Aurora Tapestry

AURORA TAPESTRY is the third book in a series. It chronicles the lives and times of a group of men and teenage boys living in an age and an environment where being gay was to be despised, maligned and scorned. It is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, is purely coincidental.

My writing reflects the customs, mores, traditions, prejudices and attitudes of the times. The year is 1976 and it was a different world. Some of the attitudes will no doubt offend those who are so determinedly politically correct that they are unable to conceive that others might have a different opinion or outlook. Others are so Liberal in their thinking that they make Hillary Clinton look like Attila the Hen! And then there are those that are into "causes". Please, do not write me hooting and hollering about your cause, prejudices, preferences or whatever. I am not into causes. I AM a grumpy old sailor and I do not suffer fools gladly. Be warned.

IN 1976 the AIDS pandemic was only just infecting North America. Condoms were used primarily to prevent pregnancy and gay men never gave a thought to having sex with a condom. Do not, I beg you, let what was common in 1976 influence your conduct today. Always practice safe sex.

As my writings detail scenarios of gay sex - tastefully, I hope - in sometimes graphic detail, I must warn that in some states, provinces, cities and towns reading, possessing, downloading, etc., is illegal, or if you are not of legal age to read, possess, download, etc., works of erotica, please move on.

I would like to thank all who wrote with their suggestions and comments. I enjoy hearing from all my readers and reply to all, except flames. Please contact me at my e-mail address: paradegi@rogers.com

My thanks to Peter for all his help and encouragement.

Chapter 5

"You could have said something," complained The Phantom. "And did you have to bring Chef into this? You know what he's like."

Cory leaned back and inadvertently flashed The Phantom. "I would have told you, but I wanted to run it by Chef first and then the next thing I knew he was off and running. And Phantom, it's a good idea."

The Phantom laughed, for he could never stay angry with Cory. "It is," he agreed. "And Cory, your dick is hanging out."

Cory started forward and quickly adjusted himself. "Sorry," he said with a blushing grin. "I slept like this and I was going to change after I ate. Of course, Chef did run on and, well, sorry."

The Phantom grinned and leaned forward. "Don't be. If I move into the Gunroom will I see that every morning?"

Frowning, Cory drew his legs together. "Now, Phantom, you're spoken for!" he said with mock anger. "You shouldn't be looking at my . . . well, looking!" Then he grinned.

Returning Cory's grin The Phantom said, "I can't help but look. You always did turn me on. And," he waggled his eyebrows, "it is kinda cute, the way it hangs there all sleepy."

Cory reached down and exposed his sleeping parts. "Well, now that you mention it is kind of . . ." He glared at the Phantom. "Cute? Cute? Manly I'll accept, beautiful I'll accept, but cute . . ."

The Phantom reached down and tweaked the finely curved glans of Cory's penis. "And very cute when it's angry!" he said, laughing as he stood up and motioned for the door. "Now then, take your cuteness and go play somewhere. I have a ton of work to do."

Growling, Cory stood up and as he passed The Phantom gave his butt a quick rub. "We are going to meet again, Phantom," he warned, his voice low. "And I'll show you how cute I am."

"I know how cute you are," returned The Phantom. Then he gave Cory a fishy look. "And what about Sean?"

Cory sighed. "Sean is . . . Sean," he said as he followed The Phantom from the galley into the main dining room.

"And do I detect a note of disappointment?" asked The Phantom as he poured a cup of coffee. He handed it to Cory and then poured a cup for himself.

Cory sat at the nearest table and shook his head. "It's not disappointment," he said. "It's just that Sean is so . . . uptight. He tries, he really does, but he just can't seem to let himself go. Redheads are supposed to be tigers in bed, but damn it, Phantom, it's like he's afraid to hurt me, or afraid to let himself go."

The Phantom snickered. "Come on, Cory, give him a break. For three years he deliberately avoided you and settled for second and third rate. Now that he's got you, I think he's so in awe, so surprised that you are finally his, that well, he doesn't want to lose you and he's not going to do anything to piss you off."

Sighing, Cory nodded slowly. "Somehow spending the rest of my life with Sean is not something I'm looking forward to," he admitted. "He's a hell of a nice guy, I do like him, but he is just so . . . conventional!"

"Come on, Cory, life can't be all fireworks and exploding rockets," replied The Phantom. "At least Sean is here! The Gunner is off in Toronto and I can't reach out and hold him. You can reach out to Sean."

Cory put his half-empty cup in the dish rack and made a face. "Not today I can't. I've got the Afternoon Watch, then the First Watch."

"Things will settle down once the YAG crews get on line," replied The Phantom. "And there is always tomorrow."

"Yeah, always tomorrow," replied Cory sourly. "With me, it seems that it's always tomorrow!"

The morning passed quickly and lunchtime was like old times. The mess hall rang with the laughter and chatter of the YAG cadets, who would eat all their meals except breakfast ashore. The Phantom, Matt, and Kevin, were busier than they had ever been. Now, instead of only six or seven officers, there were twenty. In addition to Tyler and Val, there were also Tony and Mark sitting at the Chiefs table, plus five Chiefs from the YAG Squadron, and fifteen petty officers. Matt told The Phantom that while he loved him, he had better get some help or Matt wanted a divorce! Kevin, usually the most happy-go-lucky of cadets, was grim faced when finally the last of the diners left the dining hall. He too wanted some help. Kevin was exhausted and if he fell asleep when he was with Ray later on it would be Phantom's fault and he could deal with Ray!

In the galley things were not much better. With five new cooks on hand The Phantom had thought that things would go smoothly as the new cadets were supposed to be trained. Not so.

The Cookery Branch was not popular. For the most part it meant long hours in a stifling, small, ill-equipped galley. Then the YAGs, while broad-beamed and stable, still reacted to the effects of the wind and the waves and, as they were always on exercises, sharp turns to port or starboard were to be expected. Sometimes the turns were announced; sometimes they were not. It depended on the experience of the officer on the bridge at the time, and the cooks never knew when they would be dodging flying pans and rivers of scalding hot soup. There was also the fact that they were subject to abuse. A cook was expected to provide hot, nourishing meals, meals that tasted more like food and less like cardboard, food like Mom cooked. Protests against sub-standard victuals came in many forms, usually verbal, although sometimes it happened that a plate or bowl of particular culinary failure was hurled through the air at the back or head of the cook. At other times protest took the form of the purchase of a crock-pot, or other portable cooking utensil. This had a two-fold effect in that the cadets needed food to cook in their crock-pot, and found ways to rabbit canned goods from dry stores, which played havoc with the ration count. The other effect was that each cook used a standard ration count and if he cooked for 30, he expected that 30 people would eat. If, at the end of a meal there were rations left uneaten, the cook had to find a way to recycle the food, obeying the cardinal rule of Supply Officers everywhere that nothing was to be wasted and nothing was to be disposed of until it was growing mould. It was a never-ending cycle, really, damned if you do, vilified if you did, and sleep with one eye open!

Of the five new cooks, only Toby Prospero seemed at all interested in learning his trade. He was a tall, broad-chested Newfoundlander with curly blond hair and the easygoing disposition that all Newfoundlander's seemed to have, and while he was not the brightest bulb in the box he did try, although Ray despaired of teaching the smiling boy that when you made fish stock only the bones, some of the flesh, and maybe the skin, was used. The innards and head did not really add anything to the mix.

Sandro was having much the same problem with Andy Morton and Norris Williams, who seemed determined never to understand that you couldn't just fill a pot with water, throw in some vegetables and yesterday's meat loaf, wave your dick over it and call it soup!

Gordon Potter and Pat Burrell, the remaining two new cooks had made it quite clear that they had no intention of continuing on as cooks, in the Sea Cadets or anywhere else, and were given over to the custody of Joey and Randy, who could at least show them how to scrub pots.

The Phantom had expected that Chef would be in the thick of things, bellowing, threatening little cadet bottoms (except Toby's, for he was well-upholstered) with his spoon, sipping, tasting, scowling and generally being himself. This morning, however, The Phantom found the old fellow sitting quietly in his office, looking pale and, for some reason, agitated. "Are you all right, Chef?" asked The Phantom when he stuck his head in the office door. "You don't look so good."

Smiling weakly, Chef asked The Phantom to come in and shut the door. When The Phantom was seated Chef sighed heavily. "You know, Phantom," he began, without a trace of the accent he habitually used, "I used to think that I've heard and seen it all. I've been torpedoed, I've been shot at, I've been in my share of scrapes and the Good Lord knows I've suffered enough aggravation, what with putting up with you and your mates. But today . . ." Hs voice trailed off and suddenly tears rolled down his fat cheeks. "Ah, Phantom, man's inhumanity to man causes millions to mourn!"

The Phantom, shocked at Chef's words and demeanour, for the man never seemed to let anything bother him and had always appeared to have nerves of steel, leaned forward. "Has something happened?" he asked, worried that The Gunner had met with an accident. "If something has happened to Stevie, please, Chef, tell me!"

