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).

The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 22 - Part II

" . . . Look, Tyler," said Mark earnestly. "I know that you're nervous. That is perfectly natural. Val is probably just as nervous as you are."

Tyler began tugging on the gold crown affixed to the sleeve of his white jacket. "What if all he wants to do is talk? What if all he wants is to say that we can be friends, but nothing more?"

"Tyler, stop it!" admonished Mark. "First of all, you do not know how he feels. Why not let him tell you? Second, stop playing with that damned crown! You'll rip your uniform."

"You're a real help," griped Tyler. Then he groaned softly. "What if he wants to, you know, and I don't know what to do?" Tyler had been agonising all day about what he was going to say to Val and what would happen when he said it. He had known Val for 11 years. They had been school roommates for most of those years, and in all that time, in all those years, they had never really expressed their feelings for each other. What if Val did not want him? What if . . .?

Mark's voice penetrated Tyler's confused mind. " . . . Take things slow, is my advice. Let him set the pace. If he wants you, he'll tell you." Mark grasp Tyler's arm. "The first time is always the hardest. Believe me, Tyler, I know. When Tony and I first started we were so confused it's a wonder we managed to accomplish anything."

"But Mark, Val's been with a girl! He's been with lots of girls!"

Mark thought a moment. "Big deal. Now you have a change to show him what he's been missing." He shrugged. "So what if he has never been with a guy?"

"He has," Tyler blurted. "Val has been with a guy and been blown two or three times. Me, too!" His face became a mask of pain and embarrassment. "Shit, I shouldn't have said that!"

Mark laughed and looked around for a drink. He poured a healthy shot of scotch into a glass and handed it to Tyler. "Drink this, and listen to me." He poured himself a drink, took a small sip of the amber liquid, and winked. "Okay, you've gotten a blow job. So has Val." He took another sip of scotch. "All that means is you are now men with a past." He saw the look of concern on Tyler's face and continued. "Half the guys I know have fooled around with another guy. Getting a blow job from another guy is hardly unique." He looked pointedly down the Gunroom to where Nathan and Sandro were sitting. "As a young Russian of our acquaintance is about to find out." Mark could not prevent a snicker from escaping his lips. Then, as he shook his head, he downed his drink in one gulp.

While Mark's look was not lost on Tyler, he was less concerned about what he knew would happen between Nathan and Sandro than he was about what might happen between Val and him. "I do not want a one night stand, Mark," protested Tyler vehemently. "And I sure do not want a quick suck or a . . ."

"I know what you want, Tyler," returned Mark with a leer. "And I am doing my best to help you get it." Mark cast a glance at Tony, who sat chatting with Cory. "Which is why the American contingent is spending the night in the Wardroom." He nodded at Tony, then at the door. Tony returned the nod. "Whatever happens, happens," advised Mark. "Remember, take it slow, take it easy. Let Val set the pace, and I shall expect a full report in the morning!"

Grinning, Mark turned to Tony and took his arm. The two Americans made their goodbyes and left the Gunroom.

Shortly after the American cadets made their departure the other guests began drifting away until there were only Two Strokes, Thumper and Fred in the Gunroom. Cory had rummaged in his locker and disappeared into the washplace, not wanting to change in front of a roomful of relative strangers. Thumper, who was impatiently waiting for everybody to get the fuck to bed so he could retire to the heads, unabashedly set the pace. He began to strip off his uniform. Two Strokes and Fred began to follow Thumper's lead. Val looked at Tyler, who swallowed nervously, and went into the Chiefs Mess.

Both young men began to undress, casting nervous glances at each other as they did so. Tyler groaned inwardly as Val stripped down to his white boxers. God was Val beautiful. Tyler did not know that Val was thinking the same thing, seeing Tyler standing there beside his bunk, wearing only a pair of exquisitely tight, white briefs.

After hanging his uniform in his locker, Tyler pulled back the covers of his bed and lay down, waiting silently, as Mark had advised, for Val to make the first move.

Val sat on the edge of his bunk, nervously toying with the leg of his underpants, trying to sort out the feelings he was having. His mind was in turmoil. This morning he had hinted that he had feelings for his friend, not quite daring to reveal the truth. God, did Tyler look wonderful! He cast a nervous glance across the mess and looked at Tyler, who was lying full out on his bunk, his perfect dick and oval testicles clearly outlined under the thin fabric of his tighty-whiteys. Val tried not to be too obvious in his admiring glances, but damn it, Tyler looked . . . Val could feel his dick tingle and jerk. He smiled wanly at Tyler. "Uh, Tyler, I . . ."

Tyler sensed Val's nervousness and unease. He would take it one step at a time, would follow Mark's advice. He made to get out of bed. "I can get us a drink, if you like," he offered.

"No," Val croaked. "Stay where you are." He suddenly stood up and crossed the cabin to lie down beside Tyler, who pulled the covers over their bodies. "Scoot over and give me some room," said Val in a low voice.

Tyler scooted as close to the bulkhead as he could get. Single bunks were hardly roomy enough for one, let alone two, tall, muscular teenagers. He lay back, waiting for whatever came next. "This is like the old days, when we were little," Tyler said presently.

Val was silent for nearly a minute. Then he shook his head. "No, this is wrong!" He rolled out of bed and stumbled toward his locker. Tyler's heart dropped, and he almost burst into tears until he noticed what Val was doing.

Val was throwing clothes around the cabin, burrowing into his locker, looking for something. He stood up abruptly and waved something white at Tyler. "Aha! I knew I had a clean pair!" He quickly dropped his white boxers and pulled on a pair of tight, white briefs. After adjusting his semi-hard dick (which Tyler took as a good sign) Val returned to Tyler's bunk and crawled back in. He turned onto his side, facing Tyler.

A long time ago when they were both little boys, bare balled, afraid and lonely in a strange school, in a strange city, they had started to lie in bed together. In their prepubescent youth, boys of all ages wore tighty-whiteys, and Tyler smiled at Val's remembering such a small detail. He rolled on his side and scooted close to Val, his forehead touching Val's, the heads of their dicks, which pooched out the front of their briefs, not quite touching, which was a good thing because Tyler had gotten a raging hardon as soon as Val got back into the bed with him. He waited impatiently, hoping that Val would remember their old ritual. Val did not disappoint. "Lift up your head," he ordered.

Tyler did as he was told. He lifted his head and Val slid his left arm under it. Tyler laid back, his head resting on Val's arm. Val looked directly into Tyler's eyes and reach around with his free hand. He ruffled Tyler's red/gold hair and hugged him tightly.

A tremor of exquisite pleasure rolled through Tyler's body at Val's touch. "I love you," he squeaked. "I've always loved you. I just could not tell you."

Val raised his eyebrows. "Why? You are my best friend, my bud . . ." Daringly he leaned his face closer to Tyler's and kissed him. "I love you, Tyler," he said, his voice a soft, caressing whisper. "I always have."

Tyler's eyes opened in amazement. "You do? What you said this morning, it was true?"

Val nodded slowly. "Yes, Tyler, it was true because I feel the same way about you as you feel about me. I just could not tell you. I've wanted to be with you for so fucking long!"

Tyler shook his head, laughing sadly. "And I have been wanting to say exactly the same thing to you for such a long time." His chest heaved and he closed in eyes. "I would lie in bed, wanting to go over and be with you, to hold you, to love you."

"Why the hell didn't you?" demanded Val. "I wouldn't have thrown you out of the bed!"

"I didn't know that, Val," replied Tyler reasonably. Then he shrugged expressively. "You know what it was like, what the guys thought about queers and faggots."

Val, who had been one of the guys, knew exactly what Tyler meant. "We were such assholes!"

Tyler nodded. "I couldn't tell you how I felt, Val. I wanted to, but I was so afraid of losing you as my friend, afraid of you hating me!"

"I would never have hated you, Tyler," replied Val, his voice low. "I love you, I've always loved you."

"I didn't know that," replied Tyler, his voice full of regret. "How could I know? How could I tell my best friend that I was queer for him? How could I tell the guy I admired the most in all the world, the school jock, the terror of three girls' schools, Mister Macho personified, that I was desperately in love with him and wanted him in every way I could have him? How could I?"

Val chuckled and shook his head. "And I wanted the same thing from you. Only I couldn't tell you, either."

"But, Val, the girls, the boasts?"

"An act. Too fucking good of an act! I never scored with any of them."

Tyler's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Val, they . . . girls literally drooled over you. Hell, from the looks you got from those girls you were sex personified! Everybody in school thought that all you had to do was to look at one of those girls and she would fall down and spread her legs!"

"Never happened," replied Val calmly. "Oh, I went out with them, even made out with a couple of them. I never fucked any of them." He gave Tyler a baleful look. "And you should talk! I can name a few girls who wet themselves when you came into the room." Val laughed and pulled Tyler closer. Their cocks ground together and both boys moaned softly. Val murmured softly, "You could have had your pick of them."

Tyler shook his head. "I didn't want any of them," he declared forcefully. "I wanted you, damn it! I played the same silly game that you did but, in truth, I never felt anything when I kissed a girl." His lips brushed against Val's. "I never wanted to fuck any of them! Hell, I got a bigger charge out of kissing Phantom than I ever did with one of Miss Havergal's ladies!"

Val quickly gave Tyler a deep kiss. "Phantom's a good kisser," he whispered when their lips parted. "I'm better."

A broad grin broke Tyler's handsome face. "Yeah, you are. Can we do it again?"

They kissed again, deeper, and more passionately. Val's hand moved down and he rested it on Tyler's now rock hard erection. Tyler groaned and felt Val's balls and equally hard cock.

"Why did we wait so long, Val?" asked Tyler as they pulled apart. "Why did we pretend to be such macho jocks when we are both a couple of scared virgins?"

Val considered Tyler's words for a moment. Then he made a face. "Weellll," he drawled, "I ain't exactly a virgin."

"Pardon?"

"That night, when the guys carried us into the yard, and dumped us in the mud? You remember me saying that I wasn't a virgin?"

"'I am not a virgin, I am not a virgin'," mimicked Tyler, laughing. His face straightened. "But you just said that you'd never fucked any of those girls you went out with!"

Val took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. "What I said was true. I never fucked a girl." He swallowed hard. "But I did fuck Goodson Worth Ladbrook, The Fourth," he said calmly. "So, I am not a virgin."

Tyler was so shocked that he tried to sit up. "You what?"

Val pulled Tyler back to him and ruffled his hair again. "Try not to be so loud. You'll wake Cory."

"He's not in the Gunroom! He's gone off somewhere and what the hell did you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," replied Val, as calm as ever. "I had sex with Goodson Worth Ladbrook."

"The Fourth?"

"The same. I fucked him," confirmed Val.

Tyler refused to believe that Val had done any such thing. Val was much too much a male to have done anything like that! "But . . . but . . . Goodson Ladbrook? Val, you can't have done that! He was screwing Ashton and Gage and . . ."

Val nodded his head and gave Tyler's balls a slight squeeze. "I tell you no lies," he said firmly. "Goodson was screwing Ashton and Gage. However, they were not screwing him. I screwed him, and that is God's truth." He raised his hand and was about to make the Sign of the Cross to prove the veracity of his bombshell, then changed his mind. He reached down and thrust his hand into his white briefs. "I swear on the biggest circumcised Sicilian cock - there are only three, you know - in Saskatoon, that I fucked Goodson Worth Ladbrook." He added for emphasis. "The Fourth!"

Tyler was still a daze. "You fucked him!" he whispered, appalled. Then, despite himself, he laughed quietly and said, "And you are not the biggest. Vittorio is, and Anselmo is running a close second!"

"And just how would you know?" demanded Val, insulted.

"Val, your whole family came to Toronto to see us graduate. You stayed at my house, at the Farm, remember?" explained Tyler. "We went swimming, remember? We all changed in the same room, remember? I saw you, and Vittorio, and Anselmo buck naked . . ."

"Stop saying 'remember'!" growled Val. "I do remember now, that you saw my brothers naked. So you know how my brothers look. Happy?"

Tyler gave Val a quick squeeze of mollification. "Yours is handsomer. Happy?" he asked with a grin.

"Well, okay," muttered Val as he returned Tyler's grin. "At least you're in bed with me, and not Vittorio or Anselmo."

"They don't turn me on. You do," replied Tyler warmly.

"Good, 'cause those two perverts would have jumped your bones if you'd given them a second look."

"Val!"

Val was not at all repentant. "They've been perving each other for a donkey's age, so don't looked so shocked."

Tyler, whose Anglican upbringing did not include sex with one's brothers, asked carefully. "Did you and they . . .?"

"Nothing serious," Val answered Tyler's unasked question glibly. "The first guy I was ever with was Goody."

Tyler caught the inflection in Val's voice and decided not to pursue Val's escapades with his brothers further. There was still, however, the matter of Goodson Worth Ladbrook. "How did you and Goody, I mean, when did that happen?" Tyler asked, curious.

"Goodson and me?" Val slipped his hand down the front of Tyler's briefs and squeezed his hardon. "Are you sure that you want to know all the gruesome details?" he asked with a lewd snicker.

Tyler nodded. His dick was throbbing, and he almost said no, but he did not. Suddenly he was very jealous and hurt. "I want to know everything about you, Val. Please, tell me." If Val and Goody had been an item Tyler did not know how he would react.

"Okay," said Val with a patient sigh. Might as well get it all out in the open. He withdrew his hand from Tyler's briefs and began to make small, concentric circles around Tyler's nipples. "It happened two years ago, in our room, in the House." He began to move his hand lower. "It was Spring Break and I had come back from Saskatoon early because I had left early. Goody and I were the only two boys in the House. He had done something - I don't know what - and was in shit with his father, so he got grounded at school. That was when it happened."

