Boys of Aurora

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

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

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

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

I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please contact me at my home address: paradegi@rogers.com

The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 21

In keeping with tradition the band played no military marches. There were far too many of them to begin with and many were assigned to Army regiments as Regimental Quick and Slow Marches. Show tunes, and light classical music, were much safer, with no danger of a guest popping to attention and singing the Regimental Pissing Song, or whatever, and as the soup course was served the band segued from Gilbert and Sullivan into Offenbach, playing a medley from Les Contes D'Hoffman.

As each course progressed The Gunner and Kyle were kept busy pouring the wines. There was a fine old Amontillado sherry with the soup. With the fish Chef had chosen a light Gottesfuss Spatlese Mosel. "Now remember, Kyle," The Gunner said at the beginning of the meal, "the idea is for the wine to compliment the dish. Keep an eye on the boys and if one of them is supping too much of the vino cut 'im off!"

The Phantom stood back, watching carefully as his stewards, with effortless grace, served each course. He was amazed at their dexterity and aplomb. Matt, at despair's portal only a few hours ago, was all smiles, bowing without subservience and responding politely to every request for more rolls, or water, and was magnificently polite to Todd.

What struck The Phantom, though, was the aura of classical beauty that the soft candlelight lent to each of the boys. The music of the band seemed to heighten that beauty and when the band left Offenbach behind and began playing a soft, wonderful waltz by Joyce, Songe d'Automne, the soft light and music seemed to bring out and highlight each boy's finest points. Even Two Strokes, with his high, angular cheekbones, looked positively dashing. Phillip Thornton, tall, handsome, and last year on The Phantom's Visiting List, glowed with that special glow that only teenaged boys possessed. The Twins, their shining hair as fine as spun gold, seemed almost godlike in their handsomeness. The more The Phantom watched the more he was intrigued. Every boy in the room, from his stewards to Andre, the youngest seemed, to The Phantom, to exude an aura of masterful, wonderful, maleness. It was as if God, or Providence, or whatever higher authority there was had decreed that tonight the lesser gods of the Pantheon would gather. Each boy seemed to add his own particular presence, his own exquisite aura to the room and The Phantom then knew that as long as he lived he would always remember this night, and this room, made glorious by the mere presence of the boys of AURORA.

Cory, as had Todd, had been raised in the Grand Manner and had, as etiquette commanded, chatted through the soup and fish courses with the boy seated to his right, Petty Officer Eion Reilly, a boyish, pink-cheeked, dark-haired Boatswain who was Buffer of 308 YAG. Good manners dictated that once the main course had been served Cory should then devote his attention to the person seated to his left, Chief Petty Officer Sean Anders, Squadron Chief and a boy who had not spoken to Cory in three years and all but crossed the parade square to avoid speaking to him.

During the sorbet course, and while the main course, Beef Wellington accompanied by a truly magnificent Burgundy, a Chassagne-Montrachet Morgeots, was being served, Cory took the opportunity to look up and down the table. Todd, more beautiful in the candlelight than Cory thought possible, was exchanging pleasantries with Jimmy Collyer, a baby faced dark-haired boy who was an Engineering Petty Officer. Beside Jimmy, Greg was positively animated as he talked with Gavin Thomas, whippet thin and not at all bad looking. On the other side of Sean, Harry roared with laughter as he and Andy shared outrageous lies about the sailing trip. As the band began playing a silly little piece from an English musical, Glow Worm, Cory put on his most charming smile. "Good evening, Mr. Anders."

Squadron Chief Petty Officer Sean Anders had been dreading this dinner and had, at first, thought to decline the invitation to attend. On reflection, and after a discussion with his Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Towsan, however, Sean realized that he had no choice. As the Senior Chief of the AURORA YAG Squadron he had to attend, and in the end he had donned his starched white uniform and gone off to the Gunroom for the pre-dinner drinks.

Much to Sean's surprise the thing he feared most had not happened. He was greeted politely by Cory and offered a drink. Todd had shaken his hand and asked after his health and the state of the squadron. Tyler had introduced him to the American cadets and then left him to his own devices. Sean was more than happy to stand to the side and watch as the cadets mingled and chattered away. The lump in his throat gradually disappeared and his nervousness drained away. He breathed a muted a sigh of relief when the Duty Bugler appeared on the wooden porch of the Staff Barracks and sounded Hands to Dinner.

Sean's nervousness returned when he discovered that he was seated next to Cory. He had not expected this, fearing a confrontation and he was very much relieved when Cory chattered away with Eion during the serving of the first two courses. Sean picked at his food as he listened to Harry spin outrageous dips, not one of which touched any of the three taboos at a Mess dinner: women, politics and religion, and mentally tried to compose the apology he felt he owed Cory. Three years ago Sean had made a disastrous error in judgement and he hoped that tonight he would somehow be allowed to apologize, to make amends. Sean had little hope that what he had ineptly tried to kindle so long ago in Kingston would in any way spark any sort of relationship - he was not as naive as some people thought he was and had had two sexually and emotionally inadequate relationships with "civilians", boys he had gone to school with. All he hoped for, all he wanted, was a quiet chat, an opportunity to regain the friendship he had once had with the boy he had secretly loved for three, long years.

What Sean feared, however, was that Cory would either ignore him, or worse, in the artfully artless manner both Twins had, demolish him with icy politeness. Sean had long ago learned that while neither Twin would ever unintentionally cause offence, their cool politeness could slash as deep as any scalpel.

Sean toyed nervously with his napkin. He had eaten very little though the food offered was, from the little he had tasted, exquisitely prepared and delicious, and drank even less, as he had a low tolerance for alcohol and wanted nothing to befuddle his thinking processes. His heart skipped a beat when he sensed movement to his right and heard Cory's soft, modulated voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Anders."

Sean looked to his right, saw Cory looking at him, and smiled weakly. "Um, yes, good evening." He sensed another presence and looked up. He saw the steward - Nick? Or was it Billy? - hovering, and holding a large, silver platter of Beef Wellington. Sean smiled warmly, which shocked Billy, and picked up the silver serving fork and spoon, helping himself to a small portion of the filet of beef, pate, mushroom and puff pastry confection.

As the steward moved off Sean shook his head slightly. God! He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he had not even noticed his half-eaten sorbet being taken away and the silver service plate being replaced by a dinner plate. He looked up again and saw another steward, whose name he had forgotten, presenting the vegetables. Next, another steward, again nameless, presented a gravy boat. Sean waved away the Madeira sauce. He'd already had sherry, and some white wine. There was still red wine, and champagne, and port to come and he was not going to drink any more than he absolutely had to.

Sean ran his finger around the high, stiff collar of his white uniform jacket, inwardly fuming at his ineptness. He was trying to impress Cory and all he was managing to do was to look like some bare-assed Ordinary Cadet fresh from the farm.

Cory, who was mildly amused at Sean's nervousness, pretended that nothing at all untoward was happening. Formal dinners were daunting, even for the initiated. Cory did hope, however, that Sean's nervousness had not been brought on by proximity to himself. Cory had long ago understood, and forgiven, Sean's juvenile attempt at seduction. He had also come to understand why Sean would prefer avoidance to guilt by association. He watched Sean picking absently at his food and then bent his head. "Not hungry?" he murmured. "Chef will be most displeased if you don't at least try to eat something."

Sean started, and then smiled nervously. "I'm . . . I am really not a big eater."

"It shows," Cory said with a grin, hoping to break the ice with a small joke. He bore Sean no ill will. "You're still a scrawny git."

Sean smiled thinly and sighed. "I eat anything that will not eat me, and I cannot gain an ounce." He gave Cory a slight nod. "It's been a long time, Cory." He smiled shyly. "Or should I call you Mister Arundel?"

Cory chuckled and shook his head. "Cory will do fine." He looked at Sean. "Mr. Arundel is much too formal for two people who have shared quarters together, even if it was over three years ago."

Sean coloured slightly, his naturally red face becoming a deeper hue of red, almost matching the colour of his hair. "I remember," he said quietly.

"I remember as well," replied Cory. "I have some very pleasant memories of our time together." Before Sean could reply he held up his hand. "Let's keep those memories, shall we?" he asked graciously, effectively cutting off any further discussion that could lead to remembering that morning in Kingston. Cory looked up and down the table. "Everybody seems to be having a good time."

Sean smiled at Cory, who seemed amiable enough, a little distant, but not at all hostile, and a small weight fell from his shoulders. While Cory paid attention to his dinner, Sean looked around the table, making sure that none of his people was misbehaving. Before leaving the Dockyard, Sean had held a short meeting of all the YAG cadets invited to the dinner. He was all too aware that a very real animosity existed between his crews and the boys of AURORA and warned the others that their conduct was to be above reproach and that they were to take great care to do nothing that would cause offence or reflect badly on their Squadron. The cadets, Chiefs and Petty Officers though they might be, knew that Sean meant what he said. Sean never threatened any specific punishment, but the boys knew what would happen to them if they screwed up. As they left the berthing deck of the Command YAG someone muttered "Iron Ass" under his breath.

Sean had pretended not to hear the epithet. He knew that he was respected more for the Coat of Arms on the sleeves of his uniform jacket than for his talent or for his abilities as a Chief. While he was competent and intelligent, Sean was also a strict disciplinarian and cultivated a stern-faced, humourless mien that brooked no nonsense, an attitude that did not sit well with some denizens of the happy-go-lucky, laissez-faire world of the Sea Cadets. Sean's insistence on proper conduct, proper dress at all times, and absolute refusal to turn a blind eye to the lesser sins committed by the YAG crews caused resentment, but there was not a sharper unit in the Sea Cadets. He knew that the other cadets called him "Iron Ass" behind his back. The epithet did not bother him. He had a job to do, and was determined to do it, no matter what the other cadets thought.

His keen eyes scanned the table. Sean expected no trouble or misconduct, but he had long ago learned that a sharp look at the right moment kept the more exuberant lads in line. At first glance everything seemed to be progressing splendidly. His boys were having a good time, chattering away with the AURORA cadets, laughing and enjoying themselves.

Sean smiled and was about to return to his dinner when a movement caught his eye. Across the table he could see Caspar Collins, a sharp, clean-faced boy, chatting away with Sylvain, the arrogant Drum Major of the Bugle Band. As Sean watched he saw Sylvain's hand slip beneath the table. Sean raised an eyebrow and Caspar quickly whispered something to the blond-haired French-Canadian boy. Sylvain's hand quickly appeared on top of the table. Sean returned to toying with his food, secretly envious of Sylvain. Caspar was a beauty, and . . . He dismissed such thoughts from his mind. He could not allow the wall to crumble. He could not allow himself to think of Caspar as anything but the Chief Boatswain's Mate of 312 YAG.

In the galley Chef was amazed at the smoothness of it all. Dinner was progressing in a most satisfactory manner. The stewards were amazing, Randy and Joey had managed not to jump each other's bones (Chef was no fool. He knew what the little buggers did in the lounge); Sandro was happily murmuring in Russian, the Litany was grumbling in counterpoint to the band and Ray, who was seated between Sylvain and Nathan, seemed to be enjoying himself royally, at least the four times that Chef had peeked through the galley hatch to have a butchers at what was going on.

The washing up was going brilliantly. Chef made a mental note to thank Harry for sending along the Sea Puppies. The boys made no complaint and chattered and giggled away, washing and drying the plates and eating a mountain of food. Chef, before he had just one more quick peek to see how Ray was getting on, shook his head in wonder at how ten small, skinny Sea Puppies could pack away the victuals. What Chef did not know, and The Gunner did, was that while yes, at any given time there were ten Sea Puppies cluttering up the galley, there were also 28 others hovering outside. As one of their mates ate, then slipped outside, another took his place. Chef was not feeding ten always-hungry boys. He was feeding 38!

It was easy enough to do. Chef, who never paid attention at the best of times, and claimed never to be able to tell one member of the Litany from the other, was much too busy to pay attention to the small horde of cadets working all over the galley. It also helped that the Sea Puppies all looked alike - more or less - and were all dressed alike. Each boy wore a crisp, sharply creased white gunshirt, freshly ironed blue bell-bottoms, and mirror-shined parade boots. They all squeaked in the same high-pitched tone of boys who had not completed puberty, except Evan, whose testicles had recently descended and his voice no longer squeaked and cracked, having settled into a pleasant tenor. The Sea Puppies had also pestered Harry into giving them haircuts, so that they all appeared to be the same, front, back, and sides. Their subterfuge was compounded in that Chef was much too engrossed in supervising the plating of the food for the courses, sipping at his medicine, poking his head through the galley hatch, sipping at his medicine, hectoring Sandro, threatening Randy and Joey, sipping at his medicine and bitching just on principle, to see what was going on behind his back.