Shaking his head, Chef sniffed loudly. "So far as I know Stevie is fine!"

"Then what . . .?"

"Phantom, there are . . . men who like boys, little boys, and then there are those who supply the boys!"

The Phantom immediately thought of Jeff Jensen, who was 18, and was sleeping with his young brother, Robbie, who was 12. "I know of someone like that," he said slowly. "But nobody 'supplied' the boy. Je . . . the person I know is sleeping with his brother."

"Phantom, I must know, and please tell me, tell me truthfully, is there anyone here, in Comox, who has a little boy that he claims is his nephew, or a foster son, a German lad, or perhaps a Russian, come for a visit, perhaps an exchange student?"

The Phantom thought carefully and answered truthfully, "No. Comox is a small town and if anybody like that was visiting the whole town would know about it." He looked quizzically at Chef. "And what is this all about?"

Chef cleared his throat and said, "Phantom, I have received information that boggles the mind!" He rose from behind his desk and stared out of the window. Across the road he could see two of the YAG cadets lounging in front of the Guardhouse. He shook hs head sadly. "Phantom, when I was a lad, much, much younger than you, I was on board a ship, travelling from England to Montreal. We were torpedoed."

The Phantom's eyes widened. This was the first time that Chef had ever mentioned his past. He was usually so secretive, and while he hinted from time to time at things done in the long ago years, all of the cadets thought that he was spinning a dip, or pulling their pissers. But now every word Chef spoke rang with truth. "Was the ship called the Benares?" he asked, remembering Ray's earlier question.

"She was called the City of Benares," corrected Chef. "She was torpedoed and there was great loss of life. Amongst the passengers were ninety youngsters, children being evacuated to Canada. Of the ninety, only thirteen survived." He turned and looked at The Phantom. "One of them called me, and asked for my help."

Suddenly, the outrage, the anger Chef felt flared and burst into flames. He slammed the flat of his hand against the hard wood of the desk. The Phantom, who had never seen Chef angry, jumped in his chair. "Chef!" he exclaimed, "Calm down!"

"How can I be calm?" Chef demanded hotly. He waved his arm wildly in an arc. "Out there, across that causeway, across this country, across North America, boys are being sold! Can you imagine it, can you even contemplate it?"

For a long time The Phantom sat silently thinking. Then he spoke, his words hard. "Chef, I may be stuck here in this backwater, but I do watch television, and I do read the newspapers. I've been to Victoria, and Vancouver, and I've seen the boys on Skid Row and the boys haunting Gastown." He thought of Randy and Joey, and their newfound relationship with Phil Thornton. "I can understand the attraction between boys. I can understand that boys will fall in love with other, perhaps older boys, or even an older man." Chef nodded his understanding, for was not The Phantom himself in love with The Gunner, who was nine years older than the lad? And were not Randy and Joey, the pair of them barely into puberty, bedevilling Chief Phillip Thornton of the YAGS, and as sure as St. Patrick himself drove the snakes from the Auld Sod Chef would be looking into that particular arrangement! "There is a difference, though, Phantom me lad, for the boys fell in love on their own, so they did, and no one snatched them from their homes and forced them into a man's bed!" The Phantom thought about that. "Chef, I can understand why a boy would sell himself. Sometimes that is all he can do." His eyes narrowed. "The difference being, of course, that the boys enter into relationships, or sell their bodies, of their own volition. Many are forced from their homes because they're gay and they have to live. They have to eat and they have to have a place to sleep, so they sell the only things they have: their bodies. The English call them Rent Boys. I understand why those boys do what they do."

"Ah, Phantom, the boys I am talking about have no say in the matter. To be sure, there are some who are old enough to know what they want. The man I spoke with, according to him, there are three teenage boys who live with a very rich man, who hired them to service him. Two of those boys will not give up the life they have at all! They like what they do, and no matter how nefarious the circumstances, they enjoy the lifestyle they have." He looked sadly at The Phantom. "No, lad, it's not them I'm speaking of. It's the wee ones, the nine and the ten-year-olds, the little lads without a hair between their legs and not a thought in the world that even approaches sex! They have no choice, for they were sold, sold to be a man's little sex toy, his slave!"

The Phantom's stomach turned over and he felt the bile rising in his throat. "Their parents, their mothers, or their fathers, sold them?" he asked, his face paling.

"Sold them," confirmed Chef. "And when they are used up, of no appeal to the man they were sold to, they are in turn sold again!" "Dear sweet Jesus!" whispered The Phantom. "That I cannot, and will not, ever understand. How can a mother sell her child, or a father sell his son?"

"It is the truth," replied Chef simply and then shrugged. "Who can know the reason other than the parent who did the selling? Perhaps to pay off a debt, perhaps out of economic want. The reason is not important. What is important is that the black trade is flourishing!"

"Then something must be done," returned The Phantom. "Mourn later, act now!"

"Phantom, I have made people aware of the information imparted to me. I can only hope that they act."

"The Order?"

Chef nodded. "The worst of it, Phantom, is that at least one Knight of the Order is involved."

The Phantom's eyebrows rose and his face grew flush with the disgust he felt. "Are you sure? Have things come to such a pass that a Knight would become involved in this . . . this . . . travesty?"

Chef nodded slowly. "I told you these things because soon you will take your vows. I cannot say how deep this . . . scandal . . . goes. I cannot say that no other Knights are involved." Chef looked directly at The Phantom. "I know you, Phantom, and I know that you are a man of integrity and more than a little honour. The Order has become, in some ways, a cesspool. I will understand if you decided to withdraw your candidacy."

The Phantom's emerald eyes blazed as they bore into Chef. He pointed over Chef's broad shoulder as he said in slow, measured tones, "If a cesspool needs cleaning out, do it! If I can help, I will. I have heard you talk, and I have listened to Stevie." He pointed over Chef's shoulder at the open window. "The cadets outside are my friends. If I withdrew I would feel as if I were betraying them and that I will never do!"

"The Order may have need of you, Phantom," warned Chef. "We will need all our true Knights, we will need all our resources. Think well, Phantom, for you may be called upon to make extraordinary sacrifices."

The Phantom leaned forward, his hands clenched. "Chef, your boys, my friends, sleep safely at night because you, and I, are here to make sure that they can. You have accepted Ray as your son and I have accepted them all as my brothers. You have seen war, Chef, and you were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. You made that decision because it was the right thing to do. Remember the first time we talked?"

Chef nodded. "I remember."

"Better to do the harder right than the easier wrong," quoted The Phantom. "If there is a war, if the Order sounds the trumpets of war, then I shall be there. I might not be able to do much, but I will be there." He saw Chef about to speak and held up his hand. "Please, let me finish!" The Phantom straightened and his words flowed softly. "You, Stevie, and I, have placed our trust in the Order. Whatever must be done to end this evil must be done! If a Knight of the Order has betrayed the Rule, then the Order must take steps and right the wrong. The boys who have been sold as sex slaves must be rescued and returned home."

"A Herculean task, Phantom, for we do not know how many boys there are," replied Chef. His face did not betray the emotion he felt, the upsurge of love he felt for this young man sitting so straight and true before him. "We do not know if they would want to go home, or if they have homes to return to."

"Then let those who wish to, let them go their own way. Give them money to help them start out. As for the others, give them a home. The Order was founded to provide a safe haven on the road to Jerusalem, hospitals where gay men could find refuge and safety."

"The Order has no hospitals," Chef pointed out.

"Then found one!" returned The Phantom. "Let the Order find homes, buildings, schools, whatever it needs, but found a new hospital and fill it with these poor boys. Give them the home they need, the home the Order was established to provide! Let the Order fulfill its destiny and found a new hospital on the road to a New Jerusalem! "

Chef slowly sat down, the surprise he felt at the ferocity of The Phantom's words showing on his face. "Phantom," he said presently, "I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to see that the Order takes into its protection those boys who want it. I cannot promise a hospital for them, but I will try." He pulled open the centre drawer of his desk and drew out a small, blue leather box. Opening it, he showed the heavy gold and enamel ring set with an oval, bevelled, table cut ruby to The Phantom. "I have never worn this, Phantom. As Proctor I could not, you see."

"Wear it now, Chef," instructed The Phantom. "It is time to come out of the shadows. Wear the ring."

Chef shook his head. "No, Phantom, for there is a better use it can be put to." He looked up at The Phantom and smiled softly. "A much better use."

The Phantom knew what Chef was getting at. Impulsively he reached into the pocket of his uniform trousers and pulled out some notes and coins, which he laid on Chef's desk. "There is, what, $5.37, Chef? It's all I have on me. It's not much, but it is a beginning. Keep your ring."

Shaking his head Chef carefully pulled the small pile of money towards him. "I will take your money, Phantom. And I will sell my ring. Together, we will make a beginning."