Tyler nodded. "You went home early because your Aunt Maria died. You went home for her funeral."

Val left off feeling Tyler's dick. "Yeah. What a funeral that was! My cousin, Vinny? He got a hernia carrying her into the church!" He snickered. "God was Aunt Maria huge! She was like that old joke!"

Tyler was about to take Val to task for speaking ill of the dead, and the herniated Cousin Vinny, when his curiosity got the better of him. "What old joke?"

"What's the difference between an Italian matron and an elephant?" asked Val in all seriousness.

"Fucked if I know!"

"A black dress and a moustache!" roared Val. Then he grappled with Tyler and kissed him, hard.

Tyler pushed Val away. "You're nuts! You are stark raving mad!" he said with a grin. "I should push you out of this bed for telling such a lousy joke!"

"You won't," returned Val confidently.

"No, I won't," replied Tyler. He kissed Val again. "Maybe because I love you so much."

Val pretended to frown. "And here I was thinking it was my sparkling personality, my biting wit, my smooth, polished manners and my perfectly formed, unique, exquisite dick that attracted you to me!"

"After that joke I wouldn't bank on your 'sparkling wit'," retorted Tyler. "As for the others, well, I do love you for all those things, including your perfectly formed, unique, exquisite dick!" He gave Val a withering look. "What I would like to know is what that exquisite dick was doing in Goodson Worth Ladbrook's ass!"

"The Fourth?" replied Val with a grin, continuing the ritual.

"The same," said Tyler testily. "Now talk! I want to know what you were doing fucking him!"

"That's what I was afraid of," muttered Val. He settled back, thoroughly enjoying the warmth and feel of Tyler's body against his. "Since you must know, as I said, I came back from Saskatoon early. I was sitting in our room, debating whether or not to give you a call, when Goody came in. The Head had told him about why I had left school early, and come back early, so Goody decided to play the Good Samaritan."

"Or was just horny!" retorted Tyler with a snort. He knew that he should not be jealous of Goody, or Val, but he was. "If, that is, you are not pulling my pisser!"

"I am not pulling your pisser!" replied Val. At least, not yet. He sighed and continued his story of his seduction at Goody's hands. "I did not know that Goody was horny. All I knew was that he was being kind to me, and asking me out to dinner. I sort of hemmed and hawed. I really wanted to call you and have your dad come and get me, but Goody persisted. He offered to pay to have something sent in so I figured, what the hell, I'll have something to eat and then call you."

"You always did like your victuals," complained Tyler.

Val ignored him. "Goody then asked me what I wanted to eat, so I suggested Chinese. He said that he really preferred to eat an Italian and before I knew it he stuck his hand down the front of my pants."

"And of course, you screamed rape!" said Tyler sourly.

"I don't think so," returned Val, equally sourly, "because the next thing I knew my pants and shorts were down around my ankles and he was sucking my dick!"

"And you let him?"

Val shrugged. "Well, I was horny, and it felt very good."

"Val!"

"I told you that I was horny. A stiff dick has no conscience, you know."

Tyler could not deny that particular adage. However . . . He fixed Val a disappointed look. "Val, how can you expect me to believe that Goodson Ladbrook blew you? Do you really expect me to believe that Goodson Worth Ladbrook, the stud of UCCS, the handsomest, richest guy in school, the guy who was the Jock of Jocks, the guy who made all the girls from Miss Havergal's College so wet that they had to change their panties at least three times if he even looked that them because he was sooo good looking and sooo . . ."

"Except for Melanie Dogood and Josephine Campbell," interrupted Val. "They were an item. A couple of certified pussy lickers."

Tyler, exasperated, punched Val's shoulder. "I do not care if they shoved cucumbers up their twats! Goody Ladbrook actually sucked your dick?"

Val nodded. "I'm telling you the truth, Tyler. Didn't I swear on . . .?"

"I know, I know! The biggest circumcised Sicilian dick - of which there are only three - in Saskatoon! You fucked him!" Tyler all but raged.

"Yes, damn it, I did!" admitted Val. "Goody is everything you said he was! He's also sooo gay! He is as queer as a duck! He sucked me until I was so hard I thought my head would implode! Then he dropped his pants - he wasn't wearing any underwear - and told me to fuck him! So I did!"

"Holy shit!" Tyler was shocked and stunned and horrified, all at the same time. There were many he could believe would bend over for Val - hell, Tyler admitted to himself that he was one of them - but Goodson? He could not believe that Goodson, who was a stud, an athlete, a guy, would do such a thing!

Val saw the outrage on his best friend's face. "Tyler, you were trying so hard not to admit that you are gay, to not admit that a whole bunch of guys could possibly be gay, that you never looked in the right directions. You thought, as I once did, that all gays are effeminate, and that a big stud, who is not in any way effeminate, or conforms to the so-called stereotypes, could not possibly be gay." He gave Tyler a conciliatory hug. "Tyler, Goodson Ladbrook is gay. He doesn't act like it, he doesn't outwardly look like it, but he is gay. Trust me on this. I know, and not just because I fucked him." Val rubbed his nose against Tyler's and squeezed his now soft parts. "You never thought that I was gay, did you?

"No," replied Tyler. "To be honest, I was afraid to approach you because I thought that you were the straightest thing on two feet." He glanced quickly at Val. "Which is why even now I find it difficult to believe that you actually fucked Goodson."

"I did, Tyler," said Val seriously. "I'm sorry, now, that I did it." He ran his hand down Tyler's leg. "But the same holds true for you, Tyler. You were afraid to tell me how you felt. I was afraid for the same reason. You were - are - so fucking straight it made my balls ache! I wanted you and I believed I could never have you. I had more or less resigned myself to being your best friend. I was prepared to accept you on those terms." He slapped his had against the mattress. "Damn, Tyler, I would never have fucked Goodson if I had known how you felt!"

"We were both jerks, then," said Tyler quietly. "I wanted you so badly. I used to lie in bed, at school, and here, at night, wondering what would happen if I crawled into your bunk. I was afraid that if I approached you, that you would beat the shit out of me, then high tail it back to Saskatoon and that I would never see you again, and that you would hate me for being a faggot."

"Well you thought wrong, Tyler!" Val sat up. "I would have much preferred that you be my first. I lost my virginity to a jerk!" He turned and looked at Tyler, the soft moonlight highlighting the curve of Tyler's smooth body. "I fucked Goodson, a guy who is not worth a pinch of coon shit, compared to you." He sighed heavily. "We were thinking at cross-purposes, you and I. You were afraid that I would hate you for being gay and I was afraid that you would hate me for being a gay. What a couple of jerks!"

"Not so much of a jerk, Val," murmured Tyler. He ran his hand along Val's warm thigh.

Val smiled thinly. "What makes it worse is that all I did was fuck Goody. It didn't mean jack shit and it meant even less after I heard some of the stories about him."

"Stories? What stories?" I never heard anything about him."

"You never heard because you never listened," replied Val, not unkindly. "You were the Head Boy to be, back then, and you never just sat around and shot the shit with the guys. You were so intense, back then." He reached out and ran his hand down Tyler's chest. "Of course, Goodson covered his tracks very well. He was very careful whom he slept with."

"Did you know about him, the night you and he fucked?" asked Tyler, intrigued.

Val shook his head. "No. Up until then I thought as you did. It was only later that I found out that Goody had quite a little thing going for him." He stared at Tyler. "Goody played a good game, Tyler, and he played it well. He was, is, gay. He likes getting it up the ass, and giving it up the ass. He likes sucking dick, and for the most part sticks to Ashton and Gage."

"Then how did you end up . . .?"

"Fucking him?" Val lay back and laughed quietly. "I was one of Goody's monthly conquests. He would get an itch every now and then and put the moves on a guy. It was always a different guy. He would let the guy fuck him. I suppose we, his conquests I mean, all felt flattered that he had been allowed to stick our dicks in the school hero." He frowned slightly, staring into the gloom of the cabin. "Of course, I suspect that the only reason I got lucky was because Howitzer Hutton wasn't around."

"What the hall has Howitzer Hutton got to do with Goodson?" demanded Tyler, totally mesmerized by Val's story. Tyler remembered Laurence Joseph Hutton, aka "Howitzer", who had been Goodson Ladbrook's roommate. Howitzer was six feet, two inches tall, weighed in at 200 pounds of solid muscle and had the biggest dick in the school. When hard, which it often was, Howitzer's dick measured in at 12-inches of thick, hard flesh. The damned thing was huge and had to be at least six inches around. It was exactly the shape of the inert howitzer shells that stood outside the Army Cadet Corps office. "Howitzer was plowing it into Goodson?" Tyler had known Howitzer for years, and had never suspected this dark side of his character.

"All the time," affirmed Val. "Goody liked to get it up his ass and, since he lived with him, Howitzer was happy to oblige. He made Goody very happy."

"But you told me, when we were in Victoria, that Goody was plowing it into Ashton and Gage," responded Tyler, amazed at what had been going on in the school.

"Oh, he was. Goody was fucking them on a regular basis." Val shrugged. "He wouldn't let them, for some reason, fuck him."

"He let you fuck him!" snarled Tyler. He knew that he should not feel angry, or be jealous of Val's past, but he was. Damn, it rankled that Val had been with another boy!

"Yes, I did," replied Val sadly. "What make's it worse is that I was just another name on Godson's long list of conquests."

Tyler raised his eyebrows. Now this was a something new. "How many guys fucked Goodson?"

Val chuckled. "From the rumours, and from what I later heard from some of the other guys, quite a few." He squirmed slightly, not at all proud of what he had done, less so in the knowledge that he was just another dick up Goodson's ass. "Whenever Howitzer wasn't around, and Goody wanted to get laid, he'd go on the prowl. He'd zoom in on a stud, puts the moves on him, and they'd do the dirty. There was never any pattern to Goody's prowling. I guess a dick was a dick, to him." A full-throated laugh rose from Val's throat. "Not that he ever found another dick as big as Howitzer's 'cause Goody always went back to him!"

Tyler thought a moment. Val was okay, hell, more than okay in the dick department, but he was no Howitzer Hutton. He chuckled and gave Val a squeeze. "Tough act to follow."

Val took no offence. "Fucking aye, Tyler. To be honest, I know exactly how Two Strokes felt when he boffed the Comox Damsel. We both could have used a two-by-four to strap to our asses. I've given myself a better hand wipe! At least I liked jerking myself off. As far as Goody was concerned I was just a guy with a dick that could fill his hole. He didn't give a shit about me. He didn't care how I might feel, not like the guy who comes in here and blows me!"

Val was so totally wrapped up in his story that he did not realise what he had just said, nor did he see Tyler's eyes fly open, and continued on, unmindful of the effect that he was having on Tyler.

Tyler was only half-listening as Val continued to spin his dip. What worried Tyler was that not only did he know that the night visitor had pleasured Val, but that he had lain in his bunk, like some old perv in a porno theatre, and watched while the deed was being done! How do you tell someone who had just professed his love for you that you had watched him getting blown?"

" . . . Now there is a guy who cares about the guy he's doing," Val was saying a Tyler returned to the real world. "When he sucked my dick I thought that as far as he was concerned mine was the only dick in the world! He made love to my dick like making me happy was the only thing in the whole world that mattered. Every time he gave me a blow job I thought that it could not possibly get better, but it was always better the next time!"

Tyler sat up slowly, a fearful look on his face. He looked directly at Val. "He came in the night, after everybody else was asleep," he whispered. "He took your dick in his mouth and he . . ."

Val immediately went on the defensive, cringing after realising what he had said. He wanted Tyler to know everything about his past sexual escapades. He had told Tyler about Goody, so he would also tell Tyler about the night visitor. "Yes, Tyler, a guy came into the Mess and gave me a blow job. He used to come into the Mess, at night, once or twice a week." Val stuck out his chin, a stubborn, unrepentant look on his face. "I enjoyed what he did to me. I do not regret it at all!"

Tyler shrank back and returned Val's stare. "Nor do I!" he whispered defiantly.

"He . . . he . . . did you?" gasped Val.

Nodding, Tyler reached out his hand. When Val took it, Tyler said softly, "I saw him, I saw the night visitor when he came into the Mess." He seemed to shudder as he continued. "I saw him when he did you, and I am so sorry! I really did not mean to look, Val, but I did because he had just finished me off and I guess he thought that I was asleep because he went to your bed and he started to . . ." Tyler's words came all in a rush, so much so that Val could hardly understand him.

"Hold on, slow down!" ordered Val. "Let me understand you." He looked into Tyler's eyes and asked, "You were visited in the night?"

"By a guy dressed all in black," confirmed Tyler, nodding his head slightly.

"And he gave you a blow job?"

Again Tyler nodded. "Several."

"And you watched him give me a blow job?" Val was very calm and if he was angry he was hiding his anger well. He moved quickly to sit on the edge of the bunk.

Tyler hoped that Val could not see him blush with shame. "I . . . yes. He gave me a blow job and then he went to your bunk." Tyler reached out and touched Val's waist. "The first time it happened, him blowing me? I thought I was having a wet dream. I truly thought that it was a wonderful dream!"

Val thought a moment. "So did I! Shit, it was not something I expected to happen in AURORA! The next day I kept telling myself that it had all been a very vivid wet dream." He coloured slightly. "Then one night, I woke up, and it wasn't a dream. He was there, blowing me, and Tyler, I wanted him to do it!"