The Gunner, who was slowly decanting a bottle of Taylor's Vintage Port, laughed inwardly as a pair of Sea Puppies slipped out of the galley and were quickly replaced by another pair - one of whom, Liam Anderson, had a head of flaming red hair and bore no resemblance at all to the boy he replaced.

Kyle leaned through the serving hatch and exchanged an empty decanter for a full one. He grinned at The Gunner. "They don't half love the burgundy."

"Watch what they drink, Kyle. Father will be as sore as buggery if they get blitzed," replied The Gunner. He saw a look pass across Kyle's face. The Gunner glanced up and saw the reason for Kyle's frown. He winked at the young officer as he said, "Matthew, that had better not be a bottle of port that you are busily stuffing down the front of your trousers."

Matthew, who did not know that the highly polished, stainless steel door above the serving hatch made an acceptable mirror, quickly stuck the bottle of port back in the box that was sitting on the deck. "Uh, no, nothing like that at all," he said quickly, wondering how in the hell The Gunner knew that he was trying to nick a jug of plonk.

"Good." The Gunner slowly poured the ruby liquid into the decanter. "I should hate to have to paddle your backside."

Matthew giggled nervously and quickly fled in the direction of the heads.

Kyle chuckled. "He's not going to sleep at all tonight, wondering how you knew he was into the port."

The Gunner touched the side of his nose. "He'll never know my secrets." He looked into the dining hall. "God, the boys look sharp, and Andy, hell, Kyle, you must be proud of him. He does look a treat."

With a laugh Kyle nodded happily. "The jacket does look good on him."

"He looks very handsome," replied The Gunner. He looked at Kyle. "Have you and Andy decided what you are going to do?"

Kyle, who had no secrets so far as The Gunner was concerned, nodded slowly. "Andy's going home and going to university. He is also enlisting in the Marine Reserve."

"And you?"

"Queen's, for the next three years. Maybe more, if I go for my Masters. After that . . ." He looked quickly around. "After that, I just do not know. Andy loves me, and I love him. He wants to be a Marine, I want to stay in Canada."

"Sounds perplexing."

Kyle sighed. "It is. We're taking it one step at a time." His face softened. "I do not want to lose him, Gunner. I also do not want to be a camp follower."

The Gunner put the full decanter of port aside and reached for another one. "Andy is good people. He has already lost one love. I have a feeling he will want to hold on to the one he has now."

"And I want to hold on to him. I guess I will just have to become a camp follower."

The Gunner remembered Joel using that same phrase. "It's a hard life, Kyle. As a young bachelor, at least on paper, Andy will be moved from station to station. Not everybody can handle it."

"I know, but, Gunner, I love him. He loves me. I'll handle living like a nomad for as long as I can. I figure that I'll graduate from Queen's, get my teaching certificate and teach high school. There is always a place for a teacher."

"Living in the States, in a gay relationship, can be dangerous, Kyle. Have you thought of that?"

Kyle nodded. "Yes, I have. I am not some starry-eyed prom queen, Gunner. I know that we will have to be very careful. Andy knows that if we are ever found out, and he is in the Marines when it happens, he will go to jail."

The Gunner pushed the full decanters of port toward Kyle. "Put those on the table behind Tyler's place, will you, Kyle? Make sure that you keep an eye on them, though. The stoppers have a habit of disappearing during Mess Dinners."

"Sure. And Gunner?"

"Yeah?" "You going to tell Chef what is going on?"

The Gunner turned and watched as Liam walked by holding a plate piled high with Beef Wellington, carrots and potatoes. "Nope. If I did the old fool would get all bent out of shape and start hooting and looking for his spoon, or the cleaver. He will call the Puppies all sorts of horrible names and threaten their little pink bums. Then, after they've gone all sorry, sticking out their lower lips, and managing a crocodile tear or thirty, wiggling and squirming like they all have to pee, they will tell him that they could not help themselves, that his food is sooo good that they just forgot themselves and gave in to temptation, and please, will he forgive them?"

Kyle chuckled. "I can see it now. They will lay it on thick, and he will puff up and before you know it he will have convinced himself that he is the greatest Chef since Escoffier."

The Gunner grinned. "Of course he will! He will also convince himself, after looking at their little pouting faces and seeing them sooo sorry, that they are, after all, high-spirited boys, just doing what boys do, up to no good and skylarking and after they butter him up Chef will strut and he will see their boyish faces, announce that they are quite right and tell them what intelligent boys they are, what wonderful boys they are, and then he will start stuffing them full of something sweet. By the time the Sea Puppies get through with Chef, and he gets through with them, it will be happy families."

"Well, I hope he doesn't find that Black Forest cake I hid behind your beer," returned Kyle. He smiled at The Gunner. "I was a Sea Puppy, once!"

"Really. No wonder I can't tell you from one of them!"

Kyle made a face and was about to move away when The Gunner motioned him back, "Kyle, during the speeches, while the stewards are eating and Chef is killing the Sea Puppies with sugar and kindness, what say you join me on the front steps for a wet? There is something I would like to talk to you about."

Cory, who could charm the birds from a tree if he had to, was positively gracious with Sean. He bore the redheaded boy no animosity. He had seen the look that Sean had given Caspar, but said nothing. If anything, Cory's opinion of Sean had gone up a notch when he had seen Sean's look of disapproval of Sylvain, a boy Cory did not care for at all. As the dinner progressed Cory noticed that Sean seemed to be thawing. He even managed to bring a smile to the boy's lips when he related a carefully expurgated tale of the sailing trip.

"I would have loved to have been there, Cory," said Sean. "But, then, I am not a part of your lot."

"Don't be silly," returned Cory. "You might not know it but you are a part of my lot, as you call it. You just work with the YAGs is all. I'm sure you and your lot have as much fun as we poor barracks stanchions do."

Sean smiled again. "Well, yes, we do. Still, we do spend a lot of time at sea, and we do tend to forget that we are a part of AURORA, and not the other way around."

At that moment the band returned to Gilbert and Sullivan and launched into a brassy rendition of Poor Wandering One! The irony was lost on Sean, but not Cory, who quickly hid his smile behind his napkin.

The dinner continued, with the Beef Wellington replaced by a green salad, handed 'round by stewards from huge crystal bowls that Chef had found mouldering somewhere. Most of the boys merely took a small portion and then sat toying with the mixed greens. For all Chef's insistence that the cadets needed roughage, salad was not a popular dish on any of his menus.

The stewards did not prolong the agony and quickly removed the plates of uneaten or half-eaten greens, crumbed the table, removed all the errant silverware, and replaced everything. Sean sat and watched as a Minton plate was put in front of him, along with a dessert fork and spoon, and a fresh napkin. He looked at Cory who whispered, "Pudding. Hold the dessert with your fork and eat it with the spoon."

Sean nodded and looked at the menu. "What's 'Peches a l'Imperatrice?'"

"Peaches," replied Cory, demoting the confection of fresh peaches, vanilla ice cream, apricot sauce, slivered almonds, glazed with a raspberry puree and veiled in spun sugar, to little more than something you stole from the neighbour's peach tree on a hot summer afternoon when you didn't have anything better to do.

Sean tasted the dessert and his eyes widened. "There's booze in this!"

"I should hope so," replied Cory, eating a huge spoonful of the dessert. "It's Kirsch. Chef is a traditionalist when it comes to food, and French Cuisine is heavy on the booze." He smiled. "But, not to worry. The alcohol is all cooked out, so you don't have anything to worry about."

The Gunner and Kyle began their rounds, pouring Bollinger into the champagne flutes. Cory, who had been stealing the sparkling, golden nectar from his father's wine cabinet for years, preferred Mumm's. They ate in silence, Sean casting occasional glances around the table, and at Cory.

When the last portion of dessert was eaten the stewards quickly cleared the table, leaving only the flowers and table decorations. When that was done they put a small port glass in front of each guest. The Gunner stood behind Tyler. Kyle was behind Val, The Phantom behind Two Strokes, and Kieran behind Jon. Each of them held two crystal decanters of port. Another tradition was about to be played out. "What's happening?" Sean whispered.

"It's time to pass the port," replied Cory quietly. "After that, the toasts."

The wine stewards placed the decanters in front of Tyler, Val, Two Strokes and Jon, and then withdrew. Tyler looked around the table, removed the stoppers from the decanters and held them up. Each of the other boys followed suit. Tyler put the stoppers from his decanters in the pockets of his jacket for safety. Stoppers were known to disappear mysteriously, thus bringing the whole dinner to a screeching halt and a hefty fine - payable in drinks afterwards - to the unlucky custodian. Two Strokes and Jon followed Tyler's lead.

"The wine is ready to pass, Sir," intoned The Gunner with traditional formality.

Tyler smiled his thanks and passed the first decanter on to Dirty Dave the Deacon, filled his glass and passed the second decanter, again to his left. A quick look in his copy of Customs and Traditions of the Royal Canadian Navy told Tyler that the port is always passed to the left. Another quaint tradition, which nobody knew the origins of, was that the decanter was never lifted from the table. It was tipped forward and the ruby liquid poured into one's glass, which one held approximately at table level.

Jon, Two Strokes and Val followed Tyler's lead. The decanters passed around the table and when every glass was filled Tyler retrieved the stoppers from his pocket (they had not gone missing), raised them on high, watched while the others followed suit, and then temporarily sealed the crystal containers. There was a soft shuffling of paper from the musicians and then silence. Tyler looked at Val and nodded imperceptibly. "Mr. Vice!"

Val stood and quickly scanned the piece of paper that had been resting in his jacket pocket. As the Mess Vice-president he was required to make the first toast and he had been scribbling notes to himself all afternoon.

"Gentlemen," began Val, "it is always a pleasure to see our American cousins, and a very real honour that they could be with us here tonight. Since 1959 American Sea Cadets have been visiting us, sharing, as we do with them, a common heritage and a common love of the sea. They have, in addition, cemented the ties that bind our countries, the United States and Canada, together. Just as they, as Sea Cadets, have striven to continue our mutual goals and to encourage all of us in our common ambitions, so too have our countries, joined in brotherhood and friendship, striven to maintain our friendship and trust in each other, united to further the common good of all mankind. Both our countries consider each other a part of their families.

"Like all families, we tend to disagree, but always, always, we have remained brothers, and part of the North American family. We have disagreed, as all families do, on several things, one of which was the form of government we chose to live under. While we have differences, we are basically the same, in form, and substance. Together we have joined hands in defending the right, in promoting the freedoms of all people. While I am a proud Canadian, I am also proud of my friendship with my American brothers and I take even greater pride in asking you all to join me in a toast." He raised his glass. "Gentlemen, the President of the United States of America."

"Take only a sip, Sean, there are two more toast to go," muttered Cory, rising as the band began thumping out "The Star Spangled Banner."

When the last note of the American anthem finished everybody sat down. Val turned to Andy. "Batter up," he muttered. "You're next, Marine."

Andy, who had not expected to make a speech - and was not prepared to make a speech - gave Val a wounded look. "Thanks, Val."

"Oh, you're welcome," replied Val sweetly.

"Mr. Berg, will you make the Reply?" asked Tyler, ignoring Andy's nervous glance.

Andy stood up, holding his glass tightly. He smiled thinly and, for a moment, looked stricken. He cleared his throat nervously, and then smiled slowly. He was a United States Marine and a Marine was in control, and never gave the impression that he was unprepared. "Two hundred years ago, two peoples, separated by a common language, began the process of forming two nations. One, Canada, kept the old ways, the old traditions. The others, 13 squabbling, argumentative, distinct colonies, began the process that ultimately ended in the formation of the United States of America.