"A new beginning," said The Phantom as he moved around the desk and hugged Chef.

As he carefully put The Phantom's donation into an envelope Chef's demeanour changed. "Phantom, I want you to know something else." Chef's old eyes bore into The Phantom. "The Grand Master of the Order, Michael Chan, is a man capable of great anger. He values loyalty and when a man gives him his word, he considers it the man's bond. Those who betray the trust placed in them will suffer greatly."

Once again The Phantom's green eyes flared. "I hope they burn in the fires of hell!" he declared hotly. Once again he leaned on chef's desk. "And if necessary I will carry the first torch!"

Harry was frankly goldbricking. He had spent the morning cataloguing the music library, a hot, boring, and dusty affair and had decided to hell with it. He could think of better ways to spend a Friday afternoon and was doing one of them, lying in his bunk, playing with the broad head of the Pride, which was poking seductively above the waistband of his boxers. He resisted the urge to reach into his underpants and roll his balls. Harry loved having his balls played with and when he was with the right person he always roared to a shattering climax when this was done to him. This afternoon, however, he was content to lie back and admire the Pride, named so by Todd, and admired by all.

The Pride was considered the epitome of beauty, the penis by which all others were judged. Harry was flattered beyond measure that his dick was an object of worship and the subject of at least two contests to determine who, if anyone, had a penis of sufficient length, girth and beauty to aspire to the title. He knew that the Sea Puppies had held such a contest, and while the winner, Evan de Courcy, had boasted a classically beautiful appendage, Harry thought that the younger cadet did lack something in the testicles department. It was Harry's opinion that one had to consider the overall aspect and general appearance of the candidate's equipment. Testicles should complement the penis and anyone, whose balls were too small, or too big, simply was not in the same league as the Pride and its accompanying Escorts, as Harry's testicles were known. The stewards had also had a contest, with The Phantom as judge, and David Tomkens had been declared the winner. Harry, who trusted The Phantom's judgement, and secretly thought that the Chief Steward of the Sea Cadets had a set of upper deck fittings that could, hands down, claim the title, pretended to be mollified although the thought that a mere steward could claim the title, was somewhat unsettling.

Harry, being Harry, knew that it was all a silly game. Still, he milked the game for all its worth and did not tell the other cadets that back home there were six penises, with accompanying testicles, that not only matched, but in two instances, outdistanced the Pride. Harry had six brothers and each of them had a penis that was as sleek, as pink, and as handsome as his own. Not only that, but two of his brothers, Charlie and George, were bigger. Nicky, the next brother down the line, owned what amounted to a double for the Pride, while Paul and Francis, called Frankie, were coming along fine. Even Louis, who was only ten and hardly a contestant, had as fine a specimen as his brothers. Harry took great pride in the knowledge that he and his brothers were objects of envy for miles around the farm, and that each Hohenberg brother had been certified perfect by their grandmother, Augusta-Viktoria, who was an expert in such things, being the mother of eight boys herself. As was the custom, each boy born into the family - and there had not been a female born into the family in something like ten generations - was presented to the Matriarch, who stripped the child of diaper and shirt, counted fingers and toes, and closely examined the little domed nub between his legs, given a string of names, and roundly kissed on the top of his head. It didn't matter where in the province, or the country the child lived, or was going to live, he was not a Hohenberg until grandmother said he was. Daughters-in-law, and granddaughters-in-law, might fume and carp at their husbands, but it was a family tradition, and that was all there was to be said about it.

As he pleasured himself, Harry wondered who would succeed Augusta-Viktoria, who was getting long in the tooth. Charlie and George were both engaged and sooner or later a new son would need presenting for approval and certification. Harry also planned to marry, and being a traditionalist, would want his sons - and he would only father sons, he was sure - to be true Hohenbergs.

An unconscious frown crossed Harry's broad, handsome face as he pushed down his boxes and began to fondle the Escorts. The subject of Harry's marrying had driven a wedge between him and Todd, his friend and, until the night of the end-of-year barbeque, his lover. Todd and Cory had stayed in the Gunroom, serving a self-imposed sentence, even though they didn't have to, seeing as how the Commanding Officer had pardoned everybody's sins to honour the visit of the Lieutenant Governor. Granting remission of sentences to felons was an old tradition when Royalty, or Royalty's representative came to visit, but the Twins, being the Twins, refused to take advantage of their remission and had decided to stay in the Gunroom, exiling themselves from the revelry by night and satisfying their personal sense of honour and decency.

Thinking on it now, Harry knew that he had made a big mistake by not stopping with the Twins. He had gone off to the party without a thought, and spent the night enjoying himself and not thinking once about Todd.

Abruptly Harry left off his fondling and lay back, his hands behind his head, mentally cursing his stupidity. Todd needed him, needed him to be there, and he'd gone off and danced the night away. What made matters worse was that even though the Twins were in purdah, they still received visitors, friends who felt it more important to be with Cory and Todd than to be trolling the fishing fleet. Matt had come by, as had Sean Anders, and The Phantom. They had been true friends. Harry had not and he took no more strolls with Todd down the path that led to the School of Wind.

Of course, Harry had to admit to himself, another wedge was Stefan, the young, dark-haired, sweet boy that Harry had fallen in love with. Harry's thinking of Stefan caused the Pride to stir slightly and the Escorts to contract a bit. Harry glared at the Pride and growled a silent, "Down!"

With the Pride once again quiescent and the Escorts nestled in their berth, Harry stared at the overhead beams and cobwebs, his thoughts turning more and more to Stefan, the boy of his dreams, his love. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. It was funny, really. He could take the Pride to sea thinking about Todd, or Cory, or The Phantom. Hell, he'd even had one hell of a fantasy about Nicholas one night. He just could not ring down Stand By thinking about Stefan. It didn't seem right, for some reason, to make the boy the object of his lascivious dreams. Stefan was the love of his life, his sweet, young love and Harry was determined never to sully what they had, to never denigrate the passion they had enjoyed, never debase their love. One day, when Stefan was older, they would consummate their passion, and until then Harry was content to dream of other boys. As he began to form a dream, Harry reached down to gently stroke the Pride. Visions of . . .

"God damn it, Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Cory standing in the doorway leading to the barracks yard. Behind Cory was Rob, the Chief Storesman, and behind him were four cadets from the Duty Watch, struggling to haul a mattress and the components of a bunk into the Gunroom.

Grinning, Harry thought, "Show time!" With deliberate slowness he stroked the curving, domed, arrowhead-shaped glans of the Pride. "Now Cory . . ." he began, lowering his voice in a basso which he thought damned seductive.

"Don't 'Cory' me!" hissed Cory as he stomped into the Gunroom; quite forgetting that Rob and half the Duty Watch was behind him. "Really, Harry, it's the middle of the afternoon and . . ."

Before Cory could castigate Harry further one of the Watchmen, his eyes all but bugging from his head, gasped and declared in an awed whisper, "Holy fuck!"

Rob, who had seen the Pride in all its glory before, felt his dick twitch and push out the front of his shorts. He grinned at the four cadets behind him and declared with all the majesty of a prophet announcing the Second Coming, "Behold: The Pride of the Fleet!"

The four junior cadets, who were all YAG crewmen pressed for the day, pushed forward. They had all heard of the Pride - the jungle drums had been beating throughout the Squadron for weeks - dropped their burdens with an ear-splitting clang of metal, and pushed forward for a better look.

"Look at that," yelped one of the cadets. "And it ain't even hard!"

"I can fix that quick enough," returned Harry.

"Don't you dare!" howled Cory, all but dancing with rage. "Harry, pull up your pants, now!" he ordered officiously.

A strange gleam came into Harry's eyes. He rolled on his side, the better to present the Pride for viewing. "Now, Cory, you know I don't like it when you talk that way." Then he laughed maniacally and slowly pulled his body into a sitting position. He ran his tongue along his full lips and crooned, "Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell fresh Arundel bum!"

Cory stepped back, crashing into Rob, who was laughing like a loon as he said, "Look out Cory, I think he's on heat!"

Cory's eyes widened with genuine fear. Harry could be fooling around - he always did when he had an audience - or he could be serious. One never knew with Harry and Cory was not about to risk his bum again.

Seeing the look on Cory's face, Harry snickered, and then broke into a full-bellied roar of laughter. Game, set and match to Harry! He reached down and pulled up his underpants. "Gotchya!" he declared.

Cory turned red in the face, sputtered and muttered, and then forced himself to calm down. "If the vaudeville show is over, some of us have work to do!" he spat.

"What work?" asked Harry. He pretended to notice Rob and the other cadets for the first time. "Hi, guys. Enjoy the show?"

Four heads bobbed in unison. Rob just raised his eyes to the deckhead and shook his head.

Cory glared at Rob and the cadets and then threw a look back at Harry, who seemed completely at ease. "If you must know," Cory said archly, "we are setting up another bunk."

