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

Because of the length of this chapter I have broken it down into two parts. Part II will follow immediately.

The Boys of Aurora - Chapter 22 - Part I

After Sean left, Cory hung around the Gunroom watching the interplay between the other cadets. The Gunner and The Phantom came in, had a drink, and left. Andy and Kyle also joined the party. They did not stop long. They had a drink, and left, but not before Andy had given the key to Cabin 5 to Mark, suggesting that he and the other two American cadets might find it more comfortable sleeping in beds in the Wardroom than sleeping on the deck of the Chiefs Mess.

Mark accepted the key with alacrity. He and Tony had decided, after the meeting this morning, that they would drag Nathan, kicking and screaming if necessary, into one of the barracks, wherever there were three empty bunks. Tyler and Val needed some space, some privacy and, if the looks that the two Chiefs had been exchanging were any indication, tonight was the night that they would decide their true feelings for each other.

Cory, who had overheard the exchange between Mark and Andy, decided to make himself scarce as well. Sleep, on the other side of the bulkhead from the Chiefs Mess, would be long in coming if Tyler and Val did more than just talk, which Cory hoped they would do. They were made for each other, and any fool could see it! He decided that visiting Sean down in the Dockyard would be much better than lying in his bunk listening, no matter how unwillingly, to the two Chiefs making out! Besides, what else did he have to do? He had seen Harry and Todd slip away, followed shortly thereafter by Chris and Jon. Nathan, who was sitting at the far end of the Mess table with Sandro, was chatting quietly with the young Russian. As Cory watched, Nathan raised his hand and gently ran his fingers down Sandro's blushing face. Sandro stiffened slightly, and then relaxed. A slow smile crossed his face and he nodded slightly.

Turning away, Cory busied himself in his locker, digging out some fresh shorts and a clean gunshirt. He supposed that he should be jealous, but really felt nothing. Cory knew that Nathan would never be monogamous and had rejected the American boy for that reason. Nathan was a bed-hopper and whatever happened between him and Sandro would be for tonight only. Tomorrow night Nathan would move on to someone else, Caspar Collins, perhaps, or Jimmy Collyer, or any one of the 300-odd boys inhabiting the Spit and the YAGs. So far as Nathan was concerned, there was always another bed and there was always another boy in it.

Shrugging his indifference, Cory went into the heads where he stripped off his uniform and boxer underwear. He examined the tailored white duck for stains and dirt, found none, and hung his uniform on the hanger that he had brought with him. The uniform, once it had been given an application of spray starch and ironed, would look fine for the parade in the morning.

As he often did, Cory left off his underwear, pulled on his dark blue shorts, then slipped the gunshirt over his head. He glanced in the mirror over the sink and noted that the gunshirt could have used a good ironing, but it was too late to worry about that now. Besides, he was only going down to the Dockyard for a drink with Sean, hardly a formal occasion.

Dressed, Cory returned to the Gunroom. He saw that all the guests had left, and only one bunk was occupied. Thumper was an untidy lump under his covers, and Two Strokes and Fred were undressing, preparing for bed. Two Strokes saw Cory and smiled. "You off cattin'?" the Vulcan-eyed Crusher asked with a rude grin.

"Not hardly," replied Cory, not taking offence. "I'm going down to the Dockyard for a while. Anders asked me to come around for a wet."

Two Strokes stepped out of his white trousers and snickered. "Then there is no way you're catting. Anders is so straight that he makes me look swishy!"

Cory laughed and shook his head. He looked pointedly around the Mess, and then winked at Fred. "It looks like you two will be alone for a while. Be good, now!" Fred, who was wearing nothing but a pair of sagging boxers, grimaced and jumped into his bed. He glared first at Cory, and then at Two Strokes. "Not if him and me were the last two humans alive!"

Two Strokes did not take umbrage. "Just don't you go sleepwalking, Freddy!" He pulled back his tighty-whiteys. "You don't see no lump in my drawers!"

Fred, who hated to be called Freddy, snorted derisively. "I've seen your little lump. Small potatoes and few in the hill!" He pulled the covers over his head and rolled onto his side.

Two Strokes gave Fred the finger and then grinned at Cory. "Freddy, I might be small but I am mmmm goood! And as for my potatoes, they're round, they're firm, they're fully packed!"

"Are you referring to your balls or your head?" inquired Fred coldly. "And if you wait for me to go sleepwalking anywhere near you or your lump, you'll be dead a long time!" He burrowed deep into his bunk.

There was a grumbling and rustling of bedclothes and Thumper's head popped out from under his covers. He gave Two Strokes, then Fred, an evil look. "Can't you two dipsticks pipe down? I am trying to sleep!"

Both Fred and Two Strokes chuckled salaciously. "Balls," snarled Fred. "You're just waiting for the lights to go out and then . . ."

"He's off like a foreskin, as fast as his little hoofies can carry him, into the heads so he can thump his pump!" finished Two Strokes.

"Up your ass!" returned Thumper, who did not care to be reminded of his nocturnal habits. He began to burrow under his blankets again.

"Only in one of your wet dreams, Thumper me old china." Two Strokes crawled into his bunk. "My ass is forbidden territory, a place where no man has gone before . . . or ever will!" He grinned again at Cory, who grinned back.

Thumper's head reappeared. "That's disgusting!" he snapped.

"No more than you thumping away half the night!" retorted Two Strokes, who was enjoying himself. He had not been in a slanging match for at least a week and was afraid that he was losing his touch.

Thumper raised himself on one elbow. He gave Two Strokes an evil look. "Oh, is that right?" he squeaked in righteous indignation. "I ain't the one lying in bed huffing and puffing like the little engine that could!"

Fred could not resist putting in his oar. "You got that right, Thump," he said with a lewd guffaw. "I half expect him to start growling, 'I think I can, I think I can,' just before he blows his load!"

"Is that right, Needle Dick?" returned Two Strokes, pretending to be angry.

"Needle Dick? Who are you calling Needle Dick?" howled Fred. He reached down and pulled his soft penis from his boxers and waved it at Two Strokes. "At least I've got a dick, which is more than can be said for you and that little knob you have peeking out from what has got to be the thinnest, most scraggly patch of pubic hair this side of . . ."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Cory left the three boys happily slinging mud at one another and left the Gunroom. As he walked down the gravel path Cory looked around. The night was very beautiful, the sky a carpet of stars. It was very quiet, with only some crickets signalling their displeasure as Cory passed. He looked across the parade square, toward the Chippy Chaps and Stokers Barracks, and the School of Wind, all of which were hidden in the gloom. He did not doubt that Harry and Todd were in the School. Cory smiled at the thought of Harry and Todd together and strolled on. As he passed the Canteen and Laundry he could see that all the lights in the Laundry were on. He saw Nicholas and Andre sitting close together, holding hands and talking quietly. He smiled warmly at the sight of the two boys and continued on. As he passed the Headquarters Building a light went out. Cory knew that the now darkened room was the Ship's Office. Greg, it appeared, was getting lucky tonight.

Actually, at the moment, it was Jimmy Collyer who was getting lucky. He was sitting in Greg's office chair, with his briefs and his white bell-bottoms gathered around his ankles. Greg was kneeling between Jimmy's outspread legs, his head bobbing and corkscrewing on Jimmy's slim boner. As Greg's mouth spiralled slowly downward on his spasming cock Jimmy thrust his hips upward, each thrust burying Greg's nose in Jimmy's thick patch of black pubic hair.

Greg had wasted no time in getting Jimmy's dick in his mouth. They had barely stepped into the Ship's Office when Greg had the zipper of Jimmy's trousers down and his hand thrust into the confining bell-bottoms. Jimmy, who was just as eager to get off, allowed Greg to fondle him and reciprocated avidly, thrusting his hand down the front of Greg's bells and underwear, fondling his velvet soft scrotum and rolling his testicles gently. Jimmy would not allow kissing so Greg had had to content himself with muzzling the slim boy's shoulder and neck.

After several minutes of what could only be described as hot foreplay, Greg's left hand, which had been massaging Jimmy's firm, melon-like ass, found the brass buckle of Jimmy's belt. Greg fumbled the brass buckle open and pushed Jimmy's bell-bottoms and briefs down around his knees. Sinking to his knees, Greg stared lovingly at Jimmy's smooth, slim, neat and trim, six-inch hardon. Greg's head lowered and his mouth engulfed Jimmy's boner.

Closing his eyes, Greg imagined that he was sucking on the Pride, which Jimmy's dick resembled, at least superficially. Where the Pride was straight and proud, Jimmy's erect penis curved in a gentle arc and ended in a deep pink helmet, which was slightly smaller than his shaft. Jimmy's circumcision ring was almost halfway down his shaft, where the Pride's was only a third of the way down, and barely perceptible, as opposed to Jimmy's, which was a deep tan colour. The most obvious differences, of course, were the sizes. Jimmy's dick was slim and trim, and his penis matched the rest of his body to perfection, just as the Pride suited Harry's magnificent, muscled body. However, two of Jimmy's dick would match the Pride in girth, and the Pride outdistanced Jimmy in length by at least two inches.

Still, Greg was satisfied with the vision before him. He wanted Jimmy and he pushed the boy into a chair, spread his legs, and dove on his erection, sucking madly, knowing just how to bring Jimmy off quickly.

Jimmy, a little surprised at Greg's enthusiastic cock sucking, enjoyed the moment. He could feel his balls drawing up into his pubic cavity and his dick began to lengthen and thicken. He began making high-pitched moans of pleasure as he felt the pressure building. "It's gonna happen . . . I'm gonna cum . . ." he squealed loudly as he felt the head of his dick swell. His approaching orgasm took over Jimmy's cognitive functions. He was going to nut, and if Greg wanted his load, he was going to get it because . . .

Greg sucked like a man possessed, intoxicated by Jimmy's scent of musk and boy mingled with the smell of clean cotton and Ivory Soap. Greg did not need Jimmy's high-pitched wails to tell him that the boy was near to filling his mouth. He could feel Jimmy's dick, silky smooth and as hard as tempered steel, as it began to jerk and swell. Greg wanted Jimmy's load and . . . Jimmy let out a keening roar and thrust his hips upward, burying his dick as far down Greg's throat as he could. His dick pulsed and a massive stream of his sperm shot out of his distended pee slit.

Not wanting to waste a single drop of the wonderful ambrosia that filled his throat, Greg pulled his head back and sucked hungrily on the upper half of Jimmy's dick while at the same time fisting the lower part of it, milking the throbbing organ for every drop of Jimmy's thick, delicious seed.

