Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.
This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.
As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature, or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.
This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.
I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please contact me at my home e-mail address: paradegi@rogers.com
My thanks to Peter, my editor, who puts up with my pouting and definitely makes what I write better.
The Boys of Aurora - Chapter 27
Logan Hartsfield stood by the side of the road and stared balefully at the decrepit pile of metal that until five minutes before had been his car. A huge cloud of exhaust fumes still polluted the air and the vehicle's motor ticked ominously as it cooled. "Motherfucking, useless hunk of shit!" he snarled as he fetched the front tire a kick, which sent a bolt of pain to shooting through Logan's big toe and foot and to evoking another barrage of scatological epithets which all but turned the dissipating smoke blue.
"Kicking it doesn't help," came a voice from behind Logan, who turned and saw a slim, well-built, auburn haired youth standing on the grass of the Esplanade. "Swearing doesn't either," continued the youth.
Logan looked at the boy. He knew him. He might be dressed in sharply pressed chinos and a crisp sports shirt, but he was a cadet. "You're from over there," Logan said, pointing with his chin toward the distant buildings of AURORA across the bay. "You're a cadet."
Brian laughed and nodded. "Guilty as charged." He slipped a pair of sunglasses on. "Just don't tell the waiter. He thinks that I'm old enough to drink beer."
Grinning, Logan agreed with Brian. The boy did look at least four years older than his real age, an image that Brian had taken great care to project. He had deliberately avoided the "uniform" appearance of the other cadets, dressing "older", in conservative slacks and open necked, short-sleeved shirt. He looked like a young, very preppy, college student. Logan would have loved a beer, but his plans did not include wasting an afternoon of travelling time by parking his butt on the Esplanade drinking suds. "I have to get this thing working," he said mournfully. "I have to get it going."
Brian cocked his head and then spoke. "Let me have a look." He walked around to the front of the old Dodge. "Pop the hood and I'll have a look."
"You know about cars?"
"When you live in North Bay, and your old man works for the Ontario Northland Railway, you know a little about everything," replied Brian. "My dad's paycheque only goes so far, what with seven kids and a mortgage," he continued, responding to the puzzled look on Logan's face. "When the toilet backs up, you learn very quickly how to unstop it. When the car breaks down, there's usually not enough cash to take it to the local Shell station for repairs." He shrugged. "You learn to fix the unfixable." Brian gestured toward the car. "Go ahead, pop the hood."
Logan slid behind the wheel of his car and reached down for the handle that would open the engine compartment. When he got out of the car the cadet was bent over, fiddling with wires and poking at the spark plugs.
Brian poked and probed, scrutinized and speculated like a neighbourhood mechanic. "Got a rag?" he asked as he straightened. His hands were covered in grease. Logan handed him a rag and Brian nodded his thanks. "Well, Logan Hartsfield, you're fucked if you plan on driving this thing."
Logan's jaw dropped. "You know my name?"
Brian grinned. "I should. I'm the guy you called a faggot and . . ."
"Knocked me flat on my ass!" finished Logan, shaking his head. "You also saved my . . ."
"Rang you for four, I think," finished Brian with a laugh. He tossed the rag aside. "That's a Navy expression. When you belt somebody the saying goes that you rang him for four or six or eight. The higher the number the worse the beating." He held out his hand. "My name is Brian Venables. I hope I didn't do too much damage."
Logan shook Brian's hand. "Only to my pride, I think." He released Brian's hand and rubbed his jaw. "I still have all my teeth."
"Well, unless you have a shit locker full of money, that's all you'll have." Brian gestured toward one of the tables. "Come and sit down."
A look of panic came over Logan's face. "The car's dead, then?"
Brian nodded knowingly. "As dead as Kelsey's nuts. The carburettor is shot, and she needs at least a ring job." He looked at the broken heap of car and shook his head sadly. "From the colour of the smoke I'd say she also blew a head gasket and if I'm right - which I'm sure I am - even the Last Rites wouldn't help." He nodded toward his table. "Come on, at least have a beer."
Logan followed Brian to the table and sat down, a dour, black look on his face. "The car's fucked," he muttered, more a statement of fact that a question.
As he poured a glass of beer and handed it to Logan, Brian nodded slowly. "You ain't going as far as Courtenay in that car, my friend."
Downing the beer in one gulp Logan swore under his breath. Then he looked at Brian. "I . . . have to get out of here. I can't spend another day here." He slammed down the empty glass. "I can't!"
"Whoa, take it easy," exclaimed Brian, alarmed at Logan's outburst. "You can take the bus, or the train, if you have to." He gave Logan a hard look. "Are you in trouble?"
Logan thought carefully about his answer. He was not in trouble - yet. He would be in trouble when his father found out that the contents of the tin box he kept hidden under the sofa in the trailer's living room was empty. The money the box contained, all $58.34 was now in his wallet and pocket, along with his last pay from the Laundry, plus a little extra that Miss Doris had given him because she felt sorry for her sister having fired him. The money due him for the work he had done at AURORA he could kiss goodbye. He had refused to go back to the Cadet Training Establishment and his boss had fired him.
"No, I'm not in trouble," replied Logan. "I just want to get out of town. There's nothing here for me."
Brian reached over to the next table and snagged an almost clean glass. After pouring himself a beer he regarded Logan. "I know the feeling." He took a sip of beer. "Still, unless you're careful, the grass is not necessarily greener."