Harry looked around the Gunroom, wondering where Cory was planning to set the newest bunk up. There was no room, as was evidenced by the double bunking they'd had to do for Nathan. He also wondered who was moving in. For a moment he thought that it might be Rob. Then Harry remembered that Rob had set up a bunk and moved his gear into the Stores Building. "Where are you planning on putting the bunk?" Harry asked. "And for whom?"

Rob motioned for the work party to get on with it. "It's for Chief Petty Officer Lascelles, Philip A.T., Chief Steward of the Sea Cadets," he announced. "And I have no idea where the bloody bunk is going!"

Cory pointed at Harry's bunk in the corner and regarded Harry. "You said that it was nice to have all the Boys of Aurora together for once." His sky blue eyes were locked with Harry's dark brown orbs. "Well, you forget one of them, and you forget that he's the most important one!" Then he added ominously. "And you know why!"

Harry's eyes widened and then narrowed. Phantom was one of the Boys of Aurora. Hell, if it had not been for him, there would be no Boys of Aurora. Harry knew what The Phantom had done for them and if anybody deserved to be in the Gunroom, it was Chief Petty Officer Lascelles, Philip A.T., Chief Steward of the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets. "It was stupid of me to say what I said," Harry admitted, looking crestfallen.

Cory looked at Harry and smiled at his friend fondly. Harry was many things but stupid was not one of them. He might project the image of a brain-dead jock, but Harry was one of the most intelligent cadets Cory knew, although even Cory had to admit that at times Harry thought more with the head of the Pride than he did with the head stuck between his shoulders. Smiling, Cory nodded slowly. "So, you have no objection to Phantom moving in?" he asked.

"Of course, not," replied Harry. "And Cory, I really wouldn't have bitten your bum."

A snickering from the four YAG cadets told Cory that he had better be careful in what he replied. He felt certain that the news of seeing Harry all but naked, with the Pride and the Escorts on full display and about ready to put to sea, would be spread all over the YAG Squadron within minutes of the four boys scampering down to the Dockyard when they were off duty. "I know you were only joking," Cory said with a wink. He turned to the other cadets. "Okay guys, set 'er up over Harry's bunk," he directed with a wave of his hand.

"My bunk?" yelped Harry loudly. "Why over my bunk?"

"Because, Harry," Cory began to explain patiently, "you are in the corner, against the bulkhead and . . . "

"So are you!" returned Harry.

This was perfectly true. Cory's bunk occupied one side of the bulkhead that separated the Gunroom proper from the Chiefs Mess, and while setting another bunk over Cory's would have been no problem, Cory had given a great deal of thought to where Phantom was to sleep.

At first Cory had thought to put the Phantom above him but then rejected the idea. Cory loved the slim, handsome, green-eyed boy with all his heart and soul but he would no more put his occasional lover in a compromising position that he would cut off one of his testicles. Phantom was not, as the saying went, "out" to anyone except to a few, very special friends. And therein lay the rub.

Cory knew that appearances were everything. He and his brother had deliberately changed their image of gay young things to sober, responsible young men because they both had come to the realization that while everybody knew that they were gay, it did not pay to advertise. Their outrageous mode of dress, their flamboyant conduct, all reflected not only on them, but also on their family, and friends. Paul Greene, Little Big Man that was, had demonstrated that theory, accusing The Phantom of being gay simply because he associated with the Twins. At the time there had been no basis for such an accusation except for Little Big Man's hatred of the Twins, because neither Cory nor Todd knew that The Phantom was as gay as they were. Nor did they know about The Phantom's secret life of sneaking onto the spit and visiting the cadets in the night, masturbating or fellating them. Until that fateful night when they had witnessed The Phantom blowing Thumper, and followed him to the weather-beaten shack hidden in the woods, they had always thought The Phantom to be as straight as an arrow, as did the other cadets, and Cory was determined to keep things that way. Cory knew that if he insisted on putting The Phantom's bunk over his that some people might think that he was doing so to put the moves on The Phantom. And this must never happen.

Putting The Phantom over Harry's bunk almost guaranteed that there would be no idle gossip spread. Harry was considered by all who thought they knew him to be the quintessential jock: loud, crude, rude and, most importantly, straight, because that was what Harry appeared to be to them. Very few people outside of the Gunroom cadets knew that Harry was in love with Stefan Gillan, or that they been lovers in a schoolboy way. Only The Phantom knew that Cory and Todd had also been with Harry, in the School of Wind and that, until the evening of the Course Barbeque, Todd and Harry had spent every night in the school, making love. Harry had his reasons for not wanting his sex life talked about, as did The Phantom, as did Rob, whose lover, Ryan, had already gone home, or Fred or Nathan. None of the boys wanted their true selves to be exposed to the light of public scrutiny, or to have a hint of what they were doing talked about. And that was why The Phantom's bunk was going in the far corner of the Gunroom, over Harry's.

" . . . We need to keep the passageway clear," said Cory. He looked directly at Harry, his eyes asking the Drum Major to go along with him. "You know, in case of an emergency, say a fire?"

Harry saw the look in Cory's eyes and nodded. He knew that The Phantom and Cory had been together at least once, and that after The Phantom had risked everything, his good name, his reputation, his potential naval career by sneaking into the Petty Officers Mess and seducing Little Big Man. Harry did not know all the details, and wasn't sure that he wanted to know. All he knew was that by doing what he did The Phantom had made his life, and Stefan's, a little safer. He also erroneously assumed that Cory wanted to keep temptation as far away as he could because The Phantom was a damned fine looking fella, and Harry would not have blamed Cory in the least if he tried to put the moves on the Chief Steward. Hell, now that he thought of it, Harry wouldn't mind The Phantom being above him at all!

"You know, you're right," declared Harry loudly. "If you put Phantom down there with you and Todd the three of you would be up half the night chattering like monkeys and you know how cranky I get if I don't get my sleep."

"You throw things, like boots!" snapped Cory.

Harry's laughter echoed through the rafters. "I also bite bums!" he declared. "Nice, fresh, Arundel bum!"

Cory knew better than to pursue that particular line and hurriedly ordered the other cadets to get the damned bunk set up. When they were finished he led them out of the Gunroom and while the walked back toward the Guardhouse one of the boys asked, "Did Harry really bite you on the bum?"

"Yes," replied Cory sourly.

"Did he leave a scar?" asked the cadet.

"Of course he . . ." began Cory, about to deny that Harry had left a scar on his bum.

"Hot damn, can we see it?" interrupted the cadet before Cory could tell them that Harry had not even broken the soft skin on his bum!

"What! No you cannot!" returned Cory, his arms waving indignantly. "What kind of a person would ask that?"

He continued to rant about his non-existent scar all the way to the Guardhouse.

With the lunchtime rush over, and the tables reset for dinner, The Phantom had a few hours to kill. He knew that he should get started on the inventory of the Admiral's Dining Room, but could not even think about plates and forks and knives. What Chef had told him about men buying little boys had disturbed The Phantom more than Chef knew, and he hoped that the Order, or at least Michael Chan, would be able to do something to stop the nefarious trade.

At Chef's suggestion Phantom went home to pack a bag with the clothing he would need for his stay at AURORA. He also needed to inform his father where he would be.

On the drive into Comox The Phantom found his eyes leaving the roadway to watch any young boy accompanied by an adult male. He knew most of the people who lived in town, of course, and would have known of any strangers, other than tourists. Still, he scanned the small knots of strolling tourists and townspeople out doing their Saturday shopping, as he passed along the Esplanade. He knew that he was overreacting, perhaps being paranoid, but he could not help himself. As it happened, he saw no combinations of men and boys that would give rise to suspicion.

At home, The Phantom packed. He debated calling the RCMP Barracks in Regina, then thought otherwise. His brother had no telephone and he did not want a message left with the duty desk officer. The Phantom knew that his mother would ring when she got herself settled, so he penned a note to both parents and left it on the kitchen table. His father would let his mother know where The Phantom could be found.

After returning to AURORA, The Phantom found he still had a couple of hours or so before Hands to Dinner would be piped and, rather than sit in the loading dock, he decided to walk over to the swimming beach. As he sat down he looked over to the Dockyard where he saw that all five YAGS were in, tied up fore and aft along the jetty. As he watched he saw the crew of one of the YAGs appear on deck, dressed for swimming. Before very long he could hear the laughter and shouts as the cadets leaped and dove into the waters of the harbour and he couldn't help wondering if the boys knew exactly how lucky they were. He also could not help wondering just how many boys would never know the freedom and joy that the cadets swimming in the harbour had and knew.

The more he thought of what Chef had told him, the more The Phantom was determined to help if he could. The money, a few dollars to be sure, was a start and he had every confidence in Chef. Chef might play the fool, but he was a cagey, savvy old man and if anyone could get the Order to establish a hospital for the lost boys, it would be Chef.