Jimmy continued to buck and growl until his balls were empty. He could feel Greg's moist tongue as it continued to twirl across and around the head of his dick and he almost fainted from the pleasure of it. He yelped and pulled away, breathing heavily and collapsing in the chair. "Sor . . . sorry . . ." he managed to gasp. "It's just that my knob gets so sensitive when I cum that I can't stand it."

Greg nodded his understanding. He had the same problem, which he wanted to experience soon. He hadn't gotten his rocks off and his dick was throbbing. He stood up, unbuttoned his tunic and pulled it open, revealing the white T-shirt he wore under his jacket. He unbuckled the belt holding up his trousers, unzipped and pushed his Stanfields and trousers down. With one hand he reached down to cup his balls while with the other he pushed his erection down, offering it to Jimmy, who examined the curving rod of tan and pink flesh closely, then reached out and fisted Greg's dick. "Not a bad piece of mean, Greggie," Jimmy said with a quiet chuckle. He leaned forward and licked the head of Greg's dick, running his tongue slowly around the warm glans. He drew back and looked up at Greg. "You feel like getting laid?" he asked with a leer.

"Wha . . . "WHAT?" Greg managed to mumble, stunned at what Jimmy had just asked him. "You mean . . . you want to . . . fuck?"

Jimmy smiled lasciviously. "Sure. I'll let you fuck me if I can fuck you," he said as he ran his finger down the curving length of Greg's hardon.

Greg began gulping and sputtering and Jimmy gave him a quizzical look. Then Jimmy realised that Greg, for all his smooth talking and boasting, was a virgin! He left off feeling Greg up and sat back in the chair, chuckling and staring at the young Writer, who was blushing furiously. He was also losing his erection. Jimmy reached out and began to slowly stroke Greg's cock. "You've never been fucked before, have you?" he asked. He leaned forward and kissed the head of Greg's dick, and then looked up into Greg's wide eyes. "You're cherry!" he said with an evil, satisfied grin. "I'm holding a cherry dick!"

"I . . . uh . . . I . . ." Greg was finding it very hard to speak. "I'm a virgin, okay?" he managed to growl defensively.

Jimmy drew back and held up his hands. "Hey, man, that's okay. I was cherry once myself."

Greg's jaw dropped. "You . . . you've fucked a guy before?"

Jimmy nodded with practised ease. "Sure. I've fucked a guy; I've fucked a girl. I like 'em both." He nodded a moment. "Been fucked as well. I really like that better," He spread his hands and cocked his head. "So, do you want to get laid?"

Greg nodded dumbly. "What . . . what do you want me to do?" he asked, as he began to tremble with anticipation and not a little fear.

Cory snickered at the thought of Greg and Jimmy together and moved on down the row of barracks, walking toward the Mess Hall. As he approached the huge building he saw that the galley lights were still on. As he neared the steps leading to the dining hall the lights began to go out. Cory passed by without a backward glance. As he approached the end of the building he heard a door slam and a car start up. Chef was going home to his suite of rooms at CFB Comox.

Stopping a moment, Cory watched as the headlights of Chef's car broke the night's blackness. He followed the lights as the car travelled up the Spit, across the causeway and made the turn onto Comox Road. As the taillights of Chef's car disappeared into the darkness Cory continued on. As he passed the Ropewalk and approached the Dockyard, Cory wondered why Chef bothered to drive home. There was plenty of room in the Wardroom.

What Cory did not know was that Chef just might, on a good day and with a healthy packet on, acknowledge that officers were people too. Chef would no more sleep in the same berthing space with officers than jump off of the Lion's Gate Bridge. Chef also knew that Ray and Kevin wanted to spend some time together so he had made a point of telling the boys that he was going ashore and spending the night in his own bed. Chef's car had barely cleared the main gate when Ray and Kevin pulled open the sofa bed and crawled in. They were both so tired that after a little cuddling they went to sleep, cradling each other.

What neither Chef nor Cory knew was that the galley lounge had been pre-empted by Sandro and Nathan. Both boys were seated close together on one of the sofas and were oblivious to the crunching gravel under Cory's feet as he passed by. Sandro, for all his intended interest in Nathan as a potential lapsed Jew, was slowly being drawn into the American boy's web, or so Nathan thought.

They had talked in the Gunroom and Sandro had very quickly realised that Nathan was not now, had never been, and did not intend to be, Jewish. Nathan had admitted that yes, somewhere way back when, at least six or seven generations ago, the Bermans had been German Jews. All that had changed, however, when the first Berman to immigrate to America realised and recognised the endemic anti-Semitism that existed in the United States. He had quickly professed Protestantism and the Bermans had been staunch Lutherans ever since.

Sandro was mildly amused, and more than a little flattered at Nathan's attentions. Nathan might think that he was in the process of seducing a virginal Russian boy, naïve and so innocent. Sandro had news for Nathan.

That Nathan was a Golden Boy, as homosexuals were called in Russia, was hardly in doubt. Half the Ship's Company had been witness to, or heard of, Nathan's courting of Cory. Sandro remembered vividly the sight of Nathan sitting in the rain in the Staff Barracks yard, dressed in a ratty old bathrobe and pouring ashes that he had purloined from the Wardroom fireplace over his head. Sandro also had pleasant memories of Nathan standing naked in the middle of the parade square. A less than pleasant memory was the vision of Cory standing in the downpour, watching the American cutter as it made its careful way down the harbour as it put out to sea.

What flattered Sandro was that Nathan, who had obviously broken up with Cory, if there had ever been any relationship to break up, had chosen him, Sandro, to seduce! Not that Sandro minded be seduced. Nathan was a very handsome young man, with a long, oval face, a firm jaw and intriguing, flashing, bright sapphire eyes. Sandro could understand why Cory would have found Nathan desirable. Why the two boys were not together was something Sandro doubted he would ever know. He was not close with the Twins, and hardly privy to their secrets and love affairs. Sandro suspected that Nathan was a born cock hound, never content with just one boy, and was always on the lookout for another bed to crawl into. Sandro shrugged mentally. He was enjoying being seduced and would just lie back and enjoy whatever came next.

Nathan considered himself to be an expert in the art of seduction. He had begun his campaign within minutes of Sandro entering the Gunroom. Nathan had been smooth, and very subtle, keeping his voice low and sensual, emphasising a point with a deft, gentle touch on Sandro's knee or shoulder, never anywhere near the young Russian's privates. His gloriously blue, sapphire eyes were warm and glowing and Nathan took great pains to never show by word or deed what he was really after, and never realised that Sandro was after the same thing.

Since he was enjoying Nathan's little game, Sandro let it play out. What Nathan was doing was certainly a welcome change from what he had been used to from just before his twelfth birthday, when his father's younger brother, Alexei, had returned from his conscript service with the Red Army.

As Russian Jews the Signaransky family was accorded minimal housing in a crumbling block of flats in the worst part of Minsk. They lived in a four-room apartment, Sandro, his parents, his grandmother, an aged aunt and his uncle, Alexei. Life was hard, but then life was hard for everybody. There were shortages of every description, and Jews suffered no less than the Christians did. Sandro's family was, by Russian standards, well off. His mother was a pharmacist who worked in the State Hospital. His father was a lawyer who made an adequate living defending dissidents and deviants. As a Jew these were the only clients he could hope to have. Sandro's grandmother, and his great-aunt, were both veterans of the Great Patriotic War, and received decent pensions. With their pooled resources there was always food on the table, and they managed to dress decently. They even had a small Czech-made television set in the combination living room, kitchen, and dining room. Sandro, as an only child, had a small cubby-hole for his bedroom. His parents had their own room, while his grandmother and aunt shared the second bedroom.

Growing up, Sandro did not know that he was a despised Jew. His family did not practice their faith and, until his thirteenth birthday, Sandro had not been required to report on a regular basis to the local KGB office to prove that his foreskin was still intact. His religion aside, Sandro had a happy childhood and he grew into a fine, intelligent, handsome boy. He performed well in school, and while he had only a few friends, he was not despised or shunned. Like the Signaranskys, the neighbours were all too busy scratching for a living to worry about who was a Jew, or who was not.

One delight of Sandro's young life had been his uncle, Alexei, who was not all that much older than Sandro was. Uncle Alexei had been a handsome, laughing, always smiling, and dashing hero to his young nephew, and they shared the lumpy old bed shoved into the cubby-hole off the main room of their apartment. Alexei had doted on his nephew, and spoiled him outrageously. Sandro had wept bitter tears when Alexei had gone off to serve his three years in the Red Army as a most unwilling conscript soldier.

The Alexei who returned from the army was not the Alexei who had gone away. The new Alexei was distant, grim, and taciturn. He refused to describe the horrors he had endured as a Jew Conscript in the Red Army, and chose to drown himself in litre bottles of vodka. Sandro had, at first, tried to understand and comfort his uncle. He had been brusquely pushed aside and, while they still shared the same bed, the old intimacy was gone.

And then it happened.

In the grim winter of 1971 the local collective failed to deliver the building's quota of heating oil. There was a shortage, as usual unexplained. The people would have to keep warm as best they could and a functionary from the always-benevolent Party distributed blankets and Leninist platitudes. Sandro had gone to bed at his usual time. Alexei, as he often was of late, was out somewhere when Sandro crawled under the three blankets and a down filled comforter that covered his bed. He was dressed in warm, flannel pyjamas, a gift from one of his father's clients who had connections with the West. Sandro found that if he kept the blankets over his head he was not all that uncomfortable.

Sometime during the night Uncle Alexei had returned and gone to bed. Sometime during the February night the temperature plummeted and Sandro, half asleep, and freezing, sought the only source of warmth available - his Uncle Alexei. Sandro snuggled close to his uncle's warm body, and then spooned against him. Much to Sandro's surprise the warmth of his uncle, and the feel of his naked skin and taut muscles (Alexei wore only his underpants to bed), had had an unusual effect on Sandro. His not quite 12-year-old club began to tingle and harden, and the closer he lay to his uncle the more his club tingled. The feelings were intensified when his club poked out of the fly of his pyjamas and he rubbed it - just as little - against his uncle's well-formed bottom.

Until that moment Sandro's sexual experiences had been limited to playing with his own club and, occasionally, with the stubby, hooded protuberance presented by his sometime best friend, Dimitri, who was the son of the block concierge. Dimitri had the run of the cellars of the building and knew the best places to hide, a sensible precaution, where they giggled and examined and played with each other's immature erections, and it was in the dank cellars that Sandro discovered that if he pulled down the thick skin covering the head of his club and rubbed the deep purple acorn, and he, or Dimitri, rubbed it long enough, a most glorious feeling resulted.