"I'm leaving," insisted Logan stubbornly. He looked at the warm-eyed boy sitting in front of him. "I have enough money to carry me until I can find work. I cantake care of myself."
Brian nodded. "I thought much the same thing until I found myself staring back at a judge."
"Pardon?"
Brian looked at Logan, seeing his too tight blue jeans, worn deliberately that way to show off his large basket; his white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his black hair slicked back with the curls artfully arranged; the shit kicker boots. Brian sniggered inwardly. Logan was trying very hard to be a James Dean look-alike.
Logan projected a look that Brian knew all too well because Brian had been that look only two years before. Logan was what he had once been - a street punk. Clearing his throat Brian said kindly, "Look, I've been there, Logan. I thought I was one tough-ass dude. I walked the walk and wore the strides. I was a big man with big balls. I could take care of myself." He snorted. "I was lucky. I got caught trying to boost a car. The judge gave me a choice. I could get a haircut, deep six the blue jeans and the attitude and join the Cadets, or I could spend time in Juvie Hall." He slowly poured the last of the beer in the jug into Logan's glass. He signalled the waiter for another jug and then looked into Logan's hazel eyes. "I've been there, Logan. Here you're a big stud. Down in Victoria, well, folks will look at you and they're going to see you for what you are, a street kid from the boonies."
"So?" Logan's eyes flashed. "I'm a street kid here, a punk. Nobody gives a shit if I live or die. At least down in Victoria, or across in Vancouver, there's a chance to make a buck. Here, there's nothing but logging or fishing. At least down south I'd have a chance."
"To do what?" growled Brian. "Become a Rent Boy?" He laughed harshly. "You have the looks, anyway."
"What the hell are you talking about? What's a Rent Boy?"
"He's a street punk with attitude who found out too late that a hot temper and a smart mouth only gets you trouble!" snapped Brian. "He's a guy who hangs around the gates to the nickel mines on pay day and gives those who want 'em blow jobs at five bucks a pop 'cause that's the only way he can make the money to pay his room rent!"
Logan, who had cruised by Harkness Bay before heading into town, could hardly comment. "Were you a . . . Rent Boy?" he asked tentatively.
Brian shook his head. "No. I could have been. I was going down that road at a rate of knots. I had a quick mouth and quicker fists. School was a drag. Hanging out on street corners with my so-called buddies, smoking cigarettes, playing the big, tough hood was all I was good for." He smiled and shrugged. "I suppose I got lucky. The judge gave me a choice and I took it. I cleaned up my act. It was either that or develop a taste for cock cheese."
Logan winced inwardly. Brian's crack about cock cheese brought the memory of the blond-haired kid examining him for cleanliness flooding back. "I ain't queer," he blurted angrily."
"I never said you were. Why would I?" Brian once again regarded Logan carefully. He felt a stirring deep within his body and as he looked into Logan's eyes something passed between them. Brian felt a tightness in his loins and a twinge of desire rippled through his body. He suppressed his feelings, however. "Sometimes," he began quietly, "you have to do things just to live."
Logan's upper lip curled into a sneer. "What's it to you? Why should you care about me? Why should you be any different from the people in this dump? To them I'm just trailer trash, somebody to be used and then thrown away." He leaned forward. "After you've tossed them a twenty to keep their mouth shut." He reached out and snatched the jug of beer. "Oh, I see you . . . cadets," he snapped viciously. "I see you so-called clean cut young Canadians with your tight ass uniforms and your haircuts and your fucking superior attitude." He drank down his beer. "I know your kind all too well."
Brian, although surprised at Logan's outburst, kept calm. He sat back in his chair and looked at the angry civilian. Once again he experience a feeling of . . . desire? That could not be. He did not know this pitiful young man at all. What little he did know, he did not care for at all. Still, something was wrong with Logan. He had the air of an angry dog snapping at its chain after being beaten. Brian had seen this kind of rage before. Logan had been beaten, figuratively if not literally and he was lashing out at . . . Brian's head snapped up. Logan was lashing out at him because he was a cadet! A cadet had done something to Logan and Brian's pride in AURORA demanded to know what had happened.
"Logan, understand me," Brian said quietly. "I am not like anybody else. You asked me why I should care. I care because I hurt you. I struck you in anger and in my world and the world I hope to enter anger has no place."
"And what world is that? Never-never Land across the bay?" Logan gestured angrily at the buildings of AURORA.
Brian ignored Logan's outburst. Logan was a civilian, and would never understand what it meant to be a Sea Cadet or, more importantly, an AURORA cadet. Brian's eyes were soft as he said, "In a way, yes. A long time ago I lived in your world. Then I joined the Cadets and I came to a new world. You might never understand me, Logan, but I will tell you that in that world I learned something. I learned love, and compassion and caring. I learned to accept responsibility for my actions. But I lost my temper and, in anger, I hit you. That should not have happened. In my world a Petty Officer does not lose his temper, ever."
"When are you being fitted for your halo?" asked Logan, disdain all but dripping from his lips.
Brian brushed aside Logan's remark. "I am no angel. I never was and I never will be. I am a Petty Officer in the Sea Cadets. I am also a normal, compassionate human being. I could have walked away from you; left you to figure how, as you put it, to get out of town. The old Brian would have thought that you could go and fuck yourself."