The Phantom wished that Stevie were here. He was the Chancellor of the Order, and would sooner or later become involved. The Gunner would know what to do, and The Phantom had every intention of being at his side when he did it.

As he watched the swimming exercise in the harbour, The Phantom wondered if he should talk to the Twins. He didn't know Michael Chan, but Cory and Todd did, and they could give him an insight into the man who was the Grand Master of the Order. Then there was the Twins' father, who had just been made an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of Canada. He surely would have to be told, being that he too was a member of the Order.

Idly plucking blades of sea grass, The Phantom felt his anger rising. How could a Knight, a member of the Order be involved in such a despicable trade? His heart went out to Chef, who had devoted much of his life to the Order, trying to recruit young men to what he considered to be a noble cause. Chef had spent his life helping young men to find themselves, to find the honour and pride that existed in every man. And now everything was ashes, ashes contaminated with the poison of pederasty and pedophilia.

They would have to rebuild, of course. Stevie, and Chef, and Mr. Arundel, and Michael Chan, would have to rid the Order of the feces and filth, and rebuild and The Phantom was determined to be there every step of the way.

He fisted a clump of beach sand and raised it high, then opened his fingers and watched as the sand drifted down. Like the sand, the old Order would be swept away, and a new, stronger, better Order would rise in its place. This was the way it had to be. This is what would be done.

Lost in his thoughts, The Phantom did not hear the soft scrunching of sand under sneakers as Sean Anders approached, and started when Sean said, "Good afternoon, Phantom. May I join you?"

The Phantom looked up to see Sean smiling down at him, the gold flecks in his red hair glinting in the early afternoon sun. Smiling, The Phantom nodded and gestured for Sean to join him. When the youth was settled beside him The Phantom asked, "No work today?"

Sean smiled and stretched. "Off duty, at last! We had Captain's Rounds this morning, this despite having been Duty Boat all night, so the CO piped stand down," he said as he stifled a yawn.

Chuckling, The Phantom suggested that Sean might try to get his head down.

Sean gestured toward the Dockyard. "We have a Stand Down. I doubt very much I could get any sleep with that racket going on!"

The Phantom had to agree. "They do tend to get a little rambunctious," he said presently. "Which makes me wonder if I did the right thing by agreeing to move into the Gunroom."

"You're moving into the Gunroom?" asked Sean, surprised.

The Phantom nodded. "Cory had this idea that I should experience life in the raw, seeing as how I am planning on joining up. He went to Chef and the next thing I knew I was agreeing to move in for the next two weeks!"

Sean felt a twinge of jealousy. He knew that Cory and The Phantom were very close, and had been together. Cory, as honest as always, had made it plain to Sean that from time to time he and The Phantom would be together. He hoped that Sean could understand, but that was the way it was going to be. Sean tried to understand the bond that existed between Cory and The Phantom. He did understand the attraction that Cory felt for his friend - Sean felt the same attraction. The Phantom was a damned fine, handsome young man. Sean did not blame Cory for wanting to be with The Phantom and while he hated to admit it, The Phantom had figured in at least two of his masturbatory fantasies. Not, of course, that Sean expected anything would happen between them. The Phantom was a friend, nothing more, and Sean doubted that their friendship would ever go beyond the back slapping stage. He sighed inwardly, and then said with a chuckle, "Cory can be quite persuasive when he puts his mind to it."

"Yeah," grunted The Phantom. Then he nodded toward the boys splashing in the harbour. "It's a different life, isn't it, Sean?" He smiled softly. "In a way, I think I'm looking forward to the experience."

Sean stretched his legs and fussily adjusted the fold of his shorts. "It will be an experience," he agreed. "It was a bit of shock, the first time I messed with a herd of other cadets. I rather think that I was like all new boys, accustomed to sleeping alone in one's own room, with no noise or distractions to annoy one."

The Phantom suppressed a growl. "You're doing it again," he said without rancour.

"Doing what?" asked Sean.

"Being pedantic," replied The Phantom. He lay down and crossed his arms across his chest and then turned his head to look at Sean. "You really should try to loosen up."

With a sigh, Sean nodded. "I do try, Phantom, but one has to understand, I've been doing this for years." He shrugged and let a breath of air escape his lips. "And now, being the Squadron Chief Petty Officer, well, the . . ." He was about to say "troops" but then he remembered how much the word annoyed Cory, and said, " . . .The ratings have come to expect it. They call me Iron Ass Anders, you know."

Giggling, The Phantom rolled on his side. "I thought was because a wire halyard slapped you on the ass!"

The Phantom's giggling proved infectious and Sean snickered loudly as he said, "Well, that too!"

"You know, Sean, I think you miss it." He reached out and gave Sean's shoulder a light punch. "Come on, admit it, you miss being in a mess, the yelling, the fighting, the swinging dicks, the morning woodies, the discomfort."

Reluctantly, Sean nodded his head. "I suppose I do," he admitted. "There was something . . . so very . . . special when I was in the mess."

"Chef says it's the camaraderie, the closeness of guys being together," replied The Phantom. "I think I know what he means, 'cause I feel it, sometimes."

"The Band of Brothers?" asked Sean.

"Yes, exactly." The Phantom saw a look of almost desperate wistfulness cross Sean's face. "You are one of that Band of Brothers, Sean."

Sean shook his head. "Thank you, Phantom, for that, but no, I am not yet one of the Boys of AURORA. I am an outsider, looking in, who just happens to be in love with one of your brothers." A look of utter sorrow crossed his face. "And I'm managing to fuck that up as well!" He suddenly buried his face in his hands, weeping softly. "I'm losing Cory, and I don't know what to do!" he murmured through his tears. "I love him so much and I want him to be with me, but I'm losing him!"

For a brief while The Phantom said nothing. Having listened to Cory's low-key moans about Sean only this morning, he knew exactly what Sean was talking about. Sitting up, The Phantom put his arm around Sean. "Hey, stop it, now! You don't know that, you don't know that at all!"

"I do!" returned Sean, unsuccessfully keeping the anger form his voice. "Cory thinks that I'm mechanical and . . ."

"Are you now?" asked The Phantom with a slight drawl. "Well, are you?"

"Are I what?" asked Sean, forsaking his grammar.

"Mechanical?"

A quizzical look came into Sean's eyes, and then he nodded. "In a way, yes." He frowned slightly. "But Phantom, I've never made love before!"

"Usually you just let nature take its course and do what feels good," responded The Phantom with a grin. Then he sobered. "Really, you've never made love before?" he asked.

"Phantom, I've been with two other boys beside Cory. The first one I was with, after I came back from making a fool of myself at Kingston, was the boy who lived next door to me. His name was Jesse and all we ever did was fool around. Guy stuff," he finished almost dismissively.

"Just jerking each other off?"

Sean nodded. "We were swimming in his pool one afternoon and started fooling around, you know, splashing and wrestling in the water. Well, he was horny and I was horny and one thing led to another and before we knew what we were doing we were rubbing each other's erections through our swimsuits." He snickered caustically. "What little boys we were, treading water in the deep end, holding each other and rubbing like fiends until he groaned and bucked and I squealed and bucked and . . ."

"Squealed?" The Phantom couldn't help laughing. "Really Sean, squealed!"

"Well I did!" replied Sean with a huge grin. "I was only fourteen and it was the first time anyone had ever done anything like that to me. I'm ever so much quieter now."

When he stopped laughing, The Phantom asked, "So, what happened between you and Jesse?"

Shrugging, Sean lay back on his elbows. "Basically, nothing," he said. "Oh, we'd meet just about every day and drop our shorts and underpants and grab each other's dicks. We did, once, suck each other, but Jesse wasn't all that keen about it."

The Phantom thought of his past relationship with Sam, his one-time best friend. Sam and he would meet after school and do exactly what Sean and Jesse had done, drop their pants and beat each other off. Of course, Jesse sounded a little more into it that Sam had ever been. Sam was a full blood Homalco and was too afraid of offending the tribal shamans to let The Phantom jerk him to ejaculation. Sam always insisted that as he neared his climax that The Phantom drop his dick and he would finish himself off. As for sucking Sam's dick, The Phantom had never felt the desire. Even now, a year after their last encounter, he shuddered at the thought. "I knew a guy like that once," advised The Phantom. Then he added hurriedly, "But we never sucked each other."

Sean, who knew nothing about The Phantom's nighttime sorties, nodded. "I suppose it's a phase a lot of boys go through." He wondered - briefly - just how many boys The Phantom had been with and then dismissed the question from his mind. Phantom had obviously gone through the hormonal phase of experimenting, and was beyond that, now. "Jesse and I lasted about a year. He moved away and for a while I had more or less resigned myself to a life of solitary masturbation." A mischievous smiled played at the corner of Sean's lips. "And then I went on a field trip to Saanich!"

"Saanich? What does Saanich have to do with it?" asked The Phantom, wondering if Sean was pulling his pisser.