Both boys were very careful when they went down into the cellars, making sure that there were no nosy babushkas loitering about, spying on little boys. Sandro, as well as Dimitri, knew all too well what would happen to them if they were caught playing with each other's little clubs. Golden Boys, as homosexuals were called, were almost as despised as the Jews.

While despised, and denied basic human rights, Jews were allowed to exist in relative safety and, unless a Jew was foolish enough to indulge in dissident activities, he had little fear of the gulags. Not so a Golden Boy who, if discovered, was automatically guilty of deviant and anti-Soviet behaviour. Few survived seven years, the standard sentence for the "crime", in the harsh, isolated Siberian camps.

Sandro, being only nearly 12, had not felt too guilty about playing with Dimitri's club. It was fun, and both he and Dimitri felt very good while they were doing it. Besides, they were only doing what many of their friends were doing. Sandro did not consider himself a Golden Boy at all. He had no desire to play with anyone other than Dimitri, who was not a Golden Boy, either. As for his Uncle Alexei, well, while he might be well on the road to becoming a world-class drunkard, he was certainly not a Golden Boy. Uncle Alexei had his share of girlfriends, or so it seemed to Sandro, despite being an obnoxious, loud, profane drunk, and had never expressed an interest in other men, or boys. Had Uncle Alexei been at all interested Sandro thought that he would have known. They slept together in the same bed, after all. Uncle Alexei had never, even before his time in the Army, done anything more than give his nephew a hug and a kiss goodnight. It therefore came as a great shock to Sandro when his uncle suddenly grunted, snuffled, groaned and then turned over to face him.

Sandro, wide-eyed with fear at being discovered rubbing his little club against his uncle's warm bottom, waited for the blow that never came. Much to Sandro's surprise Uncle Alexei burrowed under the covers, lowered his head, and lunged. Alexei's warm, slim lips pushed down Sandro's foreskin and his tongue twirled and swirled around the boy's little acorn. Sandro, overcome with delight and glory, was too stunned to protest, and such were the feelings that raged through him as his uncle sucked greedily that he was soon lost in a world of indescribable pleasure, whimpering and thrusting his thin, childish hips as he tried to force his boner deeper into his uncle's mouth. All too soon Sandro experience a massive, mind altering, dry orgasm.

When Sandro managed to wriggle his penis free from his uncle's powerful, suctioning mouth, Alexei had whispered that this was their secret, and then gave Sandro a cuff on the ear and told him to take more care in cleaning himself. Alexei then rolled onto his side and was soon snoring loudly. Sandro spent the rest of the night wide awake, a frightened and bewildered little boy.

The next day Uncle Alexei had taken Sandro ice-skating. They skated for hours and Uncle Alexei made no mention of what had happened. Sandro, initially too frightened to open his mouth, had allowed himself to be coddled and spoiled with sweets, pastries, and roasted chestnuts. As the day progressed Sandro realized that his uncle was buying his silence. The more he thought of the incident, the more Sandro decided to remain silent. He was very happy that his old Uncle Alexei, the uncle he had known before his army service, had returned. Several times Sandro had started to tell his uncle that he would say nothing. He loved Alexei, and was not about to tattle and condemn the man to seven years in Siberia. Alexei pretended not to understand as he reached for his wallet and another bundle of roubles bought Sandro a new soccer ball.

As they walked home, Alexei haltingly apologized for what had happened. Sandro replied honestly that what Alexei had done to him was of no consequence. He admitted shyly that it had felt good. He did not tell his uncle that having his little club sucked on felt so good that he was going to asked Dimitri if he would like to try it (the answer would be a loud, disgusted, NYET!).

Alexei, however, was determined to make his nephew understand that what they, no, what he had done, was wrong! He had been drunk! If he had not been drunk it would never have happened! Alexei swore that he would drink no more and that Sandro could sleep safe in his bed. He, Alexei Effimovitch Signaransky, was no boy lover!

Sandro, who had been looking forward to going to bed, and secretly hoping that Uncle Alexei was a boy lover, reluctantly, and with disappointment, accepted Alexei at his word, so much so that when he prepared for bed he put on his pyjamas over his underpants, although he did take care to pull back his foreskin and carefully clean the head of his little club when he had his evening bath. What Sandro did not know was that Uncle Alexei, who was drinking heavily, planned on going to bed without his underpants for he had, while stationed in some god-forsaken village in the middle of nowhere, acquired a taste for young boys.

Alexei's unit had been quartered in a barracks that abutted an orphanage overflowing with young boys, all of whom were half-starved because there was no money to feed them properly, and dressed in little better than rags, because there was little money left from feeding them to clothe them properly. The orphan boys had very early on learned that the soldiers would feed them, give them cigarettes, sometimes sweets, and cast offs to wear. That there was a price to be paid the orphans ignored. A full belly cured a multitude of sins and the wall separating the barracks from the orphanage saw heavy traffic once the sun went down. After the first few months Alexei made certain that he always had a supply of food, sweets and cigarettes on hand, and he never spent an entire night alone for the balance of his tour of duty.

That night, with the heat still off, Sandro, half asleep, had snuggled close to his uncle. He was very surprised when he slipped his arm around his uncle's body, to discover that the man was not only naked, but his club was stiff from excitement, so stiff and excited that his foreskin was all the way back, and the head was covered in a sticky substance.

Alexei was not as drunk as he pretended to be and for a while allowed his nephew's hand to feel his erection and fondle his testicles. He could hear Sandro's heavy breathing, and feel the boy's stiff little club rubbing frantically against his bare behind. Grinning, he rolled over and pulled down Sandro's pyjama bottoms and underpants. Licking his lips in anticipation. Alexei reached over and slowly pulled down the skin covering the head of Sandro's club. He looked into his nephew's expectant eyes and lowered his head.

Three times that night - Sandro had not yet reach puberty and could dry orgasm almost at will - Uncle Alexei lowered his head and a pattern was established.

Each night Alexei would suck on Sandro's club, most nights never taking his mouth off of the skin-covered bit of flesh that stood straight out from Sandro's crotch. In the morning he would act as nothing had happened and, as the schools were closed due to lack of heating oil, would casually suggest an outing, to the zoo, to the fairgrounds, perhaps ice-skating. It mattered little where they went. Alexei needed to expiate his guilt and, or so he thought, ensure his nephew's silence. He showered Sandro with small gifts, which seemed to increase in value once Sandro had started "squirting", as Alexei put it.

Invariably, as they walked home through the cold, Russian dusk, Uncle Alexei would apologise profusely for what he had done. Just as invariably, Uncle Alexei would pull down Sandro's pyjama bottoms as soon as he climbed into their shared bed.

Sandro, a born pragmatist, accepted the apologies, and the gifts, secure in the knowledge that Uncle Alexei would revert to form at some point during the frigid night. Sandro also stopped wearing underpants to bed, kept his dick clean, and his pyjamas loose.

There was one thing, however, that would always puzzle Sandro: his uncle never asked him to respond in kind, in any way, for that matter. Every night Alexei would suck Sandro into nirvana, snuffling away with his mouth on Sandro's club and his nose buried in Sandro's crotch. Most nights, after Sandro had been pleasured to exhaustion, Alexei would remain between Sandro's legs, his mouth firmly on the boys soft club, and rapidly pump and rub his own club against the sheet that covered the bed. As he approached orgasm Alexei would tongue and suck Sandro's testicles into his warm mouth and give a loud grunt, which told Sandro that there would be another questioning look when Babuska stripped the bed to wash the sheets. Sometimes Alexei would roll away and onto his back, rapidly pump his club, grunt loudly as the head of it squirted three or four squirts of thick semen onto his chest and stomach, and then roll onto his side. Within minutes Alexei would be snoring away.

In the event, Sandro never questioned his uncle. After all, only a fool kicked a sleeping wolf. He could not understand, but he was not about to give up his nightly pleasuring, so he kept silent and enjoyed the situation, which continued for a little over a year.

Sharing a bed with Uncle Alexei ended in the fall of Sandro's 13th year, when the Russian government announced that Jews would be allowed to emigrate to Israel. Sandro's father stood on line for three days and paid handsome "fees" to obtain the necessary visas for the entire family. Alexei, anxious to leave Russia, went on ahead, charged with preparing the way for the family.

Israel had proven hot and inhospitable. Sandro's father was very much a Jew in name only, and balked at the rabbinical restrictions imposed on most of the Israeli population, thinking that everything was weighted in favour of the Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox Jews who, while in the minority, screamed long and loud when the Law, or their imagined rights, were abrogated or restricted. He was ably supported by Alexei, who was even less of a Jew than his older brother, and chafed under the dietary and Talmudic restrictions (the Rabbis actually expected him to be circumcised!).

Papa Signaransky quickly looked around for another country and decided that Canada would be the family's future home. Once again Alexei was sent ahead to make the necessary arrangements and the family packed their belongings, leaving another land of their forefathers for the New World.

In Israel, and later in Canada, Sandro and Alexei did not share a bed, or even a room. Alexei, very much his former self, was uninterested in servicing his nephew once he discovered the freedom and disinterest of the New World. He had found a new circle of friends both in Israel, and later in Canada, and while Sandro suspected that these friends were more than just drinking buddies, he said nothing. His affair with his uncle was over.

The Signaransky family settled in Saanich, British Columbia, one of the more upscale suburbs of Victoria, the provincial capital, and while Sandro's Babuska, and Great Aunt Olga, pined for the Old Country, Sandro was happy. The house was large, with room enough for everyone, the sun always shone and the Canadian people were friendly.

When he first arrived in Canada, Sandro did not know what to expect. He was a stranger in an alien land, had little knowledge of the people, their culture, or their language. He was, at first, wide-eyed with the wonder of Canada, where the people lived a free and easy lifestyle, without fear of spying neighbours and the secret police. Their freedom was to do basically what they pleased, when they pleased and it came as a sudden culture shock to Sandro, a boy who had been accustomed to privation, shortages, and the monthly inspection of his penis by a bored Party functionary. Nobody in Canada asked to see his penis, or any other part of his body, for that matter. In point of fact, people were more apt to show their bits and pieces to anyone who happened to be looking, and for a time Sandro thought that skimpy Speedo bathing suits, or shorts, usually worn without a shirt, were required dress for anyone who lived on Vancouver Island, at least those who actually wore clothing. At times it seemed to Sandro that the whole island was clothing optional!