"Strangely, while both countries went their separate ways, they always remained, as Mr. Orsini has said, neighbours and, as he also said, part of the American family. What he did not say was that in many ways we are the same, only different. One of those differences has always been our chosen form of government. Each form has its good points, and its bad points. Now, I have always been led to believe that the American way is the best way. This is true." Andy lowered his voice slightly. "I am, however, about to make a small confession. I have always admired, in no small degree, your Head of State, who is above politics and who, while not perfect, has always acted in the best interests of all her subjects, not just the minions and interests of the party in power. Every morning we are asked, here in AURORA, to be a safeguard unto a Gracious, Sovereign Lady. We are also reminded, every time we pass through the doors leading to the Headquarters Building, to fear God and Honour the Queen," he said, referring to the Naval Crest above the door to the Quarterdeck. "Gentlemen, although I do not fear God, I do fear his judgement. I also, as a true American, in this, my country's Bicentennial Year, respectfully pay honour to a great lady, Queen Elizabeth II." Andy raised his glass. "Gentlemen, will you please rise and join me in a toast. The Queen."

The assembly rose and repeated Andy's last words. "The Queen!" Many, after drinking, repeated the traditional "God Bless Her", which seemed always to follow the toast, and the band played the first six bars of God Save the Queen. Jon and Glenn Beuscher, who were seated at the far end of the table, sat down. Glenn groaned softly. "How much longer? I need to piss, bad!"

Jon grimaced. "Thanks, Glenn, for reminding me that I have to piss like a race horse." He leaned his head close to Glenn's. "Lean close and pull the pocket of your pants open."

Glenn gasped and hoped that Jon was making a joke, and not about to piss in his pocket.

Tyler tapped his gavel and looked toward the other end of the table where Andre sat with Two Strokes. "I now call upon Monsieur de Noailles for the Toast of the Day.

Andre, who had been prepped by Nicholas, knew by heart all seven of the toasts of the day. He had decided, however, aided and abetted by Nicholas, to add his own fillip to the occasion. He stood up somewhat unsteadily, and forced back an enormous urge to giggle. "Messieurs, s'il vous plait l'ascension et me joint dans le Toast du jour pour le lundi: A nos bateaux!"

The boys rose and, for the benefit of the uneducated, several repeated the toast of the day for Monday: To our ships. As he sat down Sean turned to Cory. "What next?"

Cory sighed deeply, and tried to hide the pain he was feeling behind his genitals. "Pee break, thank God!"

Rather than fight the scrum in the galley heads, where there were only four urinals and toilets, Cory, Sean, Eion Reilly and Harry hurried from the Mess Hall and scooted into the Cooks Barracks where they hurried into the heads there. They stood side by each, peeing happily into the urinals that lined one wall.

As he shook his penis free of the last drop of his urine, Cory glanced over at Eion, who was standing transfixed, his small, neatly circumcised penis with its rosy corona in his hand, staring in awe at the Pride, which Harry, as usual, was displaying unabashedly. Even Sean, thus far tightly in control, allowed his jaw to drop when he saw the Pride. Cory fought back a giggle, put his own weapon back where it belonged and zipped up. As he walked toward one of the sinks he could not help but wonder why guys just had to check one another out like that. He had seen Sean's sideways glance downward and knew exactly what the redheaded Chief was doing. Cory had done the same, noting that Sean had changed quite a bit in three years. His dick, while still very smooth and sleek, was thicker, a little longer, and the smartly curving head of his penis was a deeper shade of pink than Cory remembered.

After washing their hands the four boys returned to the Mess Hall steps where they joined the others, some chatting, some having a much needed smoke (smoking was not permitted at a Mess Dinner). The Gunner and Kyle were off a ways, The Gunner smoking, Kyle listening intently to The Gunner, who was letting him know that in the unhappy event that misfortune befell Andy, there was an organization that would help, an organization about which both Kyle and Andy might be interested in learning more.

After about ten minutes or so the diners were called back into the Mess Hall. They resumed their seats, noting that the port decanters had been recharged, and the band had downed instruments and disappeared into the galley for their supper. When everyone was seated the port was passed and the stewards bustled about, placing dessert plates, finger bowls and silver cutlery in front of each guest, then coming around with bowls of fruit and an assortment of cheeses.

Sean shook his head, refusing the fruit and the cheese. His stomach was in knots from the nervousness he felt and he knew that if he attempted to eat anything more he would just sick it right up. Cory helped himself to an apple and some cheese, explaining to Sean that the food was offered with the thought that the diner needed something to sop up the port, and avoid getting too bombed.

When the stewards withdrew Tyler stood up and introduced the Commanding Officer with a few well chosen, flowery phrases, giving the boys a thumbnail biography of Father, and asking him to say a few words.

Father, who had thoroughly enjoyed himself, made a pretty little speech about the origins of the Naval mess dinner. He explained that tradition held that the right of Naval types to remain seated whilst drinking the Loyal Toast had begun when King Charles II had, during a dinner in his honour on board HMS ROYAL CHARLES, had bumped his head against the deckhead when rising to reply to a toast, although this did not apply when there were guests or a band present to play the National Anthem. He then went on to mention the Toasts of The Day, some apropos, some somewhat dated, such as the toast for Thursday: "A bloody war, and a sickly season," which was, in his opinion, a self-seeking plea for promotion. He himself preferred the toast for Sunday, which was "Absent friends," although the toast for Saturday, "Our Wives and Sweethearts," came a close second. He did not add that this was usually followed by a plea to heaven: "May they never meet."

"As if we have to worry about either of them," Fred muttered to Chris, who was seated to his right.

Chris looked down the table at Jon, who was, he hoped, his life's partner and sweetheart. "Speak for yourself," he returned, leaving Fred with a bewildered, curious look on his face.

Father rambled on for another five minutes and then realized that he had been running on. He quickly thanked Tyler and all his Chiefs and Petty Officers for a wonderful evening and closed in the hope that a Chiefs Mess Dinner would, in the fullness of time, become a traditional event in HMCS AURORA.

Tyler stood up, thanked the Commanding Officer, and then made a short speech. As he would later tell Val, he had said what was in his heart that morning, and had decided to keep his remarks at the dinner simple, with no mention of the deep, personal feelings he held for all the boys of AURORA. He thanked his guests for attending, and expressed his pride and satisfaction in all the boys present, assuring them all that he would sail with them. As Tyler was finishing he looked over and saw Chef, with Sandro, hovering in the galley doorway. He felt a movement and turned to see The Gunner standing behind him, holding a tray, on which were a decanter and four glasses. Tyler grinned and nodded. The Mess Dinner had one more act to play out.

"Gentlemen," Tyler began, "I would be remiss if I did not thank the people who made this dinner possible. Without their hard work and expertise, we would not have dined royally." He gestured for Chef and Sandro to come to the table. "Where's Phantom?" he asked Chef.

"Eating. Sure and the poor lad is that starved," replied Chef, whose eyes never left the decanter on The Gunner's tray.

"Well, he better get his skinny behind out here. Without him this dinner would never have been the success it was." Tyler looked at Sandro. "Please, Sandro, ask Phantom to join us."

Sandro went into the galley and returned with The Phantom, who was hurriedly wiping his lips with a napkin with one hand and buttoning his jacket with the other. He was also muttering under his breath. Finally, he had a chance to park his ass in a chair, and eat something, and before he ate two mouthfuls he had to come out again! Hell and sheeit!

"As I was saying," said Tyler as Phantom joined the small party, "without the hard work of the cooks and stewards, no mess dinner can ever be held." He smiled and looked at The Phantom. "We are not allowed to offer a gratuity, but we are allowed to express our thanks in another way." He turned and took the tray of drinks from The Gunner. "Will you please join me in a drink?" He offered the tray to Chef, who smacked his lips in anticipation. Glen Fiddich, 25-years old, was never to be refused.

"Gentlemen, my deepest thanks and appreciation." Tyler raised his glass and joined The Gunner, Chef, The Phantom and Sandro in the final drink of the evening. As The Gunner and the others returned to the galley, the decanter of scotch safely in The Gunner's hand, Tyler turned to his guests. "Gentlemen, this concludes our Mess Dinner. Thank you all for coming, and please, join me in the Gunroom for a small bit of hospitality."

About half of the boys, most of them from the YAG Squadron, decided to forego the after dinner drinks in the Gunroom. Cory, as he walked toward the Staff Barracks, Sean at his side, noticed that Caspar Collins was walking with Sylvain, and that Greg was now chatting animatedly with Jimmy Collyer. He smiled, wondering just what sort of friendships would spring up tonight.

In the Gunroom the collective hidden stashes had been brought out. The Phantom had added a bottle of Drambuie, and a bottle of Amaretto, and The Gunner had sent 'round a bottle of Courvoissier. "I thought we were not supposed to get drunk," said Sean, eyeing the array of bottles.

"One drink does not make a drunkard make," replied Cory. He poured a glass of cognac for Sean, and one for himself. "Here, at least look like you are enjoying yourself."

"I am enjoying myself," returned Sean. "I just do not show it."

"So I noticed." Cory looked around the Gunroom. Surprisingly, Harry and Todd were not together. They were mingling, as the saying went, greeting the other cadets. Sylvain, the dirty swine, was still trying to put the moves on Caspar, and Greg was pretending not to be putting the moves on Jimmy. Cory noticed that Nicholas and Andre were conspicuous by their absence, and then remembered that Nicholas had stayed behind to take possession of his flags and pennants, which meant that he and Andre would be putting the bunting away in the Flag Locker - together.

Actually, no one lingered too long. Tyler had been granted an extension of half-an-hour, until midnight, before everyone had to be in bed, but few were inclined to overstay their welcome. Tomorrow was a workday, with a heavy morning, including a special parade. The first to leave were Stuart and Steve. Sylvain, who had been disappointed in his quest for some company, followed them. Caspar, the Squadron Chief's look at the Mess Dinner burned into his soul, collected Eion and, after making their number to Tyler, they left, going back to their boats, and to bed.

Sandro and The Phantom, ordered by Chef to get out and take a break, came into the Gunroom. The Phantom joined Ray, who was impatiently waiting for Kevin to put in an appearance. Sandro helped himself to a drink of vodka and stood to one side, watching for a while, and then walking over to where Nathan was standing. Nathan's last name was Berman and Sandro, mistakenly, thought that the American boy was Jewish and was looking for a kindred spirit.

Sean finished his drink and turned to Cory. "Thank you, Cory, I've enjoyed myself this evening. I shall never forget tonight."

"Leaving so soon? The night is still young," returned Cory.

Sean nodded. "I like to make sure that everything is shipshape before I turn in. It's close to midnight, you know."

Cory glanced at his watch. "So it is." He grinned. "At least you can hit your rack. I have to wait until this crowd goes home." He leaned closer to Sean. "From the look of it, you don't have to wonder where Caspar will spend his night." He grinned wickedly. "Mind you, you might want to look the other way if Jimmy is a little late reporting back on board."

Sean smiled thinly. "You noticed, I take it?"

Cory nodded. "Greg is not all that subtle." He coughed delicately. "Nor was Sylvain."

"No, they were not," agreed Sean. He looked at Cory. "I try not to involve myself in the personal lives of my subordinates. What Caspar does in his off time is his business. Nor do I object to Petty Officer Collyer spending some time with Chief Carroll."

This surprised Cory. He thought that Sean had the makings of a first rate homophobe. "Then what do you object to?"

"I object to Petty Officer Collins allowing himself to be felt up at a Mess Dinner!" replied Sean sternly, "and I intend to make him fully aware of my objection."

"You do know that Jimmy and Greg just might end up . . ."

Sean shrugged. "They had the courtesy to remember where they were, and where they are now. Chief Beauharnaise . . ." he spat out Sylvain's last name, " . . . and Petty Officer Collins did not. I cannot do anything about Chief Beauharnaise. I can, and will, do something about Petty Officer Collins."

Cory did not really know what to say. On the one hand, he agreed with Sean. Sylvain had been out of line, as had Caspar. On the other hand . . .

As if he were reading Cory's thoughts, Sean held up his hand. "Please do not misunderstand. I am aware that at times certain . . . relationships develop. It happens and I really have no problem with that."

"You don't?" asked Cory, genuinely surprised at Sean's attitude. Cory had, from the rumours and stories about him, thought of Sean as a prim, unbending martinet, a straight-laced, grim faced puritan who would never countenance improper conduct of any description.