For a long while, Tyler did not reply. Val glanced at his friend, and saw the look of concern on Tyler's face, so beautiful in the pale moonlight. "It wasn't a dream," murmured Tyler, repeating Val's words, his eyes closed as he remembered. "I knew what was happening to me, I knew what the night visitor was doing to me, and I wanted it to happen." Tyler opened his eyes and looked directly at Val. "I would wait, pretending to be asleep, fighting sleep, waiting for him to come into the Mess."

Val looked sheepish. "I wanted him to come and I waited, just as you did," he confessed. "I would lie in my bunk, waiting for you to fall asleep, and praying for him to come in the night." He chuckled dryly and shook his head. "Something else we couldn't tell each other about!"

"No, we couldn't," agreed Tyler. A looked of deep sadness came over his face. "I'm sorry, I . . ."

Val reached up and cupped Tyler's chin, then leaned forward and kissed Tyler gently. "You have no reason to be sorry. You saw what you saw and to be honest, if I had been awake when he was doing you, I would have looked too!"

"Val, you don't understand," returned Tyler. "I watched, yes, but . . ."

"But what?" Val had a fairly good idea of what Tyler was about to tell him, but felt it best that Tyler say what he had to say.

"I wanted it to be me!" blurted Tyler. He ran his hand through his hair and dropped his head. "I wanted it to be me giving you that blow job - giving you that pleasure!"

Val's dark brown eyes twinkled as he looked lovingly at Tyler. He patted the mattress. "Come and sit by me, please."

Wondering what was coming next, Tyler swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat beside Val, their hips touching. "I do love you, Val. Please believe that," murmured Tyler as he stared into the darkened shadows of the cabin.

Val remained silent. Tyler's declaration of his love was enervating and the warmth of Tyler's long, tightly-muscled body made Val feel as if he were enveloped in an aura of delightful desire.

". . . And I am so very sorry that I watched you and the night visitor," Tyler continued sorrowfully. "It was mean and low, and I, well, I'm sorry."

Val exhaled an almost visible cloud of alcohol-tinged breath. "I'm sorry about Goodson. I was a pig to fuck him." His dark eyes bore into Tyler. "It didn't mean anything, not then, not now. What we did was just . . . fucking," he said emotionally. "It didn't mean squat and . . . well, damn it, I wanted my first time to be with you. I always wanted you to be my first."

"We cannot help what happened with the night visitor," replied Tyler. "Neither of us encouraged him and to be truthful, neither of us did anything to discourage him." Tyler's voice flattened. "As for Goodson, it's over and done with. It's done and as you say, he was just a fuck."

"And now we neither of us have any secrets," said Val, his voice heavy with relief.

"No secrets." Tyler very carefully put his hand around Val's waist. "We came in here tonight to talk about us, how we feel, what we want to feel, what we want to do. Mark and Tony went to a great deal of trouble to make sure that we would be alone to talk. I love you, Val; I want to be with you. I want you to make love to me, and I want to make love to you."

Val laid his head on Tyler's shoulder. "I want that, too," he whispered. Then he straightened and pulled away.

"What . . . what's the matter?" asked Tyler, puzzled at Val's reaction to his declaration.

Val cleared his throat and looked lovingly at the Master at Arms. "I am a very old fashioned guy, Tyler. I am Sicilian! When Sicilians mate, they mate for life. I love you, and I want you, but only if you understand that it has to be forever. "You have to be awfully sure that is what you want."

"Anglo Saxons have been know to mate for life, Val," returned Tyler dryly. He raised his free hand and gently caressed Val's cheek. "I do not want to be with anyone else, male or female. I want to be with you, just you! I will never leave you, and I will never be with another boy other than you." He pulled his hand away and gazed sincerely at Val. "Please, don't worry about . . ."

"I wasn't," insisted Val. "I just wanted you to know how I feel about us." He let out another gust of air. "I also want you to know that while I want you to be a part of my life, I am not leaving Saskatoon. I have plans, big plans, for my Pop's business."

"Really?" Well, I want you to know that I have every intention of going to Royal Roads," returned Tyler, miffed. "Like you, I also have plans."

"You had better not even think about not going into the Navy!" Val glared at Tyler. "You've been boring the shit out of me for five fucking years about going to the Naval College, so going you are!"

Tyler started to laugh. "Shit, Val, we're not even together and already we're having our first fight!"

"We are not fighting," returned Val stiffly. "We are making ourselves clear to each other. I love you, and I will say it until I am blue in the face. I want to be with you but I am not going to force you into anything that you do not want to do. We have to start out knowing exactly what we want from each other. We have spent too much time lying and hiding the truth from each other. It's time for us to make up our minds, to start out with a clean slate." He looked at Tyler, deep yearning in his eyes. "I love you, and I want to be with you."

"And I want to be with you," replied Tyler. He thought about what he had seen in the Gunroom earlier. "I want you, Val, forever." He looked directly at his hoped-to-be lover. "You've said that the slate is clean. It isn't, because on my slate there is one name: Valentine Joseph Orsini. If you're going to do a Greg Carroll on me, just tell me."

Val shook his head. He had seen Greg and Jimmy doing their mating dance and he knew exactly what Tyler meant. "That will never happen! I want to be with you," Val replied calmly. "I want you to never change. Never get all sloppy on me, never stop chucking shit at me, never stop being a man because, Tyler, that is whom I fell in love with. A man!"

Tyler gave Val a tender kiss on his cheek. "As did I!" He snuggled closer. "Now that we have agreed that we love each other, now can we, you know . . .?"

"No, not yet." Val stood up abruptly.

A startled look came over Tyler's broad, handsome face. "What? But Val, where are you . . . what in hell are you doing?" he demanded querulously.

Val waved away Tyler's protest and burrowed deep into his sea chest. He found what he was looking for and returned to sit beside Tyler, handing him a small, blue box as he settled beside Tyler. "This is for you," Val murmured, almost apologetically. "It's the only thing gold that I have."

"Gold?" Tyler's eyes were wide with curiosity as he opened the box. Inside was a small, round, gold object. He held the small piece of gold up and an errant moonbeam caused it to gleam dully. "What is it?"

"A St. Christopher's medal. My mother gave it to me as a gift for my First Communion."

Tyler was taken aback. He immediately returned the small medal to the box. "Val, I cannot accept this," he declared. "It's beautiful, really, and I adore the sentiment behind the gift, but no, I cannot take it." He tried to hand the box back to Val.

"You have to," insisted Val firmly, refusing the box. "It's part of the tradition."

"What tradition?" demanded Tyler, even more perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you that I am a very traditional guy," responded Val patiently. "If you want me, you have to accept the gold medal. It is a tradition."

Tyler gave Val an exasperated look. "I hope that you plan on explaining this tradition!" Tyler was also secretly wondering if he had to return a gift of gold. The only thing he had was his school ring, which was a twin of the one Val was wearing.

"I fully intend to," said Val calmly. He smiled at Tyler and took his hand in his. "In the village where my family comes from, when a young man comes to declare his intentions to the girl he wants to be his wife, he gives her a gift of gold."

"In the event you haven't noticed," snarled Tyler, bristling, "I a not a girl!"

"Thank God for that!" returned Val, not at all impressed or intimidated by Tyler's outburst. "Let me put this way, then. The young man comes to the village to declare his love for the person he wishes to be his . . . mate."

"Better, but not by much," sniped Tyler.

Val ignored him. "As a symbol that his intentions are honourable, and pure, the young man gives the person he loves a gift of gold. If the person accepts the gift then the young man has permission to speak to the person's father . . ."

"You are not going to talk to my father!" yelped Tyler, a horrified look on his face.

Val knew exactly what was bothering Tyler. "I am not prepared to announce my being gay to the world," he said gently. "At least, not yet."

"Nor am I." Tyler ran his hand down Val's warm, muscular thigh. "As much as I would like to shout it from the rooftops, I can't declare myself openly, Val. I wish I could, but I can't. We can't let anyone know about us because . . ."

Val nodded his agreement. "I don't think that either of our families would accept our being gay."

"The guys will accept us," replied Tyler, smiling. "They're expecting it and Harry said as much this morning."

"So did Stuart," said Val He thought a moment. "We can be ourselves with the guys, but not our families and friends back home." He shook his head. "We have to understand that is the way things must be."

"I know," replied Tyler. "I still want you, and I want to be with you."

"Then you accept the gift?" asked Val, smiling apprehensively.

Tyler opened the box and took out the small medal. He raised the small circle of gold to his mouth and bit it. "Real gold?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"No, fool's gold for a fool!" returned Val angrily. "Give it back if you don't want it."

"Ah, but I do." Tyler returned the medal to its box and carefully closed the lid. "I accept the gift, Valentine. And you."

Val resisted the urge to caper around the cabin. He pretended humility. "I, and my family are honoured that you accept my small token of my warm and honourable regard for you," he said formally.

Tyler giggled and ran his hand across Val's warm, smooth, briefs-covered ass. "Does that mean that now we can . . .?" he began hopefully.

"Now so fast, Benbow!" Val moved down the bunk, a hug grin breaking his face. "You have accepted an honourable gift from an honourable suitor. Now we begin the negotiations."

"Negotiations? What negotiations?" demanded Tyler. "We love each other. What is there to negotiate?"

"The dowry, of course," replied Val in feigned seriousness. "I must warn you as well, I do not come cheap!"

"You will not cum at all, asshole!" retorted Tyler with a snarl. "Dowry indeed! What makes you think that I, or my family, would pay to have some lowborn, Sicilian peasant, crawl into my bed and . . ." He gave Val a dirty look. "You forget that I am the first born son of the house of Benbow, and that means that the whole Orsini clan should be beating a path to my door, each leading a donkey - which I understand Sicilians set great store by - laden with fine gold and costly jewels . . ."

Val roared with laughter. "Ah, Tyler, that is one of the reasons I love you so much! You are so gullible!" He patted the mattress. "Lie down beside me."

"What for?" asked Tyler, suspicious. Nevertheless, he lay down on the bunk.

"We Sicilians have too many stupid traditions," began Val in a low, growling whisper. "Who needs a dowry anyway?" He manoeuvred himself between Tyler's outstretched legs, looked deeply into Tyler's eyes, and smiled. "I love you," he whispered as he bent low and buried his face in Tyler's crotch, and kissing his way up and down the large bulge that filled the front of Tyler's briefs.

Val, kneeling low, reached out and began to gently pull down Tyler's briefs. With excruciating slowness Tyler's perfect treasure was revealed. Tyler raised his hips slightly, allowing Val to completely remove his tighty-whiteys, and shuddering as Val slowly dragged his lips up and down the length of his engorged, rock-hard penis.

Holding tightly onto Tyler's thick, muscular thighs, Val took Tyler's erection into his mouth, savouring the sweet taste of Tyler's dick as he ran his tongue down the length of Tyler's beautifully formed penis. Val drew back, admiring the seven inches of glorious flesh that his lover offered him, his eyes devouring the details, revelling in the colour and scent of Tyler's gift.

Val had never sucked a dick before, and his only experience had been the night visitor. He tried to remember everything in detail, every nuance and shadow of how he felt when he had been visited, of what had been done to him to send such wonderful feelings raging through his body. He lowered his head and with his mouth and tongue began his act of worship.

Tyler groaned loudly as Val's warm mouth slowly encased his throbbing erection. He could feel the soft, sucking motions of Val's lips and his warm, coarse tongue as it crossed and recrossed his enflamed glans, feeling Val's hand as it slowly kneaded and pulled on his balls, driving him to distraction. Tyler could feel the sensations he so longed for building deep within his groin, feelings made more intense with the knowledge that it was Val, his wonderful, glorious Val, who was giving them to him. He began to moan and thrust his hips slowly, feeling the head of his penis, which was spasming and gaping, touching the back of Val's throat. Oh God, soon . . .

Val gagged when the head of Tyler's cock reached the back of his throat and withdrew a bit. Tyler's dick was long, and thick, and while it tasted wonderful to Val, he knew that he could not take it all into his mouth. He concentrated all his gentle efforts on the upper half of Tyler's cock, just above the pale, pink circumcision scar, sucking slowly, drawing out the nectar contained in Tyler's fast ascending balls. Val felt the soft carpet of what he knew to be the coppery hair that dusted Tyler's scrotum and pulled gently on the hairs. He could feel Tyler's cock expanding and the blood rushing tempestuously through the vein on the underside of Tyler's glorious, beautiful, magnificent organ.

Tyler could feel himself being drawn upward toward a precipice. Second by second the feelings of indescribable wonder whirled through him, a whirlpool of delight eddying outward from his throbbing cock and wonderfully aching balls. He began to groan loudly, breathing in great, raspy gasps, his fingers clutching at the sheets that covered the bunk. He thrust upward, filling Val's mouth with his expanding cock, almost shouting a barely constrained warning, "I'm gonna . . . Val, oh God, Val!"

Tyler's dick exploded and began to pump stream after stream of the most exquisite, thick cream, a bounty of tastes and senses, a cornucopia of delight filling Val's mouth. He swallowed rapidly, eagerly devouring Tyler's gift.

Tyler continued to jerk and moan, muttering incoherently as his orgasm overtook his senses, so consumed in his love for Val, and what Val was doing to him, so fixated on the pleasure that crashed through him that he clutched the sheets, pushing is body upward. He could not think, could not breathe, his body did not seem to exist anymore, such was the pleasure that engulfed him, and for once he did not flail about, thumping the bulkhead, as his orgasm overwhelmed him. "God, how I love you," he growled as his lungs heaved, starved for air. "God, how I love you!"