In later years, Sandro often wondered why he had thought that Canada would be free of prejudice. As his English comprehension increased, and he interacted more and more with Canadians, he was sadly disillusioned. He should have expected some form of prejudice and discrimination. He had lived in Russia, where everybody hated each other with blithe abandon, the ethnic Russians despising anyone who wasn't ethnic Russian, and Orthodox Christian. In Israel the various sects of Judaism were always at each other's throats, and bitching about each other's interpretation of the Law. In the end Sandro realised that Canadians were no different from Russians, Israelis and, he suspected, all the rest of the human race.

In Canada, while there was a barely perceptible undercurrent of anti-Semitism, neither Sandro nor his family were bothered about it, perhaps because their neighbours were much too busy casting aspersions on others, notably native Canadians, who were despised and dismissed as drunken Indians, licentious, welfare sucking, good-for-nothings who, when referred to at all, were sneeringly dismissed as "Neeches."

Indians from India, particularly the Sikhs, who seemed to infest the province, were similarly held in contempt. Slightly higher on the prejudice hit parade were the Chinese, who while they had had a valuable presence in the province for at least a hundred years, were still, more often than not, thought of as "Chinks" and really not worthy of anyone's notice. Blacks, of whom there were very few, were universally referred to as "niggers", and not considered a part of society at all.

Sandro, who was an intelligent boy, and whose command of the English language improved daily, very quickly learned that while each different peoples had different prejudices, they were all united when it came to homosexuals, who were beyond the pale. In Russia, homosexuals, if discovered, faced the Gulags. In Israel just the merest hint of the word homosexual was enough to set the Rabbis to raising their eyes and arms in horror and decamping to the nearest synagogue to beg Yahweh's forgiveness for allowing their sense of hearing to be polluted by the horrible abomination of such hearing such a despicable word.

In Canada, while there was no KGB, no camps, or rabbis praying publicly for the removal of such creatures, homosexuals were just as reviled and degraded as anywhere else. In school, even though his command of the English language was limited, Sandro heard the contempt and disgust in the voices of the other boys whenever "fags" or "queers" were discussed. At least once a month the newspapers and the television news reported another beating of this or that man, who was known to frequent areas "known to police as meeting places for sexual deviants". Sandro, although he missed Uncle Alexei's nightly ministrations, listened, and learned. He resolved never to put himself in a position where he would become the object of the other boys' revulsion.

In time, Sandro joined the Sea Cadets where he kept his own counsel and, while he made friends, notably Ray, the Twins, and Harry, he avoided doing or saying anything that would call attention to him or remotely suggest that he was interested in the other boys in a sexual way.

Sandro's work schedule helped and he was always up long before any of the other cadets, and was always in bed before the bugle sounded First Post. He was also away every weekend, staying at the Commanding Officer's house.

Sex for Sandro was solitary masturbation, which he did when and where he could, and only when he was certain that no one else was around to hear, or see him. He never masturbated on the weekends. The Commanding Officer and his lady had shown him great kindness and he felt that beating off in their guest bedroom strained the bounds of hospitality.

Except for the one time that Ray had caught him stroking himself in the showers, when they had kissed and their penises had touched briefly, Sandro had not been with another boy since leaving Russia. He was aware that some of the other cadets had formed relationships. Sandro knew that Ray and Kevin were very serious lovers, and that Randy and Joey were fucking like Kulaks. He suspected that Nicholas and Andre were lovers, for he had seen the subtle differences in their behaviour whenever they were together. Sandro also knew that Phantom was more than just a close friend to The Gunner, just as he also knew that Brian and Dylan had spent time together, although for some reason their relationship seemed to have ended.

Very often, as he lay in his bunk waiting for sleep, Sandro wondered what he would do if one of the other cadets suggested a long, warm shower during the Middle Watch, or a late night walk along the beach. He had never had the opportunity to find out because no one had ever asked him. Until, that is, tonight, until Nathan.

Sandro lay back against the back of the sofa and watched through hooded eyes, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips, as Nathan continued to work what he thought was his magic. Sandro could feel Nathan's magnificent sapphire eyes boring into him, and he could feel Nathan's fingers as they traced a slow, lazy pattern of circles around and around the top of his leg.

It was all very exciting, and intoxicatingly sexy, to be the object of Nathan's smooth seduction. Sandro opened his eyes a little wider, and saw Nathan staring at him. When Nathan's hand moved closer to his now swollen club, Sandro made no move away from the probing hand, and made no comment. What intrigued Sandro was that Nathan made him feel as if he was the only boy in Nathan's exclusive little corner of the world, a corner that few were ever invited to enter.

Emboldened, Nathan ran his fingers along the smooth bulge that strained the fabric of Sandro's white cook's trousers. "You seem to have a little problem," he murmured huskily.

Sandro moaned and shivered delightfully. "Is not a little problem," he returned with a straight face. "It is big hardon!"

Nathan began to giggle uncontrollably. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure but in those few minutes his fingers never left off stroking the large, smooth bulge in Sandro's trousers. "It sure looks big," breathed Nathan when he was once again in control. He rubbed a little harder. "Does this bother you?" he asked solicitously.

"No, it is feeling very good," replied Sandro truthfully. He leaned forward and pushed his hand into Nathan's crotch, imitating the other boy's deft, careful touch. "You are very big, too," he growled.

Nathan shook his head. "Not as big as you, I think." He squeezed Sandro's erection. "Will you let me see it?" he asked, feigning shyness.

Smiling, Sandro stood up and began to undo the black buttons of his cook's tunic. "It is better if we undress." He pointed his chin at Nathan's starched, dress whites. "You must also wear your uniform tomorrow," he added helpfully.

Nathan returned Sandro's smile, his demeanour hiding the sense of unease he felt. Sandro had given in much too easily, and he sensed that he was no longer in control. "Have you ever . . .?" he began.

"I have been with a man," replied Sandro casually. He tossed his tunic to one side and began to undo the buckle of his belt. "In Russia."

Nathan raised his eyebrows. So, Sandro was not the virgin he pretended to be. "A man?"

"A man," repeated Sandro as he pushed his trousers down. "He is older than I and was in Russian Army." He stepped out of his trousers and shrugged. "What we did was very pleasant."

Nathan, who had stripped off his tunic and was in the process of stepping out of his trousers, sucked in his breath at the sight of Sandro, who was standing in front of him, wearing nothing but his underpants, his huge, erect penis jutting straight out from the leg band of his white cotton briefs. "Wow," Nathan gasped as he took another look at the smooth rod of flesh that bounced lightly against Sandro's leg. He looked again and reached out his hand. "I thought you said that you were Jewish?"

Sandro looked down at his hardon and saw that the top half of his purple dome was protruding above his thin foreskin. He pushed down his briefs, snagging his hard dick in the process. Sandro untangled himself and his dick thrust outward toward Nathan, very long, very thick, and very hard. He reached down and pulled his foreskin all the way back, revealing the slick, purple head. "In Russia, all boys have skin, even Jews," Sandro explained. Remembering Cory's phobia, he gave Nathan a hard look. "You are displeased?"

"Hell no!" declared Nathan as he pushed his boxers down, revealing his smooth, flawless, circumcised penis and low hanging balls. "I just did not expect you to have skin, is all."

Sandro did not feel the need to explain further why he was an uncircumcised Jew. He was much more interested in Nathan's mesmerizing cock. Sandro had seen hardons before, but none as handsome as Nathan's was, and never as close as Nathan's throbbing dick was now. "He is . . . beautiful," moaned Sandro softly, referring to Nathan's wonderful pink and tan erection. He reached out and wiped away a small bead of precum that nestled about the slit of Nathan's cock, then lifted his thumb to his lips and tasted the clear, sticky fluid. Then, realising what he had just done, Sandro dropped his hand to his side. He was beginning to breathe heavily and while he did not yet know it, his own dick was leaking. "I . . . I am sorry, I should not have touched you without your permission," he told Nathan apologetically.

Nathan grinned and reached out his hand. "I'm going to touch you without your permission," he said with a low chuckle. He pushed down Sandro's foreskin and examined the shiny, wet looking, curving glans of the Russian boy's dick. "Gosh, you are big!" he declared.

"Almost 19 centimetres, when he is angry, and maybe 10 centimetres around," replied Sandro proudly.

"It's big in any language," agreed Nathan. He began to slowly masturbate Sandro, who returned the favour. "When you were in Russia, you and this . . . man, what did you do?" asked Nathan. He wanted Sandro to be comfortable with whatever they ended up doing to each other. "I mean, if all you did was just jerk each other, then we can just do that, if you want."

Sandro ducked his head. "He sucked on my . . . penis. It was very nice and I liked it, a lot!"

"Did you suck on him?" Nathan had every intention of blowing Sandro into the middle of next week and, he hoped, that Sandro would do the same for him.

"No, he would not allow it," Sandro replied, a slight note of disappointment in his voice. Then he added, "I did not ask if I could do the same to him."

"Oh," replied Nathan, unable to conceal the note of disappointment in his voice.

Sandro caught the note. "I would very much like to suck your dick." He gave Nathan's erection a slow, soft caress. "He is very beautiful."

"Well, if you're sure you want to," replied Nathan, pretending reluctance in asking Sandro to do something he presumed Sandro had never done before.

"I want to," replied Sandro firmly.

Nathan bent down and licked the head of Sandro's dick, then raised his head slightly and looked into Sandro's eyes. "How about I do you first, and then you do me?" he asked, once again leaving the decision up to Sandro.

Sandro began his acquiescence, and then stopped. "I have head of something. It is when two boys suck each other at the same time. You have heard of it? It is called a six-nine."

Nathan slowly rose upward. "Yeah, I've heard of it. But it's called a sixty-nine." He leaned forward and his lips brushed Sandro's. "Would you like to do that?"

Sandro returned Nathan's kiss and then responded with a shy smile. "I would like to do that," he whispered softly. His hand reached down to cup Nathan's balls. "But I have never done it before, and you must tell me what I must do."

Nathan grinned widely. "How about I show you what to do?" he asked with a low chuckle as he pointed toward the sofa. "First you have to lie down on the sofa, on your side, and then . . ."

Cory strolled on, past Bosun Stores, where he had no doubt that Chris and Jon were nesting for the next little while. He wondered if the two boys had made up a bed, using the life jackets stored in the dusty shed (they had, and Chris would be hard pressed the next morning to explain why there was a perfect indentation of a life jacket clip on his right butt cheek).

The Ropewalk was dark and empty. Mark and Tony were socialising with Andy in the Wardroom lounge, and Cory could see the bright lights of the Officers Quarters shimmering across the water of the harbour.