"Everything," replied Sean with a twinkle in his eye. "On the bus ride up to Saanich I met Brent Callwood!"

The Phantom gave Sean black look. "And who in the hell is Brent Callwood?"

"The second boy I slept with," replied Sean with a grin. "On the bus ride he and I were assigned seats together, which wasn't all that surprising, seeing as I was the class nerd and he was the class queer."

"Sean!"

"Oh, it's quite true," replied Sean calmly. "I was a nerd, and he sure was queer."

"You got it on with him on the bus?" asked The Phantom, his eyes wide with the surprise he felt at Sean's frank, and open confession.

"On the bus, in the hotel room, his house, my house, once in the school field house, twice in the bracken and bramble behind the school - the soccer team was using the field house so we couldn't go there - and I forget how many times in the back seat of my father's car," replied Sean, his eyes dancing with hidden laughter. "Brent was a very sexual boy. He loved to fuck!"

"Holy shit!" exclaimed The Phantom, awed that Sean was so experienced. He certainly did not give that impression.

"Indeed," quipped Sean. He smiled somewhat happily as he continued. "The first time was, as I have said, on the bus going to Saanich. One minute we were sitting in the back seat, the one in front of the john, staring out the window, and the next my briefs were under my balls and Brent's nose was buried in my pubic bush. He later told me that he'd been lusting after me for months. Anyway, he gave me a superior blowjob, and promised better things at the hotel."

"You shared a room?"

Sean nodded. "Brent was the class secretary and had made all the arrangements for the field trip, including room assignments. I had been heavily involved with a science project and hadn't bothered to look at the list, so it was quite a surprise when I walked into the room to see him standing there, naked."

"And you were so shocked that you couldn't help yourself when he took advantage of you," said The Phantom.

"Hardly." Sean began riffling through the sand with his fingers. "In retrospect, I think the only reason I went with Brent was that he reminded me of Cory - not as handsome - but Brent was blond, with a slim build, the same colouring, even the same colour eyes."

"A substitute Cory," offered The Phantom.

"Yes, I suppose he was," replied Sean. "In the event, I barely had time to drop my overnight bag before he was on me. When I was as naked as he was he sucked on me until I was hard, slathered hand cream all over my dick, bent over and said, 'Fill 'er up!'"

The Phantom laughed so hard he almost peed himself. "Fill 'er up? He actually said that?" he asked between guffaws as he pounded the sand.

Quiet seriously, Sean said, "His exact words. He wanted to be fucked, so I fucked him. That was the beginning of my little adventure with Brent Callwood."

"It ended, I take it?"

"Oh, yes," replied Sean. "I had no feelings for Brent at all. He was a fuck, and nothing more. All my feelings were for Cory and I am not ashamed to admit that when I was doing the dirty with Brent I pretended that it was Cory I was with. Once I groaned and called out Cory's name when I ejaculated. Brent was not impressed."

"I can see where he wouldn't be," returned The Phantom dryly. "So your relationship ended?"

"It did. It was bound to end because, Phantom, a relationship based on sex, and only sex, is a disaster in the making. Brent liked to fuck, and I liked fucking him."

"So what happened?"

"Brent became angry and walked out. He came back a few times afterwards but he was on the prowl for someone else. He found someone and I was back to masturbating!" He grinned and winked at The Phantom. "Mind you, I think I got the better of it."

"How so?"

"Brent found a football player with an ten inch dick that was as big around as a Coke bottle."

"Ouch!"

Sean laughed. "After my somewhat miniscule offering, ouch indeed!" He looked seriously at The Phantom. "I've told you my history, Phantom, because I wanted you to understand where I come from. I've had sex - a great deal of sex - but that is all it was. I can't please Cory because I don't know how to please him. I start out making love, and the next thing I know I'm rutting away." He ducked his head and asked shyly, "Phantom, you've been with Cory. Please, how can I please him? How can I make him feel about me the way he feels about you?"

The Phantom regarded Sean for a long time, wondering just how embarrassing it was to Sean's self-esteem to ask such questions. Sean, with his iron discipline, his carriage, the way he talked, the way he regarded his juniors and superiors, everything bespoke one word: pride. Sean was a very proud young man and the cost to his pride in admitting that he could not please Cory, the cost in asking for help, must be tremendous. At first The Phantom did not answer Sean. Then he stood up and brushed the sand from the seat of his shorts. "Do you have a White Sail certificate?" he asked.

Surprised at The Phantom's reaction, Sean nodded. "Yes, Gold and why would you ask?"

"Because I want to go sailing and I don't have the proper papers to use one of AURORA's boats. You do, so you are going sailing with me."

"I am?"

"You am!"

The brisk breeze that blew down from the mountain spine of Vancouver Island carried the small boat out of the harbour, through the channel, and into the Strait of Georgia. The Phantom, who was coxing, turned the small tiller to port and the boat swung south, barrelling along at a good rate of knots. Sean, wondering what was going on, crewed, reeving and checking away the lines and from time to time glancing at The Phantom, who seemed absorbed in steering the 420 and watching the forested shore and when they were perhaps two miles south of AURORA he shouted, "Ready About" and turned toward the shore, heading for a small, secluded beach.

They pulled the boat onto the sandy beach and sat side by each, listening to the waves washing ashore. The Phantom realized that Sean needed help in his relationship with Cory. He had asked how to best please Cory and The Phantom was mulling over in his mind how to answer Sean.

Glancing at Sean, The Phantom recalled The Gunner saying that he never slept with another male simply for the sake of sleeping with him. There had to be a . . . uniqueness, a special something that stirred his soul. The Gunner had also told his young lover that there would be times when other boys would be attracted to him, and that he would be attracted to them. It was part of growing up, of living, of being a gay male. There would be attractions and, as The Gunner pointed out, The Phantom would have to make up his mind how to handle them.

Up to now The Phantom had felt emotions, and desire, for the Twins, which was not surprising. Together or individually the Twins could turn a statue into a slavering, priapic mess. The Twins had a singular beauty that was beyond compare.

Ray, whom The Phantom loved, was another case in point. Ray had been the first true love of The Phantom's young life. They had made love, deep, satisfying, wonderful love only once, and while they both tried to tell each other that what they had had together would never happen again, they both knew that one day they would be together again. Ray touched that hidden chord deep within The Phantom that The Gunner knew only certain young men had. Ray loved The Phantom for himself, for just being The Phantom. The Phantom loved Ray for the same reasons. Their attraction for each other would always be there, no matter that The Phantom had The Gunner, and Ray had his Kevin.

Then there was Matt. An inner warmth glowed deep within The Phantom whenever he thought of Matt. He was, in his own way, more beautiful than either Cory or Todd, gentler, sweeter and, after their night together in Cabin 5, a boy who made The Phantom want to hold him, to love him, to cuddle him; brother, son, lover, all rolled into one magnificent package.

Strangely, The Phantom felt no such feelings for Sam Chickweed, the strong, well-muscled, copper skinned Homalco brave who had been his first . . . partner. That was the only way The Phantom could think of Sam. They had never been lovers, really. They had never hugged, or held one another. They had never kissed. All they had ever done was masturbate each other. No, there were no feelings of warmth for Sam.

And now there was Sean. The Phantom looked the red-haired boy over slowly. Sean was hardly a candidate for a Mr. Wonderful competition. He was slim, although very trim. His face was smooth, with only the last vestiges of acne dotting his chin. His legs, well-formed and dusted with dark red hairs, were well formed, although his feet were big, as were his ears, which jutted slightly from the side of his head. Which was neither here nor there as The Phantom's ears stuck out as well. Sean's best feature was his hair, dark red, gold-flecked, and his eyes, hazel, with just a hint of green in them, sparkling, laughing with a hidden humour.

The Phantom found himself becoming attracted to Sean, and tried to put the thoughts from his mind. Sean was Cory's and The Phantom would never knowingly betray his best friend.

Feeling a stirring in his groin The Phantom lay back, and then rolled onto his stomach. Sean saw the movement and sighed inwardly. His sailing companion, with his green eyes, lithe, toned body, and ready smile was sending feelings coursing through Sean that until now he had only felt for Cory.

Resisting the urge to reach out and run his hand down The Phantom's well formed behind, Sean picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water. Something was happening to him, something he didn't understand. He was, however, in a way, beginning to understand why Cory, and Todd, and Ray, and yes, even young Matt, looked at The Phantom the way they did, why their eyes twinkled and danced with happiness, a look that Sean had yet to see in Cory's eyes for him. He sighed explosively.

The Phantom squirmed, sat up and placed a friendly hand on Sean's shoulder. "All right, Sean, let's have it," he said quietly.

"I told you, Phantom," began Sean, his voice breaking. "I can't seem to please Cory. Oh, he says that it doesn't matter, but it does! I can feel it. I just don't know what to do!" He sniffled and continued on. "I love him, Phantom, and he says that he loves me, but . . ."