"No. What I have a problem with is those relationships being formed in an improper setting, at an improper time," replied Sean coldly. "Frankly, if Caspar wants Sylvain to fuck his brains out, that is fine with me. He must, however, learn that his trysts are not begun in full uniform, at a Mess Dinner!"

Cory raised his eyebrows. It appeared that at least a part of his initial opinion of Sean Anders was confirmed. He said nothing, however. Caspar was a YAG crewman, and his conduct, trysting, or whatever, were none of Cory's business. He would not get involved.

Sean looked at his watch. "Well, if you will excuse me, I will be off. It was good of you to invite me back, Cory. I appreciate it."

"You're always welcome," replied Cory. "I'm here until the end of the month. Perhaps you will invite me down to your boat." Cory did not expect Sean's reply. He had only been making conversation, issuing an invitation out of courtesy, thinking that Sean would politely refuse, leave, and never set foot in the Gunroom again.

Cory was taken aback when, much to his surprise, Sean did the unexpected. "Would you like to come down to the boat, tonight?" he asked with a thin smile.

"Now?"

Sean nodded. "Yes, now. As much as it might surprise you I am not quite the prick you think me to be. I also have a bottle of vodka hidden away." He looked around the Gunroom. "You said yourself, you cannot go to bed until this crowd clears out. I will not go to bed until all my people are back." He smiled. "Including Jimmy."

Cory hesitated. He was under no illusions that anything might happen between him and Sean. Sean apparently had gotten over his momentary lapse into horniness three years ago and was uninterested in anything that even approached sex. Which was fine with Cory. Spending a few minutes down in the Dockyard, talking to Sean, might prove interesting. He also might have a chance to talk Sean out of reading the Riot Act to Caspar. "Okay. I have to change, though."

"As do I," replied Sean. "In half an hour?"

"Well, that's me done," said Stuart as he carefully hung the freshly ironed white uniform in his locker. "How are the boots coming?" he asked Steve.

Immediately after their return to their own Mess both cadets had stripped off their white uniforms and, dressed only in their tighty-whiteys and gunshirts, set to work. As always, they divided the work. Steve hated ironing, but was a deft hand with a polishing rag, a can of shoe polish, and a pair of boots. Stuart, who had been looking after his uniforms himself almost from the day that he had joined the Sea Cadets, enjoyed ironing and he had the knack for it. He could take a wrinkled gunshirt, a can of spray starch, and a hot iron and turn the garment into something that looked as if it had never been worn. Together they rivalled the Twins when it came to the sharpness of their uniforms. Steve held up the boot that he had been polishing. "Almost done." He gave the toe of the boot another wipe with the soft cloth and held it up again. "Behold, a thing of beauty, even if it is the size of a lifeboat on the Queen Mary.

Stuart told Steve to piss off. Could he help it if he had big feet? He reached into his locker, found his blue shorts, and then stepped into them. He exchanged his gunshirt for a clean white T-shirt and then sat on his bunk, pulling on his running shoes.

"You going somewhere?" asked Steve as he put away the polishing gear and put Stuart's shined boots beside the bunk.

Stuart shrugged. "Thought I would go for a walk."

Steve grimaced. "At this time of night? Bed would be better!"

"I have some things to think about," replied Stuart. He reached over and patted Steve's bare knee. "I'm not tired, and I want to go out for while, okay?"

Steve sat on his bunk and looked at Stuart, who was his best friend. While they had known each other for only five years, Steve thought it a day wasted when he did not see Stuart. They both lived in small towns in southern Manitoba, Stuart in a small farming community, Robinson's Mills, where his father owned and managed the local IGA supermarket, while Steve lived 25 miles away in the much larger town of Norwood, which was on a lake, and had a thriving tourist industry. Steve's dad owned the marina and campgrounds. He was also the principal of the district high school.

Both boys had met in their freshman year in high school. They had attended their local elementary schools until then but, as was customary in rural areas, the school district could support only one high school, which was in Norwood. Stuart at first had ridden the bus from Robinson's Mills to Norwood. On his sixteenth birthday he'd been gifted with an ancient pickup, which after much work, ran like a top. Stuart drove it everywhere, more often than not to Norwood, where he would spend much of his time with Steve.

Both towns supported a Sea Cadet Corps. Stuart was Coxswain of his Corps in Robinson's Mills; Steve was Chief Boatswain's Mate of his Corps in Norwood. As their paths crossed frequently, in school and, later, during Sea Cadet activities, both boys had become firm, fast, friends. Steve was privy to all Stuart's secrets, or at least thought he was. Stuart knew just about everything there was to know about Steve, or at least thought he did.

"It's the school thing, isn't it?" asked Steve presently. He knew that Stuart, who was somewhat of a mathematical genius had, through the instigation and with the help of Steve's father, been offered an academic scholarship to Harvard; a sports scholarship to the University of Manitoba and, to add to his dilemma, an uncle had offered to pay the shot if he would attend his old university, which happened to be in Oxford, England, and not Mississippi, as Steve jokingly insisted. Stuart had been struggling with the decision for months, and annoying Steve about it almost as long.

Stuart shook his head slowly. He had more or less made up his mind about where he would go to university. He had already written his father and asked that he send the papers on to Harvard. What he was trying to figure out were his feelings toward Steve, feelings that he had been struggling with for a long time. This morning's meeting in the Gunroom had set him to thinking more about his relationship with Steve, and about his feelings about himself. When he had told the other boys that he might be gay, or might not be, Stuart had been telling the truth. He just was not sure.

Like many boys before him, Stuart had slept with another boy. He had been 14, and while they had not fucked, they had had sex, sucking each other's dicks and, Stuart admitted, thoroughly enjoying the process. He had never repeated the experience. He lived in a small town and he knew what would happen to him if even that small, schoolboy episode became public knowledge.

Although he had never looked for another such experience, Stuart had never forgotten what he and the boy had done, and more and more he found himself thinking of what it would be like to have another boy's cock in his mouth. During the day he was a normal, all-around, Canadian boy, popular with his friends, a good athlete, and outwardly interested in girls. He had, all through high school, dated the local girls. Stuart had never done anything with any of his dates other than heavy petting. Small town gossips were all too ready to point fingers at a "bad" girl, so while all the boys bragged about "getting it" from their girlfriends, everybody knew that the most they ever really got was a hand job in the back seat of their daddy's car, if they were lucky and that getting laid was wet dream material, period.

During the night Stuart had different thoughts. He would lie in his bed, mentally wondering which of the boys on the high school swim team were getting it on. And did the guys on the football team go to bed and actually sleep when they were staying in motel rooms on an away game trip, or did they . . .?

Sometimes, hell, all the time, Stuart would beat off with the image of a boy in his mind, his hand pumping rapidly as he dreamed of doing the same thing to this boy, or that. More and more he had been getting turned on by the images of his schoolmates, which was bad enough, but what disturbed him was that more and more one particular boy was appearing in his fantasies: Steve. In fact Stuart had been dreaming of Steve that morning when Tyler had come into his Mess and gifted him with Little Big Man. He also remembered that in a childish fit of frustration he had thrown his boot at the object of his dreams.

The trouble was, Steve had never once mentioned anything about sex, at least not gay sex. He never expressed any comment, one way or the other, and had never given any indication that he would be interested in a relationship. Steve was a short, masculine, fireball of a boy who did not have a feminine bone in his body. In school he always seemed to be on the make for some young lovely and, other than the normal, locker room nonsense, had never expressed a gay word or thought. When they slept over their pillow talk had been about sports, mostly, and when they finally finished chattering Steve kept firmly to his side of the bed, Stuart to his. Neither had tried anything, had never touched each other, had never played "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Another thing that had been bothering Stuart was the kiss he had given Steve on the night of their wet down. Stuart still could not understand why he had done it, and did not know who had been more surprised, him or Steve. He did know that the kiss had started something deep within him to flare up. Stuart wanted to be with Steve, all the time, and he wanted to kiss his best friend again and again. "It's not the school, Steve," said Stuart as he walked toward the door. "I just want to do some thinking."

As he was walking toward the far end of the parade square he heard running footsteps and turned to see Steve running toward him. Steve stopped running and threw Stuart a shit-eating grin. "I can't sleep, either."

Stuart was tempted to argue. Steve was the reason that he wanted to be alone for a while. He said nothing, however. Once Steve got a bee up his ass about something nothing could make him change course. "I'm just going down to the beach. I feel like watching the ships go by," Stuart said as he began walking again.

"Sure. It's a nice night and sitting on the beach with you is better than lying in bed listing to the wankers," replied Steve.

"They're only doing something you do every night before you go to sleep, and every morning when you think everybody is asleep," returned Stuart with a grin. "The way you go at it all you're going to get out of it is balls that look like prunes!"

"Talk it up, MacDuff," retorted Steve. "I admit to doing it. You lie there matching me stroke for stroke and pretending that nobody knows what you are doing! I ain't deaf, you know."

As they walked by the Canteen they saw that the lights in the laundry were still on. Through the windows they could see Nicholas, and Andre, sitting close together. They seemed to be holding hands. Stuart expected Steve to say something, but he did not and they walked on, crossing the patch of grass that separated the parade square from the beach and, just above the high water mark, settled down. Stuart drew his legs up and propped his elbows on his knees. Steve lay down, and propped himself on one elbow.

For a long while Stuart stared into the darkness, listening to the soft sighing of the water. It was a very pleasant evening. There was a warm, yellow, half-moon, and the dark sky was studded with bright, twinkling stars. A cool breeze blew in from the Strait and he was feeling very comfortable. He turned to Steve. "This reminds me of home, you know?"

Steve nodded. "A quiet night under the stars. All we need is a camp fire."

"Yeah."

"In a way, I'm going to hate to go home," offered Steve, giving Stuart an opening that might lead to him talking about what was bothering him.

"Me too," replied Stuart. "Funny, I didn't want come here this year. Now that I have, I'm going to miss this place. I've really had a good time this year."

Steve rolled onto his back and stared at the starry sky. He started chuckling. "It's been fun. What was real fun was the sailing trip. No one back home will ever believe that we actually spent a weekend on the high seas and deserted islands, naked, with a whole bunch of other guys, also naked."

"Getting promoted was good, too," said Stuart. "And getting our new uniforms. I can't wait for my Mom and Dad to see me in mine. They'll flip!"

"So will my folks," replied Steve. "That will be great, but what will be even better is when I put on my new white uniform and walk onto the Drill Deck back home."

Stuart agreed. "There will be a few noses out of joint in my Corps." He shrugged indifferently. "Not that I care. I'll be home, and that's what matters."

"Home. Yeah. I'll miss this place, but . . ." Steve sat up, stretched his legs and crossed his ankles. " . . . I won't miss getting up every morning at zero-six-double-bubble. Or trying to sleep at night with 20 other guys huffing and puffing while they stroke their meat!"

Stuart snickered. "Or waking up to a room full of morning woodies. I am that fed up with seeing guys walking around with their underpants hanging from the ends of their dicks."

"Those who have boners big enough to hang their briefs from the end of their dicks, you mean," said Steve with a grin. He looked pointedly at Stuart's crotch.

Stuart saw the look. "Speak for yourself, fool. I've got nothing to be ashamed of. Now, if you want to compare dick sizes, Tiny . . ."

Steve quickly averted his gaze. He had not meant for Stuart to see him perving over his crotch. Damn! For five years he had deliberately avoided any gesture, any hint, that he wanted Stuart for more than just a buddy. He did not want Stuart to know how he really felt about him, how he wanted him. Damn! He had to divert attention from himself. "That's what some of the guys call Mike," he said quickly. "Tiny, because . . ."

"I know why," said Stuart. "Too many guys make fun of Mike because he's got a small dick." He lay back and put his hands behind his head. "Mike is an all right guy, Steve."

Steve lay down and looked at Stuart, sighing inwardly. "I know Mike is a nice guy," he said presently. "It's just that he's, well, he's been acting funny."

"Really," Stuart turned his head and looked into Steve's eyes. Gosh, Steve was beautiful. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, this morning for starters! I mean, would you ever think that Mike would do something like that?"

"Maybe he got tired of guys making fun of him."

"Okay, but there have been other things as well." Steve resisted the urge to move closer to Stuart and continued on. "He's been really happy lately, always smiling, and joking. Mal told me that Mike's stopped posing in front of the mirror and that he's not shaving his pubies. He has even put in a chit asking 'Permission to Grow'."

