere
seconds later he's taken Charlie into his mouth. I feel Charlie sigh at
this contact, his soft moan buzzing against my dick in his mouth. I look at
him, our eyes meeting. I nod in the direction of Mike's growing erection,
indicating that I release him from his duties on me (for now) so that he
can pleasure his boyfriend for a while; he gets the gesture and moves over
to lick at Mike's curved shaft, earning a slight moan.

Now that four of us are "up," I'm pretty sure it won't be long before the
other three boys are jostled from their dreams. I feel Nick stir next to
me. I go to work sucking at Dog's wonderfully tasty cock, and out of the
corner of my eyes spy his boyfriend's hands wrap around his chest,
caressing his lean pecs and pinching lightly at his nipples; I concentrate
on giving him the best blowjob I have to offer. Between us, I think we show
him a pretty good time, his body writhing sensually as we work to pleasure
him. Sean's dick eventually pokes between Dog's legs, his helmet
penetrating his boyfriend's closed thighs looking quite happy to have
worked its way into this position.

It isn't long before Sean and my efforts are rewarded. I feel Dog's dick
grow slicker in my mouth, the salty taste of his precum mixing with my
saliva. His body undulates sensually, the perfect picture of sleepy boyhood
lust. And then he gasps, his entire lean frame tensing.

"Oh, oh, Devon...yeah...yeah," he whispers huskily. Cumming is usually
intense for Dog, but in this case being woken up by slow and deliberate
oral ministration helps make this a relaxing, sleepy pleasure for him. I
feel his penis pulse in my mouth, and then suddenly there's a hot, sticky
warmth there; a second contraction produces some more.  Mike's spunk is the
sweetest of the group, I've learned, but Dog's is a close second, his semen
a thick nectar that tastes vaguely of fruit.

Dog sighs deeply when he's finished; it feels to me like his body is
radiating twice as much heat as it had been when he was sleeping. Sean is
still stroking and caressing his chest; Dog turns his head and leans into
his boyfriend. The two kiss lightly and sensually, young lips parting
slightly so that their tongues can meet. When they're done, Dog whispers to
his boyfriend, "That was really nice. I think I need to do the same to you,
unless that's not what I think it is between my legs."

Sean smiles. "It is," he confirms.

I'm relishing the taste of Dog in my mouth, and it makes me ask, looking
down at Dog, "Can I do it? Blow him?"

Dog smiles and says sure, and his boyfriend is more than agreeable with the
request.  The two exchange positions, Sean climbing over Dog to lie facing
me and Dog lying behind his boyfriend. At my feet Mike and Charlie are
still slurping away, offering mutual oral pleasure to each other with
adept, practiced skill.

Sean needs no light stimulation to get ready; his eager cock is rock-hard,
rigid, and pointing right at my face. I'm starting to learn what drives
these guys wild, so before I go to work I look down at Sean and say, "I
still have quite a lot of Dog's spunk in my mouth, I hope you don't mind."
I then oblige his dick's unspoken request, taking the thicker, but slightly
shorter penis into my mouth and sucking firmly on it. Sean gasps sharply,
either from the oral stimulation, or the thought that my mouth really does
seem sticky with Dog's sperm, or both.

Following his boyfriend's example, Dog massages Sean's muscular torso while
I work, fingers running roughly over firm flesh. I lick and suck on the
shaft presented me. I consider that it seems easier to pleasure because of
the way it sticks straight out, and I like the feel of the very slightly
curved helmet against my tongue. Sean tastes slightly stronger - not bad,
but a little more pungent and manly.

Below me, Mike expresses a moderately audible "OH! OH! OH!" before
convulsing and shaking gently. He's just come, his boyfriend swallowing his
load and then cleaning his cock with his tongue.

Sean doesn't take long, apparently quite turned on by the activities around
him. I suck at his cock and then his balls, reaching over to hold the shaft
in place, sometimes gently stroking the fuzzy skin of his lower tummy. I'm
thinking about the first time I watched Sean and Dog fool around when he
reaches his climax.

"Wow...uh...wow. You're...uh...right Doggie - he's really good...uh...oh
man, here I come!"

I'm finding that I love it when a man announces his orgasm. Sean's ass
clenches, and I see his balls twitch just before I feel his cockhead
expand, throb, and eject his load into my mouth. Like Dog, he tries not to
thrash, allowing me to lick and suck as spurt after spurt of his thicker,
slightly muskier boy juice finds its way into my mouth. The taste isn't as
pleasant as some of the other guys, but it's not terrible, and I have no
problem swallowing it all.