The Phantom raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. "You have to give Cory time to sort out his feelings for you. He's introduced you to his parents. He's held you in his arms, and you've made love to him. Remember, he's coming off a shattered relationship with Nathan . . ." Sean snarled angrily at the mention of the American Sea Cadet's name. The Phantom ignored Sean's snarling and continued on. "You yourself did not want to start a relationship because you were afraid that your secret would be revealed. You know how Cory feels about that."

Sean nodded and smiled tightly. "I told Cory that so long as he is with me that I would be open and that I don't care what other people think about me if I knew that he loved me, and wanted to be with me."

"He does, Sean, you know he does," returned The Phantom. "You are not Cory's summer fuck."

Turning his head Sean's eyes bore into The Phantom. "Then why doesn't he look at me the way he looks at you, or Todd? What am I lacking? What do I have to do to make him look at me that way? Tell me, Phantom, what do I have to do?"

The Phantom thought a moment. "Sean," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "I told you how Cory feels about his brother. You can't change that. I can't change that, even if I wanted to, which I do not. Todd was, is, and always will be, Cory's first love."

"And you?" asked Sean, his tone icy. "You've slept with him, you've made love to him. What makes you so special to him?"

"A feeling, a sense, a desire, a warmth," replied The Phantom calmly. "A hidden chord that both of us have that makes us feel about each other way we do. I can't help Cory feeling about me the way he does, or feeling about Todd the way he does. I simply accept those feelings."

"And can you accept that I want Cory to feel the same way about me? To love me the way he loves Todd, the way he loves you?"

"Yes, Sean, I can." The Phantom rubbed his chin and looked reflectively at the soft, purling waves as they rolled ashore. "I can accept, and I can understand. I just don't know how I can help you."

"Nobody can," replied Sean glumly. "How can I compete with you? Or with Todd, who has Harry turning cartwheels. What have they got that I haven't?"

The Phantom was about to make a flippant remark when his eyes widened. "Sean, if I asked you a question, will you give me an honest answer?"

A look of anger crossed Sean's face. "I am not a liar, and I always tell the truth."

"Good." The Phantom looked at Sean and grinned. "When you and Cory made love, how was it?"

Sean's jaw dropped. "Now really, Phantom, what a question . . . I mean really!"

"Answer the question," returned The Phantom. "Was it wonderful? How did you feel while you were doing it? Did bells ring, the skies open? How did you feel?"

Sean struggled for an answer. Then he said, "It was wonderful. More wonderful than I had a right to expect."

"And how did Cory feel?" The Phantom's voice was low.

"I . . . uh . . . well, he said it was wonderful, too."

"But that special look, that twinkle, that small, bright star was not in his eyes, was it?"

Sean shook his head, no. "There was no special look, no," he admitted with a sob.

"Then you have to figure out a way to put that look in his eyes," said The Phantom with a small laugh. "You are going to have to find a way to make him want you, and only you." He rubbed the back of Sean's head gently. "You have got to make him think that you are the only boy in the world who can touch that secret chord deep within him."

Sean glowered. "And how, may I ask, am I supposed to do that? Perhaps I should find a native witch doctor to put a hex on him. Or is there some potion I buy over the counter at Walgreen's?" He shrugged huffily. "Really, Phantom you do talk nonsense. If the spark isn't there, it isn't there, and there is nothing I can do about it."

"Ah, but you can." The Phantom crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Sean. "When Cory made love to you - he did make love to you, I take it?" Sean nodded. "Well, how did you feel?"

"As you said, as if I were the only boy in the world, as if I, and I alone counted," replied Sean, his voice heavy with emotion.

"So make Cory feel the same way."

"I . . . um, well, to be honest, Phantom, Cory is really the only boy I've been with who made love to me. To be honest, at the time I wasn't studying his technique."

The Phantom laughed. He lay back down and then raised himself on one elbow. "Admittedly, making love is an art. You must have done something right because Cory came back for more."

"Yes, he did," agreed Sean with an embarrassed smile. Sean raised his knees and clasped them tightly. "But Phantom, I can't call myself an experienced lover."

"You've slept with other guys," The Phantom pointed out.

Sean snorted loudly. "We fucked," he said bluntly. "I didn't tell you that Brent never fucked me. He wanted my dick up his butt." He shrugged pragmatically. "I was traded for a football player with a ten inch dick and the libido of a goat. The last I heard they were very happy."

"Well, at least you have the equipment, and you're experienced. You're not a complete innocent."

"I never said I was," returned Sean, his eyes blazing. "And a fat lot of good my experience got me."

"Well then, perhaps if you built on that experience, if you . . ." The Phantom suddenly snapped out. "Stand up, Sean."

"I beg your pardon?" Sean looked at The Phantom, his face a mask of surprise.

"Just stand up, Sean," ordered The Phantom as he struggled upward.

Sean did as he was told and watched as The Phantom settled back on his knees. Then, before he could react, he felt The Phantom yank his shorts down.

"Tightly whiteys," observed The Phantom, his voice clinical. "Lift up your gunshirt and turn around."

Sean, at a loss to understand, and in a bit of a daze, did as he was told.

"You have a nice bum. Tighty whiteys suit you."

A strangled groan rose from Sean's throat as The Phantom ran his hand down the curvature of Sean's buttocks. "Cory . . . Cory thinks that I should switch to boxers."

"Cory's a twit," retorted The Phantom. "You have the build, and the body, and the bum, for tighty whiteys. A definite turn on. Turn around, please."

Sean slowly turned. He felt The Phantom's hand cup his testicles and then squeeze his penis. He groaned softly. "Phantom, I . . ."

"Do be quiet, Sean," replied The Phantom. He pulled down the front of Sean's underpants and looked at his tackle. "Not bad," he said.

The Phantom looked intently at Sean's upper deck fittings. They were really quite handsome. Sean's soft penis, about three inches long, was darker than the rest of his body, with a pale, curving, circumcised head, and rose out of a trim patch of dark red, gold-flecked, pubic hair to rest over plump, oval-shaped testicles. Plump, The Phantom thought, was the only word to describe Sean's genitals.

Looking again, closer, The Phantom saw that something was, not wrong, but . . . Then he realized what Sean had done. "You've trimmed your pubies," he declared. "You've had a haircut!"

Sean almost died from imagined embarrassment. He blushed a deep red and nodded slowly. "I, well yes, I did. They looked so scraggly and I, well, I do like to look neat and trim."

The Phantom snickered and replaced the front of Sean's briefs, the soft white cotton hiding his parts. "Pull up your shorts, Sean," he directed as he rose to his feet.

When Sean was dressed again The Phantom's green eyes bore into him. "When you make love, Sean, your total focus, your entire being, must be to please your partner, to make him believe that he is, to you, the only person on the face of this earth that you care about, that you love."

Sean nodded dazedly.

The Phantom's voice was low and seductive as he pushed his hands under Sean's gunshirt, his fingers playing with his nipples, turning the soft nubs in raised buds of steel. "Show him your love, Sean," whispered The Phantom as his fingers, feather-light, gently rubbed Sean's nipples. "Find his pleasure places as your make love to him," continued The Phantom. He lowered his head and punctuated his words with soft, gentle kisses. "Make him want you, to possess you, make him crazy with love and desire."

Sean felt The Phantom's soft, warm lips on his, felt The Phantom's teeth as they nipped gently at his lips, felt The Phantom's hands as they caressed his body. He groaned loudly as The Phantom's fingers traced the red treasure trail that stretched from his navel into his briefs.

Smiling, The Phantom continued carefully, his lips and fingers finding the most sensitive parts of Sean's body and finding that Sean shared with Cory many of the same sensitivities, little pleasure zones that set both youths to squirming in pleasure when they were stimulated and toyed with. "You know which parts to pleasure, Sean," murmured The Phantom. "You feel the same feelings when he touches you." He slipped his hand down the front of Sean's shorts and gently rubbed the throbbing, aching erection under Sean's underpants. He returned to kissing Sean and pulled him close, his hand squeezing Sean's erection gently. "May I make love to you?" The Phantom asked. "Will you let me show you all the places?"

Sean, moaning softly, nodded. "Yes," he breathed as The Phantom's tongue traced the outline of his lips. "Show me."

Wordlessly The Phantom pushed Sean's gunshirt up and over his head. He tossed the cotton garment aside and his lips found Sean's nipples. His hand never left the front of Sean's shorts as he began the excruciating slow journey down Sean's chest and stomach. With his free hand The Phantom reached around and caressed Sean's firm, handsome butt.

"Tell him how much you love him, Sean," murmured The Phantom as his tongue rimmed Sean's navel. "Tell him what he means to you, how much you need him."

Sean began trembling as The Phantom lowered his shorts and underpants. He felt The Phantom's warm lips kiss the head of his rock hard, thick erection, felt The Phantom's hand as he slowly kneaded and pulled at his testicles.