Val continued to suck gently until Tyler's dick softened and only then did he reluctantly release him. Tyler lay whimpering softly as Val rose up. He laid his body atop Tyler's, pushing his hands under his best friend's shoulders, holding the trembling body of his lover close. Tyler instinctively wrapped his arms around Val's back, and his legs around Val's thighs. He could feel Val's hard, warm dick, still encased in the tight briefs he had insisted on wearing, pressing against his abdomen. Their lips met and as their tongues duelled savagely Val deposited a small sample of Tyler's seed into his mouth. Tyler tasted the warm, slightly salty, thick cream and growled low. Val lowered his head slightly and began to kiss Tyler's warm, sex-heated neck.

Tyler, his senses returned to a mere semblance of normality, slowly pushed Val back. His blue eyes were sparkling with desire. He moved his hands slowly down Val's smooth, warm back and he began to push down the back of Val's underpants. "I want you in me," he whispered. "I want to feel you in me."

Val's dark brown eyes smouldered. "Are you sure," he asked softly.

His fingertips covering Val's mouth, Tyler whispered. "I have never been so sure of anything in my life. I want to feel you in me, Val. I want you to fuck me."

Val nodded and rose up, leaving Tyler's bunk. He pushed down his underpants, revealing his smooth, perfectly proportioned erection, which bounced slightly as he breathed. He was about to make love and he cursed himself inwardly, rueing again his rutting with Goodson. He glanced back at Tyler and smiled gently. He would not rut with Tyler, as he had with Goodson. He would not fuck Tyler, as he had fucked Goodson. He would make love to Tyler.

Looking down at his six and a bit throbbing inches, Val fingered the crisply defined, gently curving head of his penis, feeling the slimy, natural lubrication that oozed from the slit that marred the beauty of his glans. Goodson's hole had accepted him without protest, but Tyler was a virgin. 'I . . . I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, his voice strained.

You won't hurt me," replied Tyler. "How can you hurt me when you love me?"

Val nodded. He would be as gentle as he could. "We need . . . we need something, some gel, or grease or . . .fuck!" He felt like such a doofus! Here Tyler was offering himself, himself, and in return he was muttering and spluttering and squirming like one of the girls he had falsely boasted of ravaging!

Tyler found Val's nervousness intriguing and so wonderfully desirable. The Sicilian Stallion was nervous! "There's some Vaseline in the desk," Tyler said helpfully.

Val found the Vaseline and returned to the bunk where he opened the jar and dug out a dollop of the thick lubricant. "You . . . you have to pull your legs back," he whispered. "I have to get you ready." Val remembered how he and Goodson had fucked. "Unless you want to do it doggy style."

A smile crossed Tyler's face as he said, "No, we'll do it the way it should be done." He raised his hips and pulled his legs back, revealing his small, puckered rosebud, which was surrounded by a ring of dark, red hair.

Val was motivated by sheer desire and instinct. He reached down and slowly worked the thick Vaseline into the warm, moist flesh surrounding Tyler's entrance. He dug another, bigger dollop of the lubricant out of the jar and with his finger slowly began to coat the inside of Tyler's passage, his finger moving in and out, the wet, warm membranes clasping it tightly.

Tyler moaned softly as Val's finger sent wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him. Suddenly an electrical shock of titanic proportions seared through him and he yelped and bucked. Tyler's eyes flew open and his jaw dropped. "What . . . what did you do?" he gasped.

Val quickly withdrew his finger. "Did I hurt you?" he demanded, his voice filled with concern. "Please tell me, did I hurt you?"

Laughing softly Tyler shook his head. "Oh, fuck, man, you hit something! You hit the magic spot!" He grinned salaciously. "Do it again!"

Val's eyes opened as wide as Tyler's. "I hit your prostate! Holy shit!"

Tyler laughed at Val's juvenile innocence. He reached out his arms. "Now, Val," he said.

Val nodded quickly. His dick was pulsing and his balls were aching for release. He slathered his member with far too much Vaseline, and then knelt between Tyler's widely spread, pulled back legs. "If I hurt you, tell me," he whispered.

"You won't hurt me, Val. You would never hurt me," returned Tyler, his voice sultry, a soft smile curling the edges of his lips. "I want you now, Val. Please, now."

Val placed the neatly defined head of his penis against Tyler's entrance and pushed inward. Tyler gasped as the head of Val's dick entered him and a small tremor of pain flashed through his body.

"Tyler?"

Tyler inclined his head. His lips had never lost their warm, sweet smile. "I'm all right. Just go slowly, okay?"

Watching Tyler's face for the least hint of pain or discomfort, Val slowly pushed his throbbing organ into his lover. "Push back as I push in," he instructed, his voice as gentle as his movements. Tyler pushed back and Val saw another small tremor of pain cross Tyler's face. He stopped, waiting patiently for Tyler's body to become accustomed to the intruder that promised much more pleasure than any pain it could cause, waiting patiently for a sign to continue. When Tyler nodded his head Val pushed in again, slowly moving inward until half of his dick was inside Tyler. When yet another look of pain crossed Tyler's face, Val stopped his gentle thrusting.

Tyler was breathing heavily, his heart pounding as Val's penis entered his body. Tyler felt little pain, but what he did feel was sharp and stabbing. Forcing himself to relax, Tyler felt the pain ebb away. He was also beginning to sense a feeling of deep fullness. Val being in him was wonderful! Through hooded eyes Tyler watched as Val continued to slowly enter his body and when a stab of pain coursed through him he could not quite contain a grimace. He saw a look of fear cross Val's face and nodded for him to continue. As Val continued to push into him an indescribable feeling filled Tyler's entire being. He pushed back, growling with pleasure with each thrust of Val's cock. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, of screaming pleasure delivered in small, sweet measures, Tyler could feel every inch of Val's wonderful cock in him. He could feel Val's coarse pubic hair brushing against the underside of his scrotal sac.

Val was breathing in short, sharp pants, his chest heaving, as he tried to control himself. He was all the way into Tyler's passage, and his dick was throbbing. Tyler's dick was hard, a long, think shaft bouncing slightly against his coppery treasure trail, and his balls had withdrawn upward.

They waited for a full five minutes until Tyler's body adjusted to Val's thick, deliciously invasive cock. Tyler finally nodded. "Now, Val."

With long, slow, deliberate, measured strokes Val began to thrust in and out of Tyler. He maintained an iron control, resisting his natural urge to thrust savagely. He could not do to Tyler what he had done to Goodson, savagely slamming in and out of the youth as he cried his encouragement. Val could never repeat what he had done with Goodson. He loved Tyler, and he would never hurt this wonderful boy who was giving him a great treasure: himself.

With each inward thrust the head of Val's cock brushed against Tyler's prostate, causing him to moan loudly and buck wildly. Tyler's dick jerked and a steady stream of precum oozed out of the piss slit of his dick. Tyler's eyes rolled back and his head began thrashing. He reached out and pulled Val to him. He wrapped his strong, firm legs around Val's back and thrust back with each inward thrust of Val's, his taut muscles urging Val on.

Val slowly increased his pace, though careful to thrust gently. He was making love by instinct and it felt wonderful. He could feel his balls swelling and as he approached Nirvana his mind began to close down, every sense concentrated in his dick.

Tyler had no sense of being, knowing only the feelings that crashed against him and ravaged him with pleasure. He could feel his orgasm building with each thrust of Val's dick against his prostate. He began to keen softly, knowing that soon he would . . .

Suddenly Val's body stiffened and he groaned loudly. He thrust one last deep, penetrating thrust and Tyler felt Val's penis pulse and his own body being filled with Val's hot life force. Almost immediately Tyler let go. His dick jerked and a huge stream of semen flew out of the gaping slit of his dick, the hot liquid oozing between their tightly clutching bodies.

Val, his breath hot against Tyler's hotter flesh, continued to jerk spasmodically until he had no more to give. He collapsed with a loud groan, a spent rag, atop Tyler, moaning his love, his undying love.

All too soon Val's soft dick slipped out of Tyler's passage. Tyler gathered Val into his arms and cradled him, stroking his hair and body, murmuring softly until he fell into a deep, contented sleep.

Tyler heard the door leading from the barracks yard creak slowly open, then soft, tentative footsteps as someone went into the Gunroom. He listened carefully but did not hear the bunk on the other side of the bulkhead groan and moan, as it always did when Cory went to bed. Tyler's eyelids began to droop, sleep threatening to take him. He resisted feebly, and then succumbed, wondering which of the miscreants had come creeping in.

The Twins, Tyler thought as he reached down and cupped Val's soft, warm genitals and spooned his body against his lover's. The Twins, who liked to sit on the porch of an evening and . . .

It was Greg. A mauled, clawed, completely fucked out Greg. He sat on the edge of his bunk, shaking his head in disbelief. He could scarcely believe the night of raw, unadulterated sex he had just experienced. He had never, in his wildest imaginations, thought of what he and Jimmy had done . . . Greg moaned with remembered lust and reached down to feel his sore penis. Jesus, the little fellow had had quite a workout thanks to Jimmy who . . . Holy Jesus, Holy Bald-headed Jesus Christ, could Jimmy fuck! And Suck, and FUCK!

Greg groaned and lay back on his bunk. His little fellow was rubbed raw and his asshole ached! Jimmy had made good on everything he said. Did he like to fuck? Did he ever! He fucked like a horny, out-of-control Tasmanian devil, groaning and squealing, thrusting savagely, cursing and swearing with each thrust of his long, slim cock until his entire body shuddered uncontrollably and he keened a banshee wail, his dick squirting out an unbelievably huge load as he continued to thrust in quick, vicious jerks until he collapsed, a soggy, spent mass, over Greg's back. Much to his own surprise, Greg had shot an equally huge load all over the side of the desk over which he'd been draped, spread-eagled while Jimmy fucked him doggy style.

If Jimmy fucking was wild, Jimmy being fucked was even wilder! Greg had not quite believed that Jimmy, who had the face of an innocent cherub and the slim body of a boy much younger than his 18 years, was as experienced as he claimed to be, or that he enjoyed anal sex above all other sexual acts. Jimmy very quickly dispelled and any all of Greg's doubts, for Jimmy was a lad with a past.

****** James Willson Collyer, was the illegitimate, unwanted offspring of an indifferent mother whose biggest regret had been her inability to raise the one hundred dollars that would have procured her an illegal abortion, had spent most of his young life in and out of foster homes. Some of the homes had been havens of kindness; most had been merely holding pens for society's unwanted bastards. Jimmy had been abused, sexually, physically and mentally. When he rebelled at the abuse he was beaten and returned to the not quite benevolent care of the Children's Aid Society and shunted off to yet another foster home. At the age of 13, Jimmy had been made a Ward of the Crown and, because of his incorrigible behaviour, confined to the Mercer Institute For Boys, a grim, forbidding reform school where, on the first night of his incarceration, Jimmy had been saved from being gang raped by a hulking, moody, slow-witted youth everybody called "The Moose".

If Jimmy had learned anything through the long years he spent as a foster child, he had learned that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his dick. When The Moose had carried the naked Jimmy into his room and gently laid him on the bed and proceeded to take off his prison coveralls, Jimmy knew what was coming. He shuddered slightly at the sight of The Moose's long, thick, uncircumcised penis, then reached out and slowly pulled down the thick, rubbery foreskin covering the head of The Moose's dick, then raised his head and licked the plum-purple, oversized glans.

In the morning word went round the institution: Jimmy Collyer, new meat Collyer, was The Moose's boy. Touch Jimmy and you, quite literally, die.

As far as Jimmy was concerned his sole interest was his personal survival. Better The Moose's thick bargepole of a dick once or twice a day than a dozen or more dicks whenever the other boys felt the urge.

For the three months and two weeks that Jimmy was a guest of the Crown he was the Moose's boy, protected, coddled and, much to Jimmy's surprise, passionately loved by the great hulking teenager. They would shower together and The Moose would wash Jimmy with all the care and devotion a mother would give to her favourite child. In their shared bed The Moose would tenderly take Jimmy into his arms, and hold him, fondle him, love him, for The Moose had fallen deeply, desperately, passionately in love with Jimmy.

Each night The Moose would make gentle love to Jimmy, and then insist that Jimmy do the same to him and in time Jimmy came to enjoy their sexual relationship. That he harboured no feelings of love, and deep down only tolerated The Moose, was of no importance to Jimmy. The Moose protected him, and that was all that mattered and when the day came for Jimmy to leave the Mercer he walked away without a backward glance. Not so The Moose, who wept bitter tears and was inconsolable for weeks after Jimmy left.

Jimmy had walked away from the Mercer Institute For Boys and into a new foster home, a home where he was given a new name, loved and cared for. When he remembered The Moose, which wasn't often, it was for the nights he had spent in the hulking, loving arms of the boy, or on his back, pleasuring him. Twelve years later Lieutenant Commander (E) James Willson Collyer, CAF, RMC ('82) would never read a small obituary announcing the death of one Maxwell Mitrovski, in his youth called "The Moose", of an undisclosed illness, in a hospice run by the Society of Saint John of the Cross of Acre.

After he had fucked Greg, Jimmy prepared to make good his promise. He had fucked Greg and therefore Greg was to fuck him. He lay on Greg's desk, his butt barely extending over the edge of it, and raised his legs, drawing them back against his chest. Greg had assumed that he would be fucking Jimmy as Jimmy had fucked him: doggy style. Jimmy demurred. He liked to see the face of the guy fucking him; he liked to see the guy's face when he came.

Totally in control, Jimmy had directed Greg to "loosen" him up as he had not been fucked since coming to AURORA. Greg had no idea what Jimmy was talking about and was shocked when Jimmy told him exactly what he wanted done before Greg could proceed with the evening's festivities, so, guided by Jimmy, Greg put his face into Jimmy's butt crack and began what Jimmy called "rimming" him.