I feel my own cock twitch, secreting a blob of precum, and I wonder if my
body will recycle the two loads I've eaten, sending them directly downward
to fill my testicles with my friends' sperm. It's a weird thing to
think...but then, I'm a little weird.

"You guys never stop," Nick whispers in my ear, probably fully awake now.

As if in agreement with this statement, Charlie groans and gasps between my
legs. I feel his body tense, Mike clamped down hard on his
erection. "Ugh...yeah!...wow...oh, Mikey, whoa, sensitive here...gwaaa!!"
His noises are cute and flipping sexy as hell when he sprays, apparently
very sensitive this morning. I grunt along with him, expressing to anyone
who cares to listen how hot I find his noises.

Then I roll onto my back, careful of the fucking cast. Nick is also on his
back now, his boner pointing proudly toward the ceiling. I giggle,
wondering if this is somehow the origin of my dream about the California
Building, Nick's cock not unlike the lofty tower of the architectural gem.

Zane is also up (both in terms of being awake and being hard). He scoots up
behind his aroused friend, and says, "What say we follow their example,
Nickie? Up for a little mutual oral? Want to see who can swallow more?" He
runs a hand over Nick's chest, and Nick's erection responds by throbbing
sensually.

The boy seems less thrilled at the prospect than his dick does. "Um...I
don't know," he says. "Maybe I'll just go shower and get up."

Our club has been a lot about learning one another's preferences and
boundaries, and over time we learn that Nick just really doesn't like
giving oral sex, although he loves receiving it. This is reinforced the
more he experiments with us. This sometimes strikes me as odd, since he
actually takes to both giving and receiving anal pleasure. I pick up on the
tone in his voice, the way he seems reluctant to perform the requested
task. I'm sure Zane does too, since he replies with a very casual, "Or how
about I get Charlie and/or Mike over here to help me out while you let Dev
see what he can do about your situation."

Charlie rolls his eyes, but does exactly as Zane has suggested. Actually,
both of them do, Mike also crawling across the bed so that the two lovers
can work in tandem sucking on Zane's erect cock. Nick looks over at me, his
kind eyes seeming to ask if I'd really blow him without expecting it in
return. I figure the best way to indicate that I would, any day of the
week, is to just go down on the boy, which I do without saying a word.

Nick is actually a little harder to blow than either Sean or Dog. His dick
is long and really thick - quite a handful - and it barely fits between my
jaws. If I want to pleasure the sensitive helmet, I have to hold his cock
relatively far forward in my mouth, so that only the top half is enclosed
in wet, "Devony" warmth. If I want to really go at it, stroking the length
of his shaft with my tongue, I have to be really careful not to choke
myself.

If he's a little thick for me, he makes up for it by tasting really good,
not unlike blueberry pancakes somehow. Maybe I'm just imagining this, but I
still enjoy the subtle, fruity taste of his young cock, and he certainly
enjoys me tasting it.

I get up on my knees, and then lean down toward Nick's pole, trying to hold
myself steady with my one free hand. I'd love to play with his balls while
I suck him off, but alas, my wounded state makes this a physical
impossibility.

Zane grunts, sounding very pleased, and I look over to Mike and Charlie,
who are working his long cock with aplomb. My eyes meet Mike's and it
becomes an unspoken challenge to see who can make their subject thrash and
groan more. I'm outmanned, but I give it my best.

"Ugh...Mike...flipping fucking hell!" Zane gasps. "How the hell did
you...OH!...learn that?  Have you been practicing non-stop...UGH...or
what?"

"He really has," Charlie says, smiling sheepishly.

"I...wow...think...ah! Devon has too," Nick grunts.

When Zane comes, he makes a show of his orgasm by arching his back, and
lifting his butt off the bed with his legs. Mike doesn't let go, lifting
along with his friend to suck the boy all the way through his
orgasm. "ERGH!" Zane exclaims, his face red and clenched with lust.

I'd love to stare at him through his entire climax, but Nick starts the
sharp, shallow panting that indicates I've done my duty. I suck hard,
slipping as much of the thick organ into my mouth as I can. Nick starts
coming, encouraging me on with a panting "Yeah!  Devon, suck
it. Yeah...Harder!" I comply, and Nick spews. His semen is thick, and as is
his way it doesn't really erupt very far, dripping from his tip into my
mouth. It's fruity tasting, and I swallow every drop, almost subconsciously
pretending that his spunk is the delicious, thick syrup in blueberry pie
topping.

