Phantom 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 Phantom of AURORA: Chapter 8

Brian and Dylan walked a little unsteadily towards the Gunners Barracks. While neither was anywhere near to being drunk, they were feeling no pain. Dylan, with the successful unveiling of his tattoo and his ready acceptance by the other cadets, was feeling better than he had all day, and not because of the booze he had on board. Tonight had been the way it should have been, a bunch of guys sitting around, having a drink, having fun. The spirits of camaraderie and brotherhood had sent him into a euphoric mood, although Brian's continued sullenness towards him was a black cloud hovering over them and their continued relationship. Dylan now realized that sticking his nose in Brian's business had been wrong. He should have kept his mouth shut. After all, Brian being with another boy was hardly news. Brian being with a girl was hardly news. What Brian did was Brian's business.

Dylan cast an oblique look at his friend and sighed inwardly. Brian was stony-faced, and had not said a word to him all evening, and had actively avoided him, sitting out of his line of sight when they did the Zulu Warrior, as if seeing him naked was something new as well. They had played hockey together. They were in the same Sea Cadet Corps. They had slept together, in the same bed on their frequent sleepovers and Dylan had seen Brian naked more times than he could count, just as Brian had seen him naked more times than he could count!

Knowing that Brian was sexually active with both girls and boys had, at first, troubled Dylan. Their late night talks in the privacy and darkness of his room always resulted in the sharing of secrets, secrets that you could only tell to your best friend, your brother. They had told each other their deepest thoughts, and darkest secrets. Brian always told Dylan when he had scored with a girl, although he was scarce on details. When he scored with a guy Brian never talked about it, although Dylan always knew, for there was a special twinkle in Brian's eyes, and a spring in his step after he'd been with another guy, which Dylan always wondered about. Why, if having sex with another guy was such a sin, an abomination, forbidden and condemned by everybody, did Brian look so bloody happy? And why, Dylan wondered, had he opened his mouth this morning? He had never done it before. He had not said a word last summer when Brian and Ben had been an item, forever sneaking off into the bushes for some fun in the moonlight. Or when Brian had scored with Lacey Watson, the stud of North Bay Collegiate Institute? How Brian had managed to drag Lacey into his bed Dylan did not know. Lacey was everybody's ideal boy, tall, strong, handsome, and every guy in school wanted to be just like him! And what about Tommy Wenzel, or Matt Damone, or Ed North or . . . Hell, Brian had scored with at least a dozen guys Dylan could name. And not once had he taken Brian to task about his conquests, had never mentioned the conquests! Until this morning! Dylan could not understand at all.

As they came abreast of the Headquarters building Dylan decided that he had to do something. He did not care if Brian slept with guys, girls or the ship's cat. He missed the tall, stocky, blond-haired boy, damn it! He missed Brian terribly and he did not want something as silly as Brian getting a blowjob to destroy their friendship. Dylan wanted desperately to be Brian's friend and he knew that he had to find a way to make the peace between them.

In a way, Brian solved Dylan's problem. They were just passing Clothing Stores when Brian cut left into the shadows between the Headquarters Building and Clothing Stores. "I gotta piss like a race horse," he said as he unzipped and pulled out his penis. Dylan joined Brian, standing beside him as the sound of their urinating broke the still, warm air.

Without thinking Dylan glanced down Brian's soft penis. He could never understand why guys did that! Why they just had to check each other out in the showers, or when they were changing for swim class! Which led Dylan to ask, "Jesus, Brian, did you see the dick on Harry?"

Dylan half expected Brian to ignore his question and smiled happily when Brian retorted, "The thing was awful hard to miss!" Brian snickered softly as he stuffed his drained penis back into his shorts. He turned and gave Dylan a wink. "What got me were Harry's balls! I don't know how he can walk with those things dangling between his legs!" As they turned to resume their walk home Brian laughed aloud. "But fuck, Dylan, I would love to have a pair like 'em!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied Dylan with a pleased grin. "You're all right in the balls department." He squeezed the front of his gym shorts. "I'm the one with the small danglers!"

Brian snorted through his nose. "It's not the size that counts. It's how you use 'em!"

"You got that right," returned Dylan, laughing. "They sure worked for Cow-leen!"

Brian giggled. "Fuck, Dylan, if it had a pulse and got hard, it worked for Cow-leen!"

Both boys laughed so hard at the memory of their encounter with the local bad girl that they almost peed themselves. Colleen Crawley was the local mattress back home in North Bay. She loved the boys and getting into her pants - not a difficult task at the best of times - was almost a traditional rite of passage for the boys in their neighbourhood, a kind of way station on the road to manhood where everybody stopped at least once.

"I didn't really enjoy it," confessed Dylan quietly. "She's pretty loose down there."

Brian was forced to agree. "Neither did I," he admitted. "And to be honest, all the things I told you about getting into her pants?" He paused and looked at his friend. "I lied. I only did it once and I only did it because she wouldn't put out for the other guys if I wouldn't fuck her."

Dylan's eyes all but bugged out with surprise. "Really? And what guys?"

"Really," replied Brian glumly. "And if you want to know the truth, all the guys on the night shift at Tim Horton's!"

Dylan almost choked. "Shit, there were 12 guys on that shift! She did all 12?"

"Blew 11 and fucked me," growled Brian, clearly not amused. "She wandered in just before closing, had a coffee, and then offered to give every guy a blowjob. But only if I fucked her!" He chuckled mirthlessly. "It was not a pleasant experience."

Impulsively Dylan slipped his arm around Brian's waist and gave him a sympathetic squeeze. "That was mean, even for her."

Brian shrugged. "Women!" Then he put his arm around Dylan's waist. He needed the touch of a male. "Maybe my dad's right when he says that women are lucky sheep can't cook." He laughed at his own joke.

"It's good to hear you laugh, Brian," said Dylan slowly. "I'm sorry about what I said this morning. I should never have opened my mouth." Before Brian could reply he hurried on. "Please, Brian, please don't be mad at me!"

Brian stopped and withdrew his arm from Dylan's waist. He reached up and punched the boy's shoulder lightly. "I'm not mad any more, and I'm sorry I told you to fuck off. I didn't mean it. You're my best friend."

By now they had reached their barracks and Brian stopped and sat on the steps for a smoke before going to bed. Dylan sat beside him. "Is it going to happen again?" he asked quietly. "Is the guy going to come again and . . .?"

Brian took a deep drag on his cigarette. "If he comes, yeah, it is going to happen again." He looked firmly at Dylan. "I want it to happen." His tone said it all. The matter was closed and not subject to further discussion.

Dylan nodded his agreement. "Okay." He looked thoughtful, thinking about . . . Then he shook his head and stood up. "I better hit the rack. Breakfast tomorrow?"

"Sure." Brian reached up and gave Dylan's butt a pat. "Sleep well, my friend."

When Brian came into the Mess, Dylan was already undressed and in bed. Brian stripped down to his underpants and lay on top of his bunk, breathing softly. It was much too early for the night visitor to put in an appearance, assuming that he would. Brian desperately wanted to get his rocks off. The sight of all those beautiful cocks and naked teenagers in the Gunroom had been a major turn on and he was horny as hell! For a brief moment he contemplated slipping into the heads and beating off. But if he did that he might not be primed if the visitor came by. He slipped his hands into his boxers, feeling the warmth of his semi-hard penis. Still, he thought, a hand job might just be the ticket. If he shot his wad now and the visitor came in later, why he'd last a lot longer the second time around. He fingered his now erect dick idly, wondering if he could manage three loads in one night. A smile creased Brian's face. Shit, three loads? Now that would be a first! He was about to get up and go into the heads when he heard Dylan's whispered voice calling his name.

"Brian? Are you awake?"

Dylan heard Brian come into the barracks and undress for bed. He tried not to look as Brian lay on his bunk and began to fondle himself. Dylan lay back, with his hands behind his head, thinking. What he couldn't understand was why, if getting it on with a guy was so pleasurable, everybody condemned it and everybody made fun of guys who did it. Or worse. Being a fag, or a queer, was a death sentence. Guys got beat up for being queer. Guys got run out of town for being queer. Dylan frowned. Yet, what about the guys who went with Brian? Letting him suck their dicks, and sucking his, because if he knew Brian sucking was a two way street, well, that was queer, wasn't it? But, if letting a guy suck your dick was queer, then why did the other guys let Brian do it? Or why did they do it to Brian? Dylan really could not understand at all, unless the answer was that when a guy was horny it didn't matter who was hanging off your dick so long as somebody was!

Frowning a little, Dylan let that thought sink in. Then he had another, more ominous thought. He had known Brian from the time they were six years old, and they had been together constantly ever since. Yet, in all the years they had been friends, all the times they had slept at each other's house, not once had Brian put the moves on him. Dylan raised his head and looked down the front of his supine body. He couldn't see much as he was wearing a white T-shirt and briefs. Except for the small lump in the front of his underpants his clothing hid his body. He laid his head back down. Maybe it was because his dick was small? Well, not all that small. It was as big as Brian's was when it was soft - he knew because they had been comparing dicks every so often to see how much they were growing. And it did get bigger when it was hard. But then, Brian had been with guys who had a dick which was the same length as his and Dylan thought that dick size didn't mean much to Brian. No, it was not that.

The more he thought of that aspect of their relationship the more Dylan began to think that it was his own attitude that had precluded any sexual activity between them. Brian never forced himself on anybody, and Dylan had to admit that he'd been pretty churchy about Brian's activities. Being a good Catholic boy he couldn't very well be otherwise, now could he? The Church loudly condemned boys having sex with boys. Of course, the Church also condemned boys having sex with girls. The Church, in fact, condemned sexual activity of any kind outside of the Sacrament of Marriage. This included masturbation, which was a sin. Thinking about sinning in this matter caused Dylan to snicker quietly. If beating your meat was a sin what would the priest make of him humping his pillow?

It was all so damned silly. Getting off, shooting your load was wonderful. The feelings could never be adequately described. Just thinking of getting himself off was causing Dylan to raise a boner, and he wondered what it would be like, how it would feel if another boy . . . And sometimes he had these feelings that he could not understand. Not that he had ever acted on those feelings. He couldn't just go outside and invite the first guy who came along to suck his dick, now could he? Dylan couldn't put the moves on any of his classmates because they would spread it all over the school and he'd be dead. Brian, his best friend, had never seemed interested. Which was too bad, really, because if he was going to fool around with another boy, who better that to fool around with than your best friend? Best friends helped each other out. Best friends understood and best friends never, ever betrayed you.

Dylan tossed and turned a bit, his mind a maelstrom of unanswered questions. Paramount was the why of it. Was getting your dick sucked so glorious? He had fucked Colleen, which had been marginally better than humping his pillow. He beat off regularly. Both acts brought him a great deal of pleasure but, still, what was it about getting blown that . . . Impulsively he raised his head and spoke.

"Brian, are you awake?"

Brian cringed at the sound of Dylan's voice. He initially thought to pretend to be asleep. He had a bone on that wouldn't die and was not in the mood for a late night bull session. In the end he felt that he had no option. Dylan, who normally dropped right off when he went to bed, would stew if he were not answered. He might even lie awake and try again, which was something Brian most certainly did not want. Brian wanted Dylan quiet and asleep when the night visitor came calling. There was also the fact that he had treated Dylan shabbily all day. He felt bad about that, as bad as Dylan felt for opening his mouth this morning. Dylan was his friend and if he wanted to talk, well . . . "I'm awake."

"Can I come over, just to talk?"

"Yeah." Brian sat up a bit. If he had to listen to Dylan mumble yet another apology he might as well be comfortable. He felt his dick start to shrink, which was blessing in a way. Talking to Dylan was one way of getting his mind off of his dick.

Brian heard Dylan's soft steps as he left his bunk. He saw that Dylan was wearing a somewhat baggy pair of white briefs, and a white T-shirt that was too large for his body. Brian also could not help but notice the slight bulge underneath the fabric of Dylan's Jockeys.