"Grow a beard?"

"No, just a 'tache," qualified Steve. "Also, Mike is awfully tight with Phillip Adean as well. Mal says that they're like always together."

"So?" Stuart gave Steve a hard glance. "Phillip is Mike's assistant. Why wouldn't they spend a lot of time together?"

Steve pulled back a bit. "I didn't mean anything, Stuart. All I'm saying is that they're awfully close, is all. So are Nicholas and Andre. You had to have seen them in the laundry. They were holding hands and . . ."

"Steve, shut up, now!" Stuart sat up abruptly. It was about time that Steve learned a few facts of life. "Nicholas and Andre are lovers. I would not be surprised if Mike and Phillip are more than just good friends."

"Hell, Stuart, Mike and Phillip . . . they're . . . guys!"

Stuart resisted the urge to give Steve a good shake. "You cannot tell me that you haven't heard of two guys fooling around with each other?" he asked harshly, his tone giving vent to his insecurities.

Steve swallowed hard and nodded his head slowly. "Yeah . . . but . . ."

Stuart saw the hurt look in Steve's eyes and put his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Look, Steve, guys sometimes fool around. It happens all the time."

"Have . . . you . . .?" Steve was starting to feel very warm, and very pleasant. This was the first time that Stuart had ever shown him any physical attention, and Steve loved it.

"Fooled around with a guy? Yeah, once." Fuck, did Steve feel nice. "Have you?" Steve, basking in Stuart's warmth, and not wanting the moment to end, rested his head on Stuart's shoulder. "No, well, not really." He couldn't help himself. He looked down at Stuart's crotch. His eyes widened a bit. He was no expert on hardons but unless Stuart had a Browning 9-mil stuffed down the front of his briefs . . .

"What do you mean, 'not really'? Either you did, or you didn't."

Steve, fascinated at the growing bulge in Stuart's shorts, licked his lips, which had suddenly gone very dry. Could Stuart be . . . No, Stuart did not have a gay bone in his body. Steve heard Stuart ask again if he had ever fooled around with another guy. He looked at Stuart and his mind raced. How do you tell your best friend that in the not too distant past you had lain back and let some guy give you a blow job? And not just any blow job, but a mind numbing, all systems shut down blow job? Steve really did not want Stuart to know about that particular episode, which was not really fooling around with a guy because, Steve reasoned, he had never fooled around all. He just accepted the gift being given him. Which did not, to Steve's reasoning, mean that he had 'fooled around'. It took two to tango . . .and Steve had not tangoed! He wracked his brain and remembered something that had happened to him, a long time ago. He took a deep breath. "Well, I think maybe I did. I didn't touch his dick, or anything, and he never really touched mine but . . ."

"Steve, come on. There's nothing to be ashamed of if you did fool around."

"It's just that . . . Stuart, I fired my load, but the other guy, he . . . he never knew that I did. He never knew what was happening because he was sound asleep."

Stuart gave Steve a disbelieving look as he asked, "What? How did you manage that?"

Steve giggled. "I know it sounds confusing, but if I tell you, you'll understand."

"Okay, tell me." Stuart moved his arm from Steve's shoulder to his waist.

The movement was not lost on Steve. He snuggled a bit closer to the Buffer and daringly he placed his hand on Stuart's hard, firm chest as he said, with a slight, nervous chuckle, "Just after I joined the Corps, in February? Yeah, February, we had a joint Winter Indoctrination Exercise with your Corps. You'd gone off to Winnipeg for some sort of a swim meet, so you didn't go."

Stuart thought a moment. "Yeah, February, of 1971. You went to Camp Wainwright."

"Yeah. We took the bus from Norwood and got in at around 2000 on the Friday night," began Steve as he enjoyed the sudden, unexpected intimacy of Stuart's arm around his waist. "We drew our gear and went out into the boonies and pitched our tents. It wasn't too cold, but it was snowing. We had arctic sleeping bags, and we were all pretty cozy and snug in our tents. It wasn't bad at all."

"It can be like that," agreed Stuart. "Is that where you might have fooled around, in the tent?"

Steve shook his head. "No. The next morning, when we got up, it had stopped snowing but, Jesus, Stuart, it was cold! Colder than a witch's tit!" Steve lowered his hand slowly until it came to rest just above the waistband of Stuart's shorts.

"It's prairie weather. Nice one minute, a blizzard the next. Wainwright is in the cold belt." Stuart could feel Steve's gentle touch on his stomach. He said nothing, however, although he began to wonder just how far either of them was prepared to go.

Steve sneaked another glance at Stuart's crotch. He saw that Stuart's bulge had gone down. Not much, but it seemed to have shrunk a little. Steve decided that what was sauce for the goose . . . He slipped his arm around Stuart's back. "Anyway, as the day went on, and we were out snow shoeing and tramping through the bush, one of the officers noticed that the top of one kid's ear had turned white. Off they go to the MIR and sure as fuck, the pecker checker says that the kid's ear is frost bitten. EVERYBODY goes to panic stations and the next thing I know I am in a truck heading for some private Regimental club. Its pretty nice inside, and while we were unloading the truck the Base RSM shows up and starts yelling at our CO about him keeping minors out in such cold. I thought the poor Old Man was going to have a heart attack!"

"Regimental Sergeant Majors can be a pain, sometimes."

"This guy was. He really read the Riot Act to the CO and then he told us that we had to sleep in this club place because it was too cold for us to stay outside. He also told us that we had to stay there because there was a real training exercise going on and that all the barracks were full."

Stuart laughed. "Meaning that the Sea Cadets could pig it in the club, sleeping on the deck, while real men slept in bunks."

"It wasn't too bad, Stuart. There were some couches, which the senior hands grabbed, but there was a huge fireplace and the place was warm. Warm, hell, it was like a hundred degrees in there! The heating system was on, and the fireplace was blazing!"

"At least you were warm!"

"Yeah, well, that too. Anyway, we got bussed down to the Mess for dinner, and then they let us fool around in the Dry Canteen. Around ten, I guess, we were all bussed back to the club where we laid out our sleeping bags and got ready for bed. Off come the parkas, then the uniforms, then the long johns and all the guys were just in their underpants 'cause there was no way you could sleep with anything more on. All I kept on were my Jockeys and I still thought that I was going to sweat my bag off! It was like, like fucking hotter than an old whore's crotch!"

"You do have a way with words," said Stuart, breaking into a grin.

"It's a gift," replied Steve returning the grin. He was enjoying sitting here on the beach, with Stuart's arm around him. "Anyway, there we all were, 40 guys, packed into this room, lying there side by each. Like I said, we all had a sleeping bag, but those things were built for the arctic, not a fuckin' boiling hot room. I couldn't stand the heat, so I just lay on top of my sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep. I was sort of drifting off, you know the way you do, when all of a sudden I feel something on my crotch."

Stuart pulled Steve back with him as he lay down. He made no excuse for holding Steve in his arms, nor did Steve make any objection. "So, you did fool around!"

"No I did not!" insisted Steve. "I looked down and saw that this guy who was sleeping next to me, a real jerk who I didn't like, he had his hand on my parts!"

"He was putting the moves on you, then?" asked Stuart. He closed his eyes and wondered why he had never noticed before how wonderful Steve smelled.

"No!" Steve, whose closeness to Stuart had given him a very warm feeling in the referenced parts, reached down and adjusted them. He tried not to let on to Stuart that at the moment the only thing between them and a raging hardon was some cotton briefs, cotton gym shorts, and a prayer. "The guy had rolled over in his sleep and his hand landed on my dick and balls," Steve continued.

"You didn't feel him back?"

"No," returned Steve indignantly. "I didn't like him in the first place, and he never washed half the time, and smelled. I was not about to touch whatever he had lurking in his briefs."

Stuart could not contain his laughter. He pulled Steve closer and gave him a hug, pretending not to notice the bulge that rubbed against his thigh. "How in the hell can a guy's dick 'lurk' in his underpants?"

"You know what I mean," said Steve. He returned Stuart's hug. "I knew that his dick was pooching out his panties, I just didn't want to find out what else was crawling around his unwashed pubes!"

When Stuart stopped laughing he lay quietly, with Steve in his arms. "So, you have never done anything with another guy." Silently Stuart groaned in disappointment. If Steve had never willingly fooled around, then chances were that he was not about to start now. Stuart resigned himself to being allowed to lie here, just holding his friend. He was very surprised when Steve continued speaking.

"Well, not exactly," said Steve in reply to Stuart's question.

"Steve, you really are the most exasperating person I know! Did you, or did you not fool around?"

"I don't know, because what I did was, well, I was lying there, with some guy's hand on my balls, so I did what I think any horny, normal, 13-year-old and a bit young stud would do!"

"What's that, faint?"

"Piss off, Stuart, you started this so you can hear me out!"

"Okay, carry on."

"Thank you," said Steve with a short sniff. "What I did was, I jacked up! I wasn't very big back then - and if you say one word about the size of my dick I'll go back to the barracks - and everything, my dick and balls, were covered by this guy's hand. There I was, lying there, with some guy, who I barely knew, with his hand on my parts and his bad breath blowing in my ear. My dick was hard but this guy, he's not doing anything to it, not grabbing it or anything. His hand was just, like, well lying there. I was scared to death that this turkey might wake up and I was wondering what the fuck I was supposed to do? Do I wake him up? Do I let him sleep?"

"Now this is getting interesting. What did you do?" asked Stuart, wondering just how far Steve was prepared to go before things got out of hand.

Steve could feel Stuart's erection pressing against him and he wondered just how far Stuart was prepared to go before things got out of hand. Steve was enjoying himself, however, and was not about to let the opportunity slip by. With his free hand he reached around and rested it on Stuart's firm butt. Surprisingly, to Steve, Stuart rolled on his side, and pushed his arm under Steve's head, so that his head was resting on Stuart's arm.

"I was horny," said Steve with unintended bluntness. "I'd started beating off about a month before I joined the Cadets, and I loved it. What guy doesn't?" He slowly massaged the firm, hard flesh of Stuart's ass. Stuart groaned softly but made no move away. "I hadn't beat off for two days, dammit," Steve continued, "and I was used to doing it at least three or four times a day."

"You sound like Thumper," replied Stuart. He moved his hand and reached down to adjust his throbbing erection, in the process brushing his hand against the slim, trim, lump in Steve's shorts.

A bolt of electricity coursed through Steve, and he bit his lip, trying to remain under control. "Do you want to hear the rest of it, or not?" he asked with pretended indifference. He pushed his hips just a little closer to Stuart's.

Stuart, his dick throbbing, nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Like I said, I was trez horny!" Steve's eyes were half-closed and his dick was pulsing. He had wanted to be with Stuart, in this position, and he was so excited that he was afraid he would nut! He tried to calm down as he continued his tale. "The problem was I was afraid to cum in my briefs. I'm a real leaker, too, so the front of my shorts were pretty wet."

"I don't see that's a problem, at all," said Stuart softly. He deliberately rubbed himself, and Steve, again.

"It was, because my mother did my laundry. I knew that the first thing she'd do would be to empty my kit bag and start washing. She always did and hell, Stuart, how do you explain cum stains on your underpants to your mother? Especially after coming off a weekend with the boys?"

"I see your point," conceded Stuart. "Mothers don't always understand things like that. That's why, from the first day I blew a real load, I started doing my own laundry. What mothers don't see they can't ask questions about."

"That's true," said Steve. "I blew my first load in my underpants when I had a wet dream." He assumed a confidential tone. "It scared the shit out of me! Nobody had told me about guys having wet dreams, and for a while I thought that my balls had exploded!"

Stuart started laughing. "You learned though, didn't you?"

"Sure, after I talked to my cousin, who is three years older than me. He explained what happens to guys, and told me that I should always take a towel to bed with me, to wipe up when I was finished."

"Sound advice."

"Which did me fuck all good at the time I'm talking about!" Steve laughed quietly. "There I was, lying there, with a guy's hand on my dick. It felt kinda nice, and I'd never had another guy touch me like that before, even if it was through my Jockeys. I knew that I should have rolled away but, well, it did feel nice and I was wondering what would happen if I just sort of rubbed myself, a little. So I did!"

"And?"