The moon was rising and filling Comox Harbour, and the Spit, with a warm, faint light. Cory walked down the length of the jetty, past the YAGs, which were tied up alongside in line astern, three to starboard, two to port. The Command YAG, hull 321, was the last in the line of starboard boats. Sean was not about so Cory continued on to the end of the jetty, taking in the scenery. Behind him, beyond the bright lights of the jetty, the buildings of HMCS AURORA were, for the most, dark and silent. It was very quiet, the only sounds the soft slapping of low waves against the wooden hulls of the YAGs and the distant clanking of a signal halyard improperly tied to the Ship's Mast.

Cory sat on a bollard and glanced at his watch. 0045 with the moon rising and still no sign of Sean. Cory could not stay out too much longer. Wakey-wakey was at 0600, and Phantom's parade loomed on the morrow. He would give Sean another ten minutes or so and if the jerk had not shown up in that time Cory would be off to his bed, hoping that Todd, Harry, Chris, Jon, and God alone knew who else was out in the night had the sense to get to their beds before the Duty Watch began its nightly prowl.

"We really should be thinking about getting back to the Gunroom," Harry murmured. "There will be hell to pay if the Duty Hand does his rounds and finds our bunks empty. We have to be way past our curfew."

Todd snuggled closer to Harry, then reached down and cupped the Escorts. "Harry, I frankly don't give a shit if the Duty Watch, the Commanding Officer, or Lord Louis Flipping Mountbatten, go tramping through the Gunroom and see our empty bunks! I am in love with you, you moose, and I plan on spending as much time with you as we can between now and the time we have to go home. What we have here is probably going to have to last us for the rest of our lives. Let's just enjoy each other in the time we have left."

Harry struggled into a sitting position and then leaned forward. He began kissing Todd's flaccid penis and perfect, oval testicles. "It doesn't have to end here, Todd," he murmured quietly.

"Harry, being in love means that you're happy with the person that you are in love with." Todd gently pushed Harry away from his crotch and pulled him against his body. "As much as I love you, and I love you a great deal, I might be happy on the farm, with you, for a while, but only for a while."

"I know," replied Harry with an unhappy sigh. "But Todd, that is exactly what I've been trying to tell you." He reached out and brushed the back of his hand against Todd's smooth, beardless cheek. "I want you, Todd," Harry said earnestly. "I want you to be there when I come in from the fields at night. I want you across from me at the dinner table when we have supper. I want to be able to roll over in the middle of the night and feel you against me. I want to feel you, to smell you, to taste you!" Harry placed his broad hands on Todd's shoulders. "I want all that, Todd, even though I know that I can never have it because, if I did, you would be desperately unhappy."

"Harry, I know what you want, and I wish I could give it to you," replied Todd sincerely. "I cannot. You have got your whole life planned out." Todd shrugged expressively. "Me? I am still floundering around trying to decide what I want to be or, as you put it, trying to find out what I am destined to be. My father wants me to be a lawyer. Do I want to be a lawyer? Is that what fate holds in store for me?"

"Is that what you want to be?" asked Harry. "It's your life, and you should be what you want to be."

Todd chuckled dryly. He lay back, pulling Harry with him. "The problem, my dear, sweet lummox, is that I have no idea if that is what I want to be. Hell, other than deciding that I am not coming back here next year, I don't have a clue what I want!"

Harry bristled. "It's not because you're gay, is it? Fuck, anybody who . . ."

Todd held up his hand. "Harry, my sexual orientation is hardly a state secret." He looked earnestly at his lover. "My being gay has nothing to do with me continuing on with, or leaving, the Sea Cadets. What has everything to do with my leaving the Cadets is my age, and my education. I turn 18 next April and this year I will be entering my last year of high school, with cruel and unusual punishment to look forward to. I have my Grade 13 exams to consider, and the LSAT if I decide to go to Law School. If I decided to stay in the cadets the most I could hope for would be Chief of my Corps, which is fine. I could put in for a Staff posting here, but as what?"

"Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor!" said Harry promptly. "You're more than qualified and with The Gunner's influence, hell, you'd be a shoe in."

Todd reached down and ran his thumb along the Pride. He jiggled the Escorts and then fixed Harry a hard, cold stare. "Harry, why aren't you the Dominion Drum Major," he asked, his voice low.

"Well, I . . ."

"Harry, I was there!"

Harry's brow lowered and anger filled his eyes. "The fix was in! The Dominion Council had already decided that that little fuck from Kenora fucking Ontario, was going to win!"

"Because his daddy was owed a big favour, because his daddy had donated a piss pot full of money to Dominion Command," confirmed Todd with a shake of his head. "His little boy wanted to be Dominion Drum Major, and so he was Dominion Drum Major. You could have twirled your Mace on the head of the Pride, whistled Dixie and farted the Last Post, all at the same time, and you still would have lost!" Todd sat up and hugged his knees. "I will never be a party to anything remotely smacking of favouritism! I refuse to accept any job or post that I am not qualified for, or that I did not win on my own merits." He turned and looked at Harry. "And, as strange as it may seem to you, The Gunner will recommend that I be given the job, but he will never use his influence to ensure that I get the job. And that is the way I want it, Harry. I will not accept anything that I have not worked for, that I am not qualified for, or that I received through the influence of others. I told the Selection Board that, and I am telling you that!"

Harry laid his head against Todd's warm, smooth stomach. He ran his fingers through the tightly curled thatch of dark blond pubic hair that gave rise to Todd's pink, soft genitals. Harry did not think it wise to mention that The Gunner's influence had already been brought to bear for Todd. "The Gunner has very high standards," Harry said slowly. "And, yes, he would never compromise his standards to help you get what you want, simply because you want it."

Todd stuck out his chin and nodded firmly. "Which is the way it must be, Harry!" he declared. "We must be men of character, and truth. We must be prepared to do the harder right rather than accept the lesser wrong!"

Harry began curling a small tuft of Todd's pubic hair around his finger. "You have friends, Todd," he said slowly. "Friends help friends."

"But only if the friend is qualified for whatever it is he wants!" replied Todd stubbornly. He began to run his fingers through Harry's black, sweat dampened hair. "Only if it is right and honourable. We both saw what happens when friends 'help' friends. That kid, somebody who couldn't twirl a Mace if you tied it to a motor shoved up is ass, fucked you out of the Dominion Championship because 'friends helped friends'!"

Harry continued his twirling. He felt no sexual urge, and understood now why the Twins always maintained that when they sat together on the barracks stoop it was not sex. Harry felt warm and comfortable and just plain happy, lying with his head on Todd's belly, playing with his pubic curlies. "And the Kenora Kid learned what happens when my friends get pissed off!" Harry chuckled softly. "You and Cory sure did a number on the poor schmuck!"

"Fuckin' aye!" returned Todd forcefully. "That little bastard fucked you out of your championship! His father and his friends cheated! The little bastard deserved exactly what he got."

"What got me was Cory!" said Harry with a low chuckle. "Butter would not have melted in his mouth! Every time he saw that kid Cory congratulated him on being the Dominion Drum Major, and how proud he must be to hold such a prestigious title . . ."

Todd started to laugh. "And saying how hard he must have worked and how proud his daddy must be of him."

Harry joined in Todd's laughter. "That poor kid ended up feeling like two cents well spent," he cackled maliciously.

"The little fuck deserved it," repeated Todd grimly. "All we did was congratulate the kid . . ."

"Over, and over, and over again," laughed Harry. "And both of you, you and Cory, you were so sweet and polite when you did it! Everybody knew what you were doing, even him, eventually. He wouldn't touch the trophy, you know. He made his daddy carry it out of the drill hall!"

"All we did was help out our friend," replied Todd. "You got screwed and we wanted the kid and his daddy to know exactly how we felt about it."

"The kid got the message." Harry nuzzled Todd's belly. "For a while, though, I thought that both of you were serious and really sincere in what your were saying. Then I saw Cory's eyes, and Todd, what I saw sent a cold shiver up my spine! I sure hope that I do not ever get that look when I park the pickup in front of Number Two, Clarence Square."

"I have to admit that Cory's eyes do have a way of giving him away and . . ." Todd raised his head and looked at Harry, who was looking back at him. "What pickup? And what do you mean when you say that you are going to park it in front of Number Two . . ." Todd's eyes widened. "Harry, that's . . . that's where I live!"

"I should hope so," returned Harry with a grin, "or I'll be calling on the wrong blond guy."

"A strange look came into Todd's eyes. "Ah, Harry . . ."

Harry moved up the sofa and cradled Todd in his arms. "I love you, and I am not going to just get on that plane at the end of the month and forget you, Todd." He kissed Todd tenderly. "I know we won't be together for the rest of our lives. I accept that, and I don't want to think about what we have ending."

Todd very gently brushed his lips against Harry's, then dew back, his eyes full of genuine sadness. "It will, Harry," he said sadly.

"Will you let me finish, please?" asked Harry sincerely. Todd nodded. "People change, times change," Harry said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "Fine, so be it and make it so and all that crap. You have to be you; I have to be me. Sooner or later we both know that what he have together will end. Again, I accept that. However, until it does, I am going to see you, and be with you, Todd. I am going to make love to you and that, Todd, means that whenever I get tired of cow shit on my boots and alfalfa in my underwear, whenever I can't stand being without you for another minute, I am going to point the nose of my pickup west and I am not going to stop until it hits the front door of your house!"

"We have a very sturdy front door," advised Todd with an ear-to-ear grin. He was relieved that Harry had at last accepted reality, and was very pleased that their relationship would continue. "But, Harry, what about school? You cannot just up and head west every time you get the urge, you know."

Harry returned Todd's grin. "Ah, but I can. I'm not going to school next year," he announced almost casually.

"You're not?"

Shaking his head Harry replied, "I graduate high school in May. I am not rushing off to the university. I'm taking a year off." A soft look came into his eyes. "I want to spend some time with my dad. I got to thinking, after our talk this morning, about him. He works so hard, Todd, to provide a decent life for all his kids, and my Mom. He never asks for anything, and he just loves us as much as he can. I want to give a little of that love back to him."

A soft smile creased Todd's features as he stroked Harry's face. "You really are a big lump of mush, you know," he said fondly.

"You won't tell anybody, will you?" asked Harry in pretended alarm. He smiled and then continued on. "I want to spend some time with my dad. He can teach me more about farming in a year than any professor can in four! That's what I want to do."

"Then do it, Harry," urged Todd.