Dylan settled himself on the edge of Brian's bunk, his briefs-covered butt flush against his friend's leg. Dylan noticed that while Brian had moved into a half-sitting position, his hand was still tucked inside his boxers. He sat quietly, his hands folded in his lap, saying nothing, trying to gather his resolve and courage to ask the question he wanted answered.

Brian grew impatient with Dylan's silence. If he wanted to talk, then let him talk! When Dylan continued to sit quietly Brian decided to break the ice. "Aren't you hot in that rig?" he asked, referring to Dylan's thick T-shirt.

Dylan started at the sound of Brian's voice. "Uh, I'm fine," he muttered as he squirmed a bit. He was slightly embarrassed, hoping that Brian would not think it queer of him to be sitting on his bunk with a boner. He was thankful that the T-shirt he was wearing hung low enough to cover his crotch. Without thinking, however, Dylan reached down and felt the knob of his dick and asked his question. "What's it like? What's it really like being with a guy?"

Surprised at Dylan's question, Brian had to think a bit before he answered. He pulled himself into a full sitting position. "Well, you fucked Cow-leen, didn't you?" he asked.

Dylan nodded slowly. Of course he had fucked the girl. Half the guys in the North end of town had boffed her at least once!

"Well, how was it?"

Dylan did not reply. He shrugged and made a sour face.

"Well, there went that particular analogy," thought Brian grimly. Obviously the earth had not moved for Dylan. He thought a moment and tried a different tack.

"All right. When you hump your mattress, or your pillow, how good does it feel when you cum?"

"Oh, wow!" exclaimed Dylan breathlessly, hoping that Brian would not notice that he was blushing furiously.

Brian took his hand from his boxers and placed it on the back of Dylan's neck. He began to gently massage the soft, warm skin under his hand. "Multiply what you felt by a hundred," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Think of every time that you have ever cum since you started cumming. Put them all together, Dylan. That's what it feels like." He reached out with both arms and pulled the trembling boy to him. "That is what it feels like," Brian repeated.

"Was that what it was like when . . . the guy did you?" asked Dylan hesitatingly. He reached out and embraced Brian. He rested his head on Brian's shoulder. "Was that what it was really like?"

"It was . . ." began Brian, nodding slowly. He could feel Dylan's soft, blond hair rub against his cheek. "He told me that he would take me across the river." He squeezed Dylan ever so gently. "And that is what he did! I . . . felt things, felt pleasures, I never felt before." He pulled Dylan as close to him as he could. "I can't explain it any better than that, Dylan."

A strange feeling came over Brian as he embraced his friend. In all their years together they had never done anything and now . . . He slid his hand down the side of Dylan's warm arm. Then he brushed his lips gently across Dylan's forehead. He had slept with Dylan many times and this was the first time he noticed how pleasant and clean his friend smelled.

As he held Dylan, Brian considered his next move. Dylan was a virgin when it came to boys. Should he make a move? Or should he . . .? He lowered his head slowly, waiting for Dylan to respond. If Dylan wanted to have sex with him, he would do it. Somehow the thought of sex with Dylan was not like it had been with the other boys. With them it had been sex, fucking around a bit, loosening each other up, getting their rocks off. But with Dylan it was different. Before it had been . . . mechanical. Now he felt . . . warm. Peaceful. Brian liked the feel of his friend's body, liked how Dylan smelled, how his soft hair brushed his face.

The thought that was forming in Brian's mind grew. He realized that what he was feeling for Dylan was much deeper than friendship. He realized, now, as he held Dylan close, that what he had wanted all these years was sitting beside him. All those years, when they had shared a tent on their camping trips, when they had shared a room, and sometimes a bed, when their hockey team played an away game, when they had slept over at each other's house . . . All those years they had done nothing, had never touched each other. And now . . .

Brian slipped his hand under Dylan's baggy T-shirt and rubbed his firm, warm stomach. Brian could feel the silken hair of Dylan's treasure trail. He stroked the soft hairs slowly, each time rubbing his hand across the tip of Dylan's erect penis, which was jutting up above the wide elastic band of his briefs. Brian lowered his head slightly and his lips found Dylan's. He heard his friend moan softly as their lips met. Emboldened, Brian continued on, moving his hand lower, feeling the thick bulk of Dylan's erection under the smooth fabric of his underpants. He cupped the tight sac containing Dylan's smooth ovals, and rubbed his thumb slowly up and down the length of the bulge in Dylan's briefs, feeling the warm flesh throbbing.

As a tremor of pleasure passed through him, Dylan raised his head and initiated a kiss. Their kiss was deep, and full of passion. He barely heard Brian telling him to stand up. He knew what Brian was going to do for him and he knew that he wanted Brian to do it. Dylan stood up slowly and Brian's hand pulled down his briefs, he felt Brian's hot breath as he . . .

Dylan's hard dick stuck straight out from his body. Brian reached around and slowly rubbed Dylan's lightly furred thighs and then began to knead and fondle his perfect, hairless, mounds. As he watched Dylan's penis throbbed with his heavy breathing and a small, perfect drop of precum oozed gently from the tiny slit in his deep pink, curving, mushroom-shaped glans. He moved his lips closer. Dylan felt Brian's warm lips kiss the length of his hardon, then slowly suck it into his warm, moist mouth and he groaned softly as Brian sucked gently, his tongue laving and circling his shaft and following he lines of the curving ridge of his helmet. Dylan could feel the most wonderful sensations growing deep within his body as Brian began bobbing his head, pivoting from side to side, up and down Dylan's rigid pole. Dylan felt Brian's strong hands caressing his bum and low growls rose in his throat as one of Brian's hands left his behind and began to pull and roll his balls gently. Dylan began to thrust his hips, the pleasures deep within in his crotch overwhelming him. He wanted his dick as deep in his friend's welcoming mouth.

Brian could hear Dylan's harsh, heavy breathing. He closed his eyes, his mouth savouring the sweet taste of Dylan, welcoming the soft, urgent thrusts that presaged Dylan's explosion. He heard a low grumble rise from Dylan's throat as his shaft thickened and his mushroom expanded. Suddenly, without warning, Brian felt Dylan's dick spasm and a thick, heavy stream of cum pulsed down his throat. He swallowed hungrily, moving his head and sucking eagerly on the top two inches of Dylan's spewing organ. He swallowed avidly as Dylan's pee slit expelled stream after stream of his sweet ejaculate.

When Dylan gave one, ultimate thrust, and his dick ceased it's manic throbbing, Brian withdrew. He sat back against the bulkhead, hugging his knees, watching as Dylan slowly sank onto the bunk. Dylan whimpered and leaned forward. Brian held him close and then reached down to feel the swollen crown of Dylan's penis. He heard Dylan suck in his breath sharply. "Sore?" Brian asked.

Dylan nodded. "A little . . . tender." Then he reached up and wrapped his arms around Brian's neck. "Now I know," he whispered softly.

They sat holding each other for what seemed like hours until finally Dylan pulled away. He kissed Brian gently and smiled softly. Still smiling he gathered up his briefs and slowly returned to his bunk.

Brian remained sitting until he heard Dylan's smooth, even breathing. Then he reached under his pillow and pulled out his cigarettes and matches. He left the barracks and sat on the steps, waiting. Dylan had experienced his first blowjob. With luck, he would experience much more.

The night was very still, without a hint of a breeze. Brian smoked quietly, waiting, listening for the sound of the footsteps that would announce the arrival of the one he needed to speak to. His reverie was broken by the sound of voices. He raised his head and saw Sylvain and Andre, chattering and gesticulating as they rounded the corner of the barracks. Apparently the Toad Watch had the Mids tonight. Sylvain saw Brian sitting alone on the barracks steps. "You are up late," he said, his English slightly accented.

"I can't sleep in there," replied Brian as he waved his hand back toward the barracks. "It's like an oven." He saw Sylvain nod his understanding and continued. "I came out for a smoke."

"You should not smoke," said Andre firmly as he came up and sat on the bottom step. "It does things to your body!"

"Such as?" asked Brian, surprised at Andre's comment.

Andre giggled. "It makes your pee-nis shrivel."

Brian snickered at the young French-Canadian's feeble joke. "For all the use it gets it might as well," he replied sourly. He gave Sylvain a look. "You smoke, don't you?"

Sylvain's handsome face clouded. "I do not!" he snapped, resenting the maudit Anglais's implication that his penis was shrivelling. He glared at Andre, who was giggling helplessly at Brian's crack. "Venir le long de, Andre!" he snarled. "Nous n'a pas de temps pour asseoir bavarder avec ce garcon ignorant! Nous avon des Ronds pour finir!"

Brian, who spoke not a word of French, still knew that Sylvain was not pleased at a joke being made at his expense. He did know what ignorant meant but chose not to make an issue of it. What was the use of Sylvain being a goofy fuck if he could not demonstrate it from time to time?

Andre stood up and followed Sylvain as he bustled along the barracks walk. When the taller French cadet was far enough ahead Andre turned and grinned at Brian, then held out his hand. His thumb and forefinger were perhaps three inches apart. He nodded his head toward the retreating Sylvain and grinned wickedly.

Brian laughed at Andre's gesture and then settled back. He glanced down at his wrist but he had not worn his watch. Laughing at his stupidity he shook his head. All he could do was wait. He looked up into the sky, which was very dark, and studded with stars. It was very late and if the visitor did not come soon he would have to turn in.

"You should be in bed, pretending to be asleep," came the voice from the darkness.

Brian started and looked around. He could see nothing. "I was waiting for you," he said slowly, trying to see into the shadows.

"Why?" asked the voice a trifle petulantly. "I told you that I would come again."

"I know that voice," thought Brian. "I know it, but I don't know whose it is!" He tossed his all but smoked cigarette into the spitkid that was placed at the foot of the stairs. "I have a favour to ask," he said with trepidation.

"I'm listening." The voice was flat now, almost devoid of emotion.

Brian swallowed. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I helped a friend tonight. But I didn't take him across the river."

"And you would like me to?"

Brian nodded. "Yes. Tonight was his first time."

There followed a lengthy silence. "You must love Dylan very much," the voice said presently.

The statement really spooked Brian. A shiver ran down his spine and he broke out in a cold sweat. How could he know? How could he . . .? "I, uh, yes, I do," he managed to whisper. "I just didn't know it until tonight." He peered into the darkness. "Will you take him across the river?"

"And you?"

"I want to, yes. But, please, take Dylan across first." Brian stood up and nodded toward the barracks. "He's in the bunk two down . . ."

"I know where he sleeps," the voice said quietly. "Go inside. Go to bed." Brian did as he was ordered. He hurried inside and shut the door.

A few minutes later The Phantom stepped from the shadows, smiling broadly.

Mark and Tony were heading for their barracks when they were hailed by their Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Broadhurst. It was readily apparent, though hardly surprising, that the officer was very close to being drunk. "How was the party?" he asked, slurring his words and swaying slightly.

Mark hid a grimace. "It was fine, thanks," he replied, thankful that Broadhurst had one over the mark. The man was of the "Do as I say, not as I do" school of discipline and while he was notorious for his binge drinking he would not countenance the cadets having a jar or two in their off hours. At least he would not be able to smell the booze on their breath.

The Lieutenant was not all that interested in how his cadets had passed the night. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Mark, do me a favour," he mumbled as he tossed the keys to Mark, "Check out the boat for me, will you?"

"Shall I bring the keys back to you, sir?" Mark asked as he deftly caught the keys with one hand.

Lieutenant Broadhurst waved away Mark's offer. "No, you keep them. We aren't going anywhere until after Divisions." He started to walk back toward the Wardroom.

Tony gave the departing officer a sour look. "One of these days the brass is going to get wise to that lush," he said with a grimace. "And I don't appreciate him asking us to do his job!"

"Considering the condition our noble Commanding Officer is in, he'd probably fall overboard," returned Mark with a chuckle. "You go ahead to bed. I'll check out the boat." He began to walk toward the Dockyard.

"Screw that," returned Tony. "It won't kill me to look over the boat."