"I pumped my hips, real slow, because there was no way I wanted this guy to wake up while he's giving me a dry rub. I really liked the feeling so I kept doing it. The more I did it the better it felt. The guy never moved, so I sort of pumped a little faster. That felt a whole fucking lot better! Then I started rubbing the head of my dick on the inside my Jockeys, you know, that little bit of your dick, just under the head, on the bottom side?"

Stuart did because he was rubbing that exact spot with the tips of his fingers. "Yeah," he managed to get out as the waves of pleasure began rolling through his erection.

"Stuart, I found the magic spot! Before I knew it, what with the cloth rubbing against my dick head, I blew my load, busted my nut! I came and came and man, my toes curled so far back that it took a day for them to straighten out!"

"That story is so ridiculous that it has to be true!" Stuart laughed and deliberately rubbed his hand against Steve's lump.

Steve could feel Stuart's warm hand, and wondered if he should reciprocate. Instead, he moved his hand, which was still rubbing Stuart's butt, down and felt the smooth, warm skin of his leg. "It's the God's truth," he said as he slowly moved his hand under Stuart's shorts. He stopped when the tips of his fingers touched the edge of Stuart's briefs. "The God's truth."

"Oh, I believe you," replied Stuart. He squirmed slightly as Steve pushed his hand higher up the back of his shorts.

"Good. Then you can believe me when I say I did not really fool around. He never touched my bare dick, and I sure as fuck didn't touch him! I also started to do my own smalls so at least I solved the cum in the underwear problem." Steve could feel the back of Stuart's hand rubbing against him. "So, what did you do?"

Stuart left off rubbing himself and moved his hand down, deliberately laying it on Steve's bare leg. He could feel the soft dusting of hair on Steve's leg and he began to slowly move his hand in small circles. "One night some guys from the Corps stayed over at my house. We were getting our uniforms ready for our Annual Inspection. My folks were away somewhere. A convention, I think. Not that it matters. They weren't around so while we were ironing and polishing we had a few beers. We listened to some records and before we knew it, it was one in the morning, so we went to bed." He began to slip his hand under Steve's shorts, stopping only when his fingers touched Steve's briefs-covered balls.

Steve started to move his hand inside of Stuart's briefs. He slowly brushed across Stuart's pelvis and when the edge of his hand rested against Stuart's seven inches of erection, he stopped. "Is that when you . . ."

"Yes," replied Stuart slowly. He could feel Steve's finger slowly rubbing against the side of his hardon. "There weren't enough beds, so we doubled up. We had all done it before, on sleepovers, so nobody thought anything of it. I went up to my room with a guy name Christian. He was next in line to be Chief of the Corps, so I figure that I would get to know him better."

Steve smiled slyly and moved his hand until it was covering Stuart's rock-hard erection. He could feel that the front of Stuart's briefs were damp, and the firm flesh under his palm felt warm, and very, very nice. "That's one way of putting it," he said, not realizing that he had started to pant.

"I really didn't mean that," replied Stuart. God, did Steve's hand feel nice. "I didn't go to bed with Christian intending to do what we eventually ended up doing. The next day was Inspection day, and I wanted a good night's sleep." He moved his hand upward, cupping Steve's balls, and running his middle fingers backward and forward across Steve's five-inch slimness. "We stripped off, down to our Fruit of the Looms. I told Christian that was the way I always went to bed, and he said that he always slept in his underwear, so he didn't have a problem!"

Steve was panting heavier as Stuart began to slowly rub him. He could feel himself being drawn closer and closer to the edge, for Stuart had found his secret spot. "And?" he managed through his panting.

"For starters, I never slept a wink." Stuart fought back a moan of pleasure. Steve's fingers had found his secret spot. "We just lay there for a while. I could hear Christian breathing. He did not have bad breath, except for the beer breath I guess we all had. He moved around a bit, like you do when you're trying to get comfortable, and his hand touched my leg." Stuart's breath was coming in short, sharp gasps now. "Now, I have to admit, Christian was some looker. He was blond, like me, and very good-looking. He also had a decent sized cock, which I'd seen because we were both on the swim team."

Steve did not reply. He began to increase the pace of his rubbing, giving Stuart's dick a soft squeeze every now and them.

"He was also one of those guys who always smelled clean. He smelled clean and fresh." Stuart whimpered as another ripple of pleasure went through him. "Sort of like you do. He had a smooth dick, and he was a hunk. Also, I kind of liked feeling his hand against my leg. Not to mention that I was only 14 and hornier than a two-peckered owl!"

"So you . . .?" Steve's hand maintained a steady pace against Stuart's cock, a silly smile on his face. So, Stuart thought that he smelt clean. And fresh.

Stuart growled a low groan, his fingers closed around Steve's boner and he began to slowly masturbate his best friend. "Christian started it," Stuart said as he struggled to maintain his composure. "When I didn't say anything when he put his hand against my leg I guess he figured that I was cool with what he was doing. He rolled on his side and scooted right up against me. I could feel his dick, which was hard, a real thick hardon, about five inches long, which was pretty big, I thought, for a 14-year old guy. I didn't say anything so he started rubbing my belly, which felt great! Then he moves south, and starts rubbing my boner, which is only about four inches or so, but Jesus, was it hard!"

Steve squeezed Stuart's massive erection, which was seven inches long, thick, and felt very smooth under the cotton cloth of his briefs. "You grew some since then," he said with a snicker. "You sure don't have to worry about where to hang your towel!"

"I did back then," breathed Stuart heavily. God, did Steve know how to work a guy's dick! "Anyway, there I was, with Christian rubbing me up and down, so I decided that I should at least be polite and return the favour."

"Being a good host, and all."

Stuart grimaced, wondering if he should warn Steve. He was getting awfully close. "Of course," he said with a small whimper of delight. "I started rubbing him, and we did that for a while. Then he put his hand down the front of my undies and fisted my dick, and Jesus, it never felt as good when I did it! I almost came right then and there!"

"Almost?" Steve shivered with delight as Stuart's hand sent another wave of pleasure rolling through his body.

Stuart moved his head forward until his forehead was resting against Steve's. He wanted desperately to kiss Steve, but did not attempt it. "Almost," he repeated in a whisper as he continued to pleasure Steve with his hand. "I put my hand down the front of his underpants and wrapped my fingers around his dick. It was the first time I'd ever done anything like that and I admit that I was a little scared. In the back of my mind a little voice kept saying that what we were doing was bad. Christian was a guy, I was a guy, and guys did not do things like this to each other."

Steve moved his hand and slid it slowly under the elastic leg band of Stuart's briefs. He felt Stuart's smooth, nicely formed, oval balls, his warm, slick dick, and his rough pubic bush. "But, guys do it all the time," whispered Steve. "It don't mean nothin'."

Stuart moved his hand higher and felt the smooth, silky, crisply formed head of Steve's dick. "It also felt so good and something that felt that good couldn't be bad! It felt so fucking wonderful, him fisting me, me fisting him. Then he made it better."

"How?"

"He leaned over and kissed me. My first kiss. A first class, down the throat, kiss!" Stuart was all but gasping for breath as Steve used just the first two fingers of his hand to rub the secret spot on his dick.

"Like you gave me at our wet down?" asked Steve. He moved his head a bit and his lips found Stuart's. "Like this?"

They kissed passionately. Stuart began to moan. He opened his mouth, wanting all of Steve's tongue. They duelled for a while and then pulled reluctantly apart. "Not as good," he said. "Not near as good, but good enough because when he kissed me we both blew our loads. I shot a load that damned near blew the front of my undies apart. His load was even bigger."

"And that was the end of it?" Steve began to tweak the round glans crowning Stuart's dick, running his fingers around and around the crisp, firm edge.

Despite himself, Stuart thrust his hips forward. He didn't want to cum, but he did want to cum! He forced himself to continue his story. "No, because it got better." He pushed his hand into Steve's underpants, feeling the shape and warmth of Steve's smooth, hard penis. "After we came we lay there, rubbing each other, which was wonderful. We neither of us lost our boners, and I asked if he minded if I took off my underwear because I really didn't feel like sleeping in cummy drawers. He said no, go ahead, 'cause he wanted to take his off as well. So we did!"

Steve did not know how much longer he could hold out. Stuart's hand was slowly pumping him toward the brink. "And it got better?"

"Yeah. We lay there for a while, just holding each other's dick, me not believing that I had just given another guy a hand job, when he asks me did I want to stop, or did I want to fool around some more."

"And of course you said no," murmured Steve. He left off his fisting, sensing that Stuart was getting close. He wanted Stuart, he wanted him in every way possible, and he wanted to please him as much as he could. He felt Stuart's balls, then ran his hand against the sensitive skin between Stuart's legs, under his balls, and along the small path of flesh until his fingers found Stuart's pucker and began to rub it slowly.

Stuart gasped as Steve's fingers massaged his anus. Christian had never done that! He groaned in ecstasy. "Jesus, Steve . . ."

"You like?"

"Yeah, I like!"

Steve continued his slow rubbing. "What happened with Christian?"

"I said yes, we could fool around some more. What else was I going to say? I was fucking enjoying what we were doing! What he did next really surprised me, though. He moved down the bed and the next thing I knew he had my dick in his mouth! Fuck, Steve, Christian could really suck a bone! His mouth was so warm, and ah, shit, I thought that I was gonna die right there in my bed! I'm thinking, wow, my first blow job! He was sucking my dick nice and slow, and my mind is all but closing down! Fuck, Steve, how do describe your very first blow job?"

Steve knew exactly what Stuart had gone through. He thought of that night when the boy had come into the Mess and . . . He began to breathe harshly, his hips making short, thrusting movements through Stuart's lightly grasping hand. God did Stuart's hand feel good. He began to pump Stuart's dick faster, his thumb caressing the classic helmet of Stuart's cock.

"Then I . . . well . . . what Christian was doing to me felt so good that I thought that I should make him feel as good as he was making me feel. I turned around and his dick was right in front of me and, to be honest, his was a handsome dick - almost as handsome as yours is - so I just, I just leaned forward and I took him into my mouth. I started sucking his dick."

Steve, who was panting and gulping as his balls began to contract and the wonderful feeling began to build deep within his groin, did not hear Stuart's comparison of his dick to Christian's.

"I was 14, Steve, and he was 14 and at 14 you've got no control and shit, after only a couple of minutes of feeling the most incredible feeling that I had ever felt, I let 'er go! I started cumming in his mouth and he really surprised me 'cause he didn't pull away. He started swallowing my load and that got him going and he blew his humungous load right down my throat!"

Steve, who was seconds away from blowing his own humungous load, grunted.

Stuart heard Steve's grunt, wondering if Steve was getting close or if he disapproved swallowing another guy's load. He wondered also what Steve's load would taste like but Jesus . . . Stuart carried gamely on, determined to pretend as long as Steve did that nothing untoward was happening. "Christian . . . tasted great." Stuart was moaning softly now. He managed to keep calm, thought and continued his story. "He tasted sweet and clean and oh fuck! He tasted just great so I sucked and swallowed and swallowed and sucked and then he yelped and pulled back. Me too, 'cause the heads of our dicks were so fucking sensitive that we couldn't stand it!"

"I know that feeling," growled Steve through clenched teeth. He quickly fisted Stuart again. He was always sensitive after he came, which was about to happen, real soon. His balls were so high up in his crotch that Steve was afraid that they'd end up in his throat. His dick was expanding, and twitching and . . . OH GOD!

Stuart's breathing was just as laboured as Steve's. His chest was heaving and he could feel his balls swelling. He began to pump Steve's weeping dick faster. He was very close to cumming and he wanted Steve to cum with him.

"Stuart . . ." yelled Steve, " . . . ung . . . Stuart . . . STUART! I'm gonna cum . . ." Steve groaned loudly and thrust his hips upward. His whole body went rigid and the first jet of his spooge flew from the gaping slit of his dick. "STUUU . . . AAAART!"

"OH . . . FUCK . . . YEAH!" Stuart yelped as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He starting creaming Steve's hand, stream after stream of his thick semen flooding across and down the pumping hand that held him so closely. "FUCK! OH FUCK!"

Each boy continued to pump after all hope of any further ejaculation ended. Finally, by silent, mutual agreement, they moved apart.

Steve gazed into Stuart's dark brown eyes. "I've wanted to do that for a long time, Stuart."