At first disgusted, Greg found that licking and sucking Jimmy's hole was not all that unpleasant. Jimmy was scrupulously clean, and being rimmed certainly lit a fire in him. When Jimmy, after much moaning and delirious groaning, had decided that he was sufficiently relaxed and open, he directed that Greg should fuck him, hard! Greg had barely inserted his aching erection into Jimmy's welcoming hole when Jimmy proceeded to give Greg the wildest ride of his life. Jimmy moaned, Jimmy groaned. He keened and wailed. Jimmy demanded, Jimmy commanded. He ordered loudly for Greg to FUCK him, fuck him DEEP, fuck him HARD, HARDER, DEEP, DEEPER!

As Greg pumped his dick savagely, Jimmy's hands, sharp-nailed talons, clawed at Greg's ass, at Greg's waist, at his sides and across his back, then pulled Greg down so he could bite and suck on Greg's chest and neck, then pushed Greg back and drove him to deeper penetrations.

All in all Jimmy was a glorious fuck, bringing Greg to a mind blowing, earth shattering ERUPTION! Greg had been so stunned, dazed and amazed at what Jimmy had done to him that when he was finally allowed to pull his soft dick out of Jimmy's clutching hole he fell to the deck and curled into a foetal ball, unable to move or respond in any way to Jimmy's demand for more!

After allowing Greg to rest, Jimmy deemed him fit again. He rolled the unprotesting Greg onto his back, straddled Greg, placing his knees on either side of Greg's head and then leaned down and took the exhausted Yeoman's limp penis into his mouth. Greg groaned, raised his hips to push his dick further into Jimmy's mouth and looked up. Bare inches away dangled Jimmy's semi-hard cock. Greg opened his mouth and raised his head.

Just thinking of what he and Jimmy had done together caused Greg's little fellow to take notice and stand up. Greg lay in his bunk, fingering himself through the thick, starched drill of his uniform, hoping that it was the high, tight collar of his tunic that was chafing his neck, and not a hickey - Jesus, Jimmy liked to suck dick like a pro and suck neck like a fuckin' vampire - because it would be hard enough to explain where he'd been half the night without having to explain about a hickey, and he hoped that Jimmy's cleaning job had not left any little telltale drops to form discolouring stains on his white uniform trousers, which sure as shit some smartass would notice and how do you explain cum stains on your uniform pants when . . . Jimmy sat bolt upright. Holy shit! His uniform!'

Greg leaped off his bunk and quickly stripped off his white uniform, praying silently that it had not suffered any damage other than creasing, since he'd taken the damn thing off before Jimmy and he had started to enhance the Kama Sutra. He hurried into the heads where there was light and examined first his trousers, then the gold-buttoned tunic. Greg breathed a sigh of relief. The uniform, while creased, bore no telltale stains, which was more than could be said for his desk and the deck in the Ship's Office. He had to try to get up early and do a quick dhobi, and he wondered if there was any air freshener in the Cleaning Gear Locker. Fuck, the office reeked of cum after their session! Groaning softly Greg looked down at his naked body. Shit! He'd left his underpants and T-shirt - as had Jimmy - behind in the office! They'd used the garments to clean themselves after they had . . .

Standing in front of the mirror over the sink, Greg shuddered as he regarded his reflection. His face and torso were flushed, the euphoria of his marathon with Jimmy not yet having worn off. He glanced down at his quiescent genitals - nut brown against the stark white of the patch of skin where his swimming trunks covered his most beloved treasure. His little fellow, nestled softly atop his low-hanging testicles, didn't seem to have suffered any lasting damage, although after what Jimmy had done to it his little fellow should have been stretched at least an inch. Greg reached down and hefted his penis, which seemed normal, although the circumcised, mushroomed-shape head did seem to be pinker than it had been when he had showered before the Mess Dinner.

As he stared at the image of the handsome young man in the mirror, Greg began to gently squeeze his little fellow, causing it to stir and begin to stiffen. Memories of the exquisite feeling of fullness that he had felt when Jimmy was pummelling him relentlessly returned and with his free hand Greg reached around to finger himself. As he ran his fingers across the soft flesh of his anus he shivered with delight, delighting in the feeling and groaning softly. Damn, Jimmy had felt good! Greg could still feel Jimmy deep inside of his body, could still feel the pulsing of Jimmy's dick as he emptied his . . . Greg quickly withdrew his hand. His dick was as hard as it had ever been with Jimmy, and if he kept playing with himself he'd be in the heads all night!

Turning his back to the mirror, Greg craned his neck. His eyes widened and the smile left his face when he saw his image. Holy Jesus, Jimmy! What did you do to me? He did an involuntary double take and stared, horror stricken, at his bare back., which was criss-crossed with scratches. Greg's back looked like he'd gone three rounds with the ship's cat - and lost! How was he going to explain the battle scars to the guys or . . . He looked again and a low, painful groan escaped his lips. On his neck was the biggest, reddest hickey Greg had ever seen!

Nathan left the Mess Hall with Sandro, who had proven to be an enthusiastic proponent of oral sex. Sandro's first attempt, which resulted in minor teeth scraping and a little gagging, had been amateurish, but Sandro was a quick study and their second try had been wonderful. Nathan recognised a kindred spirit in Sandro who, like Nathan, wanted nothing more than to get laid. Sandro wanted no ties or relationships. All he wanted was plain, ordinary, old-fashioned sex, with no commitments, no relationship, and no strings. No names, no pack drill. When he left Sandro at the door to the Cooks Barracks, Nathan had not suggested that they meet again. Nor had Sandro. He recognized the experience for what it was: a quick fuck, a one off, a one-night stand that might, or might not, be repeated.

Both boys understood that Sandro, if he felt the urge to repeat their sixty-nining, would seek Nathan out. Nathan, if he could not score elsewhere, would seek Sandro out. They were both free agents, neither demanding anything more, or less, than what they were both prepared to give. Sandro would keep his dick clean and his pyjamas loose. Nathan . . . would be Nathan.

No names. No pack drill.

As he crossed the parade square on his way to the Wardroom, Nathan had seen a slim, tall figure, as wobbly as a newborn colt, making his way toward the Staff Barracks. For a brief moment Nathan had hoped that it was Cory but, as he moved closer, he saw that it was Greg, a boy in whom Nathan had no interest.

Dismissing Greg from his mind, Nathan walked on and thought of the shambles that had become of his brief relationship with Cory. Nathan could not understand Cory's attitude. He considered a quick detour into the Gunroom to see if the boy he truly loved was there, but decided against it. Cory wanted nothing more to do with him. Cory wanted a commitment. Cory wanted an understanding. Cory wanted something that was dangerously close to marriage!

Hell! Why could Cory not understand?

So far as Nathan was concerned having soulless, insensitive sex with another guy was just that, sex, a release. He felt nothing romantic about his trysts and conquests. Why couldn't Cory understand that a guy had needs and that if he, Cory, was not around, what was a guy to do? Play with himself when there was a whole shit locker fully of boys ready, willing and, Jesus, able to take care of a guy's needs! Why couldn't Cory understand and accept that while he would never change his ways, would always love cock, he loved Cory with every fibre in him. Nathan knew that he loved Cory, deeply, and sadly, conditionally on Cory's part. Nathan also knew that he just could not help himself. He could not more pass up a sleek, trim dick, such as Bob Herzog offered, or a plump and juicy cock such as that Alex Valpone presented at the barbecue, or the thick, hooded specimen that Sandro had set before him not an hour ago, than he could, well, stop breathing!

What had happened had been nothing but guys fooling around, getting each other off. Trivial, meaningless sex that meant nothing. Nathan raged inwardly. Damn it! He couldn't help it if other guys found him attractive and desirable, if other guys wanted him, now could he? He remembered the accusations that Jeremy Cohen, the Jewish Prince of Mercer Island, had made - all of them true - when Nathan told him he was going up to AURORA with Mark and Tony. Jeremy had been livid because he knew that Nathan would jump into the first bed that took his fancy. Still, after all the growling and snarling, name-calling and cursing, they had ended up in bed together and fucked themselves silly because Jeremy knew that Nathan was Nathan and understood that he would come back, eventually.

What Cory refused to understand was that Nathan, no matter who or what he took up with, would always come home, to Cory. As he neared the Wardroom, Nathan kicked angrily at a large stone near the entrance, Damn it, why did he have to be so hopelessly in love with a stubborn, blond-haired, blue-eyed son-of-a-bitch like Cory!

Mindful of Mark's stern admonition to make sure that there was nothing going on in Cabin 5 when he came back, Nathan listened carefully before entering the room. The cabin was dark but there was enough light from the waning moon for him to see that Mark and Tony were in one bed, a jumble of entwined legs and arms. Both of them were breathing the soft, even rhythm of sleep. Nathan's nose twitched and before stripping off his uniform he opened the window, sending a soft breeze blowing through the room and removing the acrid smell of sex.

Nathan lay on the second bed in his boxers, not bothering to get under the covers, staring at the darkly shadowed deckhead and mentally cursing his luck. He was certain that Mark and Tony had fucked. Hell, the cabin was ripe! Nathan groaned in frustration. A good blow job was never to be refused but Nathan did love a good fuck. Not that he and Sandro had done it. Nathan, having judged that the young Russian was not ready for the ultimate act of sex, had not so much as suggested that they fuck. Had he been with Cory, well . . .

Moaning his frustration Nathan rolled on his side. For a long time he listened to the night creatures and the soft breathing of his roommates. For a long time sleep would not come.

Cory, having grown tired of sitting on a cold iron bollard and staring at the harbour lights, had strolled up the long wooden expanse of the jetty to the Command YAG and was chatting idly with the Corporal of the Day, a boy he knew vaguely from his Gunnery III Course, when he heard the soft thunk of a hatch being closed. He looked up and saw Sean standing at the head of the gangway.

A smile played at the corner of Cory's lips as he watched Sean, ever a stickler for the proprieties, brace to attention in salute to the Quarterdeck, then stride confidently down the short wooden gangway that connected the Command YAG to the jetty. Cory looked Sean up and down and was not surprised to see that he had changed into a crisp, obviously starched, white Pusser T-shirt, pressed and starched Pusser blue shorts, white ankle socks and issue, regulation, soft canvas deck shoes. Sean was also freshly shaved and his red hair was darker from a recent shower, carefully combed, with not a hair out of place. As they walked down the jetty the faint odour of an understated aftershave trailed Sean.

Cory, who felt positively shabby, dressed as he was in his ratty, wrinkled gunshirt and creased shorts, thought evilly that if he bothered to ask Sean he would be told that the Command Chief was also wearing, under all the starch and cotton, clean, ironed (probably lightly starched) tighty-whiteys!

"Thank you for coming, Cory," Sean said earnestly as they neared the end of the jetty. "And please, I do apologise for being late." He gestured for Cory to sit down at the edge of the jetty and for the first time Cory noticed that Sean was carrying a small, leather bag.

"I had nothing better to do," Cory replied as he sat down. He realised almost at once that he sounded patronizing and quickly continued. "Actually, I was rather happy to accept your invitation. It's a hell of a lot cooler, and quieter, out here than it is back in the Gunroom." He lay back on his elbows and watched as Sean opened the leather bag, pulling out a can of tonic water and two plastic tumblers, which he placed carefully on the deck.

Sean reached into the leather bag and held up a bottle of clear liquid. "Vodka," he explained as he poured two wicked tots into the plastic glasses. Then he added apologetically. "There is no ice, I am afraid."

Cory shrugged, watching, fascinated, as Sean meticulously added tonic water to their drinks and sat down beside him. Shaking his head, Cory took a sip of his vodka, his eyes sliding over to glance at Sean, who was sitting at Parade Rest, with his knees close together, his back straight, his right hand resting flatly on his upper leg and his left hand holding his tumbler of booze in what looked like a death grip. Cory felt certain that somewhere, buried deep in Queen's Regulations and Orders (Cadets) there was a regulation for sitting on a jetty while holding a drink.

"Is the party still going on?" asked Sean after taking a cautious sip of his drink.

Cory yawned and shook his head. "No. Two Strokes and Fred were having a slanging match with Thumper when I left. Everybody else was gone." He fixed Sean a dark look. "Not that it matters, but you did say half an hour."

Sean, who was staring straight ahead, nodded curtly. "A small matter of discipline that needed to be cleared away. I apologise for any inconvenience."

"Slamming Caspar's ass, you mean," returned Cory. "Not that it matters to me. He's on your Slop Chit, not mine."

"Yes, he is," replied Sean, slightly miffed at Cory's tone.

Once again Cory realized he had made a mistake. He had not meant to be flippant, but he had been, and now Sean was ticked off. "Sean, I didn't mean anything by what I said. It's a case of different ships, different cap tallies. Caspar is one of your lot, and I had no right to even hint disapproval of your method of discipline."

Sean, not in the least unbending, continued to stare into the distance. "The matter is closed, and in retrospect, of little importance," he said icily.

Sighing inwardly, Cory decided to end the night. He had made a mistake in coming to the Dockyard and now it was time for him to go. "Look, Sean, why don't I just finish my drink and head off to my bed?" he asked gently, not wanting to rile the Squadron Chief further. "It's late and quite frankly we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow." Cory raised his drink, drained it, and stood up.

Sean cast an anxious glance at Cory. "Please." His grating whisper broke the still air. "Please, stay."

Cory's curiosity at Sean's strange behaviour got the better of him. He sat back down and held out his glass. "Perhaps I could stay for one more drink," he offered.