The two Americans walked down to the Dockyard where they greeted the Duty Hands on the YAGs and then boarded their own boat. After checking the upper deck and the wheelhouse they unlocked the hatch leading to the after berthing deck and climbed below. They did a walkthrough of the engine room, the galley, the small cabin the officers used and returned to their own berthing area where Mark settled himself on the blue faux-leather bench that lined the port side of the compartment. He yawned and stretched his arms along the back of the bench. Tony sat beside him, so close that their bare legs were touching. He laid his head back so that it was resting against Mark's left arm and snickered. "That was quite a party the boys had for us," he said. "I haven't laughed so hard in a long time." His body shook with laughter. "The songs were great, and that Zulu song was something else again."

Mark joined in Tony's laughter. "I never knew that taking my clothes off could be so much fun. And that little dance you did . . ."

Both boys laughed at the memory of Tony bending over and mooning the Gunroom.

Mark felt his leg pressing against Tony's warm thigh. He glanced down and saw the slight bulge in Tony's shorts. Then he did something that he had only dreamt about doing for years: He put his hand on Tony's leg, just below the bottom edge of his shorts.

Tony smiled and embraced Mark. Their lips met and for a long time they kissed softly. Tony's hand slipped under the leg of Mark's shorts and he felt the warm, swelling bulk under Mark's soft, cotton briefs. "Took you long enough," he said when they parted to catch their breath.

Mark did not reply. He pushed his hand under the waistband of Tony's shorts, feeling the thick hardness hidden there. He began to gently squeeze Tony's erection, marvelling at the bulk of it and the way it throbbed with every breath that Tony took. Tony responded by placing his lips against Mark's, his tongue tracing the outline of Mark's full lips. Mark moaned as Tony squeezed his hardon. "Jesus, Tony, that feels so good!" He pulled away and slowly pushed Tony's T-shirt up and over his head.

Tony lay back as Mark undressed him, raising his hips as his friend pulled down first his shorts, then his tighty-whiteys. He groaned and sucked in his breath as Mark leaned forward and kissed the tip of his penis, and stiffened as Mark's tongue swirled around and around his heated glans. "Are we going to do what I think we're going to do?" he managed to croak as Mark's tongue savaged the small knot of skin on the underside of his helmet.

Once again Mark said nothing. He pulled away and stood up. Through hooded eyes Tony watched as the young blond god who was his Chief, his friend, and, he hoped, soon to be lover, slowly slipped down his shorts, then his briefs, revealing his rich, golden pubic bush and warm, perfect dick. In the pale moonlight streaming through the scuttle Mark's hair gleamed like fine-spun gold. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his firm, muscular chest. He looked down at Tony and then pulled the young Italian to his feet. "We are going to do what we should have been doing a long time ago," he murmured.

They stood together, their hard penises grinding together, their hands exploring each other's firm body. Tony was the more muscular, and had a thicker body that Mark. His coal black hair, tousled when Mark removed his T-shirt, hung fetchingly over his broad forehead, partially hiding his deep brown eyes. Mark reached down and ran his finger along Tony's thick, 6-inch erection, gently wiping away a pearl drop of precum that had oozed from the magnificently formed helmet. They resumed their embrace, their firm chests touching, their warm, mushroomed-headed penises rubbing gently, sending small tornadoes of pleasure whirling through their bodies. "I used to dream of you," gasped Tony as Mark's hand rubbed up and down his heated shaft. "I used to beat off pretending that it was you doing me."

Mark rubbed his strong chin against Tony's face. "I have wanted you from the first time I saw you. I have dreamed of you. I watched you, when we played football, when we stripped for swimming; I memorized every detail of you. At night, I dreamed of you. Every day we were together I wanted you. You used to drive me crazy!"

Tony silenced Mark with a kiss. "We're not dreaming now, he murmured as they sank slowly onto the hard leather bench.

The Phantom sat quietly in the tree line a few yards from the entrance to the Staff Barracks. His breathing was returning to normal and for the first time in almost an hour his penis was soft. The back of his sweater was soaked with saliva, which Ray had deposited as he collapsed onto The Phantom's back, writhing and thrusting as his penis spewed forth its load. The Phantom also had two cooling loads of semen soiling his boxers, the first courtesy of Ray, and the second thanks to Brian. The Phantom grinned at the memory of his activities thus far. He had sucked three sweet dicks and with luck, would suck one more before going home.

The Phantom squirmed uncomfortably as a small ribbon of his semen oozed down the inside of his leg. Ray had been unusually enthusiastic tonight. He had made no pretence of sleeping and not only had he grunted and groaned his way to an awesome eruption he had, as he began his orgasm, suddenly reached out and pumped The Phantom through his jeans. The Phantom, lost in the throes of an absolutely mind blowing eruption, had increased his sucking on Ray's spewing dick, which drove the boy wild. He fell, as limp as an old dishrag across The Phantom's back, his hips making small, sharp thrusting movements as stream after stream of his semen squirted into The Phantom's mouth. Ray, soaked in sweat and sucking avidly on the dark wool of The Phantom's sweater, refused to withdraw, refused to let go of his visitor's softening organ. The Phantom had never experienced anything like it!

He had moved on to the Gunners Barracks where, as Brian had asked him, he had taken Dylan a across the river. Dylan, thankfully, had buried his head in his pillow as he growled and groaned, striving for release. The Phantom had done things to him that drove Dylan to the edge and beyond, rimming him, sucking his balls, taking him to the edge three times before Dylan finally exploded, writhing and bucking with abandon and thrusting his hips violently into The Phantom's mouth. Fortunately Dylan's dick, which was just over 4 inches when hard, was just the right size for sucking so The Phantom had allowed Dylan's frantic, manic thrusting as his engorged helmet spewed forth thick jets of wonderfully thick, sweet, boy juice.

The Phantom had then moved on to Brian who, unbeknownst to him, had been listening avidly to Dylan being taken across the river. Brian was primed, his penis hard and throbbing when The Phantom knelt beside his bunk. The Phantom used the same techniques on Brian as he had on Dylan, which reduced the boy to a quivering wreck before he finally let loose. Brian had then, during their post-orgasm necking, tried to unzip The Phantom and asked to blow him. The Phantom had been tempted to let Brian do him. He had never been blown and Brian seemed anxious to remedy this situation. In the end The Phantom decided that while he did want a blowjob, he did not want it from Brian. He wanted what he had given Brian and a stand-up face fuck was not the same and in the end he would only allow Brian to knead and rub his hard penis through his jeans until he shot his load into his boxers. The Phantom had to admit that Brian gave a very satisfactory hand job.

After leaving the Gunners Barracks, The Phantom had been of two minds. He wanted to visit the Chiefs Mess again but he also knew that the night was waning rapidly. He had deliberately delayed coming on to the Spit. He knew of the movie being shown in the Drill Shed, and of the party in the Gunroom. While the movie would end in plenty of time for the cadets to meet their bedtime curfew, a party in the Gunroom could go on until all hours of the night. He had slipped through the shadows carefully and half-expected to see the Gunroom ablaze with lights and was pleasantly surprised to see that all the lights were out. Still, he hid in the tree line, listening, watching carefully for any sign that the cadets were still about.

When The Phantom was satisfied that the way was clear he had started to rise when he thought he heard a yell, far off, from deep in the woods that covered the southern end of the Spit. He dropped to the ground and lay prone, breathing slowly, listening carefully for the slightest hint of sound that would indicate that someone other than he was out wandering. He heard nothing except for the rough sound of a critter scurrying through the undergrowth and his own barely controlled breathing. Peeling back the cover of his watch The Phantom glowered. He could not waste time! He glanced hastily around, saw nothing, rose up, and darted into the Staff Barracks.

The Twins lay on the thick woollen sea blankets they had brought with them from the Gunroom, their warm bodies forming a "T". Todd's head was resting on Cory's firm stomach. Cory's arm was draped across his brother's chest and from time to time he would mischievously pinch Todd's nipples. They had slipped away from their barracks as soon as Thumper had returned from his nightly ritual in the heads, and stolen away to this special place, a small, grassy clearing deep in the woods that blanketed the southern end of the Spit, and made warm, passionate love, their lovemaking so gentle and tender that each brother had, if anything, fallen deeper in love with the other.

Todd was blissfully happy and staring at the carpet of stars overhead, his hands loosely crossed and resting on his stomach just above his soft, dark blond pubic bush, enjoying his brother's warmth and the soft caress of Cory's hand on his chest. He was half asleep, and wishing that this special moment would never end.

With his free hand Cory was idly fingering his soft penis, playfully tickling the warm, mushroom-shaped crown. He loved these moments afterward, these all too precious moments when he and Todd were together, after Todd had made magnificent love to him, these moments alone, their bodies warm and close. He smiled happily and then frowned. He fiddled a bit more and his frown deepened. The head of his penis was no longer sensitive, and had lost its deep pink colouring. The tingling feeling that was always a part of his afterglow of pleasure was gone. His penis was most definitely not responding as it should. Cory looked questioningly at his brother. "Todd?"

"Yes, Cory?"

"It's dead!" Cory declared firmly.

Todd sighed. He never knew from one minute to the next if Cory was serious or up to his usual nonsense. He turned his head and looked intently at Cory's penis, which was snoozing comfortably across his right leg. The damned thing looked perfectly normal. "It is not dead," Todd said as he settled back against his brother's tummy. "It's sleeping." Then he grinned. "Mind you, brother dear, I would not be surprised if the thing was dead!" He rubbed his hair against the soft skin under it. "God knows, considering the workout it has had it should be comatose!" Todd heard Cory growl a protest, ignored it and carried on. "You have shot your load three times, for Christ's sake!"

"So have you," returned Cory with a giggle.

Todd's nod confirmed Cory's statement. "Well then, if mine isn't dead, neither is yours."

"You're sure?" asked Cory, feigning his doubt.

"I'm sure. Let it get some sleep and then, like the South, it shall rise again, triumphant." He closed his eyes, determined to enjoy the euphoria he felt. "There, that ought to shut him up," he thought.

Cory snickered and sighed contentedly. He did so love his brother, but not enough to shut up because he was bursting to tell Todd his latest bit of gossip. "Todd?"

Todd groaned. Not again! "Yes, Cory?"

"Somebody gave Brian a blowjob a couple of nights ago," Cory said casually, as if such a thing was a common occurrence, "But not Dylan." He made a face. "Dylan is such a dick head, passing up a blowjob, but he did, so that's that. And if you want my opinion, Val also got a blowjob, although I can't be sure, but he was certainly acting funny this morning and . . ."

Todd, who had only been half listening to Cory's inane chatter, sat up with a start. "What . . . did . . . you . . . say?" he asked slowly, interrupting Cory's monologue.

Cory patiently repeated his titbit of gossip.

Todd looked incredulous, although he did wonder if Cory was off in La-La Land again. "Brian? Our Brian? Brian Venables, the Guard Petty Officer?"

"No, Brian Baru, King of the Scots!" retorted Cory, giving his brother a withering look. "How many Brians are there around here? Of course Brian the Guard Petty Officer! The same Brian who used to sneak over to Boatswain Stores with Ben and . . ."

"Yes, yes, YES!" snarled Todd. "I know all about that! Ben, a nice kid, from Newfyjohn, not bad, nice dick and so-so balls! Brian and him used to sixty-nine in there whenever were on watch."

"How did you know that?" asked Cory, surprised. Todd rarely paid attention to gossip.

"You are not the only one who listens when seated on the throne! Please get to the point!" grumbled Todd. Jesus, Cory could be so obtuse and exasperating at times!

"Well, if you must know," began Cory with exaggerated patience, "the point is that someone gave Brian a massive blowjob, but not Dylan because he said no. The same someone did Brian twice. I'm not sure if it was twice in one night, or two nights in a row. Anyway, Brian told Dylan that it was awesome and that . . ."

"God Damn It, Cory!" roared Todd.

Startled at his brother's outburst, Cory shrank back. Then he squirmed, sat up, gave Todd a kiss on the ear, and hugged him. "Yes, Toddy?" he whispered.

Todd pushed Cory away. "This is not the time the time to get frisky!" He held Cory at arm's length. "Now, tell me everything!"