"Me, too Steve." Stuart leaned forward and they kissed, a long, deep, passionate kiss. "I've wanted to do it for so long," he said slowly as their lips parted. "So very long!"

Steve reached over and began to push Stuart's shorts and underwear down. "I never told you that I lie in bed at night, thinking about you, wanting you." He reached under the edge of Stuart's T-shirt and pushed it over his head. "I don't want tonight to end." He lifted up his hand and his tongue flicked across a patch of Stuart's semen that rested in the hollow between his thumb and fore- finger.

Stuart smiled and began to strip the clothes from Steve's body. "Tonight will end, Steve. We can't help it ending, and we can't stop it from ending." He leaned down and kissed the tip of Steve's not quite deflated member. "But there's tomorrow night, and the night after, and all the nights after that."

"Do you think they saw?" Andre looked nervously around the laundry, trying to withdraw his hand from Nicholas's grasp.

Nicholas raised Andre's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "I really don't care if they did." He smiled warmly and rubbed Andre's hand against his warm cheek. "If they can't stand two guys being in love, and showing it, well, to hell with them."

While taking down the flags and pennants after the Dinner they had both managed to smudge their white uniforms and Nicholas, knowing what an important day tomorrow was, had insisted that they change into shorts and T-shirts and wash their whites. Andre, while disappointed in not being able to proceed directly to the Flag Locker where they could indulge in some serious sinning, had agreed. They had sat together quietly, holding hands, waiting impatiently for the washing machine to finish its cycles.

"I do not want them to say bad things about us, Nicholas," said Andre softly. "I know they say that they are our friends but . . ."

Nicholas took both of Andre's hands in his and gazed deeply into the boy's eyes. A slow smile toyed with the corner of his lips. "They are our friends, Andre, and they will not say bad things about us. They will say good things, and wish us much happiness."

Andre gave Nicholas a quizzical glance. "So you say," he began sceptically. "I have seen what happens when boys . . ."

Nicholas snorted and pulled Andre to him. He kissed the top of Andre's head and buried his face in the boy's soft hair. "Listen to me, Andre. Some of them know about us." He felt Andre try to pull away and held him closer. "They don't care. All they want is for us to be happy."

"But, Nicholas, we were so careful." Andre began to sniffle. "I love you so much, and I do not want them to hurt you."

Nicholas laughed quietly. "Oh, Andre, sweet, Andre. They know. Cory and Todd, they know. Harry knows. So do Tyler and Val. Everyone who was at the meeting this morning knows!"

This time Andre's struggles were successful. He pulled away from his lover and glared at him. "How could they? You did not tell them? Please, Nicholas . . ."

Nicholas returned Andre's glare with a look of love. He shook his head slowly. "They knew because they saw the love we have for each other." He waved his hand toward the row of windows. "Stuart was there. He knows and he will not let anyone say bad things about you, or me, or us!"

"Stuart? The Chief Boatswain's Mate Stuart?"

"The very same. He told me, and the others this morning that we, you, me, all of us are brothers and that brothers understand these things." He nodded toward the parade square. "This morning Stuart was not sure if he was one of us, like us. Tonight he is with Steve, and maybe he will find out."

Andre looked puzzled. "But, that would mean that he is . . ."

Nicholas shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not. If he is we will not say bad things about him." He drew in a deep breath. "We are not alone, Andre. Surely you've noticed that some of the other boys are very close."

Andre shook his head. "I do not pay attention to such things." He smiled shyly. "I was busy with . . . other things."

Nicholas laughed. "You were busy sinning, is what you were doing!"

Andre began giggling and reached out his arms. He drew Nicholas close to him. "I love you Nicholas, so much."

"I know." Nicholas gave Andre a stern look. "You do understand that I love you more than life? That I will never allow anyone to hurt you?"

"I know." Andre thought a moment. "If the other boys know about us . . ."

"They know," affirmed Nicholas.

"Then it is time," said Andre slowly. He leaned forward and whispered in Nicholas's ear.

Nicholas listened and then pulled slowly back. A slow, glowing smile spread across his face. "Are you sure?"

"I am sure." Andre's eyes sparkled with anticipation and love as he whispered, "I wish that we do it."

Nicholas nodded slowly. He had hoped that Andre would want to make love, but had not expected it to happen so soon and he did not want Andre to feel pressured in any way. He looked into Andre's dark eyes. "You don't want to wait? I can, you know. I want to . . . make real love to you, but I can wait. It doesn't have to happen here. It doesn't have to happen now."

Andre stroked Nicholas's smoothly shaven cheek. "I have thought about it a great deal, Nicholas. I wish for you to fuck me, here. We found each other, here; we found our love for each other, here. I do not wish to wait any longer. I wish to give myself to you, Nicholas. I wish it with all my heart because you are the only boy I will ever love. I know it, I feel it. It is my wish to be with you always. When we do this, you will give me a part of you. I will have you within me always."

"We will have to do it in the Flag Locker, there's no place else," replied Nicholas. He swallowed and started blushing. "I think we'll need some things. A towel, and some . . .lubricant."

Andre snickered. "Nicholas, surely you are not afraid of what we will do?" "Andre, I have never fu . . . made love before. I . . . think I know what to do, but . . ."

"We will learn together." Andre's fingers brushed Nicholas's lips.

"All right," said Nicholas in a low tone. "But understand, Andre, I am not going to fuck you."

"What! But . . . ma foi, Nicholas je . . ." yelped Andre.

Nicholas's low laughter echoed around the room. "Andre, I will not fuck you. I will make love to you."

Andre's dark face brightened. "Oh . . . OH!" He smiled broadly and kissed Nicholas as passionately as he could. "We make love, now please?"

Harry sighed happily. He reached down between Todd's legs and gave his soft, flushed penis a gentle squeeze. Todd squirmed in delight, feeling the Pride of the Fleet, which was nested comfortably in the valley of his butt stir slightly. "The Mess Dinner was great," murmured Harry as he nuzzled the soft skin of Todd's smooth neck, enjoying the euphoria that followed great sex. "After dinner dessert was better."

Todd reached up and stroked Harry's cheek, a small gesture of affection that had a wealth of meaning for him. Todd was falling desperately in love with Harry, something that he had never expected would happen, and something that had never happened before. He had always loved Harry, but not in the way he did now. Harry had always been the unattainable goal, and from the first day that Harry had lumbered into his life Todd had desired the big moose. On a crude, and very basic level, he had wanted to have sex with Harry. He had never expected, now that the goal had been reached, now that they had made love, because Harry did not just have sex - he made warm, deeply passionate, extraordinary love. Now that they had done it, Todd's feeling of lust-filled desire had changed into something different. Now he was falling in love, and he did not know what to do.

Todd felt Harry cup his balls, rolling them and sending a smooth, seamless wave of pleasure coursing through his body. For somebody whose sexual experiences had been limited, before he came to AURORA, to jerking off with his brother, Harry had turned out to be a warm, caring, and surprisingly passionate lover. Harry instinctively gave as much pleasure as he received. He had taken Todd to wonderful levels of indescribable feelings of ecstasy, had taken him beyond any level of delight that Todd had ever known before, had taken him to places that none of his other partners had ever brought him to.

Just being with Harry was wonderful. They were in the Unwinding Room, snuggled into the V-shaped corner of the settee. Todd was warmly ensconced between Harry's widespread legs, a position Harry enjoyed. Todd could feel the warmth of Harry's broad chest against his back, and feel the soft smoothness of the Pride pushing against his butt crack. Harry's right arm was wrapped loosely around Todd's chest, and his hand was toying with Todd's hard, rubbery nipple. His left hand rested in Todd's crotch, fondling and kneading his now low-hanging balls.

"You're very quiet," said Harry as his fingers rubbed gently across Todd's nipple.

"I'm just enjoying the moment, remembering . . ." replied Todd, turning his head and smiling at Harry.

"How great I was?" Harry had no modesty whatsoever.

Todd made a small face, and then chuckled. "You were wonderful, Harry."

"You're no slouch yourself, Todd." Harry tightened his hold on Todd's chest. He gave a happy sigh of utter contentment. "If I'd known how wonderful making to love to you is, I think maybe we'd have done this a long time ago." His long, warm tongue slowly caressed Todd's neck. "A long time ago."

Todd chuckled and pushed back against the Pride. "You sure believe in making up for lost time, don't you?"

Harry laughed. "I don't hear you complaining."

"I'm not."

"Still, something is bothering you," replied Harry quietly. "You've been quiet all night, and pensive."

Todd would have preferred not to agree with what Harry had said. The fact was, however, that his talk this morning with Cory had left him pensive. Cory had been right. He had to settle, one way or another, his relationship with Harry. "Actually, I've been giving a lot of thought to us. I am falling for you, and I am not sure where we are going."

Harry kissed the back of Todd's head. "We're going home, of course."

"That is not what I meant!" Todd gave Harry a jab with his elbow.

Harry retaliated by giving Todd's genitals a squeeze. "I know what you mean and I do not want to talk about it!"

"Too bad, because we are going to talk about it," replied Todd calmly. "I am falling in love with you, you big moose. You make me feel things that I have never felt before. We have started something, Harry, and if it's all going to end when you step onto the plane to go home, well, maybe we should just . . ."

Harry hugged Todd tightly. "Don't! I do not want to hear it! I do not want to talk about any ending between us!"

Todd pulled away, turned around and took Harry's reddened face in his hands. "Harry, you, me, we cannot ignore what is coming. You cannot just say that you do not want to talk about it!" He kissed Harry gently. "What we have is going to end, Harry."

"No!" Harry snarled and pulled Todd to him. He wrapped his arms around Todd's slim, warm body. "I don't want it to end!" he growled sternly.

Todd struggled free of Harry's grasp and sat back on the settee. He looked into Harry's deep, brown eyes. "Harry, you were brutally honest with Greg. Can you be honest with me, and with yourself?"

Harry met Todd's gaze, then looked away. His face softened and he began to sob quietly. "I tried to tell myself that what we did before was just sex. When we were all together, you, Cory, me, I wanted it to be just sex."

Todd reached out and wiped away Harry's tears with his thumb. "It wasn't though, was it?"

Harry shook his head. No, damn it, it wasn't!" He regained his composure and rested his head against the back of the settee. "I live on a farm. I know what sex is. Something is always fucking something!" He laughed ruefully. "Greg was sex."

"And me?"

Harry reached out and motioned for Todd to resume his place between his legs. Harry adjusted the Pride, then reached around and his broad hands enveloped Todd's soft genitals. He kissed and nuzzled Todd's neck for a minute or so, then began speaking again. "All last night, after we went to bed, I thought about us, about how I felt about you, about how I feel when I'm with you." He could not resist kissing Todd's neck. "It feels so right!"

"That's the way I feel about you," replied Todd softly, deliberately gyrating his hips, rubbing his smooth, firm, ass cheek against the Pride. "Nobody has ever made me feel the way you make me feel. Except for Cory and . . ." He would not mention Phantom. Harry did not need to know about Phantom. In a way he knew far too much as it was.

Harry caught the pause and raised an eyebrow. "Cory and?" He prompted.

"Harry, there is another special person in my life," began Todd, his voice low, and filled with emotion. "He is kind, and sweet, and in many ways I love him deeply. Who he is, is between him and me." He turned his head slightly and looked at Harry. "Sometimes, Harry, when two people have been together, it is so special that you cannot ever share the moments you had together with anyone else. That is the way I feel, Harry, so please, do not ask me his name."

"You slept with him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, Harry, I did," replied Todd without hesitation. "I slept with him once, and it was over. I do not regret it and I will always be thankful that for a little while he was a part of me, and I was a part of him. It was not sex between us. Like you I know what sex is. I had sex with Sylvain. I fucked him. With . . .with the other boy I made love, just as you made love to Stefan. You fucked Greg . . ." Before Harry could protest Todd held up his hand. "Not literally, Harry, but it amounts to same thing."

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. "I like Greg, and yes, I suppose I did fuck him. What I did with Stefan, I did because I'm in love with him." He groaned, and hugged Todd tightly. "I'm also in love with you."

"Then you know what I am talking about. We both have feelings for each other, and for other boys. I want to be with you, Harry. I just can't see that happening."