Sean's facial expression never changed as he silently poured Cory's drink and then returned to staring fiercely at the harbour lights. Cory had once again decided to up anchor when Sean, almost as if it pained him to do so, turned his head and looked at Cory. "They call me 'Iron Ass Anders'," he said tightly.

"Really?" Cory replied, not at all surprised. Sean was known to be a strict disciplinarian. He tried to lighten the mood and chuckled dryly. "I can imagine what they would call me if they had to work and Mess with me."

"I know what they call you," replied Sean emotionlessly.

"Faggot, queer, homo?" supplied Cory without regret or remorse. "I'm sure they've called me those names, and more."

Sean looked horrified. "You could not be more wrong, Cory. You are well respected by the troops."

"I am?" asked Cory, his eyes widening in surprise. "They must know that I am . . ."

"Homosexual?" Sean nodded. "Your sexuality is not a factor in their opinion of you. Nor is Todd's. The troops might know of your homosexuality, but they rarely mention it." He smiled thinly. "In fact, you, Todd, and several others I can name, are highly regarded by your subordinates. You are fortunate. I confess to being jealous."

Cory stared at Sean. "Jealous? Of me?" He shook his head and a note of sadness entered his voice. "Whatever would make you jealous of me? I might be well-regarded here, but when I walk across that causeway I am just another fag to a lot of people." Cory was never loath to call a spade a shovel. "The cadets might call you Iron Ass. They will never call you a fag!"

Sean jerked at the word "fag". He did not care for it and he did not care for Cory calling himself that. "We cannot, any of us, stop the unwashed and ignorant from proving their ignorance, Cory." Sean allowed himself a small smile. "What I am jealous of is your ability to interact with the troops, to be one of them, yet at the same time retain their respect. You have the ability to bond with them. I have never been able to do that."

Cory shot Sean a glance, thinking that if he stopped talking like a very well bred robot he just might have a shot at bonding with the boys he served with. "Sean, I do not do anything special. All I do is remember that they are just guys and, more importantly, I try to keep it in mind that this place, while I admit it is a training camp, is also supposed to be a place to have fun. You might want to try that some time. Sean, have fun!"

"That is not possible," replied Sean, a stern look on his face. "I am the Squadron Chief Petty Officer. I have responsibilities and I cannot allow either the troops or myself to become familiar."

Cory snarled low. "Will you stop calling them the troops, for fuck's sake?" he exploded. "They're the guys, the boys, the cadets! They are not the fucking troops!"

"There is no need to be offensive, Cory," replied Sean, horrified at Cory's language. Sean rarely swore if he could help it (and only then after a great deal of provocation) and was surprised that Cory, who was of the Old Guard, and a young gentleman, swore like Jolly Jack ashore. He said as much to Cory, who laughed until he almost peed himself.

"The Old Guard? Give me a break, Sean," said Cory when he regained control. "Those who aren't broke and on the make live in La-La Land, pretending to be something they haven't been in years! The ones with money are as tight as a frog's arsehole and aim to keep every penny they have. All of them swear like navvies, smoke like there is a tobacco shortage just around the corner, and fuck like minks! Do not make me out to be some high-rumped aristocrat!"

"Thank you for shattering that illusion," returned Sean stonily.

"Oh, come on, Sean." Cory held out his empty glass and Sean poured him another drink. "I am not a hero," stated Cory firmly. "I am not anybody special. I am just me." He took a sip of his drink. "I try to treat everybody as I want to be treated. You might try it sometime, instead of busting balls and marching around looking like you've got a bayonet shoved up your ass and a face on you that makes me think you were weaned on a dill pickle!"

Sean did not appreciate Cory's remarks. "Lieutenant Towsan thinks that I am too correct, too formal. He also feels that I should be, how did he put it? Ah, yes. He feels that I should be less demanding and judgmental. Obviously you share his opinion."

Cory bridled. "I share nobody's opinion, Sean," he snapped. Then he saw the stricken look on Sean's face. "Look, Sean, I like you. Admittedly you are a pain the ass, but that doesn't stop me from liking you."

"You do?" asked Sean, surprised.

"Sure," agreed Cory. "I've always liked you. Hell, we roomed together in Kingston. I liked you then. Why you've decided to turn yourself into Robbie the Robot is quite beyond me. You used to be a fun guy, always laughing and joking. Now . . ." He shook his head. "You've changed, but not for the better."

As the colour rose in Sean's face he growled, "Would you explain that, please?"

"Sure," replied Cory, not at all intimidated by Sean's anger. "You bitch about not being respected, not being one of the guys. You could be, and the old Sean would have been, if you would lighten up and start enjoying yourself. You might even end up liking yourself." He put his hand on Sean's. Sean cringed, but did not move away. "Sean, look at Tyler, and Val, or Harry," said Cory gently. "They have just as much rank and power as you do; yet everybody thinks the world of them. Do you know why?"

"I believe I do," replied Sean snidely. "But, please, do go on."

"I intend to, Bucko," thought Cory. "They have fun!" he said aloud. "We threw Tyler into the barracks yard, naked, and locked him out of the Gunroom. When we were in Victoria there was a pool at the motel where we were billeted. All the guys went swimming and we had a water fight, during the course of which we stripped Tyler, Val, Harry, and a few of the other guys, naked! Everybody was naked!" This was not exactly true but Cory had long known the value of exaggeration. "During the last rain storm we marched into the Chiefs Mess and carried Val and Tyler outside and dropped them into a mud puddle."

Like all Chiefs, Sean had an underground espionage ring that kept him well informed of the doings at AURORA, and had heard of the outrageous antics of the senior cadets, and of what he considered to be indignities inflicted on them by subordinates. A look of prissy disapproval came over his face. "And went sailing with The Gunner, and sub-Lieutenant St. Vincent, and Ensign Berg. I've heard the rumours."

"Have you now," drawled Cory. He noted the tone of disapproval in Sean's voice and proceeded to give the red headed Chief both barrels. "Well then, it may interest you to know the truth! Yes, we did indeed spend a weekend sailing." He grinned mischievously. "We were nekkid the whole time, Sean. Why, I saw The Gunner's genitals, and my goodness, I saw two officers' penises and testicles!" Sarcasm fairly dripped from Cory's lips. "And they saw me, and Todd, and Val and Tyler, all us guys nekkid!" He assumed an air of mock horror. "And we were nekkid for three whole days!"

Sean began to puff up in righteous indignation. "I don't need details," he snapped through clenched teeth.

"Too bad," retorted Cory. "You prize the truth and you shall have it." He downed his drink and held out the empty tumbler. As Sean poured him a refill, Cory continued. "We all were naked. Nobody thought anything of it! It didn't matter because we were having fun!" he fixed Sean an angry glare. "Nobody got laid, nobody even got a hardon! We had fun! After the trip was over, we put our clothes on and went back to being officers and cadets. You might try something like that! Take out a whaler full of your 'troops', get naked and fucking enjoy yourself!"

"I've made you angry," muttered Sean.

Cory pointed his finger at Sean. "Fucking aye on that, mate! You sit there, whining and puling, all sad and lonely, you have the gall to try to impress me with your Puritan priggishness, and complain about not being one of the boys, when you've nobody to blame but yourself!"

Sean stiffened and remained absolutely still. The only sound was the soft slap, slap, slap of the waves against the wooden hulls of the YAGs. While he hated to admit it, even to himself, Cory was quite right. Unfortunately, Sean had his reasons and . . . He turned suddenly and looked at Cory. "I cannot allow myself to be anything other than coldly formal and correct." Sean's voice was low and hinted of sadness and regret. "I cannot allow my professional integrity to be compromised by friendship."

Cory groaned silently. He could close his eyes and hear another man saying exactly the same thing. Jesus, Sean sounded so much like The Gunner it was pitiful. Of course, The Gunner had a reason for being the way he was. Cory sat up straight and stared pointedly at Sean. Could it be? No! Cory dismissed the thought as being impossible. He felt very sorry for Sean, who seemed to be determined, no matter the reason, to live his life on his own, Calvinistic terms. "All that gets you is being called Iron Ass," Cory said softly.

Sean smiled ruefully. "How well I know. Still, I must maintain my image, Cory. I must not let the wall come down. I cannot."

"What wall?" asked Cory, curious. What was it that had caused Sean to build a wall around his emotions? "What image? And why would you even have a wall?"

Sean took a deep breath. "I cannot let myself get too close to anyone. If I did the consequences would be disastrous." It was Sean's turn to stare pointedly at Cory. "You, of all people, should know what it means to be a homosexual in the Armed Forces."

Cory almost fell off the jetty. His jaw dropped and his surprise at Sean's admission was such that he could not speak for several minutes. "Are you telling me that you are . . .?" he finally managed to ask.

"Homosexual?" finished Sean flatly. He stared into Cory's eyes, daring him to reply when he said, "Yes, Cory, I am."

Cory could not have been more surprised if Sean had up and hit him on the jaw. Three years before Sean had tried to put the moves on him, an action Cory had dismissed as a juvenile attempt at exploration and experimentation - or just a chance for Sean to get his rocks off, Cory couldn't decide which. He did think that Sean was not the first boy to dabble in homosexual waters if the circumstances presented themselves, just as Two Strokes had dabbled on the sailing trip. It happened and it certainly did not prove that Sean and Two Strokes were gay.

In a way, Cory was miffed at both Sean and Two Strokes. Jesus Christ! First Two Strokes, and now Sean! Who the fuck did they think he was, Dear Abby? Then he realized that Two Strokes had come to him hoping that he, as an acknowledged gay, would help him understand what had happened to them. But Sean?

Cory gave Sean a long, searching look. Sean, except for that one lapse so long ago, had never, at least to Cory's knowledge, expressed in any way an attraction for other boys. Quite the opposite, really. So far as Cory knew Sean had no close friends in the Sea Cadets, living up to his image as a stern, disciplined Chief. Cory wondered what had motivated Sean's confession. Had Sean, after seeing Sylvain putting the moves on Caspar, realized that stern, disciplined Chiefs get horny too? Sean was a normal, healthy, young man with the urges that all normal, healthy, young men had. Which led Cory to think that if Sean was horny and looking for a quick roll in the moonlight, he'd come to the wrong Dockyard. In a way Cory thought that it was Kingston all over again and he was not about to succumb to Sean's fumbling attempts at seduction. He also was not prepared to believe that Sean was truly gay. He gathered his thoughts and tried to make a small joke out of Sean's confession. "There's nothing wrong with being gay, Sean. All the best people are." He snickered a bit. "That's if you really are gay. Have you always been gay or is this sudden Epiphany because I'm here?"

Sean found nothing amusing in Cory's attitude or question. "I have known of my homosexuality for many years, Cory. I have had two rather intense relationships."

"With guys?" asked Cory, amused. The thought of Sean Anders coupling with another male - or even a girl, for that matter - was mind-boggling. But then if . . . "You fucked two guys?" Cory gasped, his eyes wide when the implications of Sean's second confession had sunk in.

Sean grimaced. "There is no need to be crude, Cory, and yes, I have had . . . sex with two 'guys'. Both relationships, while mutually enjoyable, were short-lived. The first was just after I returned from Kingston. He was, literally, the boy next door. When his family moved back east, the relationship ended. The second boy went to school with me. That relationship ended when he decided to fall in love with another student." Sean sighed heavily. "A member of the football squad, actually. Personally, I could never understand the attraction for football players. It has been my experience that they have all tended to be overgrown oxen, with immature genitals, ill-educated and borderline functioning illiterates."

While still recovering from Sean's revelations, Cory could not help but see the humour in Sean's opinion of football players. "I should not tell Harry that, if I were you," warned Cory dryly. "He's liable to wave his Mace at you and then bite your bum."

Sean's eyes widened. The thought of Harry biting his bum was appalling. Then Sean relaxed, realising that Cory had made a joke. A smile played at the corner of his lips. "I would have thought that Harry would wave the Pride at me." He grinned at Cory, who grinned back.

"A joke! Iron Ass Anders made a joke!" Cory laughed heartily. "So, the old Sean is till in there, somewhere!"

Sean quickly reverted to his Iron Ass mode. "I am capable of humour," he said tonelessly. "I just do not use it all that often." He straightened. "The point is, Cory, that I am, as you call it, gay. I have slept with two other males. They moved on and I did not seek another relationship. I have too much to lose." He took a drink from his glass of vodka tonic. "I have been accepted as an officer cadet in the Naval Reserve. I will be sworn in the first drill night in September. I plan on making the military my career and I cannot allow anything, no hint of scandal, no iota of suspicion that I am homosexual, to derail my plans."

Cory, who now had no doubt that Sean was what he said he was, felt his temper rising. Sean was gay, but didn't want anyone to know about it. Fine, so be it! Sean wanted a career, but in order to have that career he had to deny what he was. This was also fine so far as Cory was concerned and if Sean wanted to hide in the closet, that was his business. If Sean wanted help in understanding what his life would be like, Cory would be more than willing to give it. What stuck in Cory's craw, however, was Sean's steely determination to remain hidden. Cory had never denied his true self, had never whined and moaned about being gay. He could understand why Sean had built his wall around himself, but Cory was not about to help the young Squadron Chief build that wall higher.

Taking a deep breath, Cory once again looked at Sean. Because he understood what Sean was about to go through, and because he actually liked Sean, Cory tried to keep the harshness from his voice when he said, "Well, you keep acting the way you have been and you will have a brilliant career." Cory could see years of repressed emotions and denials ahead for Sean. He shook his head, almost sadly, and added, "Boring, but brilliant."

Sean arched an eyebrow. "Boring?"