Cory shrugged, lay back, and crossed his hands on his stomach. "Well, as I said, I went for a walk, as I sometimes do in the morning before everybody gets up, and I happened to be passing Barracks 8. The windows were wide open - you know how hot it has been lately - and I heard Dylan snarling at Brian about getting a blowjob. Brian, I mean, not Dylan, and . . ."

"You just happened to stop and listen!" completed Todd with a sniff.

"Of course I did," replied Cory calmly. "People who listen at open windows often hear some interesting things about normally very uninteresting people!"

Todd resisted the urge to hit him. "Please, do go on," he said tightly.

Cory continued blithely on. "Dylan was being all Holy Joe about someone beating Brian off - it's a sin, you know - and Brian said, no, he got blown, twice. He kept going on about crossing the river, whatever that means, and how wonderful it had been. It really did sound interesting. Anyway, Dylan said something I couldn't hear and Brian told him to fuck off!"

A thunderous look crossed Todd's face. "That means it's one of us," he said ominously.

Cory, being Cory, immediately mistook his brother's meaning. "Us?" He cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face. "Oh, no, it can't have been one of us. I haven't been anywhere near Brian, although I might if the time and place were right, even though he is a bit of rough trade, if you know what I mean." He prattled happily on. "Dylan, now, I also might consider. Or Nicholas. God is he yummy. Then again, maybe Two Strokes. He's small but his dick is cute, but then again, since he did fuck that girl, maybe not. I most definitely would like to get better acquainted with Kevin - the new gunner? Now he has a body on him! And that smile! Not to mention the way his basket pooches out the front of his bells." He grinned lasciviously. "Phantom! Definitely Phantom, and also Val, although he . . ."

"Jesus H. P. Christ," swore Todd mentally. "He's off and running!" He growled and gave Cory a good shake, interrupting Cory's list of wannado conquests. "For Christ's sake, shut up and listen! You are so aggravating at times! If I didn't love you so much I'd kill you!" He shook Cory again. "You're going on like some lovesick girl!"

"What did you say?" yelped Cory. Before Todd could answer Cory grabbed his brother around the waist and pulled him down. They began rolling and flailing, Cory trying to hit Todd, Todd trying to fend Cory off. "Call me a girl, will you, you son of a bitch?" Cory howled indignantly. He was stronger than he looked, as Todd well knew. "Call me a girl, you bastard!" He rolled on top of Todd, and sat astride his chest, pinning him to the ground. He raised his fist. "Take it back, Todd!" he demanded loudly. "Take it back or I'll . . ." He suddenly lowered his fist. He had suddenly realized exactly what his brother had said. "What did you say?"

"Only if you promise not to hit me!" Todd cringed.

Cory nodded.

"I said that you were going on like a girl."

"No, before that," snapped Cory. "What did you say before you called me a girl?"

Todd was about to retort that he had not called Cory anything, but thought better of it. "That if I didn't love you so much I would kill you?" Todd was not exactly sure which part of his statement Cory was pissed off about.

Cory smiled and then gently lowered himself, covering Todd's naked body with his. Rolling around in the muck had been arousing and his penis was once again rock hard. He ground his erection seductively against Todd's warm stomach. "Yeah, that's it," he all but purred. He kissed Todd then laid his head on his brother's shoulder.

Todd squirmed. As much as he enjoyed Cory's way of making up, he had to make his brother understand the implications of his discovery. "Uh, Cory, could you let me up?"

"What's the matter?" asked Cory, resisting. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I do!" Todd pushed Cory, who rolled off of him and lay at his side.

Cory, irrepressible as always, and not at all angry, waggled his eyebrows. "If you play your cards right I can make you feel much better." He reached over and gave Todd's low-hanging balls a gentle squeeze. "Much, much better."

Todd allowed Cory's fondling. At least it shut him up and if Cory was thinking about getting laid he wasn't thinking about beating him up. He did, however, ignore his brother's obvious suggestion. "Cory, you have to listen to me. For one minute. Please?"

While disappointed, Cory knew that Todd was serious about something. He released his brother, sat up, and assumed a stern air. "Playtime is over." He squared his shoulders. "What?"

Todd turned and looked at his brother, his face serious. "When I said 'us' I did not mean you and me. I meant that if someone is sneaking around in the middle of the night giving blowjobs - and I bet Brian is not the only lucky guy - then it has got to be a cadet." He sat up and hugged his knees.

"So?" Then Cory's eyes widened. "Oh . . . Oh!" The implications of what Todd was saying were beginning to dawn on him.

"Yes, 'Oh'," Todd said quietly, a pensive look on his face. "Think about it, Cory. It has to be a cadet because all of the civilian workers go off the Spit at 2000, maybe 2030 or so if Chef keeps Phantom back for something special." His looked changed to one of worry. "Once Phantom goes ashore there are no civilians present. None!"

"Then the mysterious someone is a cadet," murmured Cory. He lay back and shook his head. "Has to be."

Todd nodded. "It has to be," he repeated. "There is simply no one else it could be and that, Cory, is bad for us." He reached out and took Cory's hand. "Sooner or later someone is going to say something to the wrong person and then God help us. The fickle finger of fate will be shoved right up our collective asses. Sooner or later the word is going to get out and just guess who everybody is going to think of first!"

Cory groaned. "Us!"

Todd nodded. "Yes, us!" He chewed his lip, thinking. "Which means, Cory, we are going to have to find out who it is."

"We are?"

Todd drew Cory close to him. He kissed him deeply. "We have to," he whispered as Cory responded to the kiss. "Starting tomorrow we . . ." He felt Cory's hand drift slowly down his stomach and then between his legs. Todd moaned as they fell slowly to the blankets.

The Phantom slowly closed the door to the Chiefs Mess and waited while his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the small compartment. His senses took in the all too familiar smells of a room occupied by teenaged males, the odours of sweat, slightly smelly socks, soiled underpants and, surprisingly, alcohol. The Phantom smiled as his nose tingled at the rank aroma and thought that if the two cadets who were sprawled across their bunks had been drinking, so much the better. Their inhibitions would be loosened and their sleep would be deep.

Running his eyes around the mess, The Phantom took in the sight of Val, who was lying on his back, his mouth gaping. On the other side of the room Tyler, who usually burrowed under his blankets and sheets like a mole, was also sprawled atop his bunk, his arms and legs spread wide. His mouth was slightly ajar and there was a small drop of drool hanging from the corner of his lips. There was an enticing mound pressing against the fabric of his tighty-whiteys.

The Phantom hesitated, unable to decide which of the two senior cadets to visit. Tyler snuffled and rolled in his sleep. It was decided. The Phantom would visit Val again. Soundlessly he slipped further into the cabin and knelt on the deck beside Val's bunk staring at the boy's placid face, and listening to his deep breathing. Then, as gently as he could, The Phantom reached over and pulled down the front of Val's boxers. When Val did not move The Phantom buried his nose in the Chief Gunner's wonderful balls, feeling the soft hairs that covered Val's sac like a delicate carpet tickle his nose. He smelled again the musk and sweat and body oils that gave Val his distinctive, intoxicating aroma. As The Phantom licked and sucked Val's magnificent ovals his penis rose slowly, becoming thick and very hard, a crystal bead of precum oozing slowly from the incised slit that crowned his glans. The Phantom lowered his head and slowly sucked every inch of Val into his mouth.

As his dick was encased in the warm wetness Val abruptly stopped snoring and gasped. He slowly pushed his hips upward, low moans rising from his throat. He could feel his penis jerking and pulsing as the sucking motion began to drive his senses wild. A hand caressed his balls, which began to tighten and retreat upward as the hand probed deep between his legs, pulling gently at the soft black hairs that sparsely carpeted the pathway leading to his . . . A low, keening wail escaped his lips as a finger brushed slowly across his entry, and a shudder of delight rippled through him. He thrust his hips higher, willing, demanding, that the all-encompassing mouth take all of him.

As Val began thrusting and grunting The Phantom withdrew his mouth, concentrating on the top half or so of Val's iron hard erection. He sucked rapidly, matching with his lips Val's manic thrusting.

Val was unable to control the sensations that rampaged through him. The sucking mouth drove him wild and his thrusting became even more desperate. The great pleasure began to roll through his body, wave after wave of exquisite, all-consuming pleasure, crashing down upon him. His hips rose higher than he ever thought possible as his entire body stiffened. Val began muttering oaths and supplications in Sicilian, the language of his childhood, as his body spasmed with each titanic pulse of semen that flew from his engorged penis. So consumed was he that Val continued to thrust convulsively, vainly attempting to draw from a now empty well. He whimpered and sobbed as the moistness that had brought him so high, that had sent him soaring to heights of passion he had never known, was withdrawn, replaced by a gently, rasping tongue that cleaned and licked his horribly sensitive mushroom. Val's penis twitched spasmodically, refusing to submit to the inevitable ending.

The Phantom, sated with the exuberance that Val had displayed, quickly pulled Val's boxers over his slowly wilting penis. He sat back and watched as the Val's face relaxed, his eyes lowered and his breathing resumed its normal rhythm, and he began to snore softly.

Smiling, The Phantom left Val's side and turned his attention toward the Cadet Master at Arms.

The Twins lay cuddled together, their hands making soft, caressing strokes across each other's body as they enjoyed the last vestiges of their lovemaking that seeped slowly from their flushed bodies. Cory sighed a happy purring sound. Of the dozen or so lovers he had had over the years Todd had been, and still was, the best of them all. He was a careful, considerate, and very caring lover, and knew just how to please his brother, rarely failing to bring them both to simultaneous orgasm. Todd also enjoyed a long, slow warm-up, snuggling, fondling, kissing, before gently inserting his sex into Cory, never rushing or thrusting savagely, waiting patiently before commencing the ultimate act of love. Cory adored him for it. After their lovemaking they always lay together, snuggled together like two puppies, just enjoying the feelings that had overpowered them, enjoying the slow draining away of their euphoria.

For Todd, making love to another boy was a ritual act of worship, a mystical joining, not only of bodies but also of souls, an act so powerfully glorious that it could never truly be described or expressed in mere words. Unlike so many of the other boys - more than Todd felt comfortable admitting to - Cory understood, as did Chris, now, that making love was something that both parties had to enjoy in order to experience the penultimate pleasure. Making love was a special gift that one boy gave to another, a gift that was so special that few experienced in their lifetimes. When he had told Chris that dogs fucked, Todd had been trying to impress upon the boy the importance of their coming act, their joining of two spirits. Chris had understood and reciprocated with Cory.

Todd began to think of Cory's wish list of boys, inwardly nodding his approval, although he did wonder which of them would be of the slam-bam-thank-you-man school, interested only in shooting their wads and then rushing away without so much as a thank you, or worse, slamming their dick into your mouth while they called you every name they could think of to justify in their own minds that what they were doing was just giving in to urges they could not control, to justify that what they were doing did not make them a queer. Todd sighed at the hypocrisy of the boys he'd been with. It was all right to be blown, but it was taboo to blow. Yet why did they come back time and again?

A sudden thought struck Todd. Cory, for all his talk, was a most reluctant seducer. He never made the first move, and never allowed anyone to debase or demean him. Cory was very, very careful in his choice of lovers and in retrospect Todd could understand him wanting to be with The Phantom. There was a slow, smouldering sensuality behind those green eyes. Finding out just how sensual The Phantom was, and what was bulwarked behind the cloth barricade of his Fruit of the Looms, would be an adventure that Todd would gladly share. He could feel Cory's long, tapered fingers riffling through his dark blond pubic hair and smiled. Cory would next move down and start rubbing the tip of his penis. Cory was so predictable at times.

Todd frowned. He could understand Cory wanting The Phantom. He could understand Cory wanting Kevin, who was a stunning young man. But Two Strokes? Todd could think of no redeeming quality that would lead him to want to take the tall, thin Regulating Petty Officer to his bed. As far as Todd was concerned the only redeeming quality about Two Strokes was the fact that he was circumcised! He could not understand Cory at times. What was so intriguing about Two Strokes that would make Cory mention him? And why not Harry, who was the ultimate male, the Grail, so far as Todd was concerned. Harry had figured large in many of Todd's dreams, dreams that would forever be unfulfilled because Harry, for all his bluster, was firmly and determinedly straight.