"I intend to. I also intend to come calling on a certain young gentleman and spend some time with him and I would like to do so with a reasonable expectation that his brother won't set the dogs on me when I call!"

"We don't have a dog and . . . Harry!" Todd gave his lover a harsh look. "Why would you even think such a thing about Cory?"

Harry sighed. "Todd, is Cory here? Am I sleeping with him?"

Todd realized that Harry was worried about Cory's reaction. "Harry, Cory is not at all upset about us being together," he said firmly. "Cory loves you, yes, and he certainly enjoyed himself when we were all together." He reached down and slowly enveloped the Pride with his hand. "This morning, we had a talk, Cory and me. He knows how I feel about you, and he is the one that said that you were falling in love with me. He expected that we would have a serious relationship and he has no problem with us being together at all."

"No look of doom if I show up?" asked Harry, trying to look cold and hard.

"No look of doom," confirmed Todd, snickering. "Don't do that, Harry, you look as if you are having a gas attack!"

Harry's face softened. "Cory won't eat me in effigy, then and . . . what the hell was that all about?" he asked, recalling Todd's tale of Cory's first, and only visit to the Stanley Park Zoo.

"Cory's way of getting his revenge on the goose that bit him," replied Todd with a laugh. "He gets his revenge on that poor goose every Levee Day. We host a huge open house. The world comes and there is lots of booze and food. There is this buffet that is just loaded with food." He began to laugh harder. "Every year, about a month before New Year's, Cory starts hooting about his New Year's goose so every year we have this huge roast goose on offer."

"And Cory eats the goose?" asked Harry, shaking his head. "For revenge?"

Todd nodded. "A goose bit him, so eats a goose at New Year's and Christ, does he eat it. He gets a big plate of roast goose and cackles and snuffles and I swear that the eats half the damned thing!"

"Remind me to keep my ass away from Cory's mouth on Levee Day," retorted Harry.

"You don't have to worry about that, Harry. We could never get your ass in the oven!"

Harry leaned forward and gave Todd a warm kiss. "You won't have any trouble getting my ass in your bed!" he said with a sly grin. Then he sobered. "Still, for some reason, I thought Cory would be pissed off at us being together." He shrugged. "Maybe it was just that I always thought that him and you, you know, shared."

"You've lost me," replied Todd. "Whatever made you think that?"

"Well, it's just that I always got the impression that you both had to like a guy before you slept with him. Like, you both slept with that First Prefect guy, the one that was giving you nausea about succeeding him. You both slept with me, had sex, I mean, and you are twins so I thought that . . ."

Todd giggled. "That you'd get two for the price of one?"

Harry made a face. "Not hardly, and that is not what I meant at all. What I meant was that you and Cory both seem to think alike, and you both have the same likes and dislikes, more or less. And you do pull that Frick and Frack routine that drivers everybody crazy . . ."

"Harry, we are fraternal twins, not identical," interjected Todd soberly. "In some ways we do share a bond, like identical twins. Our routine is one of them. However, we are two different people, with two different viewpoints. Cory is his own man, Harry. He has a mind of his own and his own opinions. We do not automatically have the same thoughts, or the same feelings. When we were little we were like that." He shook his head. "Not now, though. Cory makes up his own mind and makes his own decisions. What I think has very little bearing on what he thinks, or does."

"He can be stubborn, I've noticed," observed Harry dryly.

"He can be that," agreed Todd with a sigh. "Right now he has decided that since you are in love with me he is happy for me, and you. He is not jealous, or envious. He knows that you want to be with me, not him, and he has accepted the situation," Todd smiled ruefully. "Cory is no longer a little boy, Harry. He's growing up."

"He doesn't have much choice," returned Harry. Everybody grows up. Even me!"

Todd laughed quietly. "Cory is growing, maturing, emotionally, Harry." He snuggled close to Harry. "And, yes, everybody grows up." He glanced at Harry's broad, handsome face. "Except you, Harry. You will never grow up," he said with a smile. "You will always be a big kid."

"With adult emotions," protested Harry.

"Yes, Harry, with adult emotions. You will think like an adult, you will be responsible like an adult, you will love like an adult, but deep down inside you will always be a big, goofy kid."

"Would you love me any other way?"

"No, Harry. Never change."

"I'll try not to."

"Good." Todd gave Harry a serious look. "What surprises me is that I am the one who fell in love. Cory can be a right romantic at times. I've always been, well, calmer, more logical and rational. Cory is supposed to be the twin who falls head over heels in love, not me."

Harry thought about Todd's assessment of Cory for a moment. "Well, you did say that he's growing up," he reminded Todd. "Cory is no longer letting his dick rule his brain."

"As opposed to us?" observed Todd tartly.

Harry detected the slight note of sarcasm in Todd's voice. "Not bloody likely," he snarled. "I did that once, remember? I fooled around with Stefan and even though I knew it was wrong, I did it anyway." He reached out and took Todd's hand. "It's different with you. I could have walked away after Sunday night, put it down as just three guys fooling around." He nuzzled Todd's neck gently. "I didn't walk away because I love you. It is not my dick that is making me want to be with you! It's what I feel inside, how I feel inside. I could have just shrugged and said fuck it, all it is sex. I did that with Greg because, emotionally, I didn't want anything from him but sex. I did not want to be with him the way I want to be with you."

Todd sighed. "You're right, of course. Before Sunday I would have, to be honest, just had a brief affair with you, maybe kept it going until the end of summer." He chuckled ruefully. "A summer love affair, over come the end of August and a pleasant memory, which is what all my relationships have been like. I fucked Sylvain every night for two weeks when we were on QUEST together. I say fucked because that's all he was. A fuck, a way to get my rocks off."

"And you were just a fuck as far as he was concerned," returned Harry evenly. "When you got on the bus to come home your little affair was over. You fucked him and he fucked you. You both got what you wanted so you're even."

Todd nodded in agreement. "And in a few weeks I found another fuck, which is what I have always done. I would meet a guy; we would fuck, and then move on. There was never any emotional attachment to what we did. Until you came along." Todd rolled on his back and covered his eyes with his arms. "I expected, to tell you the truth, that after that night we all spent together, that Cory would fall madly in love with you. He didn't and, thinking back, I think it's because emotionally he is maturing. The old Cory would have jumped your bones every chance he got. The new one, he's different because Cory has started to look at a relationship as a relationship, a long term, emotional and physical commitment, and not a series of one night stands. And that, Harry, worries me. It worries me a lot!"

"Why?" asked Harry. "So Cory wants a permanent relationship. We all do, eventually." He reached over and took Todd's arm away from his eyes. "You said it yourself, Todd. Cory is growing up emotionally. He's looking for someone to be with for the rest of his life. He's finally come to the realisation that sowing his wild oats, and fucking or sucking anything with a dick and a hole is something you do until you realise that if you keep on doing that all you will end up being is a dirty old man with a house full of cats!"

When Todd did not reply Harry reached over and placed his broad hand on his lover's warm, smooth thigh. He rolled Todd gently onto his side and then shuffled his body as close as he could get to Todd's. Harry gave his hips a slight grind, pressing the Pride firmly against Todd's soft penis, the head of the Pride resting against the bottom of Todd's silky smooth, hairless scrotum. As much as he enjoyed the feel of the Pride nestled against his scrotum, and as much as he enjoyed the feel of Harry's strong body against his, Todd tried to pull away. Harry was a warm, compassionate, considerate lover. He was also a very lusty lover, seemingly wanting to make up for all the years he'd been content with a hand wipe from his brother Nicky. Todd also did not give a damn what Cory's opinions on multiple orgasms in any given period of time were. He was damned tired and his balls were aching. He had had three orgasms tonight, once when he and Harry had sixty-nined to take the edge off; the second time when Harry was deep within him and brought him to glory without even touching himself, and the third time when he had made love to Harry. It was all too much. If Harry wanted the Pride to put to sea again he could damned well give it a hand. "Harry, please, not again! We have to get back,"

Harry pressed his hand firmly against Todd's right butt cheek. "I have rung down 'Finished With Engines,' and the Pride is alongside." Then he added, "But only singled up, in case it has to flash up sudden like."

Despite himself, Todd laughed. Then he sobered. "No more for tonight, okay?" Harry nodded slowly. "Actually, all things considered, after last night, and tonight, the Escorts have to store ship." He gestured impatiently. "Lift up your head."

"What?"

"Todd, just lift your bloody head," growled Harry. Todd did as he was told and Harry slid his arm under Todd's head and then told him to lie back. When Todd was comfortably pillowed on his arm Harry gave him a quick kiss and then looked at him sternly. "I'm in love with you, and if something is bothering you, it bothers me. If you're worried about Cory, I'm worried about Cory." Harry frowned slightly. "I saw Nathan putting then moves on Sandro, Todd."

Todd nodded sadly. "So did I. What was between Nathan and Cory is over, Harry."

"And that worries you?"

"No, not at all. I am a little upset that their relationship didn't work out, but no, I am not worried." Todd thought a moment. "Worried is not really what I am on about. More . . . concerned, I think."

"Cory didn't seem all that upset, or concerned, about Nathan doing his damnedest to get into Sandro's pants," argued Harry gently. "In fact, he barely seemed to notice."

"Oh, Cory noticed. He always notices, Harry. Make no mistake about that." Todd looked at Harry. "Cory is just not interested in Nathan any more. He put paid to that relationship - what there was of it - before noon yesterday. He did it without telling me, or asking me what I thought. Cory, as I've said, is his own man, and makes up his own mind." He put his arm across Harry's broad back. Todd saw the questioning look on Harry's face and continued on. "Harry, to understand my concern you would have to understand Cory, where he is coming from."

"Okay, help me understand your brother," said Harry as he settled himself more comfortably on the settee. He reached around and down, cupping Todd's soft genitals.

Todd squirmed slightly, but allowed Harry's hand to remain where it was. Harry cupping his parts was no different from Cory cupping his parts when they sat on the barracks stoop of an evening. "Harry, most of the time Cory is one of the most masculine males around. He takes shit from nobody, and stands up for himself. He has courage, and he has compassion. Cory doesn't panic, and he is cool in a crisis. He is a young man, Harry, but he is also, inside, a little boy who needs to be cuddled and held close." A deep sigh of love escaped Todd's lips. A sigh that Harry knew instinctively was not for him. Todd continued, his voice low and full of emotion. "You are right, Harry, when you say that we all change. Cory has changed, and will go on changing as he gets older. But, Harry, that little boy is always going to be there inside Cory." Todd held Harry closer. "A little boy who needs and wants affection, who needs to be held, who wants the person he loves to be there for him, always."