Zane and Nick come off their orgasmic highs, thanking their respective
pleasure-givers.  Mike does a cute little naked bow that makes Charlie
laugh.

I lie back, enjoying the salty remnants on my lips. I've never performed
that much oral pleasure. My breath smells faintly of boy sex, which is
somewhere between really erotic and a little gross.

"Ok, your turn," Dog announces, placing a hand on my naked tummy.

My dick doesn't disagree, it's pointing straight out, about as hard as it
can get. But I hesitate, I'm not really sure why. "Nah," I say, "I'm just
gonna take care of myself. But thanks."

I move to grab my cock with my right hand, intending to beat off in order
to relieve the immense lust that has built up in my loins, but Zane reaches
over Nick and slaps my hand away. "Oh no," he says firmly, "We let you get
away with that last night.  Gentlemen, hold him down please."

I protest, albeit halfheartedly, as my six friends conspire against me,
Sean and Dog holding my right side firmly to the mattress while Zane and
Nick do the same to my left, both boys being very gentle so as to not hurt
my arm. Mike moves into position over my head, where Charlie takes up stead
between my legs. "Ok, guys," I laugh, "Not necessary, really. I'm good on
my own."

In answer to my statement, Dog dives on my cock, taking it into his mouth
and demonstrating how very much better it is when you aren't doing it on
your own.

"Oh!" I gasp. My friends release me with their hands once Dog is sucking
away, and lower their heads to my body, kissing and licking at me with
their young, teenager mouths. Sean takes my right nipple between his lips,
and then bites at it gently. I feel Zane and Nick's breath on the sensitive
skin along my side. Charlie joins Dog, allowing his friend to focus on my
pole while he licks at my sack. Awash in unbearable pleasure, I look up at
Mike, who smiles sweet and angelic at me before lowering his lips to mine,
our faces inverted to one another so that his nose comes to rest on my chin
as we kiss.

"Oh the other hand," I sigh and moan, speaking sensually into Mike's mouth
between frantic kisses, "Maybe...ah...I'll let you guys just do that for a
while...ah, wow."

Needless to say, and I hope my friends all agree with me, there is no shame
in coming quickly when you have six naked, unbearably sexy boys servicing
you. I moan lightly, and then arch my back. I feel my balls pull up into my
body, and then a moment later I'm shooting into Dog's mouth. Somehow, the
sensations of my friends licking and sucking at my body distribute the
pleasure, so that the orgasm is long, sensual, and relaxing, like fifty hot
baths and three slow wanks rolled into one.

"Mmmm...yes...ah...mmm...yeah," I moan softly, releasing my sperm into my
friend's mouth one unbelievably gratifying shot after another, my body
buzzing with pleasure. I can feel that I'm smiling, about as happy as a boy
can be.

When I'm done, I feel sleepy, and although I might normally feel a little
self-conscious about having my friends sit around me while I'm nude, erect,
and coming off an orgasmic high, I manage not to think about it, closing my
eyes contentedly.

The boys whisper around me, talking about me in a bemused, joking fashion
as if I'm not lying here listening to them.

"How'd he taste?"

"Hmm? Oh, good. Kinda salty, but good. Like mac and cheese."

"Ha, that's what I thought. It figures, he eats it enough."

"Is that body ink going to wash off? It's sexy, but he might want it off."

"Yeah, I have a special cleaner. But it is sexy. We should do tattoos on
each other. Like in that ink, not with a needle."

"You'd look good with a celtic knot on your ass."

"You'd look good with my dick in your ass."

"Pervert!"

"Hey, he's still hard."

"Yeah, like really hard."

"He never goes down after the first, he always needs seconds."

"Really?"

"Yeah, dude, haven't you noticed how he almost always jerks off again right
after he comes."

"Yeah, I guess. He's not jerking now, though."

"Think he's asleep?"

I have to smile at the comments. "No, look at him, the faker. He's totally
awake."

"Should we tickle him?"

"Dude, no, that's too mean. He just blew you. And with a broken arm."

"Yeah, you're right. Wow, he really isn't going down. Wonder what he feeds
it."

"I claim this land in the name of Devon!" I feel a finger pull my stiff
boner down, then allow it to spring back up.

"You guys are so mean," I say, keeping my eyes shut.

"Not that mean."

"Hey, he called us mean. I don't think we're mean. Are we mean?"

"No. You're sexy as fuck, but not mean."