Cory's fingers began toying playfully with the curving mushroomed head of Todd's penis, breaking his reverie. Todd rolled slowly away and sat up. He looked around for his clothing, which was scattered all around the small clearing. "We have to get back," he murmured regretfully. "We've been away far too long."

"But, Toddy . . ." Cory whined. He was very comfortable and saw no reason to leave just yet. "It's still early." He reached out and squeezed his brother's soft penis. "I could stay here with you forever."

"It is very late," replied Todd firmly. "We are not at home now and we have to get back." He stood up and began dressing. "I need some sleep, even if you don't. This morning we have a lot to do."

"Such as?" Cory grumbled and began to look for his clothes. "It's Saturday. We have a half holiday and I personally have very little to do but sleep in and hug my pillow."

"You have a great deal to do, my little man," replied Todd dryly. He saw the ominous look on Cory's face. "Not too onerous, really, but someone has to clean out Alfie's locker." He grinned wickedly. "Greg is moving into the Gunroom today, you know."

"So, Tyler decided, then?" Cory pulled his gunshirt over his head. "When did that happen?"

Todd threw his brother's shorts at him and said, "Just as the party was breaking up. He also told me that Alfie is going home today."

Cory fumbled his shorts up his legs. "Really? Is he walking? There are no White Knuckle flights until Monday morning."

"The Gunner used some pull with the Movements Office." Todd held out his hand and pulled Cory to his feet. "Alfie is going home first class, Air Canada, direct to Windsor. The Gunner even arranged for a staff car to take Alfie down to Victoria to meet the flight."

They gathered up their blankets and began walking along the narrow pathway that would take them out of the woods. Once they had cleared the trees Cory sniffed loudly. "We also need to shower," he said dryly. "We smell of Eau de Dry Spooge."

Todd laughed and smacked Cory's bottom. "After what we did I am not surprised. First we shower, then we sleep." He stopped and pulled Cory up short. "There is also something else we have to do."

"What is that? If you think I'm going to roll and stow Greg's undies for him you've got another think coming. He might have a nice ass and a decent set of parts that does not mean that I am going to . . ."

"Greg is not who I am talking about, Cory!" said Todd sharply. He held Cory's arm tightly. "We have got to start keeping our eyes and ears open. We have got to listen to what the other guys are saying."

Cory thought a moment and nodded. "I understand." He gave Todd a concerned look. "You are really worried about this mysterious stranger going around making the boys happy."

As they resumed their walk towards the Staff Barracks Todd gestured toward the darkened barracks ahead of them. "This guy, whoever he is, is going around giving out blowjobs. He's done it before, and he will do it again."

"You don't know that, Todd," replied Cory. "For all we know he just fell in lust with Brian and decided to act on it. And we also do not know that he did anyone other than Brian."

"What exactly did you hear Cory?" demanded Todd. "Did Brian say that the guy had come back again? If he did that means he had visited Brian at least once before the double whammy."

"Well, Dylan did say 'again'," conceded Cory. "And Brian did agree with him, so I would think that, yes, whoever it was had been in the barracks at least once before." Cory could be very logical when logic was forced upon him.

"Which means, I think, that whoever is doing it has been doing it since training started." He looked pensive. "And that means it's a cadet, someone who knows our routine, knows the layout of the barracks, knows the way things are run around here."

"A cadet, then. But who?"

"I have no idea, but I damned well intend to find out." They had reached the barracks and Todd waved his arm again. "From now on, when you're mooching around sticking your nose in places you shouldn't, sitting on thrones or whatever, listen. If one guy talks about waking up with his balls and dick crusted with spunk, or starchy Jockeys, I want to know about it. Any hint of a guy getting his dick sucked, or a hand job, we need to know it."

"Why? And what makes you think that the guys will talk about it? They haven't so far and I told you that I just happened to be passing the Gunners Barracks when I heard Brian and Dylan going at it."

"Well, the guys obviously won't talk about getting blown. But they will talk about their wet dreams, which really aren't wet dreams at all. Let's face it, Cory, most of the guys are far too old to be having wet dreams. Why would they? They beat off regularly, as you well know."

Cory was still not sure what his brother was up to. "Aside from determining who got what, and when, what good does that do? Hell, we would only hear about it, if we hear about it, after the fact."

"I agree," replied Todd smoothly. "But, if we can determine a pattern, discover which nights this mysterious visitor comes into the barracks, maybe even when he comes into the barracks, why then . . ."

"What?" interrupted Cory harshly. "Jump him, have our way with him? Really, Todd, who cares that someone is . . ."

"I care because I need to care! I care because I do not want to be accused of doing something I did not do. If the shit hits the fan I do not want to be in the line of fire and I do not want you to be there either!"

Cory rolled his eyes. "Personally, I think you're overreacting." He saw Todd about to protest loudly and held up his hand. "But, I'll do what you ask. I'll watch, I'll listen but if I know guys, and I do, if any one of them is getting his rocks off on a regular basis he is going to keep it close to his chest because he is not going to fuck up a good thing!" With that he walked into the Staff Barracks.

Tyler was a magnificent specimen of a young male. He was handsome, muscular, with a firm, flat stomach and strong, well-formed legs. He was someone to be desired and worshipped.

The Phantom knelt beside Tyler's bed, his eyes drinking in the superb masculinity of the Cadet Master at Arms. If any male, man or boy, was ever meant to wear tighty-whiteys, it was Tyler. The thin white garments clung to his thighs like a second skin and The Phantom sighed as a delicious tremor of lusty desire rippled through his body. He reached out and slowly pulled down the front of Tyler's jockeys, pausing to stare at the perfect specimen lying softly over soft, large testicles. As he had done with Val, The Phantom lowered his head and inhaled deeply, his senses all but overcome with the musky sweetness of the teenager's groin. His hand drifted low and slowly lifted Tyler's soft, thick, circumcised penis. The Phantom leaned forward, kissed the smooth, curving glans and then he ran his tongue along the soft skin of Tyler's magnificence.

As The Phantom's tongue traced a slow, warm, wet path along the underside of his penis Tyler's body stiffened. The Phantom's tongue found Tyler's smooth, hairless testicles and swirled around and around the firm ovals. Tyler moaned and raised his hips, silently willing the warmth to take all of him. He felt his underpants being pulled down with excruciating slowness. His penis began to rise, the hot blood filling it and causing it to become a firm, 8-inch shaft, very thick at the base and tapering slightly from just above the vaguely pink circumcision ring to form a hard bullet-shaped organ topped by a crisp, clean, sloping helmet that pulsed redly. The Phantom took Tyler's hardness in his mouth, tasting the sharp maleness that oozed from the spongy-hard head, closing his eyes, savouring the sweet taste of Tyler Benbow.

As the warm mouth encapsulated him down to his pubic hairs, Tyler's arms and legs began to tremble. He was deep in sleep but subconsciously he was aware that something wonderful was happening to him. He felt the warm, moist mouth that enveloped his hardness sucking softly. He felt the warm, slow rhythm as hot breath riffled his copper-coloured pubic hair. An electric spark coursed through him as his balls were manipulated and stroked and pulled. He raised his hips offering all he possessed. His subconscious mind told him that he had a hardon and that it was being worked on with gentle finesse. The feelings rolling through his body were awesome. His dick, his hard, throbbing, dick, was on fire from thick base to narrow tip. His mind raged with confusion and delight. He did not quite know what was happening to him, or why it was happening to him. All he knew was that it felt glorious.

The Phantom sucked slowly, determined to give Tyler as much pleasure as he could. The fingers of his right hand rolled and rolled Tyler's fast-retreating balls. He raised his eyes and saw that Tyler's face was a mask of almost unbearable pleasure. Tyler's lips were clenched and his nostrils flared as his breathing became heavier and deeper. A low growl rose from Tyler's throat as The Phantom suctioned his dickhead. Squirming, Tyler moaned softly as the wonder of it all raced through his body, consuming him a mind numbing pleasure. His senses whirled and lights seemed to explode as lightning bolts of delight savaged him. A part of his brain told Tyler that he was being sucked off, sucked to Himalayan heights of ecstasy, an ecstasy that he never wanted to end. He thrust his hips higher, demanding his penis to penetrate the warmth and wet even deeper.

The Phantom knew that Tyler was getting close to giving him his nectar. Tyler's face was a mask of conflicting emotions and his groaning became incoherent grunts as his lips tightened, stifling the sounds that his brain told his voice to produce. In his mind Tyler was screaming as the excruciating, all encompassing pleasure, a tidal wave that he could not resist, consumed him. His mind registered the explosion deep within his body and he felt his balls contracting, then expanding, felt his dick thicken beyond endurance as his semen boiled and churned, desperately seeking release. His mind told Tyler that he was screaming with lust and desire. Suddenly Tyler's mind collapsed and silent screams rose from his gaping mouth. "Oh, fuck! Ohfuck, ohfuckohfuck, ohFUCK!" he screamed silently. His body thrashed and bucked. "OhfuckohfuckohFUCK! Suck it! His mind howled his cum cry as his balls exploded, huge torrents of his thick, hot ambrosia fountaining from his gaping slit.

The Phantom was stunned, not quite believing the effect his mouth was having on the Master at Arms as Tyler emptied his sweet juices into his mouth. The Phantom swallowed rapidly, listening to the manic, incoherent growls that punctuated Tyler's heaving, rasping gasps. As his penis pulsed Tyler's hands clawed at the bedclothes and his hips trembled. His chest heaved and his legs twitched until the last, final burst, when he drew his legs back and heaved his body upward, his body seemingly frozen until, with a loud whooshing noise, he collapsed, spent.

As Tyler's penis shrank The Phantom gently cleaned it, lovingly running his tongue across and then circling the smooth, curving ridge of Tyler's magnificent helmet. Tyler, flushed with sex, lay open-mouthed, his legs spread apart, twitching and moaning softly as the last, final act of adoration was completed. The Phantom gently pulled Tyler's briefs up, covering the soft, smooth penis that hung over the boy's now descended testicles. Then he pulled the coverlet over Tyler and crept to the door, reached down to grasp the doorknob, and froze.

Cory stripped off his gym shorts and gunshirt and grabbed up his towel and soap. Todd followed suit. Naked, they walked back down the short corridor where Cory stopped. He jerked his head toward the closed door of the Chiefs Mess. "Do you think we should bring Tyler into this?"

The Phantom was pale under his black ski mask. "The Twins! Now what in hell were they doing up?" he thought. He stiffened against the door, not daring to breathe, listening intently.

"Let's just see what we are up against first," replied Todd as he pushed open the door to the washplace. "There's no point in going off half-cocked. We should be damned sure that we are right before we decide what to do."

The Phantom wondered what in the hell the Twins were up to this time. He heard the door to the washplace squeak closed and waited until the sound of rushing water broke the silence. He quickly exited the Chiefs Mess and hurried as quickly as he dared along the narrow pathway that led to the beach.

Waiting until a small bank of clouds obscured the moon, The Phantom darted quickly up the beach, across the causeway, up Comox Road and into the shack. He pulled off his ski mask and threw himself on the bed. The rusty springs supporting the spavined mattress groaned in protest as he settled back.

"Wow, that was a near miss!" The Phantom thought as he pushed his hands into his pants and played contentedly with what he found there. He would have to be much more careful in the future. All he needed was for the Twins to find out about his nighttime visits. He wondered idly what Cory and Todd had been up to. They should have been in bed, fast asleep long before he went into their barracks. And what did they mean about being sure before they decided what to do? What the hell were the Twins up to now?

Tyler's eyes blinked open. It was still very dark in the cabin and a quick glance at the small travel clock that sat on the wooden shelf above his bed told him that there were still two hours to go before Reveille sounded. A maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirled through him. He felt exhausted, he felt wonderful; he felt drained, he felt full of something wonderful. Something had happened while he had been sleeping, something that had never happened before. He reached down into his white briefs and felt his soft penis, which felt warm. He winced slightly as his hand crossed the head of his penis, which told him that what had happened had involved sex. The head of his dick was always so sensitive after he ejaculated that even the tight restraints of his underpants were unbearable for a time.