"And Nathan didn't fit the bill, obviously," said Harry tenderly.

Todd's voice was full of regret. "Nathan, it seems, is a real horny toad. Cory did not go into details, but he did tell me that when he asked Nathan to make a commitment, Nathan could not do it."

"I wondered what was going on," replied Harry. "I'd see Cory, but not Nathan. Then I'd see Nathan, but not Cory. At first I thought that we were all too damned busy so Cory and Nathan just couldn't find the time to be together." He flashed Todd a wicked look. "I also thought that from the look on Nathan that he was some horny 'cause he didn't get anything from Cory last night and having to sleep in the Chiefs Mess with Val and Tyler would sure make a feller horny!"

"Harry!" gasped Todd, surprised that Harry would even think of the Master at Arms and the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor as sex objects.

Harry sniffed. "Todd, just because I think that Tyler and Val are damn' fine specimens it does not mean that I'm going to put the moves on them." He gave Todd's genitals a gentle squeeze. "And even you have to admit that seeing those two in their tighty-whiteys, or naked, would make a feller horny!"

Todd laughed thinly. "Yes, they would," he agreed. "But, Harry, what I am getting at is that Nathan was a huge disappointment to me. I encouraged him, and I helped him. I had convinced myself that Nathan was the one for Cory. Unfortunately, I was wrong and I feel like such a fool because I persuaded Cory to let Nathan love him."

"And just how were you supposed to know that Nathan was a horn dog?" asked Harry reasonably. "He sure didn't seem that way when he was here last. Hell, when he left here he had everybody convinced that he was madly in love with Cory!"

"The sad thing is, Harry, Nathan is in love with Cory," replied Todd morosely.

Harry started and gave Todd a puzzled look. "He sure didn't seem that way when he was in the Gunroom tonight! For somebody in love with Cory, Nathan was sure as hell was making quite a production of getting into Sandro's drawers!"

"I told you, Harry, Nathan is a cock hound. He loves dick. Any dick. Whenever it's offered. Tonight it was Sandro's dick. Tomorrow night . . ." Todd shrugged expressively. "Who knows? It could be any guy." He grinned at Harry. "He might even try to put the moves on you!"

"If he does he will die a horrible death," prophesied Harry grimly.

Todd chuckled and went on quietly. "Nathan could be curled up with Cory right now. But he isn't because when Cory rolls over in the middle of the night he wants to feel a warm body, not thin air, which is exactly what he will feel because Nathan wants to come and go as he pleases, and sleep with whomever he pleases. He told Cory that has been with other guys since he was here."

"Now that I can believe!" Harry made a face and shook his head. "If tonight was any indication Nathan was nose deep in some sailor's balls before that fucking cutter cleared the harbour buoy!"

"Could be," agreed Todd. "The point, Harry, is that Cory needs someone who cares for him, who loves him, and who will always be there for him. Until now it has always been me. I've always been there for him."

"You always will, Todd."

"I will for as long as I can, Harry. But let's face facts. I am going to move on with my life sooner or later. As is Cory. Right now, when the nightmares come, and the little boy that is Cory needs someone to hold him, I am there." Todd's face became a tragic mask. "But what happens, Harry, when I am not there? What happens if the nightmares come back?"

"What nightmares?" asked Harry, intrigued and perplexed.

Todd looked seriously at Harry. "You do know what happened to us when were seven years old?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "I know. Some pervert tried to molest you and Cory."

"He wanted Cory to touch his dick, actually," corrected Todd a matter-of-factly. "He was a good friend of my father's. They worked together all the time on legal briefs. He would come to our house quite often and always stayed to dinner. He seemed ever so nice and Cory adored him." Todd laughed with sad irony. "Cory adored him," he repeated in a whisper.

"What about you?" asked Harry.

Todd shrugged and shook his head. "Oh, he was all right with me. He treated me nice, but it was clear that he liked Cory better. It was no big deal to me. I was used to it," he said, smiling thinly. "Cory was an affectionate child, cuter than I was, and always open and smiling. Everybody loved him." Todd laughed self-deprecatingly. "Me, I was the evil twin!"

"A lot of people love Cory, Todd," replied Harry. "They also love you." He gave Todd an affectionate hug. "And you know that."

"I know, Harry, I know," said Todd softly. "But Harry, you have to understand that for a long time Cory did not know that people loved him. He would not trust anyone, and he would not allow anyone but me to love him. He'd given his love to someone, to . . . him . . . and looked what happened."

"That someone took you for a walk in the woods," replied Harry, his voice filled with loathing.

"Yes, a walk in the woods, to see the beauty of Stanley Park," said Todd, a sob rising in this throat. "We were walking along the hiking path. I remember that it was early summer and Cory was ahead of me on the path, with . . . him. I wasn't really paying too much attention and, well, I was looking at bugs of some kind, when I heard this . . . shriek."

"Cory?"

Todd nodded. "Cory. They were off the path a bit and I ran up to where they were. Cory was petrified. He was standing in front of Cory, with his pants down and his huge red thing sticking out! As soon as he saw me he tried to put his package back into his pants. I barely saw the thing he was trying to get Cory to touch, but I saw enough and I knew that something terrible was happening so I grabbed Cory by the ass of his shorts and pulled him away. It was horrible! Cory was screaming and screaming." Todd's whole body seemed to sag. "And he kept on screaming for a long time."

Harry's face became suffused with anger. "Son of a bitch! Doing that to a little kid. Fuck, it's no wonder Cory had nightmares! You and he were just little boys!"

"Yes, we were," replied Todd, his blue eyes dark with the rage he shared with Harry. "We knew nothing about sex. We knew nothing about different kinds of dicks. How could we? We had only seen our own, and our Papa's, and we thought that everybody was like us."

"The guy wasn't snipped, then?" Harry looked thoughtful a moment. "I guess that's why Cory has the phobia."

Todd began to cry softly. "We did not know a thing about sex, or hardons, or anything, or anything, Harry. We were seven years old! Seven! We were innocents and that fucking bastard took away our innocence. He took away our ability to trust! We loved him, he was in our house; he ate at our dinner table. We called him uncle and he took away my brother's innocence."

"Oh, Todd . . ." Harry held Todd as close as he could.

"Cory was a sweet kid, Harry. He loved being cuddled and hugged. Until Stanley Park he greeted everybody with a hug and a kiss and a smile." Todd buried his face in the curving valley of Harry's shoulder and sobbed quietly. "Everything changed after Stanley Park. Cory would not let an adult near him. He would not sleep alone. He was scared all the time and he had nightmares about what happened. Dear God, those nightmares!" He clutched Harry closely. "The first time it happened he scared the piss out of me!"

"Being woken up in the middle of the night with your brother screaming would put the fear of God into you," replied Harry, his voice gentle, full of understanding and sympathy. "It would scare hell out of anybody."

"No, Harry, you don't understand," said Todd woodenly as he struggled to regain his emotions. "The first time Cory had a nightmare he literally scared the piss out of me. When we went to bed I fell asleep with him snuggled up against me. The next thing I knew he was standing at the end of the bed, with his back against the headboard, screaming, pushing away some imaginary demon with his hands. I was so scared I pissed myself!"

"Dear, sweet Jesus!"

"Cory screamed and screamed and my parents came running. He had also pissed himself, and Harry, please, you must never let Cory know that I told you that."

"As if I would," retorted Harry indignantly.

Todd was calmer now. He managed a small smile. "In time the nightmares stopped. In time he started to trust again. The therapist our parents sent us to was very good, and he helped us to understand what had happened to us. He also went along with Cory's need to always be with someone. Me, as I am sure you've guessed. Before Stanley Park we would always sleep in our own beds. After . . ." He shrugged expressively. "After Stanley Park, Cory slept with me."

"But things did get better?" asked Harry.

"Yes, yes they did. In time the nightmares stopped but not the sleeping together. It just seemed that we needed to feel each other always, to be together, close and warm."

"Is that when . . . when you and Cory start to . . .?" asked Harry tentatively.

Todd shook his head. "No, that came later. At first all we ever did was sleep together. What did we know about sex? We knew we had what we called out dinks, but all they were good for was peeing out of. We also knew that sometimes our dinks would get bigger, and hard, but then all we ever did was take a pee and down they would go." He chuckled softly. "It's hard to get all horny when you are wearing underpants and pyjamas, which is what we wore to bed."

"I remember that!" chortled Harry. "When we were little, in the winter? Hell, it was long underwear and pyjamas." He laughed loudly. "I could never really see the sense in undressing, and then getting dressed all over again to go to bed!"

"It does seem silly," agreed Todd, "sort of like mothers always buying little boys tighty whiteys." He snickered and then continued. "Still, we did it for, oh, a couple of years after Stanley Park." He looked up at Harry's concerned face. "Nothing happened between Cory and me. We never did anything remotely sexual. It was just he and I, together, loving each other and holding each other. Cory stopped having nightmares, although he would not sleep alone. We didn't start to fool around until we were nine or so."

A grin spread across Harry's face. "I was 11 when Nicky and me started fooling around. He caught me jerking off in the barn. He said I wasn't doing it right, though how you can fuck up a hand wipe is beyond me. Anyway, Nicky grabbed my dick and from then on we did it every chance we got."

Todd nodded his understanding. "At first, all we ever did, as I said, was just hold each other. Sometimes we woke up with boners, sometimes we didn't. It didn't mean anything to us because we didn't know that it was supposed to mean something. Then I went and got sunburned!"

"Sunburned?" A puzzled look came over Harry's face. "What in the hell does you getting sunburned have to do with anything?" he demanded mildly.

"Everything," returned Todd, "because that was when we started to discover that we were boys, and that we were gay."

"By you getting sunburned?"

"Yep, by me getting sunburned." Todd freed himself from Harry's warm embrace and sat up. He reached down and took the Pride in his warm, slim fingers. He did nothing but hold it tenderly. "We'd had a fight. I don't remember what about, probably something childish."

"All brothers fight," observed Harry. He reached over and took Todd's soft penis in his wide, strong hand. He did not intend to do anything but hold it tenderly. "Nicky and me, hell, we might be jerk off partners, but we've had some real battles."

Todd grinned. "Cory and I sure did! Still do, as a matter of fact." He continued to hold the Pride and a faraway look came into his eyes. "We'd had this fight and Cory got all pouty, just as he still does now. We were supposed to be going to the beach with our cousins, but he would not go. He got that look of doom in his eyes and he absolutely refused to go anywhere with me, because now he hated me."

"That sure changed," replied Harry with a snicker.