The Phantom slid his hands between Sean's legs and his finger found the warm, closed rosebud. He slowly massaged the little wrinkle of flesh, which caused Sean to spread his legs wider and to moan loudly.

As The Phantom continued to rub his anus Sean felt the beginnings of a massive explosion growing in his crotch. He began to groan louder and thrust his hips forward rhythmically, offering his penis. "Please," he groaned loudly. "Please."

The Phantom did not disappoint. He slowly sucked Sean's thick erection into his mouth until his nose was buried in Sean's neatly trimmed bush. He suckled gently and almost immediately Sean gasped, thrust his hips forward, and a strangled scream flew from his throat. The Phantom pulled back quickly, tasting Sean's first offering.

Sean moaned and whimpered as his body convulsed in orgasm. His knees buckled and with The Phantom's steadying hand on his hip, felt himself lowering to the sandy beach. He bucked and yipped as The Phantom's tongue cleaned his screaming helmet. He felt The Phantom lie beside him, felt The Phantom's lips on his, felt The Phantom's tongue as it entered his mouth to deposit a dollop of his rich cream.

Reluctantly, Sean allowed The Phantom to pull away. After stripping off his clothing The Phantom lay down beside Sean and embraced him. They kissed, passionately and deeply as The Phantom's hands once again explored Sean's heated body. Not soon enough The Phantom rolled on top of Sean and their crotches ground together, erection-crushing erection, warm, firm testicles bouncing together. Sean groaned and wrapped his legs around The Phantom's back. He began pushing his hips upward, feeling his boner rubbing ecstatically against The Phantom's equally hard erection. "I want, I want . . ." gasped Sean.

"I know," returned The Phantom, his voice low and sensual. "And we will, but not yet." He returned to kissing Sean gently, his lips warm and tender on Sean's. "There are so many ways to express your love Sean, so many ways to please your lover," The Phantom said as he began a slow, methodical thrusting of his hips.

Sean's hands slipped under The Phantom's arms and he grasped his firm, curving shoulder blades, holding The Phantom tightly as his penis throbbed. Sean had always known that the little patch of scar tissue, the residue of his circumcision just under the head of his penis, was his most tender spot. Huge tremors of pleasure ravaged Sean's body as The Phantom's silky penis crossed and recrossed the sensitive head of his dick. Sean began to push his hips upward, matching The Phantom's gentle thrusting. Sean could feel he pressure building, could feel his testicles withdrawing into his body as he approached the pinnacle. He could hear The Phantom's heavy breathing, could feel his hot kisses on his face, his neck, and his shoulders.

As the pressure became unbearable, as the feelings heightened and his penis grew longer and harder and thicker, Sean groaned and thrust his mouth against The Phantom's shoulder. He sucked avidly and pushed upward as the first stream of his second orgasm squirted massively outward, flooding his stomach and coating The Phantom's thrusting penis with warm, thick, ejaculate. Within seconds The Phantom tensed, pushed forward and Sean felt a rush of warm, thick liquid joining his on his stomach.

Holding Sean tightly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm, The Phantom rolled onto his side, pulling Sean with him. They lay together on their sides, their bodies locked together, their kiss not broken as The Phantom continued to worship Sean's flushed body.

Moaning at the almost unbearable pleasure that consumed him, Sean needed more, wanted more. He pulled back and opened his eyes, which he had kept tightly closed throughout their lovemaking. He saw The Phantom looking back at him, and saw the green fire sparkling with life in The Phantom's eyes. "I want you in me, Phantom," he whispered, his face bright, his eyes shining.

Afterward they swam in the sea, the salt water cleansing their bodies. When they were finished they lay together again on the sand, their soft caresses stimulating and prolonging the after-effects of their lovemaking.

"You know, I could very easily fall in love with you," murmured Sean as he stroked The Phantom's face.

The Phantom nuzzled Sean's neck as he chuckled softly. "You love Cory," he said quietly. "Tonight, after he's off duty, you're going to show him how much you love him."

"And us?" asked Sean.

"You remember I told you that there will be times when Cory will need Todd, or me?"

Sean nodded. "I remember everything you said to me." He grinned widely. "And I'll remember everything you did for me, and to me, today."

The Phantom raised himself on one elbow and reached out to trace Sean's warm, flushed face. "I like you Sean. You're not as reserved and cold as you try to paint yourself, and you've shown me that you are capable of great love. I made love to you because I wanted to bring out that Sean, the warm, caring Sean. You gave yourself to me and now it's time to give yourself to Cory. Tonight, you'll make his eyes twinkle." He began moving down Sean's body and positioned himself between Sean's legs. "Cory will love you, Sean." He leaned forward and gently kissed the head of Sean's soft penis. "You asked about us. The answer is that whenever you need a friend, whenever the world is getting you down, I'll be there for you."

Sean sucked in his breath as The Phantom's gossamer-like lips caressed his hardening penis. "What . . ."

"There is only one thing left to show you, Sean."

Sean began gasping as The Phantom began to take him across the river.

After another cleansing swim The Phantom and Sean dressed, and pushed the small sailboat into the Strait. Sean was very quiet as they sailed north by west, paying attention to trimming the boat, and thinking about what just had happened to him. He was now more than a little in love with The Phantom and could now understand the feelings the slim, handsome youth evoked in his friends. It was more than sex, what had happened between them, it more about caring, Sean realized. The Phantom cared so much about Cory that he had deliberately made love to Sean, showing him, making him feel, making him want, to return to Cory and make the love that he so deserved. The Phantom had shown Sean what it was to be loved and now it was up to Sean.

After they tied up the small boat Sean reached out his hand to grasp The Phantom's arm. "I'll never be able to repay you, Phantom . . ." he began, his voice betraying the emotion, the gratitude he felt.

The Phantom smiled and shook his head. "Sean, you asked me to tell you what to do. I could have talked for hours and you still would not have felt the emotion, the feelings, you needed to feel. Now you know and now you have to show Cory how much you love him."

They left the jetty and the Dockyard and as they neared the Mess Hall Sean asked, "Will we be together again?"

The Phantom was nothing if not honest as he smiled and replied, "That will be up to you, Sean. I won't deny that being with you was a pleasant experience." He shrugged. "Perhaps after you've shown Cory what you are capable of you might not want another man in your life." He turned and looked at Sean. "I meant what I said before. If you need me, I'll be there for you, just as I will be there for Cory, or Todd, or any of my friends. I think Cory will understand your wanting to be with me from time to time. He will not understand and he will never forgive you if you find another Jesse or Brent."

Sean heard the seriousness in The Phantom's voice. "I don't want another man, other than Cory, or you, in my life," he stated firmly. "Cory is the love I've always wanted and needed. You are the friend I have always wanted and needed. I think that I'll manage to be satisfied." He laughed slowly. "And you have to consider that between you and Cory how would I ever have time to find someone else?"

As he climbed the steps leading to the Mess Hall, The Phantom turned. "Sean, someone once told me that there will be a time when you see someone that intrigues you, that attracts you, and you will be tempted. If the temptation is strong enough, the attraction deep enough, you'll go with him. It won't mean that you don't love Cory. All it will mean is that for one, brief, shining moment, you wanted to be with a very special person, and it won't be sex, just as it won't be love. It will just be two human beings attracted to each other."

"In a way, what we have, then?" asked Sean.

"Yes, I think so. But there is something else, Sean, and right now you might not understand what I am about to tell you." The Phantom reached out and placed a hand on Sean's slim shoulder. "Today you became my brother. We did not fuck, we made love and in the loving we each of us gave a part of himself to the other. In the giving I pledged to you my love and my friendship and one day I may ask you to return that love and friendship."

Sean reached up and placed his hand over The Phantom's. His eyes shone with the love he now felt for the slim, green-eyed boy. "You will never have to ask. No matter what happens, Phantom, I will be at your side. No matter what the reason, what course you choose to steer, I will be at your side."

The Phantom nodded and smiled. "This morning Cory called me stubborn. I am. There are things happening that you do not know about. One day I shall do what I think is right and I will act. I might do things that you do not approve of."

Sean squeezed The Phantom's hand gently. "I already know, Phantom." The Phantom started but said nothing. "You have an absolute refusal to compromise or surrender. In many ways I am of the same school. I will not compromise, nor will I surrender if I am in the right. I can only tell you this: I will be there at your side."

"Then it is time, Sean." The Phantom took his hand off of Sean's shoulder. "It is time for you to speak to Chef. Listen to what he tells you. Keep an open mind and do not allow our friendship to influence your decision in any way. All I ask is that you listen."

"I will," replied Sean earnestly.

"Good." The Phantom was about to lead Sean into the Mess Hall when he turned and asked, "Do you have any money on you?"

"Well, yes," replied Sean, a quizzical look on his face. "I have five dollars."

"Good, then before you make up your mind about what Chef offers you, give him the money."

"Chef needs money?"

The Phantom shook his head. "No, but there are boys who do."