"I am sexy as fuck, huh? I've been working on my tummy." Sounds of slapping
flesh indicate a palm demonstrating how firm a tummy has truly become.

"Wow, you have to show me your routine. Do you think Devon's dick would
explode if we just left it like that?"

"You mean like go off again? Or the whole thing just blow up?"

"Either."

"Not sure. But we shouldn't risk it. Want to give him seconds?"

"Yeah!" three or four voices proclaim, and then the boys are on me again,
licking and biting at my almost-totally relaxed body. I laugh in surprise
and protest, knowing it will do no good.

This time around, they take turns taking my cock into their mouths, Zane
first suggesting that everyone should have a taste. I'm embarrassed, but
also immensely aroused. I feel Mike's practiced tongue on my shaft, and
then Charlie's lips. Even Nick takes a taste, albeit a short, quick
lick. Zane gets my entire scrotum in his mouth, rolling my balls around
with his tongue in wet, splendid maneuvers.

It isn't long before I'm spending less time laughing at my friends'
silliness and more time grunting in pleasure. Again I'm overtaken with
lust, and again my body comes in sweet, lilting waves of lust. I'm not sure
who takes my second load, but he drinks it down happily, groaning lightly
as I spray. "Ah!"

When I finish I let out about the longest sigh possible, trying to vocally
express how good my friends have made me feel.

"Thanks, guys," I say softly, content and quite happy with what is one of
the greatest wake-up calls in my life. Mike kisses me gently on the lips,
and I feel like the entire morning, my friends' insistent pleasuring of me,
has been a celebration of friendship, and boy lust, and a show of
appreciation that I'm still here, alive and happy and...hmm, actually still
a little hard.

It's early afternoon when we crawl out of bed. Work has been canceled
because of the party the night before, but we agree we need showers...and
food. I suggest blueberry pancakes, and although it's well past breakfast,
my friends heartily agree.


The sexual high from the post-Halloween club meeting lasts well into the
following week.  In fact, when I return to my room to find Patrick's things
gone, I don't feel the immense sadness I otherwise might. Well, to be fair,
if he and Reid were actually fighting I would, but knowing that this whole
thing is a bit of a put-on helps.

When I report to the hospital on Monday for some physical therapy, I'm
happy to hear that my arm is still healing nicely. Ian says I'll probably
be out of the cast soon, but Conner shoots us a disgruntled look, saying
this will only happen if I resist punching people with it. I agree, saying
I'll use my right for the time being, which earns me a pen thrown in my
direction.

On a large scale, I find that the party has done something to the general
mood of the ship. Everyone seems a little happier and more at ease. Sure,
Steven's dork squad still holds protests in the cafeteria each afternoon,
trying to persuade others of their ideology, but they have a harder time
raising anyone's ire. It feels like the party was an important event,
another vital step in turning the ship from a vessel floating in space to a
real home.

For me, the party was a way to transition from old Devon - a gay boy
enjoying his sexuality in private - to new Devon - an unapologetically gay
teen who is enjoying life, liberty and being stuck on a spaceship with five
thousand guys. One afternoon I pass Teo in the hall, now dressed in more
conventional clothing. "Hey sailor," I say in a jokingly sexy voice. He
smiles at me, possibly blushing a little in response. I can't help but
notice that he watches my ass as I walk past, and when I hear a clanging
sound behind me, the telltale noise of someone running into a pole because
they weren't watching where they were going, I grin just about the widest
grin I ever have in my life, although I don't look back.


One night I have trouble sleeping, more from being excited about some new
recipes I've thought up than anything bad. Tuesday has slipped firmly into
early Wednesday, and although it's too early to get up for the day I decide
to go pee, hoping this will help me get back to sleep.

I throw on a pair of gym shorts and a tee, and then pad out into the living
area. Entering the room, I catch a glimpse of a familiar head ducking
rapidly from sight, heading down the short hallway that exits the
flat. It's AJ...Sneak...and he hasn't seen me. I have to wonder where he's
headed in such a hurry.

I haven't received any new notes from him since the hospital, although I'd
left a message trying to explain why I'd come into the tunnels that
night. I have to assume my attempt to catch him was to blame for the silent
treatment. I knew that discovering his identity was sort of forbidden,
though it is an unspoken rule. Still, now that I knew who he was it felt
lame to sneak around one another like we didn't know.

I decide that I've had enough. I don't care if he continues watching and
sneaking, but I don't like the fake anonymity anymore. It's getting boring.