Harry sighed. "I'm in love with you. I'm in love with Stefan and half in love with Cory. I want all three of you, to be with all of you, and the hell of it is that none of you would ever be happy with me!"

Todd's eyebrows rose and a questioning look came over his face. "Why would you say that," he demanded. "You're a wonderful person, for all that you put on this big dumb farmer act. You're handsome as the Devil, and don't you know it! You are the most masculine male that I have ever met. You own the Pride of the Fleet, which, at the risk of making you more conceited than you already are, is the most handsome, wonderful penis that I have ever seen. I named it, remember?" Once again he pulled away from Harry. "You talk nonsense, Harry." He lay full length on the settee and reached out his hands, motioning for Harry to lie with him.

They lay together, facing each other, arms entwined, the head of the Pride softly touching the head of Todd's semi-hard penis. For the moment Harry wanted to have nothing to do with the future. He kissed Todd, and fondled him, hoping to start a new session of lovemaking. "It's feels like Little Todd wants to play some more," he growled seductively, "and the Pride is making all preparations for getting underway!"

Todd smiled at Harry's metaphor but shook his head. "Harry, the Pride might be ready in all respects for sea but you can ring down to the Engine Room to 'Stand By Engines', and tell the Buffer to double up all lines. The Pride is not leaving harbour until you tell me why no one would be happy with you. Aside from the obviously polygamous relationships."

Harry snickered, and then fell silent. He laid his head on Todd's shoulders, breathing deeply, enjoying Todd's scent. After what seemed to be an eternity of silence he began to speak. "Do you believe that some people are predestined to be certain things?" he asked Todd.

"You mean Predestination, that from birth every part of your life is planned for you by God?"

Harry growled, annoyed. "No, not that religious bullshit! What I mean is that some people just seem to be born to be certain things. Take The Gunner. He was predestined to be a sailor. When he was born God pointed at his little pink baby butt and said that Stevie Winslow will be a sailor. Case closed and no back talk from the Lower Deck! The Gunner could have decided to do something else with his life but deep down he knows that he is a sailor, and he would never be happy being anything else but a sailor. Phantom, too, I think. He doesn't know it yet, but he was also born to be a sailor."

Todd thought a moment, and agreed with Harry. "Okay, yeah. Knowing The Gunner as we both do, you're right. He would never be happy not being a sailor."

"Thank you for agreeing with me," replied Harry dryly.

"Well, it does make sense, sort of," returned Todd with a grin.

"Good, because if you can understand about The Gunner and Phantom, then you can understand that I was predestined to be a farmer."

Todd could not help himself. He began snickering. "When you first came to ONTARIO you acted like some big, dumb, hick farmer. Remember how everybody started calling you Harry the Farmer?" He laughed out loud. "Cory and I kept expecting to find bits of straw in your bed, or cow shit on your boots."

"You were right. You were all right. I was a farm boy back then. I am a farm boy now. I love the farm, Todd. I love the land. I have always loved the land. My Dad has put aside a parcel of land for me. In five years or so, after I graduate university - where I expect I'll study agronomy - I'll take it over and be what I was born to be: a farmer." He looked thoughtful. "I expect that I'll get Charlie's share as well."

"Charley, he's one of your brothers?"

"Yeah, the oldest. He graduates from UW next year. He's engaged to a girl name Katrina Muehlberg. She comes with ten thousand acres of prime Manitoba grazing land. Her daddy has this huge spread down along the Fisher River. " He shuddered. "You should see her!" He grinned wickedly. "Then again, maybe you shouldn't." He grimaced horribly, pushed in his nose, and let his tongue loll out of his mouth.

"Jesus, Harry, she can't be that bad!" exclaimed Todd, trying hard not to laugh at the contorted gargoyle that Harry's handsome face had become.

Harry relaxed his face and gave Todd a huge kiss. "She has a wonderful personality!"

Todd laughed and returned Harry's kiss. "Now that has always been the kiss of death!"

Harry joined in Todd's laughter. "Aw, she's not all that bad. She isn't the prettiest thing in the world to look at, but she is and sweet and she does love Charley, though God and her only knows why. I hate to say bad things about my brother but he is not exactly the handsomest thing on two feet, and his dick is the smallest one this side of Mike Sunderland."

"Harry, that's cruel."

"Maybe, but it's the truth. Not to worry, though. They'll make a fine couple. He loves her, she loves him. She has land, he has brains. She'll be a good wife to him and together they'll make lots of boy babies."

"Why boy babies? Haven't you ever heard there's a second sex, called girls?"

"Of course I have! Charley and Katrina will have boy babies. Girl babies just do not happen in my family. There hasn't been a girl born into the Hohenberg clan in seven or eight generations. Boys run in the family." Harry pulled Todd to him. "And that is also another thing that I have to think about."

Todd knew what was coming next. "You're going to have to get married, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "It's expected. It's not something I want to do, but sooner or later it has to happen." He began stroking Todd's flat stomach. "Georgie and Nicky hate the farm. Georgie will graduate university and stay in Winnipeg. He's already told me and he's working up the courage to tell my dad."

"And Nicky?" Todd squirmed as Harry's finger began rimming his belly button. He could feel his dick getting hard, and he could feel the Pride stirring. "Harry," he murmured, "Not yet."

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away. "Nicky wants to get away. Farming is a hard life, and Nicky is a lazy fucker. He hates having to get up at the crack of dawn, or getting up in the middle of the night to help calve one of the cows. He'll be leaving as soon as he can."

"And the others?"

Harry shrugged slightly. "Paulie is only 16 and he's too busy being a teenager. Frankie and Louie, they're still boys, although you'd think Frankie was forty instead of 14, the way he acts some time. Cory reminds me of him. They're both smart, and mature beyond their ages. Louie is still a little boy. He's only 10 and still giggles when the rooster chases the hens."

"I'd giggle, too."

Harry returned to holding Todd. "Todd, you asked me to be honest, so I will. None of my brothers, except Charley, will take to farming. I will. I love it. That's where I want to be, on the farm, living the farm life. I have always wanted that, ever since the day my dad took me out into the fields and planted my pudgy little feet into the earth." He kissed Todd's forehead and gave him a querying look. "Now tell the truth, Todd. Would you be able to spend the rest of your life, with me, living on a farm in the middle of Manitoba?"

"Harry, I'm from the city. A farm is totally alien to me. What would I know about farming?"

"Not much is my guess."

"And you would be right," replied Todd. He did not want to hurt Harry in any way. He also knew that spending the rest of his life on a farm was not what he wanted to do. "Harry, the closest I've been to a farm is the petting zoo in Stanley Park. My mother took Cory and me there once. I think we were six or so. It was not a pleasant experience."

"How so?"

"A goose bit Cory on the bum, which served him right because he was annoying the poor thing."

"Geese can be very vicious fuckers when aroused," opined Harry gravely. "Not that I blame the goose for biting Cory's bum. He has a very nice bum. I bit it once."

"Do not remind me," returned Todd with a chuckle. "Cory still bitches about that little incident." He laughed louder. "Mind you, he didn't go around trying to show everybody your teeth marks."

"I never left any teeth marks!" protested Harry. "I hardly touched him!"

"Neither did the goose, but that didn't stop Cory from going around trying to show anybody who looked even remotely interested what he insisted were the goose's teeth marks."

"A goose doesn't have teeth! It's a fowl, and they don't have teeth."

"I know that, Harry." Todd grinned. "Cory was only six, remember, so he thought that the thing had teeth. At least, that's what he said. Personally, I think he just wanted to show off his bum."

"At six?" asked Harry, shocked.

"He was a very precocious six-year-old," replied Todd, a hint of pride in his voice. "He was reading music at three!" He reached over and rubbed Harry's hard, rubbery nipples. "He's grumbled about that fucking goose for years." Todd gave Harry's right nipple a soft tweak. "At least Cory doesn't eat you in effigy every year!"

Harry, who was very much enjoying Todd's ministrations, was only half listening. He was hoping that Todd would grow tired of the conversation. He wanted Todd to make love to him, to feel his golden lover deep inside of his body. He reached around and pulled Todd to him again. He covered Todd's mouth with his own and their tongues met. He began squirming and working his body until Todd was on top of him.

Todd knew what was coming, and wanted it as much as Harry. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured as he began kissing his way down Harry's body. He traced Harry's treasure trail with his tongue, then slowly circled the dark patch of curly black hair that encircled the now rigid Pride, which was sticking straight out from Harry's body, the head turned a deep purple. Todd's mouth worshiped the Pride, then the Escorts.

Harry drew his legs back, giving his lover free access to his rosebud, growling low as Todd's warm tongue laved and probed gently. With each crossing of Todd's tongue Harry raised his hips higher, his body shuddering as wave after powerful wave of pleasure rolled through him.

Todd continued to make worshiping motions with his lips and tongue until Harry's rosebud, which had darkened with blood and desire, opened slightly. Todd withdrew and quickly found the Vaseline, greased his rock-hard, swollen organ, and with his finger rubbed around and in Harry's hole.

"Now, Todd, now . . ." Harry growled. He saw Todd's warm, blue eyes looking at him and smiled warmly. "I want you, Todd."

Nodding, Todd moved closer and pressed the classically curving, blood darkened head of his penis against Harry's rosebud. With exquisite slowness he began to enter Harry.

Harry growled and reached out, his strong hands around Todd's waist. He pulled Todd closer. "I want you in me, deep, deep, in me!"

Todd continued to push and then he was in, his pubic bush brushing against Harry's balls. He began a long, slow, deep thrusting movement, breathing heavily as his hips began a rhythmic pattern of delight. With each deep thrust the silky, smooth head of his penis brushed against Harry's prostate, causing him to growl loudly and moan. Todd lowered his body and pushed his hands under Harry, gasping his shoulders. He buried his face in Harry's neck, his hips never losing the rhythm, not even when Harry's arms encircled his back and held him tightly.

"Dear, sweet, Jesus . . . Sweet JeeeSUS." Todd could feel the pressure building in his balls, could feel his erection thickening, could feel his balls retracting, could feel . . . He quickened his thrusting, moaning as his orgasm exploded, his dick spasming, sending a molten river of his cum deep into Harry's body.

Harry could feel Todd's penis thicken and lengthen, could feel Todd's pumping organ as it jerked and spilled thick stream after thick stream into him. He began to yelp as the Pride, stimulated by Todd's warm, thrusting body, began firing a massive broadside. He dug his nails into Todd's back, his lips sucking the heated flesh of Todd's shoulder as the Escorts sent reload after reload into the breech block and the Pride shuddered and bucked, the gaping muzzle twitching as yet another load of high explosive hurtled between their heated bodies.

As their orgasms peaked Todd's feverish lips found Harry's and they ground their tongues together, their bodies melded into one. "Oh, my Jesus God!" Todd moaned as his lips left Harry's and he collapsed onto him. "Oh, my dear sweet, GOD!"

" . . . Oh, my dear, sweet, GOD!" Nicholas's body stiffened. His head flew back and his eyes rolled back as his penis bucked and spasmed, held in check only by the tightened muscles of Andre's love channel. Beneath Nicholas, Andre's penis, the foreskin pulled back, jerked and pumped evidence of the most overwhelming orgasm he had ever experienced onto his thin, hairless chest.

Each boy continued to convulse until their bodies had no more to give. Nicholas, his eyes returning to focus on the smiling boy beneath him, his mind slowly beginning to function again, slowly lowered his body onto Andre's. They held each other closely. Nicholas, overcome with their love making, could only gaze into Andre's deep, black eyes.

Andre could feel Nicholas's softening organ beginning to withdraw from his body. He tightened his ass muscles, holding the near-flaccid organ within him. He gazed into Nicholas's soft, brown eyes and then pulled his head close. "Vous sont mon amour et ma vie," he whispered with firmness and conviction. "Vous sont mon coeur et mon ame."

Nicholas nodded slowly, kissed Andre tenderly, and whispered, "Je vous suis, et vous m'etes. Vous etes le mien, et je suis le votre. Je serai le votre, a jamais, et je vous aimerai, mon petit celui, jusqu'a ce que le monde est non plus." Again he kissed his young lover tenderly. "We have made our vows, Andre. I will love you, my little one, until the world is no more."

Andre nodded. "We have made our vows, Nicholas. You are my heart and my soul. We will be together until the world is no more."