"And the new Brian, the 'Petty Officer' Brian?" Logan was not about to give an inch. That blond kid had done more than take his cock. He'd taken his self-esteem. He had treated him like a piece of dirt. That blond kid had used him and thrown him away. A cadet had used him. Logan glared fiercely at Brian. "What does the Petty Officer do, then? Does he force a guy to fuck his ass and then . . ." Suddenly his face turned ashen, his stomach churned and he leaned over and vomited onto the grass.
Brian jumped up and went to help the heaving, and now weeping boy. He looked up and saw the waiter approaching, a disgusted look on his face. Brian quickly pulled out his wallet and waved a ten-dollar bill at the man. "It's okay, I'll take care of him."
"I should of known better than to let him in here," complained the waiter loudly. "He's nothing but trouble, that one." He sniffed with that special arrogance all waiters seemed to possess. "If you're smart, kid, you'll let him puke his guts out and walk the other way."
Brian gave the waiter a withering look as he grasped Logan's arm and back. "So you can call the cops?" he asked the waiter scathingly as he helped Logan to his feet. "I'll take care of him, all right?"
The waiter palmed the bill that Brian thrust at him, shrugged, and walked away.
Brian helped Logan to the metal railing separating the grass of the Esplanade from the green-blue waters of the harbour. As Logan bent over the rail, retching and choking, Brian kept his hand firmly on the boy's heaving back. He could not truly understand why he was helping this poor, sick boy. He only knew that he had to be there.
Eventually Logan's heaves subsided and he stood upright. He wrapped his hands around the top rail of the barrier, grasping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stared malevolently at AURORA, the buildings shimmering in the afternoon sun.
"You finished?" asked Brian solicitously. When Logan nodded dumbly Brian snatched a napkin from the serving cart parked nearby and doused it in water. The waiter, who was watching, glared at him. Brian glared back and threw a five-dollar note onto the pile of neatly folded napkins. He handed the wet napkin to Logan, who smiled wanly and wiped his mouth and face.
"You must think I'm a real pussy," Logan said presently. "Puking and crying like that, like some fucking girl on the rag."
Brian leaned against the railing and shook his head. "I think that you've been hurt, badly, by one of my own. I also think that you've been knocked about pretty badly. I've been on the receiving end of one of your punches so I most certainly don't think that you're a pussy."
"Thanks for that," replied Logan with a wry grin. He looked behind him. The waiter was giving both of the boys a dirty look. Logan returned the look. If the jerk wanted to make anything of what was happening Logan was prepared to remind him of a certain afternoon's delight at Harkness Bay. The waiter suddenly remembered that he had work to do in the kitchen and disappeared smartly.
"Do you know him?" asked Brian as the waiter disappeared into the kitchen.
Logan gagged and held the napkin to his mouth. He nodded, his eyes full of disgust. "I've met him." He shook his head. "I don't understand you, Brian. I picked a fight with you, I called you a faggot, I was downright nasty to you and still you stick around." He jerked his thumbed over his shoulder. "You should be like that waiter. He knows a bad seed when he sees one."
Brian gave Logan a sad look. "You're a bad seed only because people have been telling you that all your life. I don't know what's bugging your ass, and frankly it's none of my business." He turned Logan around and began to lead him back toward the car. "However, a friend of mine at AURORA taught me that beating yourself over the head over what people think about you only gets you a headache. He also taught me that judging people by what others say about them is also wrong. I learned from him, Logan, to judge a person by his actions, by the way he conducts himself, and how he treats others. And to never make a judgement until I have all the facts."
By this time they were back at the spavined heap of metal that Logan called his transport. Logan reached into the back seat of the open convertible and pulled out an ancient and very full kit bag. He looked over his shoulder as he did so. "Then you'd better take off running, Brian." He was about to hoist his kit bag to his shoulder when Brian took it from him.
"Let me guess," said Brian as he hefted the bag. "You're about 18, maybe a little older. You come from the poor section of town and you've never, as far as you're concerned, been given a break. You hated school so you skipped as much as you could and probably only got graduated by the school authorities to get you out of their hair. You've tooled around town, drinking, smoking, raising hell wherever and whenever you could. You've cadged money from whoever was crazy enough to give it to you because you had no intention of paying them back. Since leaving school you've worked only when you had to, and only in the lowest paying jobs." He grinned. "How am I doing so far?"
"Pretty much hitting the nail on the head," replied Logan glumly.
"Good," replied Brian, "Because I only touched your good points." He pointed toward a long, low building. "There's the bus terminal."
Inside the terminal Logan enquired as to the next bus to Victoria. He found that he had a one-hour wait. He bought a ticket - one way - and sat on one of the long wooden benches that filled the waiting room. Brian sat beside him. They sat, each waiting for the other to speak, watching the passing scene. Finally, Logan broke the silence. "I smoked dope, and sold it. I stole money from my father. I tried to steal from the coin change machine at work, and got caught and got fired. That's why I was working over there, picking up the garbage."
"And?" asked Brian, a slight note of pity in his voice. He would not press Logan into telling all of the truth, but he would listen, and not make a judgement until he had heard all of the truth.
Logan saw Brian staring at him. The guy knew He knew! Logan felt like weeping, but kept his emotions in check. "When I had to be, I was a 'Rent Boy'," he said bluntly. "When I needed a lot of cash, I went to a place called Harkness Bay. I got paid to let guys suck my dick. The last time I was there a guy offered me a C-note to fuck him." He laughed ruefully. "I should have taken it. At least then I wouldn't have ended up at fucking AURORA covered in some guy's cum and my dick up his ass!"