I follow behind AJ, waiting twenty seconds before entering the main hallway
outside our flat behind him. In the main hall, I see him turn a corner,
walking toward the Forward Concourse, and I follow behind, being as silent
as I can. He enters the concourse and I again wait to a count of twenty
before very slowly opening the door to follow. My heart beats heavy in my
chest, but when I open the door I'm alone.

I spot AJ walking along the first floor, making his way toward the lobby. I
climb to the second floor, figuring I'll be harder to spot up here and
he'll be easier to follow. He is - we work our way to the lobby, and then
into the Starboard Concourse. I remain on the second floor, him the first,
as we continue the game of cat and mouse that only one of us is aware of.

He turns down a side hall, and I rush to catch up, again waiting before
following him into a new area. He leads me to a bank of elevators, and
after his takes off I watch the display above it to see that he takes it
down thirty-two floors to one of the farm areas. I call the elevator back
up and then follow him.

When I get to the correct floor, I think I may have lost him. Then I hear a
click and look to see the large door at the end of the hallway close. I
make my way there, carefully opening it after I'm reasonably sure AJ isn't
standing right on the other side. I don't really care if he is - I've
decided that my intention is to confront him, but still I'm careful.

I enter the farm. It's a huge room with a high ceiling many meters above my
head. Oak and maple trees tower over me, and I find myself in what feels
very much like a forest.  Well, it is - an indoor forest that produces both
trees and, perhaps more importantly, oxygen.

I'm not sure how I'll find AJ in the massive space, but then I see him
across the way, entering one of the storage alcoves. I smile - if this farm
is like all the others, the alcove is a dead end. Well, unless he crawls
into the emergency tunnels, which knowing Sneak is actually pretty
possible.

Quickening my pace I cross the room. It is cycled to "night", and a fine
mist is falling from above. The earth below my feet is spongy and very
satisfying to walk on.

I enter the storage alcove.

It's a small room, not unlike the ones I enjoy frequenting with my friends
when we have midday urges. It's small enough that AJ sees me enter
immediately, jumping at the sight of someone else entering the room
unexpectedly. His intense brown eyes are wide with shock, but then when he
sees who I am they soften.

"Jesus, Devon," he says, slightly annoyed. "You fucking scared me. You're
like a cat.  Prowl much?"

I look at the tall boy, who has spent the better part of our voyage doing
exactly that to my friends and me. His body is long and lean in his shirt
and athletic shorts, his lips conveying a slight shyness. AJ has always
been a loner, and from the discussions we've had via data chip I know why.

"Not as much as you, Sneak," I say quietly. His eyes widen slightly, and in
that moment I decide that our game has ended (or maybe just begun!) I need
to present this boy with irrefutable evidence proving I've guessed his
identity. I remember his one distinguishing mark - a rose-shaped tattoo
under his hip that I'd seen the day he jerked me off while I was trapped in
a medical scanner. I walk over to AJ, coming within inches of him. Then I
fall to my knees, grab the hem of his shorts in my hands, and given them a
firm tug.


To be continued



End notes:

Thanks for reading this far! That was a looooooong chapter, and I hope it
was entertaining, amusing and arousing.

Soundtrack: I associate a song with each chapter. Compile them, and you'd
have a soundtrack to the story. The song for chapter 14 is Last Night by
Carolina Liar. I imagine it as the song Beck plays for Devon on the dance
floor, and also perhaps something playing when the boys burst into the
unoccupied flat following the party.


First off, thanks to the readers who responded to my request for ideas. I
think most of the boys ended up in derivations of these. The Red Riding
Hood idea was mentioned for Devon, but I thought it was awesome for Sean
and his canine-named boyfriend.  Someone suggested Greek god or Olympian
for Zane, and he took that idea to heart, ditching most of the costume
pieces along the way. Someone suggested a bee-themed costume, resulting in
Mike's ensemble, and then another idea gave me the inspiration for Sneak in
the crowd.

Devon's childhood costume is a reference to Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich,
one of the funniest kids books I've ever read (and an okay book for adults,
in my opinion).

The album cover Charlie says inspired the pants of Devon's costume is
actually the album shown in Velvet Goldmine with Jonathan Reese Meyers -
yum!

Yes, you can deep fry pumpkin cross sections in tempura to get a cool
spider-web effect and a delicious treat. This was inspired by a somewhat
similar snack served at the Half Moon Bay pumpkin festival.

The slur "twonk smeghead" is, of course, a reference to that great British
scifi comedy Red Dwarf.