In the other bunk Val shuffled and muttered something in the execrable Sicilian dialect he spoke. Tyler raised himself on one elbow and looked across the cabin. Val seemed restless but Tyler could see nothing that would give him cause to think that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

Tyler shuffled into a sitting position and reached for the penlight he used when making late Rounds. He was fully aware that something had happened to him, something which Tyler was loathe to admit, even to himself. He switched the small penlight on and pushed aside the blue checked coverlet that covered his lower body, running the thin beam of light down the front of his underpants, which had been clean, and fresh from his dhobey bag when he put them on before going to bed the night before. There were three small stains, all located at the base of the pouch, where his dick normally rested. His hand shaking slightly, Tyler gingerly lifted the wide elastic band of his briefs and looked at his glowing penis. His penis was soft, which it rarely was when he woke up in the morning, and seemed redder than normal, particularly the top half of it, as did the smoothly curving head of his penis.

Tyler lay back against the bulkhead. He dropped his hand to his side and shook his head slowly. Could it be . . .? No, it had been a wet dream. It had to have been a wet dream! He knew that he was procrastinating, knew that he was avoiding the truth, knew that he was trying to convince himself that he had hallucinated himself into the first blowjob of his life. It had to have been a dream! It could not have happened! Such things did not happen at Sea Cadet Camps! He unconsciously rubbed his hand up and down the front of his undies. "Or did they?" he asked himself. He closed his eyes and admitted to himself what he knew to be the truth. There was no sticky residue of a wet dream. His genitals were soft and warm, and clean. He had not dreamed it, he had not hallucinated it. Someone had given him a blowjob!

Having admitted the truth, Tyler now asked himself the logical next question: who? He glanced over at his sleeping roommate. Val had rolled in his sleep and was now curled into a foetal ball, lying on his side, his back to the cabin, with the back of his boxers pulled down, exposing his butt crack. Val? No! Tyler rejected the thought. Val was so fucking straight it hurt. Not once, in all the years that he had known the young Italian had he ever indicated that he might be interested in anything resembling a sexual encounter, not in school, where they had shared a room in the same house at Upper Canada College School, not in Kingston, or at CFB Borden, not here at AURORA. And if he were interested in such things, why would Val wait until now? There had been far too many opportunities before now where they could have been together. If Val had been that way inclined something would have happened long before tonight. No, it could not have been Val.

Tyler thought of the Twins, and then decided, no. Not Todd, not Cory. He quickly dismissed any thought of the Twins doing anything so outrageous. Why would they have to sneak around in the middle of the night? Cory and Todd had always been very open and honest about their homosexuality. Everybody knew that the Twins were gay. They never denied it, and while they could be outrageous when they put their minds to it, they had never flaunted being gay. He had known the two boys for almost five years, had been to camp with them and not once had they ever tried to put the moves on anyone. Tyler would have known if they had. But they had not, and that was the end of it. Whoever had been in this cabin, it had not been the Twins.

His mind continued to mull over what had happened. Who could it be? It had to have been a guy, a cadet. There was no one else on the Spit, except for officers, and they would not be wandering about. Besides, the only officers around were Kyle and Lieutenant Dickensen, neither of whom was gay, and neither of whom would risk everything he had worked for, risk jail time, risk a lifetime label of being queer. No, it had not been an officer. It had been a cadet. Tyler was certain of it. A cadet!

Tyler vaguely realized that he was stroking his very hard dick, slowly rubbing his hand up and down the front of his bulging briefs. He looked down and saw his helmet, redder now from his absent- minded stimulation, jutting above the wide elastic waistband of his underpants, his thick hardon pushing the soft fabric away from his warm body.

"Jesus," Tyler thought, "That does feel good!" He smiled ruefully because, in a way, he was more than a little flattered that some guy would risk utter ruin by sneaking into his cabin and sucking his dick. "What was it the guys back in the house used to say about queers? Oh, yes, better dead than queer." He continued to stroke himself slowly, thinking that Jesus, it did feel good. He laughed a small laugh. Maybe better dead than queer but it sure as hell did not stop anybody from checking each other out in the showers after soccer practice. All the guys did it. It was a guy thing, after all. Just as . . . he began to rub his hand faster. Who could it be? Who in the hell could it be? God, this is feeling really good! His hand became a whir. He could not talk to Val about it, of course, even if he was his best friend. There were certain things a guy did not talk about and, oh, JESUS, this feels so FUCKING good and . . ."Ohfuck, Ohfuck, OhFUCK . . .!"

For once PT Drill went smoothly. Harry, who was not only wearing a pair of shorts large enough to cover his family package had, with much cajoling and not a few threats, conned Rob out of enough PT gear to outfit all of his Sea Puppies, who appeared on parade as a solid, compact unit, each boy dressed in identical navy shorts with the AURORA crest on the right leg, and blue-piped, white T-shirts, 38 skinny boys, all knees and arms.

Harry was in a very good mood. He had seen the Twins slip away after Lights Out and, as he had perfected the Thumper Special, he had spent a very enjoyable and satisfying half hour or so after the lights had been turned off. His good humour was infectious and his young charges giggled and squirmed their way through the exercises as Harry grunted, groaned, farted and moaned happily away.

Mark and Tony, flushed and happy from their night together, joined their crew and the Canadian boys in the morning torture. It was apparent that nobody took the muscular Chief PTI very seriously, and they huffed and puffed with the best of them, and no one seemed to notice that their sports rig was exactly the same as their party rig.

Val and Tyler were equally flushed, and equally ignorant that each other had been paid a visit by The Phantom. They took their usual places front and centre of Mike, leading by example.

While he jumped, bent and stretched, Val's mind was in turmoil. He was wondering how he managed to get so lucky twice in a row and he hoped that a hat trick, or more, was in the offing. While he appreciated what was being done to him, he could not help but wonder who the owner of such a gifted mouth was. It had to be a cadet, of course. As he began the deep knee bends that were always a part of the morning exercise routine he found himself hoping that the night visitor was a Staff Cadet because that would mean that he would be around until the end of August, which meant that there were plenty more blowjobs coming down the pike. Val had no regrets at all. If some guy wanted to blow him, well, he'd be ready, with his dick hard and his legs spread wide. The more he thought about what had happened to him, and what he hoped would happen to him, the more excited he became and the front of his shorts began to swell, his stiffening penis straining against the ribbed fabric of his jockstrap. He pretended to pull a leg muscle so that he could leave the parade and sit on the sidelines where he tried to recover. Having Tyler bouncing around out in front of the parade helped not at all. As he watched his best friend squat low, Val sighed. He caught a brief glimpse of the bulge in Tyler's tighty whiteys and sighed inwardly. God, if You are heaven . . .

At first Tyler was not aware that Val had left his side and gone to sit out the Physical Training Parade. He had been mulling over in his mind what had happened and decided that he had to be honest and admit, if only to himself, that he had liked what had been done to him, and that he wanted it to happen again. Tyler was not all that concerned with the morality of it and his conscience did not bother him at all. If somebody wanted to blow him . . . Tyler frowned slightly. He hoped whoever it was had the smarts to keep a very low profile, and be very careful. If it ever came out that a cadet was blowing bones all over the ship there would be hell to pay, and no danger. They would all end up in Queer Street. Tyler was aware that what he was thinking was hardly altruistic, selfish even, but he was being totally honest. He wanted to be visited again, to be visited many times. There, he admitted it.

The exercises moved to jump ups. Too late Tyler remembered that in his excitement he had forgotten to put on his jock, which meant that his parts were bouncing up and down and . . . Shit! What was Val doing over there? What was Val doing over there, sitting like that? He felt a stirring in his loins as he looked at Val, who was sitting back on his hands, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knees, which caused his shorts to ride up and . . .

Tyler groaned. He had roomed with Val for years, had seen every part of him in all their Italianate glory and yet now, for some reason he looked so damned sensual, so fucking desirable, with his jock strap, which he was wearing over his tartan boxers, showing whitely under the deep blue of his gym shorts. God Damn It, Val, don't do this to me! The feelings, so long dormant, so forcefully repressed came flooding back. "Not now," he wailed inwardly. "I can't think of him that way, I can't!"

Suddenly he stumbled, tripping over his own feet. He fell to one knee and when he looked up Val was walking back and forth along the side of the parade square, ostensibly walking off a charley horse. Tyler, who was pretending to be catching his breath, smiled slightly. Val was walking off a hell of lot more than pulled a muscle if that bulge in his drawers meant anything!

When PT finally ended the cadets - Canadians and Americans alike - scattered to their warrens to shower and clean into the Rig of the Day. Once they were properly dressed, and presentable, they trooped off to breakfast.

For the most part the hands were happy and in good moods. It was Saturday, with a half-holiday in the afternoon and a movie in the evening. The American boys, none of whom had been north of Vancouver before, and expecting the usual Service fare, were pleasantly surprised at the vast array of food Chef had laid on for breakfast. As the ratings filled their plates with bacon, eggs, red lead and assorted fruits, Mark and Tony joined Tyler and Val at the Chiefs table. Harry trooped through, Sea Puppies in tow. As their Sea Daddy he took his duties seriously. The Twins, much refreshed after a shower, although looking a little hollow-eyed, joined the gunners for breakfast. Rob, David and Ryan, laughing and skylarking and looking forward to an afternoon ashore, came in, trailed by Little Big Man, who was his usual sour-faced self.

Little Big Man, his face frozen in a scowl, had seethed most of the night. While the party in the Gunroom had not seemed to bother Willy, Jack, Mal, Mike or Phillip, called The Assistant, Little Big Man had complained so long and loudly that they had threatened to stuff one of Mike's posing straps down his yap if he didn't shut up. His insistence on going into the Gunroom, and his treatment at the hands of Harry, had met with scorn and derision when he returned, white-faced, and reported that everybody was NAKED!

Mal had opined that nobody in the Gunroom had anything Little Big Man had not seen before. Willy and Jack told him that he was a jerk and that he should have minded his own business in the first place.

When Little Big Man demanded that Mike, who was the Senior Chief after all, go in there and take charge, Mike had laughed in his face, then stripped off and began to show all his posing positions to The Assistant, who thought that he would like to do the same so he took off his clothes and imitated Mike. Willy and Jack decided that the game of checkers they were playing would be better played naked, dropped their tighty-whiteys, and then threw them in Little Big Man's general direction when he complained. Mal decided to air The Monster and everybody had a hell of a time. Little Big Man, his vocabulary of swear words and scatological descriptions of his messmates genitals and actions exhausted, took to his bed.

His mood was not improved when none of his hometown friends seemed at all interested in his complaints. Little Big Man's mood further deteriorated when Chef caught him trying to go 'round the buoy for an extra helping of pancakes, which earned Little Big Man a sound smack on the top of his head with Chef's wooden spoon. This happened in full view of the Sea Puppies who, safe under Harry's protection, snickered and giggled at Little Big Man's discomfiture. He was not very high on their people they liked list.

Rubbing his smarting head and thoroughly annoyed, Little Big Man slammed back to his table, tried to cadge a pancake from Ryan, called Chef a very bad name, and then announced that he was off to see the Executive Officer.

"What for?" asked Ryan as he smugly made his way through his second helping of pancakes and syrup. Unlike his erstwhile friend he had asked Chef politely for more pancakes, please. Chef, who appreciated politeness, and liked Ryan, had not only given him the food but also insisted on adding a huge ladle of fresh strawberries.

Little Big Man gave Ryan a malevolent glare. "Teacher's pet," he snarled venomously. "That's what you are."

Ryan popped a strawberry into his mouth and grinned. "Got me the pancakes, didn't it?" He added insult to injury by holding up his breakfast plate. "And strawberries."

"Suck my dick!"

"Only if it tastes like strawberries," returned Ryan. Paul was beginning to wear on him. He picked up another strawberry. "Are you going to tell us why you're off to see Number One?"

"It's none of your fucking business," growled Little Big Man. He stood up and was about to leave the Mess Hall when Rob called him back. He returned to the table and glared balefully at the boy he considered his best friend. "What?" he snapped.