Brian was shaken to the depths of his soul. He believed Logan when he said that he'd been selling his body at Harkness Bay. It happened and Logan seemed the type that when he was desperate, would sell what he had to whoever would take it. But AURORA? Did Logan expect him to believe that someone from AURORA would . . .?
What to do? What would Phantom do? With all his willpower Brian tried to show no emotion, no reaction to what Logan had told him. His mind raced. Phantom would remain calm. He would gather as much information as he could, and then he would act. Brian cleared his throat. "You fucked . . . an instructor?" he asked, probing carefully. He could not believe that Logan would have been with a cadet. Most of them were too young and the others did not have the money, or the privacy demanded in such cases.
"No, not one of those old dudes," replied Logan, blushing. "It was one of you, a cadet." He squirmed in embarrassment. "I was . . . in one of the barracks . . . trying to . . ." He squared his shoulders. "He was in the showers when I went into the barracks. I didn't see him or hear him. I was . . ."
"Rifling the lockers, looking for something to steal," supplied Brian coldly. "And he caught you."
Logan nodded slowly, shame clouding his handsome features. "I turned around and he was there. He had a towel around his waist and he was giving me a dirty look. He was a mean little fuck, Brian. He threatened to turn me in." Logan sobbed loudly and shuddered. "I couldn't have that, man! I've been in the Comox Jail! I can't, I won't, go to that place again! You don't know what they do to guys in there!"
Actually, Brian did. He had been an unwilling and, at first, mouthy guest of the North Bay Police Department himself. He patted Logan's back. "I've been there, Logan." He rubbed Logan's back, enjoying the warmth and feel of the boy's soft skin under the cotton of his T-shirt.
"You've never been in some barracks with some kid feeling you up, making you feel like a piece of meat, ordering you to fuck him!" The anger rose in Logan's face. "What burns me is that I liked it! Not the humiliation but the . . . fucking him! There I was, with this kid sitting on my cock, bouncing up and down, moaning and carrying on, and I fucking liked it!"
"Logan, if I had a choice of fucking somebody, or spending time in the cooler, where I know I'd end up getting fucked up the ass, well, I probably would have done the same thing," said Brian sympathetically.
"You would have?" asked Logan, surprised. He could not conceive of this clean cut, neat, well-set-up young man doing any such thing.
Brian nodded. "I told you, Logan, I've been there. You're deathly afraid of going to jail. I was deathly afraid of ending up in Juvenile Hall. I'd heard stories, from some of the other kids, about what happened to them in there. Stories of beatings, extortions, rape. I was thirteen and I was scared shitless at the very thought of Juvenile Hall."
"Well, I was never threatened with rape in jail. I was beaten, badly," replied Logan. "There's a cop, his name is Jensen. He hates me." He gave Brian a cool glance. "But, and this is the God's truth, I never saw in his eyes what I saw in that kid's."
"What was that?" asked Brian, alarmed at the vehemence, the fear, in Logan's voice.
"Evil," replied Logan as he recalled the cold, hard eyes that had drilled into him. "That kid didn't hate me. He wanted me because he needed me to fuck him. He didn't care what it did to me. He didn't care that there was a whole bunch of people marching around, beating drums and firing off fucking cannons! He didn't care that maybe somebody would walk in and catch us. All he cared about was getting my dick up his ass." He shook his head. "When I went to Harkness Bay, what I did there, I did it because I wanted to do it! Okay, I needed the money, but I never forced anybody to suck me off! I never forced anybody to do anything!"
Brian was trying to digest all the information that Logan was confessing. He now knew that Logan's tormentor had been a cadet, that he had been raped or extorted or coerced in one of the barracks and that it had been during a parade, which was the only time they fired off the guns and marched around . . . Or was it during a practice for a parade?
And then it came to Brian. Logan had not been at AURORA this morning. The only other time they had fired the cannon or marched around was . . . Monday! Logan had been in one of the barracks on Monday! But who would be in the barracks during a parade practice? Who could it . . . His eyes widened behind his dark glasses. No, it couldn't be him! He would never . . . He began probing carefully. "Evil, guys like this 'kid', exists everywhere, Logan. I don't think you're evil, or bad, for selling your body. That sort of thing happens. I don't blame you for what you did, so please, don't blame the Cadets for one kid, as you call him, making you fuck him. He took advantage of the situation, a thief was in his barracks rummaging through 40 lockers and . . ."
"Forty? There were ten at most," interrupted Logan. "And one of them looked like it belonged to Gypsy Rose Lee!" He chuckled, not knowing that he was about to impart a vital piece of information. "Unless all you guys wear spangled jock straps!"
Brian nodded inwardly. There was only one cadet who wore spangled anything, and that was Mike. And he had been on parade. Logan had been rummaging through Mike's things, which meant that he'd been in the Petty Officers half of the Staff Barracks and there was only one person living in the Staff Barracks who could remotely be described as a kid and who had definitely not been on parade during the practice! It all fit. The Petty Officers Mess, a short, blond-haired cadet. It all fit!
Brian was rudely awakened from his musings by an almost unintelligible blaring from the PA system. For some reason he, and almost everybody else in the long waiting room looked at the speaker overhead. "They're calling the bus for Victoria, Logan."