"Cory gets angry, but he doesn't stay angry, which is a good thing because when he wants to be he can be as stubborn as a mule. He makes up his mind about something, digs in his heels, and nothing I say, or do, will make him change his mind."

"Tell me about it!" growled Harry. "Stubborn little git!"

"He can be, when he wants to be," agreed Todd, not at all fazed by Harry's remark. Cory was a stubborn little git! He continued on. "Anyway, I went to the beach and Cory stayed home. I had a hell of a good time." Todd turned his head and looked at Harry. "I think that was the first time I realised that I liked boys. I saw all my male cousins, all seven of them, naked, and I liked what I saw!"

"Comes to all of us," replied Harry without elaboration.

"We swam in the ocean, we played beach volleyball, and generally had a hell of a good time. Unfortunately I forgot that with my fair skin I have to take the sun in stages. I got home looking like a boiled lobster! My mother put me in the bathtub with Epson Salts and then covered me with Calamine lotion. I could not bear to have clothes on so I went to bed naked." He moved and motioned for Harry to sit up. When they were sitting side-by-each Todd again reached down and held the Pride in his hand. Harry did the same for Todd.

Todd snuggled closer to Harry and continued with his revelation of his epiphany. "Cory went from being all irate to loving brother. He went from being angry with me to feeling so sorry that we had had a fight. And, of course he just had to comfort me. He was not in any discomfort, and certainly no pain, so that takes care of one myth about twins. All he wanted to do was to help me in my time of pain. He did insist, however, that since I was naked, he had to be naked, so he stripped off and got into bed with me. Then he got a little pissed off because he wanted to go to sleep and the only way he ever got to sleep after Stanley Park was by holding me close. The problem was, every time he touched me, I started to yell, because it hurt to be touched, which was why I was not wearing anything in the first place! The only part of me that wasn't burned was the part of me that had been protected by my bathing suit."

"Basically your balls and dick area," supplied Harry.

"Got it," affirmed Todd. "Cory, being Cory, was determined to get his way. He would always sleep with his arms around me and he was not about to let my sunburn change his way of sleeping. He got as close to me as he could, then reached over and put one hand on my bum. Then he put his other hand on my dick and balls."

"And the rest, as they say, is history," said Harry with a chuckle.

Todd giggled. "Harry, I have to tell you, some of my cousins are gorgeous. One of them, Kenneth, he was 15 and he had a beautiful dick; and hair, a lot of hair, around his dick, and his balls were all furry and Harry, I was fascinated!" He sighed wistfully.

"With his balls or with him?" asked Harry, miffed.

"Both," admitted Todd honestly. "And no, I never made it with Kenny." Before Harry could respond Todd snickered and continued on. "My other cousins were almost as good to look at as Kenny, and none of them minded me checking them out, so after being with them all day I was horny! Cory had his hand on my dick and it felt good, and since I was horny, I thought that I would make him feel good too, seeing as how I wasn't angry with him anymore. I reached down and felt him and he was hard!"

"Quelle surprise," quipped Harry. "You did have your hand on his dick, after all!"

"Anyway," grumbled Todd, expressing his displeasure at being interrupted. "We giggled and played with each other and from that night on we explored each other. We realised that we both liked it, so we kept on doing it. Later, we found other boys who were like us, or seemed to be like us, and we starting fooling around with them. As we got older we developed our own . . . tastes. Some guys I liked, some Cory liked." He gave the Pride a light squeeze. "Most of the time, though, we both liked the same guy. Which is where you got the idea that we always slept with the same guy. We didn't. There were, and are, guys that I would go with, but Cory would not touch them with a ten foot pole!"

"Like Sylvain, or Andre, or Ryan, at least before his little operation?"

"Yes, but not always for that reason, although that is probably the only lasting . . . what shall I call it? Trauma? Anyway, that phobia is just about the only thing has stayed with Cory. A guy's status is paramount to Cory, and he simply will not go with a guy who is not circumcised. He is never going to change, so why fight it?"

"No point," replied Harry logically. "It's the way he is."

"It doesn't stop him from looking, though," returned Todd. "He looks, a lot!"

"So do I, and so do you." Harry grinned foolishly. "And guys look at me all the time!"

"That's because there's a lot to look at, all of it good," replied Todd with a warm smile. "Cory would love you even if the Pride had not been refitted. He just would not have slept with you. He likes Andre, and would take him into the woods if he had been refitted." His face grew hard. "Sylvain, now, while a beautiful specimen, and more than willing if you ask me, Cory cannot stand!"

Harry nodded and his lips pursed slightly. "I don't blame him. Sylvain is a jerk! With or without a refit, he's still a jerk!"

"A jerk that I slept with," replied Todd. "He was a piece of ass, nothing more. And therein, dear Harry, is the difference between Cory and me. Until last night I was not expecting to fall in love. Until last night I went with any guy who took my fancy. Cory did not, except for Blake Putnam, which I can't blame him for. Blake is a beauty!" Todd's face became very pensive. "Cory has more and more been looking for someone who will replace me."

"No one can replace you, Todd."

Todd was serious, now. "Harry, I told you, sooner or later Cory and I will go our separate ways. It has to happen. We have talked about it and we are both comfortable with it. The problem is that when I do start out on my own I would feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if Cory had somebody to depend on, to love, to be with and who would never betray him, and would always be faithful to him, because that is what he wants."

"And obviously Nathan didn't fit the bill," observed Harry.

"I thought he did," replied Todd sadly. "I encouraged Nathan, and I more or less talked Cory into agreeing to at least be with him. I made a mistake with Nathan. Cory knew what he wanted, but I interfered. Cory was right, I was wrong."

"They had sex, didn't they?" asked Harry. "And Nathan sure put on an act. He had me convinced that he was the man of Cory's dreams."

Todd ignored Harry's question. There were certain things that Harry did not need to know and Cory's disastrous encounter with Nathan was one of them. "Nathan had us all convinced," said Todd. "He had everybody convinced except Cory, which is why Cory asked Nathan about his sex life. Cory will not accept a bed hopper. He has to be able to sit on the front porch with his hand down the front of his lover's undies, and just talk, the way he and I do now. Cory likes sex, but at times all he wants is to be with me, to hold me. The guy who sits on the front stoop with Cory, with his hand down the front of Cory's drawers, and Cory's down his, that is the man that Cory will stay with."

Harry looked down at his crotch, and then looked at Todd's. He started to laugh. "Like we're doing now?" he asked.

"Exactly!" Todd put his arm around Harry's shoulder. "I would love to see Cory in a relationship like we have, or like what Nicholas and Andre have. Loving, warm, caring . . ."

"Like us?" Harry now knew that for all his protestations, Todd would be with him for a long time to come.

"Yes, Harry, like us, even thought we both it's going to end, eventually."

"Ah, for Christ's sake, not again!" muttered Harry, exasperated.

"Harry, I am only telling you the truth. We will be lovers and friends for as long as you want us to be lovers and friends, and when you decide what he have is over, it's over." He gave Harry a quick peck on the lips. "But we're talking about Cory, not us, and I want you to understand that my sole concern is him. I want Cory to have a lover, and a friend."

Somewhat mollified, and happy that Todd had finally dropped the distasteful subject of their eventual drifting away, Harry replied sincerely. "Cory will. Look at Tyler and Val. They started out as friends and I sorta think that by now they're also lovers."

"Poor Cory," said Todd with a small grimace. "If Tyler and Val are doing what I think they're doing, Cory will not get a wink of sleep tonight!"

"How so?"

"Cory's bunk is right next to the bulkhead between the Chiefs Mess and the Gunroom," explained Todd. "Tyler's bunk is on the other side of a very thin wall!" He giggled. "Tyler gets very, um . . . exuberant."

"Loud, too," returned Harry with a grin. "Maybe Cory will just move over to your bunk if the Chiefs get too rambunctious. Or into Greg's bunk. He won't be sleeping in it."

Todd could not help laughing. "Half the ship is off making out and Cory is stuck with listening to Tyler and Val make up for years of not being exuberant!"

"Cheer up, maybe they'll use Val's bunk. It's on the other side of the cabin," supplied Harry. Then he frowned. "It's also under the window."

Todd guffawed. "Pity the Duty Hand if he does Rounds past that window!"

Tyler was lying in his bed, unable to sleep, not wanting to sleep, enjoying the memory of what had been the most extraordinary, memorable night of his life. Beside him, lying close was Val, who was sound asleep with his head on Tyler's chest and his right arm flung out and down. Val's hand was resting in Tyler's pubic bush and his right leg was draped across Tyler's thick, muscled right leg.

Tyler could feel Val's zephyr-like, rhythmic breath blowing softly across his chest, tantalising his hard, excited, right nipple. He could feel Val's warm, soft penis brushing against his thigh. Tyler sighed happily into the shadowed darkness of the Chiefs Mess.

The moon had risen, casting a pale glow through the open window, bathing Val's body in a wonderful, opalescent sheen. Tyler gazed lovingly along Val's sleeping body, a body that had, at long last, given him the delightful pleasures and feelings that still coursed through him.

As Tyler laid his head back onto his pillows, Val stirred and his lips nuzzled the edge of the small aureole surrounding Tyler's nipple. A shiver of delight coursed through Tyler, and he shuddered, stifling a small moan. He had never known that sex could be so wonderful, so glorious that he did not want the night to end, did not want Val to ever leave his side.

Tonight had been so wonderful, and so fulfilling, that Tyler could hardly believe that it had happened, that he and Val had finally come to fulfilment. Tyler was in love with Val and Val was in love with him, and their love was no longer a secret from each other.

Today had been a day of secrets bared, and fears confronted. Strangely, Tyler felt no fear. What he and Val had experienced had felt so right. Being with Val gave Tyler the courage to face his deepest fears and the courage to face whatever the future held for them. Tyler's only regret was that it had taken 11 long years for them to come to this place, to become what they were meant to be, friends and lovers.

It should have happened sooner. They should have loved each other in school, or when Val had come to stay at Tyler's house. It should have happened when the strange figure came into the Mess and brought them both to a glory that only hinted at the magnificence they had found tonight. Or when they had kissed Phantom . . . 11 years!

Tyler moved his body slightly, positioning himself so that his penis, semi-erect, and still flushed from the lovemaking, was resting against Val's soft, silken shaft. Val stirred, but his breathing remained constant. Tyler did not wake the handsome Sicilian boy who had tonight become his lover. There was plenty of time, many more nights, when they would relive the sensuous delights of this night, delights that had been given to them both when Mark . . .

Continued in Part II