"Boring," repeated Cory with a nod. "You should listen to yourself, Sean. It's no wonder you've got two failed relationships under your belt. You've sat here, reciting your imagined list of sins as if you were reading an autopsy report!" Cory stood up and handed his empty tumbler to Sean. "You used to be a fun guy. Not now. For three years you've avoided me like I had some disease. Out of courtesy, and because I liked the Sean I knew long ago, I came down here to have drink with you. I also had an ulterior motive."

"You wanted to stop me from busting Caspar's balls." Sean was not stupid and knew that Cory, for all his bluster, had a heart of gold and cared for the other cadets. "I know what your motive was. I am not stupid, you know."

"Well, at least we agree on that!" Cory shook his head. "Sean, I wish you well in all your future endeavours. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going back to the Gunroom." He had just begun to walk away when Sean's voice stopped him.

"I had an ulterior motive as well, Cory." Cory turned and stared at Sean, who rose slowly and walked to where Cory was standing. He put his hand on Cory's arm and looked into his eyes. "I treated you badly and I needed to explain to you why I treated you the way I did. You did not deserve to be treated that way." Sean gave Cory's arm a slight squeeze. "You now know why I act the way I do, why I treated you so shabbily."

"Fine, you have apologized," replied Cory as he shook off Sean's hand. "Your conscience is clear."

"There is also another reason," said Sean earnestly. "Cory, I . . ."

"If you are going to ask me to sleep with you, Sean, you can forget it," snarled Cory.

Sean chuckled with rueful sadness. "While I freely admit that my feelings for you have not changed since we roomed together in the Stone Frigate, please believe me when I tell you that I did not invite you to come down here with the intention of sleeping with you. In fact, I . . ."

Cory's jaw dropped. He held up his hand. "Stop! Back water!" He fixed Sean a beady gaze. "What the hell do you mean when you say that your feelings for me have not changed?"

Sean shrugged, and then, as Cory watched, a radiance that he had never seen before came over Sean's face. "I've been in love with you from the first day I set eyes on you, Cory." Sean's voice was filled with emotion as he added, "I still am."

"Me?" yelped Cory. "You're in love with me?" He waved his arm toward the berthed YAGs. "Look around you. There are five boats just full of guys. Twenty in each! One hundred guys, all young all horny! Couldn't you have picked one of them?"

Sean shook his head. "There are 17 guys, if you do not count the officers," he corrected. "And no, I was not interested, and am not interested, in any of them."

"Just me?"

Sean nodded and smiled shyly. "Just you."

Cory growled and all but stamped his feet. "You waited three years to tell me that? You ignored me, deliberately went out of your way to avoid me and now, all of sudden, I am the man of your dreams?" He shot Sean a disgusted look and laughed caustically. "In your dreams, Anders," he snapped and began to walk away. Sean followed him.

Cory kept darting glances back at Sean, who followed him along the jetty and out of the Dockyard. Cory tried to ignore Sean but every time he turned around, there he was, doggedly following behind, past the Ropewalk, past Bosun Stores, past the Drill Shed until finally Cory could no longer stand it. He stopped in the breezeway flats, outside of the Canteen, and flopped on the bench. "I totally give up!" Cory announced as Sean sat down beside him. He gave Sean a sour look. "Do you plan to follow me all the way back to the Gunroom?" he asked, his voice full of anger and impatience.

"If I have to, yes," replied Sean with out a trace of enmity. "Or at least until you understand why I did what I did, and also know that I am truly sorry for it."

"But why in the name of God did you wait three years? I can understand you not wanting to be seen with an openly gay cadet, but come one, Sean, three fucking years?"

"I was an asshole, and I was wrong!" Sean ran his fingers through his short-cropped red hair. "In Kingston I was struggling with my feelings for you, trying not to want you, yet wanting you."

Snorting, Cory rumbled acidly. "And you thought that that by showing me the lump in your drawers which, as I recall, were briefs, ugly green with a white band, and with a come hither look in your eye, that I would succumb?" He laughed sarcastically and gave Sean a dirty look. "Or did you think that because I was the only gay around that I would help you with your coming out party?"

"Give me a break, Cory," returned Sean, his voice filled with anger. "I was 14, I was gay, and I did not know what to do about it. All right, I admit it, I was also horny and I wanted you. I wanted to know what it would be like to be with another boy."

"And thought that queer Cory would help you out!" Cory's fist clenched in barely controlled fury. "You went about it the wrong way, Sean."

"I realised my stupidity the moment you walked out of our room," returned Sean heatedly. "I felt like the biggest jerk in Kingston."

"You were, and you still are," retorted Cory. "You went right on being jerk! I was 14 as well, and I thought that you were my friend! I thought that you weren't like the other guys, always trying to get into my pants! I felt something for you then, Sean, and what do you do? You try to put the moves on me! That hurt, damn it! And what you did afterwards hurt even more! Avoiding me, deliberately going out of your way to avoid me! You didn't even have the common courtesy to treat me as a fellow cadet when we met at the regattas!" Cory stood up. "What were you afraid of? Guilt by association?"

"Yes, God Damn It!" replied Sean in a pained, muted roar. "That and so much more! I felt guilty because of what I had done to you, and believed that you hated me. I was fearful of rejection, afraid that if people knew that I knew you, had some sort of a friendship with you, no matter how innocent, that they would think that I was, like you, homosexual and that would have fucked up my life!" Sean suddenly slumped, his shoulders sagging. "And, when it comes right down to it, I was so fucking jealous of the guys you were with!"

Cory almost choked in shock. "What?"

"Look at me, Cory! Sit down, stop growling at me, and look at me!" Sean waited for Cory to resume his seat. "I am skinny, I am short, I have red hair and I have acne!" He laughed a self-deprecating laugh. "And I will most certainly never be a contender for the ownership of the Pride of the Fleet!"

"You got that right," snapped Cory. "The last time I saw your dick you were 14. What happened, didn't it grow?"

"It grew," snapped Sean. "My dick got bigger and so did my balls!" Then he realised what he had said and started to laugh. "Jesus, Cory, I am starting to sound like you!"

Cory thought that Sean had gone 'round the twist. "Good, at least it shows that you're actually human under all that starch!"

"Oh, I am human. I admit freely that I have made mistakes and tonight I wanted to apologize to you for those mistakes. I did not start out with the intent to bend your ear, or cry on your shoulder, but it happened."

"You weren't going to try to put the moves on me?" asked Cory, lingering suspicion in his voice.

"I had no intention of trying to compete with your American," returned Sean awkwardly.

"My what?"

"Your American, the boy you've been seeing. One admits that he is very handsome and . . ."

"Do you mean Nathan?" asked Cory, astonished that Sean would even know about the young American cadet.

"I certainly do not mean Gerald Ford!" Sean stared at Cory. "Of course I mean Nathan. He is a very lucky fellow, as are you. Nathan is a handsome devil."

"Can it, Sean," snapped Cory sharply. "There is no Nathan." He saw that Sean was about to speak and shook his head. "Do not tell me that you're sorry! I'm not. If anything, save your pity for Sandro because that is who Nathan is sucking or fucking tonight! Hopefully Sandro has the sense to realize that tonight he's the main course and that tomorrow night Nathan will more than likely have moved on to somebody else. As he will on Wednesday, and Thursday, every night he's here. Nathan likes variety."

"Then Nathan is a fool," returned Sean. He grinned slowly. "Some mother's do have them, you know."

Cory gave Sean a quizzical look. "Is that the old Sean coming out at long last?"

Sean shrugged. "I feel comfortable with you, Cory. I do not have to pretend to be Iron Ass Anders."

"Yeah? Well, don't get too comfortable, Anders. This ain't a date." Cory rose to his feet. "I think that it's time we both got to bed." He waggled his eyebrows. "Separately."

"As much as it pains me, Cory, I must agree. And you are quite right. This is not a date. It never was."

Cory looked sceptically at Sean. "Then why did you shower and shave? Or put on clean shorts? Or put on . . . Cory reached out and pulled open the front of Sean's gym shorts.

"Hey!" yelped Sean, startled.

"I thought so," chortled Cory. "Tighty-whiteys!"

"Of course, tighty-whiteys! One always wears under garments," huffed Sean archly.

Cory let the waistband of Sean's shorts go and was rewarded with the sound of a sharp slap of elastic against flesh. "One also has the option to hang free and loose," he replied, just as archly, imitating Sean.

"So I have been led to believe," replied Sean with intended dryness. "Particularly at sporting events." He pointed with his hand across the parade square. "With your permission I shall walk you back to the Gunroom."

"I am quite capable of getting there on my own, thank you," replied Cory testily, ignoring Sean's jibe about what had happened at the baseball game.

"I have no doubt that you are quite capable of finding the Gunroom," said Sean smoothly. "However, I would still like to walk with you to your barracks."

Cory took the path of least resistance. "Very well, then. Just remember, this ain't a date and don't you get any ideas."

"I assure you that I do not have any 'ideas'," Sean lied as they started walking toward the Staff Barracks.

When Todd and Harry returned to the Gunroom they saw that Cory's bunk was empty. Not only was it empty, it was still made up and obviously had not been slept in. "Where the hell is he?" snarled Todd in a harsh whisper as he stripped off his white uniform. He had fully expected his brother to be waiting for him on the barracks stoop. It was something they had been doing for years. If one was out, the other always waited up for him.

"Now how would I know?" asked Harry placidly. "Maybe he decided to give Nathan a second chance." He hung his uniform in his locker, and then reached down to scratch the Pride. Yawning, Harry decided not to dig out a clean T-shirt or fresh underwear. He was going to bed shortly and the white boxers and T-shirt he was wearing were all he needed to sleep in.

"Not bloody likely," returned Todd hotly. He knew Cory well enough to know that when his brother cut someone out of his life, it was forever. "Nathan was much too busy trying to get into Sandro's pants."

"I wonder if he made it?" asked Harry with a snicker, trying to lighten Todd's mood. A knowing look came over Harry's face. "I know, Cory probably went for a walk! Yeah, he went for a walk, 'cause you know he likes to walks by himself."

"At four o'clock in the morning?" Todd made a face. "Really, Harry!" He pushed his uniform into his locker and all but slammed the door shut. Like Harry, he wasn't going to bother with clean undies.

"Listen to me, Todd," said Harry as he placed his hands on his lover's shoulders. "I know you're worried, but let's be logical and calm about this."

"Easy for you to say," complained Todd, clearly upset.

"Todd, I know you're worried. Fine, worry. Just remember that Cory is very responsible. If he decided to hook up with some guy - and there were some very likely candidates - then that is his business. You're his brother, not his mother." Harry led Todd outside and as they sat down on the stoop Harry observed, "There was some prime boy meat out tonight, Todd."

Despite his misgivings, Todd was forced to agree with Harry's assessment. He squirmed uneasily as he sat beside Harry, thinking that there had indeed been some very fine specimens on display. But who would be found worthy of Cory's attentions? Between the guests, the stewards, the extra galley staff and the band, there were at least four guys that Todd knew of who would have appealed to his brother. "It would be just like him," grumbled Todd presently. "He gets all high and mighty about Nathan and then he goes and picks up some stud!"

Harry buried his face in his hands, muffling his laughter. Todd glared at him and the more Todd glared, the more Harry laughed.

"I fail to see anything remotely humorous, Harry," said Todd coldly. "My little brother . . ."

"Is probably out doing what you just finished doing," retorted Harry. "You did say that Cory was his own man!"

Todd, his own words coming back to haunt him, gave Harry a sour look. "That may be so, Harry, but I just made an idiot of myself telling you . . ."

"Todd, Todd, Todd," said Harry soothingly. He slipped his arm around Todd's waist and said, "You did not make an idiot of yourself. It's natural that you should worry about Cory." He gave Todd a gentle squeeze. "He has to come back eventually." Harry giggled, which earned him another, blacker look from Todd. Harry ignored Todd. "The little bugger will come struttin' down the path with a big grin on his face and somewhere a once innocent Sea Cadet will be sleeping the sleep of the satisfied, after wondering what great and glorious thing he ever did to be so favoured by Cory!"

"Harry, this is Cory we are talking about," replied Todd, his tone indignant.

"I meant no offence," returned Harry, totally unaffected by Todd's ire. He stuck his nose in the air. "Cory means almost as much to me as he does to you." He slipped his hand down the front of Todd's shorts. "And personally, I hope he got his ashes hauled. Cory has been looking right peaked lately."

"What are you doing?" snarled Todd, surprised that Harry could even think of sex at a time like this, barely hearing Harry's comment on Cory's peakedness.

"You said that doing this helps you think." With his free hand Harry reached out, took Todd's hand, and tried to slip it under the band of his own shorts. "Come on, Todd, be a good boy and give the Pride a hand." He giggled at his silly little joke. "And don't worry, it's all doubled up and secure."

"It better be!" returned Todd, not amused. However, having been more or less put in his place, Todd allowed Harry's hand down his boxers. He backed water and slipped his hand down the front of Harry's underpants. He was still upset, though. "Harry, who could Cory be with? He never said anything to me about being interested in any of the guys."

"Why should he?" Harry looked thoughtful. "Maybe somebody came on to him after we left."

"Maybe," admitted Todd grudgingly. "But who? When we left he was talking to Sean Anders."

"And not giving Nathan the look of doom, I noticed," replied Harry with a grin. He squeezed Todd's soft penis and ran his finger under Todd's scrotum, feeling the soft, smooth flesh of his perineum. "Like I said, there were some very fine specimens out tonight."

Todd shivered at Harry's touch. "Yeah, there were," he agreed reluctantly. Todd returned Harry's squeeze and gave the head of the Pride a quick rub with his thumb.