Logan nodded. "Yeah, it's time." He stood up and lifted his kit bag. "Thanks for listening to me. I know you didn't have to."
Brian grinned. "It's what I do. It's what I'm supposed to do. Listen, and maybe help." He began walking with Logan toward the loading platform. "Have you given any thought as to what you're going to do?"
"Not a clue," replied Logan shaking his head. "Other than get out of Comox."
"Be careful, Logan. It's a mean world out there."
"And few Brians in it," said Logan with a soft smile. He seemed to think a moment. "You said something about entering another world. You aren't planning on . . .?"
Brian caught Logan's meaning. "No. I don't plan on running away, or becoming a Rent Boy. I plan, I hope, to join the army in two years." He waited while the bus driver tossed Logan's kit bag into the luggage compartment of the bus. "I'll be 18, and out of high school. I plan on joining up. With luck I'll get into the Royal Canadian Regiment and from there I can go Airborne."
"Why Airborne?"
"They're tough, they fight rough. I think I'd be a good paratrooper." He shrugged expressively. "At least I'm going to try."
Logan laughed quietly. "My old man has been leaving recruiting pamphlets and brochures all over the house for weeks. Maybe I should take the hint and join up." He thrust his hands in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the keys to his car and what looked to Brian to be a crumpled wad of paper. He walked the few short steps to where a garbage can was sitting. "Moving on," he muttered, dropping the keys and the wadded paper into the can. "Next stop Victoria."
Logan walked briskly back to the bus and was about to board when he wheeled and held out his hand. "I'm glad I met you, Brian. I'm sorry about the name calling." He shook Brian's hand, enjoying the warmth and strength of it. "I'm sorry for a lot of things."
"Mind how you go, Logan," replied Brian warmly.
"I will." He smiled and his eyes brightened. "Maybe, one day, we'll meet again."
Brian watched as Logan boarded the bus and found a seat. Almost immediately the bus door closed and the huge transport vehicle pulled away. Brian waved as Logan passed and for a long time he watched as the bus wove in and out of the traffic as it began its journey toward Victoria. Then he walked over to the garbage can and found the ring of keys and the small wad of paper that Logan had discarded. He unfolded the twenty-dollar note, and then looked toward the bus, now only a small, bright speck of colour in the distance. Logan had cast away a lot of baggage, and Brian hoped that he would find whatever it was that he was looking for. He also hoped that one day they would meet again.
Brian carefully folded the note and put it in his wallet, for some reason knowing that one day he would know the full story of the note, and why Logan had tossed it away.
The galley was eerily quiet when The Phantom returned. Joey and Randy were still away with Simon. Ray had gone into town with Kevin, and Sandro was busy in Dry Stores. Chef, after having strong words with The Gunner, was sequestered in his office, enjoying a monumental sulk.
After setting the tables for dinner, not that he expected too many cadets or instructors to be eating, The Phantom decided to take out the gash. He had just begun to toss the accumulated day's trash into the dumpster when Nathan steered the black behemoth alongside and parked beside the rusty garbage bin.
Nathan, smiling broadly, exited the driver's side of the car. Not so Caspar Collins who seemed glassy-eyed and dazed as he all but staggered out of the car. He was also dishevelled, a marked contrast to his normal, pin-neat, every-hair-in-place self. He stood on the opposite side of the car from Nathan and gazed, a silly-ass grin on his face, at the American boy. "Thanks for everything, Nathan," he said with a sly grin.
The Phantom, who had a good idea just what "everything" entailed, pretended not to hear.
"You sure you can't get out of the Duty Watch tonight?" asked Nathan as he walked around to the rear of the car. He opened the trunk and began to lift out plastic-wrapped white uniforms.
Caspar shook his head and sighed. "I wish I could, Nathan, but the Squadron Chief would bust my ass back to Ordinary Cadet if I skived off."
Unkindly The Phantom thought that getting his ass busted was the least of Caspar's worries. From the look of him he'd already undergone that experience. Continuing to dump the gash The Phantom did not hear Nathan's reply to Caspar nor did he hear Sandro as he came down the steps of the Mess Hall. Sandro seemed unaffected by Nathan's latest conquest and helped The Phantom toss the last of the bags into the dumpster.
"Hey, Phantom," shouted Nathan, seeming to notice the boy for the first time. "I've got your clean uniform here." As he held out The Phantom's Number 11 uniform Nathan saw Sandro standing beside The Phantom, and grinned. "Hi, Sandro."
"Uh, I'll see you later, Nathan," said Caspar as he moved off. "Don't forget, I get off around 2330."
"I won't," said Nathan, speaking to Caspar but not taking his eyes off of Sandro.
Much to The Phantom's disgust Sandro all but licked his chops at the sight of Nathan. He grinned and squirmed so much that The Phantom wanted to belt him one in the nuts. When Nathan suggested that Sandro might want to help him deliver the uniforms the Russian boy looked pleadingly at The Phantom.
"Jesus Christ!" thought The Phantom. "I knew Nathan was a cock hound but this is ridiculous."
"Please, cover for me a little while," asked Sandro, a wheedling tone in his voice. "It is an hour before supper and everything is ready." He rested his hand on The Phantom's shoulder. "Please, Phantom, I know what I am doing."