Rob, who was adept at reading Little Big Man's moods, had a fairly good idea just what he was going to see Number One about. If Paul was going to do what he, Rob, thought Paul was going to do, there was a load of hurt coming for the scrawny, tow-headed drummer. "Paul, think very carefully about this," he said in quiet warning. "You could end up with your dick in a wringer."

Little Big Man scoffed. "Oh, really?" he said, his lips curled in a sneer. "I have just as much right as anybody else to request to see Number One!"

David, who was beginning to share Ryan's opinion of Little Big Man, sighed heavily. "It's no wonder that nobody likes you, Paul," he said between huge bites of toast. "You are such a pain in everybody's ass!"

"Oh, am I?" Little Big Man glared and the colour rose in his face. "Well, in that case you faggots can all suck my dick!" With that he spun on his heels and stalked from the mess.

"Does anyone care what he's on about?" asked Ryan as he finished the last of his strawberries.

Rob shook his head. "If he is going to do what I think he is going to do, he is about to cut his own throat."

"How so?" asked David.

"There are three people you absolutely do not ever piss off," replied Rob. "One is the guy who cooks your food; two is the guy who does your laundry and the third, the most important of all, is Harold Franz-Josef von Hohenberg!"

With the formal part of Divisions over the officers, hangers-on and barracks stanchions left the parade square. Val, as Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor had charge of the parade. He reached into the pocket of his white bell-bottoms and found the piece of paper on which The Gunner had written the list of Fancy Religions. He was not at all sure why he had to read a list that was, in his opinion, a silly tradition. What difference did make if the cadets were Catholic, Protestant or Druids? Everybody knew that if you didn't want to go to church, you didn't have to. Dirty Dave the Deacon never dragged anybody into the Drill Hall when he was preaching, and the Catholic priest never counted noses before saying Mass. Val had said as much to The Gunner only the day before.

"I quite agree with you, Val," The Gunner had said. "Just as I agree that most of the cadets haven't seen the inside of a church since their christenings. However, when it comes to religion you cannot be too careful. It is not so much the cadets themselves as it is their parents. I can just imagine what would happen if a Roman Catholic wrote home that he had been forced to attend an Anglican service."

"It would be a damned sight better than what I have to attend every Sunday," Val had complained. "The priests mumble away in Italian and all they seem care about is how many ten dollar notes there are in the pot after the collection!"

"One admits that the Catholic Church has lost a great deal with the so-called Vatican II Reforms. That is not the issue. You cannot under any circumstances fool around with a man's religion, especially a man who is in any way a sailor!" The Gunner had then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Sailors are the most obstreperous, contentious, stubborn, disputatious creatures on God's earth! They know their rights and will scream bloody murder if anyone dares to infringe on those rights. There is also the fact that you can fool around with a man's woman, you can steal his money, but disparage his religion and there will be whistling at the top, grumbling in the forepeak, and marines in the Wardroom flats with muskets at the cock and bayonets fixed!"

"But Gunner, we're dealing with Sea Cadets!" Val had protested. "They all know that Sunday morning when I yell 'RCs and Dissenters, Fall Out!' those who are stupid enough to do it will be marched off to the Drill Shed for remedial drill, or over to the galley to scrub pots!"

"Of course they know," The Gunner had said with a shake of his head. "They are very intelligent young men. But, young Guns, the point is that Father wants a traditional Church Parade, with all the trimmings and that means a service conducted by an Anglican priest, namely Lieutenant Montgomerie, using the rituals of the Established Church and the Book of Common Prayer, which he is constrained to do under the Articles of War."

"He is?"

The Gunner had grinned. "A Commanding Officer shall, and I quote, in accordance with the First Article of War . . . 'cause the public worship of Almighty God, according to the liturgy of the Church of England established by law, to be solemnly, orderly and reverently performed in their respective ships; and shall take care that prayers and preaching, by the chaplains in Holy Orders of the respective ships, be performed diligently; and that the Lord's Day be observed according to law', end quote." He had cocked his head and given Val a knowing look. "He is also, I might add, supposed to court martial any person in, or belonging to, any of Her Majesty's ships who is guilty of profane oaths, cursings, execrations, drunkenness, uncleanness, or other scandalous actions, in derogation of God's honour, and corruption of good manners! Which would, from all reports, after the last little shindig you lot had in the Gunroom, have you, Tyler, and all the Senior Cadets in front of Number One!"

Val had squirmed uncomfortably. Would the man never let them forget about the party after the ball game? "So because of tradition, and an archaic law that no one has read in years, I have to warn everybody?"

"You do. Everybody knows what it is going on. It doesn't matter if everybody actually goes to Church, or whether or not there are some whose religious convictions are so strong that they would rather paint a bulkhead than attended a High Church service. What matters is that the perception, the opportunity, is offered them to leave. The letter of the law is observed. Everybody is happy, do dah, do dah." Then The Gunner had sobered. "Just be careful, Val, how you go with this. More than one Naval officer has learned to his regret that for every Queen's Regulation there is a loophole and for every loophole there is a sailor waiting to exploit it. Not that you have to worry anyway. All you have to do is to read the list of Fancy Religions. It's a harmless tradition and no one is going to have any objections at all."

Val continued to fiddle with the piece of paper. His mind was a thousand miles away and he was still in the thrall of what had happened to him during the night, so much so that while Tyler had been in the showers he had jerked off in the privacy of their small cabin. He could not get the feelings out of his crotch. Every time he thought about the mouth sucking him the end of his dick got all tingly! He was also much distressed by the feelings he had when he saw Tyler's bulge flexing at PT Drill, and what he felt when Tyler had stripped off after the drill. Damn it, he had known Tyler forever and Tyler was so damned straight it hurt! Tyler was his best friend and he should not be thinking that way about him.

A loud cough followed by a strangled "Harrumph!" brought Val back to the Parade Square. He saw Harry glaring at him and shaking his Mace. Harry had better things to do than stand out in the morning sun watching Val daydream!

Val smiled a weak apology and unfolded the piece of paper. "Pay . . . pay attention this way," he squeaked." The Parade snickered and Val silenced it with a glare. He recovered his voice and carried on loudly. "For the information of the Ship's Company, all personnel not professing membership of the Anglican Church of Canada, or the Church of England, are not, repeat, are not, required to attend the Church Parade tomorrow. Roman Catholics, and those cadets professing membership in the following religions will report to the Petty Officer of the Day for duty assignments. These religions are . . ." He glanced down at the piece of paper and began to read the list of dissenting religions, beginning with the Presbyterian Church. His mind began to wander again and he was only half paying attention to the words. He did not realize that The Gunner had concluded the list with the three traditional endings. " . . . And . . . Calithumpians, Anabaptists and Non-Swimmers."

A wave of laughter rolled over the assembled cadets. Val's jaw fell open when he realized what he had just read. The cadets did not know what was funnier, the list endings or Val standing out there with his dick in his hand!

When the laughter, eye rolling and head shaking subsided Tyler walked up and murmured, "Val, you forgot the Jewish guys."

Val looked blackly at his friend. "What Jewish guys?" he demanded to know in a harsh whisper. "The only Jewish guy I know is Sandro, and he'll be working in the galley!"

Tyler sighed. "Val, you still have to ask. For all you know some of the Americans are Jewish. And you don't know for certain that Sandro is the only Jew here," he said.

"Well, shit, Tyler, how would I know anyway? It's not as if I could look or anything. I mean the old way is out because just about everybody is circumcised now, except for the guys from Down East and the Frenchies, and even some of them are! And Sandro isn't, so . . ."

"Val, why do you always have to argue with me?" replied Tyler with exaggerated patience. "You always have to argue." He was pretending to whine at his friend. He couldn't understand what Val's problem was this morning but he was not about to let an opportunity to pull a Sicilian pisser slip by. "Just tell them," he continued. "If you don't ask, and someone is Jewish, well, the next thing you know you'll have a religious war on your hands. So, please, do it."

Val glared angrily at Tyler, turned to the parade, and drew himself into the position of attention again. "For the information of the Ship's Company, all persons not professing a Christian religion, specifically those of the Jewish Faith, are also excused tomorrow's Church Parade." He turned and gave Tyler a "There, are you satisfied?" look. Then, for a reason he could never explain, no matter how many times he was asked in the days that followed, he added, "All persons professing to be of the Jewish Faith had better be able to prove it!"

Tyler almost fainted and his eyes bugged out of his head as he watched as 173 Canadian hands reached down and started to unzip the flies of their bell-bottoms. Val might not have realized what he had just said but the cadets did. Tyler's eyes almost popped out of his head as he watched the American cadets, 40 boys who, after some hesitation, realized the implication of what the Chief Gunner had said, reached for their flies.

"Nice fucking play, Mr. Shakespeare," muttered Tyler out of the corner of his mouth. "Now look what you've done!"

Val took one look and just about shit! No trouble at all, The Gunner had said, and now look, they couldn't be . . . "Stop!" he shouted, waving his arms in panic, visions of 200 one-eyed monsters staring at him racing through his mind. He reversed engines at a great rate of knots. "Nobody has to prove anything! No . . . no . . . Stop!" He waved the list at the Parade. "Belay last! Stop! Petty Officer Arundel . . . Petty Officer Hohenberg . . ." He stared, aghast at the sight of Cory and Harry, who not only had their zippers down but were reaching into their pants. Val fumbled and found his gunner's whistle, which he blew loudly. Hands stopped their probing and the cadets snapped to attention.

Cory giggled and nudged Todd, who giggled back. ""Well, the stupid fucker did ask for it," murmured Cory.

Val tried not to look at the expanse of white cotton underpants exposed by the wide-open flies of over half of the cadets on parade. "Uh, look, uh, nobody has to prove anything, okay?" he began shakily. "Just, uh, zip up and anybody who wants to be excused can help clean out Boatswains Stores." He tried hard not to hear Tyler chortling away behind him.

The cadets on parade zipped up, giggling their opinion of Val's silliness. When they were all back to normal, zipper wise, Val waited for the Dissenters to step forward. When nobody did, as the cadets knew that Boatswain Stores was a mess, and besides, going to church on a Sunday wasn't all that bad, so fuck it, he dismissed the parade.

As the Band crashed into The Standard of St. George and began to march off the parade square, Tyler felt a small tug on the back of his gunshirt. He turned and looked down. Stefan, one of the new Sea Puppies, was smiling shyly up at him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Master at Arms," the boy said softly, the sun glistening off of his rimless spectacles, "But The Gunner wants to see you."

"He does? What for?" asked Tyler as he began to walk toward the Headquarters Building.

Stefan made a face. "Well, I'm Commander's Doggie this morning and Little Big Man, he came into the office to see Number One, but he isn't here so then Little Big Man wanted to see The Gunner and so he . . ." he began quickly. "Anyway, The Gunner said okay and Little Big Man went into the office and then The Gunner said that I was to fetch you at the rush, whatever that is, and . . ."

Tyler chuckled. "Slow down, Stefan. You're talking too fast." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "And why are you the Sorcerer's Apprentice? I thought we put you down as galley staff."

Stefan sighed and looked crestfallen. "I was. But I dropped a tray of dishes and Chef said that if I did it again he'd spank me. He can't do that, can he Master at Arms?" Before Tyler could answer Stefan chattered merrily on. "The Gunner was there when I dropped the tray and he said that it would be best if I stayed out of Chef's way until he calmed down and sent me to Headquarters to be the Commander's Doggie, but he wasn't there so I waited and then The Gunner came in and said that even though Number One wasn't around I could be the Doggie so . . ."

"Where does Little Big Man, uh, Petty Officer Greene come in?" interrupted Tyler as they began to climb the steps leading to the Headquarters Building.

Stefan stopped and looked around as if to make sure that nobody was listening. "He came into the office and he was very rude." He made a face. "When Petty Officer Carroll - you know, Greg, the Yeoman - when he told Little Big Man that Number One wasn't coming in today, well Little Big Man, he got all huffy and The Gunner heard him and took him into the Exec's cabin." He grinned at Tyler. "So, Greg and me, we listened at the door."

Tyler knew that he was supposed to be shocked, but then the office staff had been eavesdropping on the officers for generations. "And?" he asked.