"Okay then, think on a bit. Of all the guys who came back to the Gunroom after the dinner, which one would Cory care to, um, keep company with?" asked Harry logically, and carefully. He knew how protective Todd was of his brother and was treading carefully.

"There were a couple," said Todd, thinking about just who had been guests in the Mess.

"More than a couple, but no matter." Harry quickly ran over in his mind the names of the boys who had been in the Gunroom. "He won't have gone with Nathan, because he was busy with Sandro. Nicholas is a non-starter 'cause he was with Andre. Now, Two Strokes or Thumper might appeal to Cory in a pinch, or maybe Fred. There's also Greg, who's pretty handsome where it counts and . . ."

Todd impatiently interrupted Harry's listing of the attributes of their messmates. "Harry, we were just in the Gunroom! Except for your bunk, my bunk, and Cory's bunk, every bunk had a warm cadet in it!" His tone softened imperceptibly. "Besides, if Cory had been interested in any of the guys we live with, I would have known. He wasn't interested in any of them."

"So then, we expand our list of suspects." Harry scratched his chin with his free hand, contemplating the usual suspects. "We can eliminate the galley staff. They were all busy with the washing up and only Phantom dropped by the Gunroom." He stroked Todd's penis as he said with a smile, "And while I know that Phantom is straight, he might just present a challenge to Cory and . . ."

"Phantom was being given a lift home by The Gunner," said Todd hurriedly, not wanting Harry to pick up on that particular relationship. "He wasn't hanging around."

"One of the Bandsmen?" suggested Harry.

Todd shook his head. "No, the only Bandsman who came back was Brown. Cory cannot stand him. He thinks that Brown is a right dickhead." Todd chuckled mirthlessly. "Me, too."

"Me three," replied Harry. He gently cupped Todd's parts. Todd gulped and stared at Harry, who have him a quick kiss on the lips, and then said, "I like to feel something warm and soft in my hand when I'm thinking."

"Harry!" Todd liked to feel the same thing, but not at the present moment. Cory's whereabouts were much more important and he had no intention of stirring the Pride if he could help it. Todd quickly withdrew his hand from Harry's boxers. Harry, growling low, just as quickly put Todd's hand back.

"Now Todd, do keep still," he ordered. He rolled Todd's testicles in his hand and then nodded firmly. "When we left Cory was in the Gunroom?"

"You know he was," returned Todd, groaning inwardly. "He was talking to Sean Anders."

"And Cory is not interested in Sean?"

"Hardly," scoffed Todd. "If anything, Cory was just being polite talking to him."

"Which leaves about six, maybe seven other guys, all from the YAGs." Harry grinned. "Obviously, if Cory went with someone it would have to have been one of those guys. The question is, which one.? Who would appeal to him?"

Todd considered this. "Well, let's see. There was Glenn Beuscher. He's good looking, and has a nice . . . well, he's nice. But he's a bit on the pudgy side, so Cory would not have gone with him. There was Jimmy Collyer, very neat and trim, if you know what I mean, but Greg was busy trying to get into his pants, so Jimmy is out." Todd tried to remember who else had been around. "Then there was Phil Thornton being his usual obnoxious self and . . . Shit, shit, fuck, and shit!"

Harry, startled at Todd's sudden outburst, jumped up quickly, withdrawing his hand from Todd's boxers. "What, what's the matter?"

Todd, his hand free of the Pride, made a fist and shook it at the heavens. "Fuck! Thornton! It has to be Thornton!"

Harry's face registered his shock at Todd's accusation. His low opinion of Chief Petty Officer Thornton matched Todd's. "You can't be sure of that, Todd," he said. "Cory must know what a twat Thornton is!"

"He is that!" hissed Todd. He grimaced in distaste. "But it's Thornton!"

Harry joined in Todd's grimace. "Come on, Todd, why would you think that Cory would go off somewhere with Phil Thornton? The guy has got to be the most overbearing, obnoxious, self-centred jerk I've ever found sliming in the bilges! Hell, he thinks his shit doesn't stink!"

"Phil is also tall, dark, and even you have to admit that he is what you called prime meat." Todd snorted in disgust. "The fucker oozes sex!"

Harry could not believe what he'd just heard. "I admit that Phil is a Grade A stud. But, from everything I've seen of him, I think he oozes for the opposite sex and I don't think that he'd like to take a little stroll with a guy, even Cory."

"You do not know Cory!" returned Todd, his eyes full of fire. "If he wanted Phil, there'd be no contest." He groaned loudly. "I sailed with Phil! Shit, Harry, if Cory found out what Phil has hidden in his Fruit of the Looms he would think that he'd struck the mother lode!"

With great difficulty Harry stifled a snicker. He forced himself to maintain a straight face. "Todd, I think you're overreacting. You don't know that Cory went off with Thornton. He could be with anybody!"

"It's Thornton," insisted Todd. "He is just the type of guy Cory would put the moves on! Thornton is so fucking arrogant that he's a challenge. Cory loves to take guys like Thornton down a peg or 30." He jumped up and began to pace. "God damn it, Harry! In a few hours we have what is to me the most important parade of my life! Phantom's Parade, Harry! Cory knows that everything has got to be spot on perfect! He knows it and he does something like this!" He gave Harry a determined, dangerous look. "Cory also knows that the timing on the gun salute is vital. If he is all fucked out, and fucks up I'll . . . I will kill him!"

Harry thought that Todd was more interested in the parade than in what Cory was really up to, but did not dare voice his thoughts. "You will not kill him, and you know it," he replied soothingly. "Now come and sit down. There is no point in your getting yourself all in a lather. Calm down, sit down and wait for Cory to come home." Harry patted the steps.

"Now, see here, Harry, Cory is my brother and frankly, I would appreciate it if you . . ." began Todd hotly.

"Todd, shut the fuck up and sit down!" roared Harry. Todd sat.

They sat in silence, fearing for a moment that Harry's bellowing had awakened the entire Gunroom, but no irate cadets snarled from the darkness and the Duty Watch did not come running to investigate. The night remained quiet, with only a slight breeze blowing across the Spit to disturb the silence, bringing with it, from somewhere deep in the harbour, the sound of an air horn blaring, summoning the shore boat. When the noise of the air horn stopped they faintly heard the tinny sound of the bell atop the channel buoy at the entrance to Comox Harbour, clanging a slow rhythm as the buoy rose and rolled in the slight swell.

Todd remained silent but he drummed his fingers angrily on his bare knee, to the extent that the soft drumming was getting on Harry's nerves. He was about to give Todd what he considered a well-deserved smack when he heard footsteps on the gravel path. "It would seem that the prodigal has returned," Harry murmured with a low chuckle. He peered into the dark. "And, he is not alone."

"Who's he with?" asked Todd in an angry whisper. He looked straight ahead, refusing to look down the path. "Is it Thornton?"

Harry squinted and peered into the darkness. The two figures on the path stopped just outside the cone of light cast by the fixture over the barracks door. "Not unless Thornton has shrunk and lost about 50 pounds in the last few hours," observed Harry dryly.

"What?" Todd resisted the urge to look.

"Cory is with someone," replied Harry. "I can't quite make out who it is, but I can tell you that it ain't Thornton."

Todd's curiosity got the better of him. He leaned around Harry and looked down the path, peering at the two dimly seen figures. He could readily identify Cory by his blond hair and slim figure. The other boy, who was about the same height as Cory, had darker hair and a thin, almost scrawny body. Todd continued to stare and his eyes widened as he finally recognised the other boy. "Jesus," he breathed. "Cory's dragged home Sean Anders!"

"And that's bad?" asked Harry. While he did feel that Cory had better taste, dragging Sean Anders home, as Todd put it, was hardly something to cry over. "I admit that Sean's a bit of a jerk, and he sure ain't no hell in the looks department, but . . ."

Todd puffed up like a toad. "Three years ago Sean tried to put the moves on Cory," he snarled. "The bastard was horny and wanted a blow job. Cory thought that Sean was too immature and didn't want to get involved with anybody. He walked away and Sean's treated him like dirt ever since!"

"Look's like they made up," replied Harry with a sigh. He was all for Todd being protective of his "little brother" but fuck, Todd was blowing the whole issue out of proportion.

"Cory's trouble is that he forgives people too easily," snapped Todd. "That's why some people try to take advantage of his good nature." He glared pointedly in Sean's direction.

"That's as may be," replied Harry. "But from where I'm sittin' it looks like nobody took advantage of anybody."

Todd looked again and saw that Sean was standing closely in front of Cory. Their hands were barely touching and they seemed to be talking quietly. "Can you hear what they're saying?" he asked Harry.

Harry gave Todd a look. "Do I have a sonar dome fitted between my shoulder blades?" he drawled impatiently. "They're talking. They ain't pawing each other and they ain't kissing, which is not something I'd expect to see if they'd been playing hide the sausage."

Before Todd could respond to Harry's crudity he saw Cory reach out his hand. Sean took the offered hand, shook it formally, and walked away.

"Real love birds," sniped Harry, chuckling softly.

Harry and Todd watched as Sean walked a few paces down the path, turn and scamper back to where Cory was standing. He gave Cory a quick peck on his cheek and then, his eyes opening wide in surprise, looked over Cory's shoulder and saw Todd and Harry sitting on the steps of the barracks. He muttered something to Cory, and then hurried away.

Harry resisted the urge to giggle. If Cory and Sean had spent the past few hours locked in passion they were sure as hell being awfully casual about it. Harry reached over, gave Todd a quick feel, and stood up. "Cory is home, so you can knock off the mother hen act. I'm going to bed." With that he retreated into the Staff Barracks.

Cory strolled casually into the light and as he sat down beside Todd he slipped his hand down the front of his brother's boxer shorts. He knew by Todd's stony silence and the look on his face that he was pissed off about something, just what Cory had no idea, and really did not care. He waited patiently for the storm he knew was coming to break.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Finally, tired of waiting for Cory to say something, Todd opened the battle. "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Cory, grinning slightly. My, my, Toddy was on a tear about something!

"Don't be coy!" Todd gave Cory a hard look. "Do you intend to tell why you were with Sean Anders, and what you were doing while you were with him?"

Cory quickly withdrew his hand from Todd's shorts. So, Todd was all bent out of shape because he had been with Sean. Well fuck him and the horse he rode in on! Cory's conscience was clear. "I was not being coy," he said evenly. "I was with Sean because he invited me down to the Dockyard for a drink."

"And what else?" demanded Todd sharply, his every word expressing his doubt about just what Cory had been doing with Sean in the Dockyard.

"And what else nothing!" returned Cory, just as sharply. He folded his hands and placed them firmly in his lap. He had done nothing wrong and he resented Todd's implications. "After you and Harry left the Gunroom for the School of Wind, no doubt to study music," he began sarcastically, "Sean asked me to come down to the Dockyard for a drink."

"And you went!" snarled Todd, "knowing what . . ."

"I went!" replied Cory with a curt nod. "We sat on the edge of the jetty. We dangled our legs over the edge of the jetty. We had a couple of wets and we talked. Sean apologized for the way he treated me. We had a couple of more drinks, and we talked! We did not make out; we did not play with each other's dick or balls. We talked, period!"

"Just talked?" asked Todd, his scepticism palpable.

"Perhaps if I wrote it out for you, no, printed it in very large letters, you would get the message." There was a dangerous, icy tone in Cory's voice. "We talked. We now understand each other better."

From Cory's tone and manner Todd realised that his suspicions had led him into very deep water. He also realised that he had better make up with his brother, at the rush. He began to rub Cory's thigh, moving his hand higher with each rub. "Please don't be angry, Cory. After what you told me this morning, after breaking up with Nathan, I thought that . . ."

"You thought that I had gone off with some big-dicked Chief!" hissed Cory angrily. "Just who did you think it was? Stuart, maybe? Nicholas? Now he has a nice dick! Or hey, maybe I decided to take pity on Mike! He's got a small dick, but he's a real nice guy so maybe I decided to hook up with him and show him a good time!" Cory's voice dripped venom. "So, who did you think was the lucky guy?'

Todd knew better than to lie to Cory. With Harry in the picture it would only be matter of time before Cory found out that Todd had been thinking exactly what Cory was accusing him of thinking.

"Well, um, you see, to be honest, I kind of thought that you might have gone off to find out what Phil Thornton has hidden in his undies," said Todd hesitatingly. He drew back quickly. Cory had been known to lash out with viper-like speed when provoked. "I mean, he is very good looking, and he has a nice package and . . ."

"Thornton? Chief Petty Officer Phillip THORNTON?" spat Cory. "You actually thought that I would crawl into the gutter and go off with that arrogant, insufferable prig?" He did not wait for an answer. He gave Todd a snarling, dirty look and slammed into the barracks.

Todd sighed heavily. He had well and truly pissed in the pickle barrel. He smacked his knee, stood up, and shook his head. He would pay for his stupidity and had visions of days of minor grovelling and big time snivelling ahead of him before he would be allowed to apologise.

Sighing his apprehension, Todd went into the Gunroom. Cory was already in his bunk, his covers pulled up high, with just the top of his blond head showing. As he got into his bunk Todd looked over. Cory had not moved and was keeping his back firmly towards his brother. "Cory, I'm sorry. I was out of line," Todd whispered.

Cory grunted a noncommittal grunt. Todd sighed and was pulling his coverlet over his body when Cory suddenly turned over. "Todd?" he whispered, not sounding angry at all.

"Yes, Cory?"

"Just what made you think that I don't know what Phil Thornton has hidden in his undies?" Cory asked sweetly. He rolled back to face the bulkhead, cackling evilly. Let the fucker chew on that for a while!