"He's using you, Sandro," replied The Phantom in a harsh whisper. "He just got through fucking Caspar!"
Sandro dropped his hand and shrugged. "Tonight he will go back to Caspar, or find someone else. He uses people. I am using him."
The Phantom gave Sandro a pitying look. The Russian boy wanted what Nathan had to offer, and The Phantom knew it. "I'll cover for you," he replied flatly, his disapproval patently obvious. "Randy and Joey should be back soon and Chef is in his office. Just be careful!"
Sandro grinned his thanks and hurried to the car. He climbed in and Nathan wasted no time in all but burning rubber. The Phantom watched as the car barrelled along, stopping outside the Staff Barracks.
"Cory is well rid of that jerk!" came a voice.
The Phantom turned and saw Sean Anders standing in the roadway, glaring after the car. Sean was much changed, no longer the dapper, trim Chief Petty Officer who had gone ashore only a few hours ago. His crisply starched shirt had wilted. His sharply creased trousers were wrinkled and his glossy, shined shoes were covered with a patina of dust. His hair was sweat-darkened and there were two wide, salt-whitened crescents under the arms of his light blue shirt.
"Jesus, you look a sight!" exclaimed The Phantom.
"I just walked from town," explained Sean. He nodded toward the distant Staff Barracks. "Nathan and his latest conquest?" he asked without a trace of humour. The Phantom chuckled. "I somehow think it's the other way around," he said cryptically. He looked Sean up and down. "Come on inside. I'll buy you a beer to help cut the dust."
"I don't drink," replied Sean as he followed The Phantom into the galley.
"I do," said The Phantom. He gestured for Sean to sit at the table Chef used for his desk and went to the fridge and opened it. Then he remembered Chef. "Chef, I'm stealing a beer!" he yelled.
"Steal two!" came Chef's muffled voice from behind the close door. "Give one to the redhead!"
"He doesn't miss much, does he?" asked Sean as The Phantom put a cold beer in front of him.
"He puts on an act," supplied The Phantom, sitting down. "Believe me, I know from personal experience that nothing gets by him." The Phantom walked to the sink, rinsed a towel in warm water and returned to hand it to Sean. "Here, you can at least get some of the surface grime off."
Sean nodded his thanks and washed his face. "Thanks, I feel better."
The Phantom reached across the table and with his finger moved Sean's head, first left, then right. "You seem to have gotten a little sun, my friend."
Sean took a sip of his beer, grimaced, and then took at bigger sip. "At least this stuff gets the grit out of my throat." He coughed. "I told you, I walked back from Comox, five long miles. It's a wonder I didn't come down with heat prostration!"
"I take it your lunch with Cory did not go well?" asked The Phantom delicately. It was obvious that something had happened, else why would Sean be back, walking, and without Cory?
Sean sighed and sat back in his chair. "Lunch was all right. Unfortunately Nicholas and Andre chose that moment to unveil their 'surprise' albums. They gave one to Cory."
The Phantom looked puzzled and then spoke. "The pictures from the sailing trip." He grinned. The last he had heard the pictures were on hold pending settling the problem of Little Big Man. "So, Nicholas finally did it!"
"Yes," said Sean with a slow nod. "He did a wonderful job. The pictures I saw were . . . magnificent. Too magnificent and Cory made a point of my seeing them!" He cocked an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. "I must say that you are, um, very photogenic."
"I am?" The Phantom's eyes widened. "Jesus, Sean, we were all naked most of the time. I know I went along with the idea to get some of the pictures blown up and, well, I went along with Todd's idea. Nicholas was only supposed to print . . ."
Sean nodded, a huge smile creasing his face. He thought it delightful that Philip was so discomfited about having a picture of him, nude, in an album. Why, the guy was actually blushing! "Nicholas printed," he said, trying to contain his laughter. "And, if you will permit me the observation, Philip, you do take one hell of a picture." He leaned forward and whispered, "But then, you have a lot to work with."
Shocked, The Phantom took a long drink of beer. "Jesus! I hope my mother never sees those pictures!"
Laughing, Sean reached out and patted The Phantom's arm. "She won't. Unless, of course, you show her your album."
"My album?"
"Yes. Nicholas, as I understand it, has made up an album for each of the participants in the sailing cruise. I believe he made it a point to 'personalize' each album."
"And you saw Cory's album?"
"Yes."
"Cory showed you his album, deliberately, and then he got all bent out of shape because you . . . admired some of the guys?"
Sean's hand tightened into a fist and his face darkened. "On the contrary. There was a photograph of Cory. It was, how shall I say this, totally sensuous, totally innocent, and thoroughly arousing, at least so far as I was concerned." He ran his fingers through his damp hair, and then looked at The Phantom with pleading eyes. "Philip, has Cory said anything to you about me? Please, I'm not asking you to betray a confidence. I simply want to know how much you know."
The Phantom blew out his cheeks and looked directly at Sean. "Cory and I are close, Sean. He talks to me. I talk to him. We all need someone to talk to."
"You did not answer my question," replied Sean sharply. "I am not a child to be handled with kid gloves. If Cory told you my secret, I would deem it a personal favour if you would say so."
The Phantom nodded firmly. "He told me that you are gay and that you are in love with him. He also told me that for what you consider to be good reasons you refuse to come out of your closet." He rested his hand on Sean's. "I make no judgement, Sean. I understand your feelings for Cory." He gave Sean's hand a slight squeeze. "I also want you to understand that I think that Cory is a fool if he lets you get away."
"I beg your pardon?" Sean's face took on a look of total confusion. "You actually approve . . ."
The Phantom held up his hand. "My approval, or disapproval is irrelevant. What is important is that you have done something millions of young guys do every day: you fell in love. A perfectly normal state of affairs from my point of view."
A look of utter surprise came across Sean's face. "Philip, I feel I must point out to you that Cory is a male. I am a male. Two males falling in love is not considered to be 'normal'."
The Phantom snorted. "Who says so? Your parents? Your teachers? Your priest or minister? Who has the right to say what is normal and what is not?" He looked directly at Sean. "Only God has that right. He made you, Sean, in His image. You are what He created, so let's get that out of the way. You will also go a long way with Cory to remember that. Cory does not think that his being gay is 'abnormal' or 'deviant' or anything else. He considers himself to be a perfectly normal, well-balanced, teenaged Canadian boy. Which is how I think of him, and you."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do," insisted The Phantom. He tapped the table sharply. "Being gay is not wrong. Denying being gay, hiding in a closet, or a nunnery, or wherever, is what is wrong. To understand Cory is to know that he is not ashamed of being gay, and he will never deny that he is gay. He will NOT countenance subterfuge, or lying. He will not hide, and he will not be with someone who hides." He took a slow drink of beer before continuing. "You must further understand, Sean, that Cory is not interested in some big-dicked stud. Cory is looking for someone who will spend the rest of his life with him. Cory wants a mate, Sean, and when Cory mates it's going to be forever."
Sean swallowed. His red face seemed to turn even redder. "I want to be that mate, Philip."
The Phantom smiled and nodded. "I had the impression you did. So does Cory."
Once again Sean's face registered his surprise. "He has a rather strange way of showing it!" he growled. "One minute he allows displays of affection! The next minute he snarls that when I am with him we are not 'on a date'. He refuses to believe me when I tell him, honestly and straightforward, that I am not trying to get into his pants just for the sake of having sex with him! I am not, as you put it, a 'big-dicked stud'."
Laughing, The Phantom gave Sean's arm a playful punch. "Neither am I, but then, while Cory and I love each other, I'm not the one he's going to spend his life with." He looked intently at Sean. "I am first and foremost Cory's friend, Sean. All I want is for him to be happy." He reached out and placed his hand over Sean's, a gesture not lost on the red-haired boy. "I want to be your friend as well, Sean." He gently emphasized the word 'friend' by squeezing Sean's hand. "You need one, badly."
"I do, do I?" asked Sean, taken aback by The Phantom's gesture.
"You do," replied The Phantom. "For too long you've hidden yourself behind a wall. You've refused to let anyone get close to you because you were so deathly afraid of him, or her, discovering your secret." He withdrew his hand and sat back in his chair. "You can only hide in your secret garden for so long Sean, and sooner or later something was bound to happen to bring that wall down."
Sean's eyes saddened and he nodded slowly. "I tried so hard, Philip, not to let my homosexuality become known. My father is from the old school, ex-RCAF and very conservative. He would never accept my so-called lifestyle. My brother is as bad. As for my schoolmates . . ." he shook his head. "As far as they are concerned, better dead than queer."
"You had no one to confide in before, Sean. Now you do. If you want . . ."
"I do want that, Philip," replied Sean earnestly. "You have no idea how . . . lonely I feel. After my foolish, clumsy attempt to seduce Cory . . ."
"In Kingston," supplied The Phantom. "Cory was quite surprised at your actions."
"No more than I," returned Sean with a grin. "I was a month away from my fifteenth birthday. I was gay, knew it, and had done nothing about it until Cory came along. I had never felt about another boy what I felt about Cory. I dreamt about him, I wanted to be with him, and rooming with him was, or so I thought, just this side of heaven."
"Heaven being, I suppose, you in his arms and making love to him?" asked The Phantom, the romantic in him, and his feelings for Cory, coming to the fore.
Sean sighed wistfully. "Dear Lord, Philip, how I wanted that." His brow furrowed in a tight frown. "Unfortunately I was so naive and clumsy I quite managed to queer my pitch." He shot a glance at The Phantom. "Sorry, no pun intended."
"Don't worry about it," replied The Phantom snickering at Sean's unintended little joke. "Tell me, how did you 'queer' your pitch, then?"
Sean looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Well, I thought that since I was gay, and Cory was gay, it would be a natural happening for us to end up in bed. I waited for a long time for him to make his move and when he didn't, I thought, 'what the hell,' I'll make the move. Of course, in retrospect, I know now that it was the wrong thing to do."
"And you now know that while there are gays who will jump into bed with any guy with a hardon, Cory is not one of them."
Sean nodded. "I was devastated when he walked out of my life. I had no one to talk to, no one to listen to me cry. And I did cry, Philip. In a way I never stopped crying, even when I was in a relationship with another boy." His eyes filled with tears. Embarrassed, he quickly wiped the back of his hand across his face. He grinned foolishly. "I'm sorry, I'm usually not so emotional."
"So far it's been an emotional day for you," replied The Phantom. "My guess is that right now is the first time you've actually had anyone to listen to you." He spread his hands. "I'm listening, Sean. That's what friends do for friends." There was a refreshing, sweet, little boy naiveté about this slim, red-haired boy that The Phantom found intriguing. He had no doubt, now, that Sean truly loved Cory. "I mean what I say, Sean," he continued. "I won't lie to you. As I've said, Cory and I are very close. I would like to help you, and Cory."
Sean did not miss the repeated inferences to Cory and The Phantom's 'closeness'. He briefly wondered just what Phantom's relationship was with Cory. Not that it mattered. Cory had a past. Phantom had a past. They all had a past when the truth was told. There was no need to dwell on what had been. He was more concerned with what could be. "Philip, please do not misunderstand me. I would be honoured if you considered me your friend, and I value your consideration for Cory, and for me. However, I would very much prefer it if I courted Cory, if that is a phrase I can use, without help." He looked pleadingly at The Phantom. "I want to do this on my own, in my own way."
The Phantom's opinion of Sean went up a few notches. He nodded inwardly. Sean was right. Whatever happened between him and Cory had to be on their terms, and by their mutual agreement. "You're right, Sean," he agreed presently. "I wish you the best of British luck because to be honest Cory has not made up his mind about you. I can only tell you that you will know when he makes up his mind."
"Cold comfort, that!" returned Sean. "After my outburst earlier I doubt he'll speak to me again!"
"What exactly did you do?" asked The Phantom. After Sean finished telling him what had happened The Phantom laughed until he cried. "That sneaky little bugger! He did a number on you, Sean!"
Sean thought and then shook his head. "So he did! He knew that I was not about to step out of the closet, no matter how hard he tried to push me. It was something I had to do, and he found a way to make me do it!" He frowned slightly. "Nicholas and Andre . . ."
"Will say nothing," finished The Phantom. "Even if they weren't a couple, which you may have noticed they are, both of them, too good a friend to Cory to betray his confidence."
"Nicholas and Andre aside, there will be people who will not accept any relationship I might have with Cory. My father, is one, and Todd, I suspect, is another."
The Phantom had been wondering when Todd's name would be thrown into the ring. He smiled slowly. "To understand Cory you have to understand Todd, to understand their relationship. They are not only brothers, they are lovers, and have been for years. Cory is very necessary for Todd, and Todd is very necessary for Cory."
"I am not at all surprised," said Sean. "They are twins, after all."
"No, it's deeper than that, Sean," replied The Phantom with a slow shake of his head. "They need each other. It will not matter who Cory takes as a partner, or who Todd takes as a partner, there will be times when they will need to be with each other, to hold each other, to make love to each other. They'll go off somewhere, make love, talk, fight. Anyone who is with Cory will have to understand the deep-seated need that they have. It goes with the territory."
"I understand the needs that two people who have been as close as Cory and Todd have been can have. At least I think I do."
"Good. Just remember, it will happen. It will be no reflection on your relationship. Cory will love whomever he chooses to be his partner completely, unreservedly and deeply. He will also, except for Todd, give his fidelity." His look was level and direct. "He will expect, no, demand, the same in return for his love."
"Cory has always had my love," replied Sean, returning The Phantom's look. "My fidelity he would have had three years ago, had we not . . ." "Sean, what is in the past, is in the past. What Cory wants is a long-term, firm commitment. Todd convinced him that Nathan was the man for him." He held up his hand stifling Sean's not yet spoken reply. "Todd knows that - now. He was wrong and as soon as Cory climbs down from his high horse they'll talk and make up. That's between Cory and Todd, and not you. Let them settle their differences in their own way. As for you and Cory, well, all I can say is that when Cory has made up his mind about you - and he is thinking about you - he will let you know his decision. Just you remember, though, what you told me and what I told you.
"As Cory's friend, as your friend, I'll offer some final advice. Don't lie to Cory, don't procrastinate and when he does decide to make up his mind you had better be able to understand exactly what he wants. If you're willing to have an open, loving relationship, then you're in the running. Cory will not accept furtive meetings while your folks are out of town, or in some motel room. That is definitely not on the cards. If you are willing to love him like a man, to treat him like a man, to love him the way he wants to be loved, then so be it. If not, pack your ditty box and rebuild that wall."
Sean spread his hands across the table and nodded slowly. "You certainly don't pull your punches, do you Philip?"
"There is no use beating around the bush. Had you known me better you would have known that I don't screw around. Cory is my friend. I would like you to be my friend. Because of that I've told you what I know, and what I think. How you use that knowledge is up to you, Sean."
Sean stood up and smiled a soft, warm smile. "Whenever Cory allows it, I shall tell him how I feel. I shall also make it quite plain that a relationship, on his terms is quite acceptable to me."
The Phantom groaned. "Jesus, Sean, try not to make it sound like a business merger!"
"Old habits die hard, Philip. I'll try to loosen up."
"Good, because you're going to have to be loose with Cory around. Only he and God ever know what he's going to do next. He'll drive you crazy one minute, be fighting with you the next, and then he'll drag you off to glory at the end of it. He is a very complex young man."
"It would appear that the next forty or fifty years will be interesting," replied Sean with a wry smile. He saw the look on The Phantom's face. "Well, you did say that Cory wanted a long term commitment."
The Phantom laughed and nodded. "Good luck, Sean. I mean that, you know. I also meant what I said about you being the man for Cory."
Sean sighed heavily. "All I have to do is convince him of that. And make some pathetic attempt to know when I've succeeded!"
"Oh, you'll know, Sean. You will most definitely know!"