"Little Big Man was complaining about some party in the Gunroom. He was awfully angry 'cause he said everybody was nekkid! Were you naked, Master at Arms? Was Drum Major Harry naked?"

"Never you mind," replied Tyler, trying to contain his laughter at Stefan's awed look. "What happened with Little Big Man?"

Stefan grinned. "Well, we couldn't hear what The Gunner said to Little Big Man, but he came out of the office and he was awfully mad, Little Big Man, not The Gunner. He pushed me and Greg aside and called us faggots, which I resent, 'cause I'm not a faggot, and I'm pretty sure Petty Officer Greg isn't."

"Stefan . . . The Gunner?"

"Oh, he came out and he was laughing like a mad thing. He told me to find you." He took a deep breath. "He said that you were to come alongside, but not to worry about doubling up. What does that mean, Master at Arms?"

A dark look came over Tyler's face. "It means, young Stefan, that after I see The Gunner I am going to kill me a Sea Cadet Drummer!

Little Big Man, who had the survival instincts of a cat, took advantage of a crew exchange with the Americans and went day steaming in the USSC cutter. He was not around when Harry went looking for him, with murder in his eyes. Harry, who knew that the drummer was good friends with Rob and Ryan, stormed into Stores, ranting and raving, threatening castration and dismemberment if they did not produce the little fuck. He so frightened the two boys that they locked themselves in Engineering Stores and refused to come out until rescued by Tyler, who threatened to lock Harry in the Spirits Locker until he cooled down.

Harry raged up and down the Spit. When he finally realized that Little Big Man was not about to be found any time soon he stomped off to the swimming beach where he skipped stones across the water and cursed under his breath. The Phantom, who was on his way to work and bicycling by, saw Harry and stopped to say hello. He climbed down onto the beach and sat beside Harry who, after admiring The Phantom's new haircut - high and wide, with just enough on the top to form a part to the left - and told him what Little Big Man had done. The Phantom's emerald eyes flashed with anger. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I would like to kill the little fuck!" retorted Harry. "He squealed on us!" He gave The Phantom a sad look. "Guys don't squeal on each other, Phantom. It just ain't done!"

The Phantom nodded his understanding. You never squealed, never! Only rats did that. Of course, Little Big Man had always been a rat so The Phantom was not surprised at the boy's actions. "Well, you can't kill him. He's not worth the effort."

Harry agreed. "And we can't hold a blanket party. The little bastard would know who did it and report us."

A little bit of history that he had once read popped into The Phantom's mind. "But you can send him to Coventry." He smiled grimly and then, seeing the quizzical look on Harry's face, explained. "From now on everybody ignores him, they don't talk to him, and they don't acknowledge him. He doesn't exist." He looked thoughtful. "It's too bad you can't put him in a room by himself. He's not fit to associate with the other cadets and should be exiled."

Harry considered The Phantom's suggestion. "His friends might not go along with it," he said doubtfully.

The Phantom shook his head, the sun turning his light brown hair into gold. "Ask them if they'd sail with him," he suggested. "Remind them that if he'd squeal on the Chiefs, that just maybe he'd squeal on them if they did something he didn't approve of. You might be surprised at their answer."

Harry skipped another stone across the water. "I'll speak to Tyler," he said presently. He looked at the trim young man sitting beside him. "Thanks, Phantom."

The Phantom grinned a response and mounted his bike. "Just ask Rob, and Ryan, and Dave if they'd sail with Little Big Man." He waved to Harry and began to peddle away.

"Hey, Phantom," Harry called after him.

"Yeah?"

"You're okay, Phantom," yelled Harry. "I'd sail with you anytime."

"Me too, Harry. Anytime!" The Phantom grinned and peddled off down the roadway.

As Harry watched The Phantom disappear into the cluster of buildings he felt the anger that had consumed him dissipate. He left the beach and walked back to the Gunroom where he saw that Alfie's bunk was stripped bare, with two kit bags propped against it. Alfie's locker had been cleaned out and the doors gaped open. Harry remembered that Alfie was going home today and that Greg would be moving in later that afternoon. Harry would miss Alfie, who was an upright guy. He didn't know Greg that well and hoped that the newcomer would fit in with the rest of the boys.

After cleaning into sports gear - the oversize shorts the Twins had gifted him with, and a clean T-shirt - Harry lay on his bunk thinking about what The Phantom had suggested. It was a thing not lightly done. The cadets were a close-knit group and depended on each other in so many ways. They had been trained to act in unison, as one compact group, and it had been drilled into them constantly that on board ship every man had to do his job, and do it right because if he did not then accidents happened, men could be injured or killed. Time and again they were reminded that a ship's company depended on mutual respect and trust in one's shipmates. Every man had to trust his mates. There could be no exceptions, no extenuating circumstances. Lose the trust and you were no longer a shipmate.

The more he thought of what Little Big Man had done the more Harry felt a great sadness. It was not so much that Little Big Man had ratted them out. Harry knew that he should have expected it. He had been in the cadets a long time and had known the little bastard for four years. He had never really trusted Paul Greene. There was a feral slyness about the drummer that sent shivers up and down Harry's spine and he had long ago come to realize that Little Big Man was in the cadets for his own reasons, not all of them in the best interest of the cadets. In the past, although Harry had not truly trusted him, he had always given Little Big Man the benefit of the doubt. Until this morning Paul had always obeyed the code. The code said that you never, ever, for any reason, ratted on your mates. If you did they no longer trusted you and no matter what you did to atone, you were no longer a part of them, no longer a mate, no longer a Sea Cadet.

Harry rubbed his chin and thought about the whole Sea Cadet thing. While he felt bad about being betrayed by one of his own, he also felt bad about the way the other cadets thought about The Phantom, who was not a Sea Cadet. As a civilian the young galley hand was automatically dismissed as not being one of them. This was, to Harry's way of thinking, patently unfair. In many ways The Phantom was more of a Sea Cadet than the whole ship's company put together. Harry suspected that The Phantom knew far more about what was going on than he let on. Harry knew that the boys chattered about everything and The Phantom, who was always in the Mess Hall, had to overhear what they were saying. Yet he had never once, by word, action or deed, intimated that he was privy to the secrets they all had. And the guy's innate sense of what was right and wrong was astounding. Harry gave an involuntary shudder when he remembered the piercing look The Phantom had given him when he had ignored Little Big Man's slagging off the Twins. Shit, the guy should have been one of them and it was about time he was! Harry decided that once he had put paid to the rat in the Petty Officers Mess he would talk to the Twins, and Tyler, about The Phantom.

Harry heard the bugle calling the hands to dinner. He wasn't hungry, and he still had a lot to think about. He wanted to be alone for a while so he walked down to the Dockyard, and the jetty. With the YAGs, and the American cutter steaming up and down the Strait of Georgia doing joint exercises (although Harry suspected that the boats were anchored up island in some secluded cove while the crews were at Swimming Stations) the Dockyard was deserted. He sat at the end of the jetty, his strong, muscular legs dangling over the edge, his elbow resting on the black painted bollard. He alternately stared across the harbour at the multi-coloured buildings of the town of Comox, or into the deep, serene waters of the bay. He was deep in thought when he heard a board creak and turned around. It was Stefan, the youngest of his young charges. Stefan was barefoot, wearing only a pair of dark blue shorts, and eating a huge BLT. He sat down beside Harry and offered him a bite from his sandwich.

Harry shook his head. "Thanks, Stefan, but I'm really not hungry." He looked pointedly at the boy's thin chest and smiled slowly. "You need it more than I do."

Stefan snickered and put his sandwich aside, only to see it immediately attacked by one of the huge seagulls that infested the harbour. He shooed the squalling bird away and threw the battered remains of the sandwich into the dark deep blue waters of the harbour, which attracted a swarm of the pests. He glared at the birds as they bickered and fought over the soggy pieces of bread, then put his hand on Harry's. "Are you still mad?" he asked softly.

"No, not anymore," replied Harry with a shake of his head. "I'm just a little . . . sad."

Stefan slipped his arm around Harry's broad back and rested his head on his hero's shoulder. "Don't be sad, Chief Harry. All the guys think that Little Big Man is a shit." He rubbed his head slightly against Harry's smooth, deeply muscled arm. "We all think that you're the best!"

"Well, I think that you fellas are the best as well," replied Harry. He gave Stefan's thin knee a small pat. He like being the Sea Daddy, and he like the kids. He liked the warm feeling of being wanted that the boys gave him. It was almost like being back home with all his brothers underfoot.

Stefan reached over with his right hand and slowly rubbed Harry's bare leg. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sure," replied Harry. "I'm your Sea Daddy. You can tell me anything."

Harry had expected the standard moan about how hard it was to share a barracks with 30-odd other boys, or that the food was not what Mother served back home, or that Stefan had run out of clean underpants and needed some help in making the ancient and obstreperous washing machines in the laundry work. He was also very disconcerted. Stefan's hand felt very warm, and very nice against the skin of his leg. Stefan's breath was warm and soft, and his smell was delightful; the little boy smell of him, soap, and well, just boy, assailed Harry's nostrils. All of Harry's training, all of his beliefs, told him that having Stefan sitting so close to him, with his hand on his leg, was not right. Harry's established moral code, his ingrained sense of right and wrong, his sense of responsibility as a Sea Daddy, demanded that he pull away but he could not. He needed the touch of another human being right now. He told himself that he was not doing anything wrong and he needed Stefan. He slipped his arm around the boy's thin shoulder and hugged him. He was not prepared when Stefan slipped his hand under the edge of his shorts and probed the leg band of his briefs. "I love you, Harry," Stefan breathed.

Harry started and involuntarily squeezed Stefan tightly. He could feel the young lad's fingers stroking the inside of his leg and rubbing his testicles through his tighty-whiteys. He could not believe it. The kid was coming on to him! "Uh. Stefan, uh, what are you doing?" he stammered as Stefan's hand pushed under the tight leg band of his underpants and engulfed his penis and testicles. Harry's penis started to stiffen almost immediately.

Stefan did not reply. He looked up at Harry, smiling gently. Before Harry's penis got too hard he pulled it slowly under the band of Harry's Jockeys, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb across the gently throbbing helmet. He held Harry's manhood in a light grasp, his fingers feeling the pulsing vein that ran along the underside of Harry's fully engorged erection. He slowly pushed the thick, long organ down until it pointed along the inside of Harry's leg. While his right hand stroked and manipulated Harry's hardon his left hand rubbed Harry's broad back. He felt the muscles hidden under the thin fabric of Harry's T-shirt ripple with pleasure. "I don't want you to be sad," he said, his voice a whispering zephyr. "I love you, Harry, and I want you to be happy. Please tell me that you are happy."

Harry gasped and sucked in his breath loudly as Stefan began squeezing and gently pulling on the top half of his almost eight inches of heated flesh. His erection was very thick and round, and Stefan's small hand barely encased it. "Stefan," he groaned as the boy rubbed the palm of his hand across his leaking glans. "Stefan . . . you . . ." he moaned as Stefan's fingers slipped under his wrinkled sac, probing gently. Once again waves of doubt and something akin to self-loathing assailed Harry's senses. He knew he should push the boy away. He knew that he should stop it, now! But he could not. His baser instincts rose to the fore. He raised his hips, offering himself to Stefan's caressing hand.

Stefan shushed Harry. He wanted Harry to be happy, to know how much he loved him. Stefan could feel the precum flowing from Harry's boner, which twitched and throbbed. He rubbed his hand over Harry's oozing mushroom, lubricating the tight, spongy, velvety skin. He squeezed and pulled in a steady rhythm, doing everything he could to make this boy he adored as happy as possible.

As Harry squirmed and began to thrust his hips slowly, Stefan smiled. He knew that Harry was getting very close to exploding, which is exactly what he wanted Harry to do, which is what he had been planning on Harry doing from the moment he had stepped off the bus and seen the Drum Major standing on the steps of the Headquarters Building. He had taken one look at the young man and fallen totally, irrevocably, in love. Stefan knew without being told, without thinking about it, without having to rationalize it, that he was in love with Harry.

Harry, who had never had anyone come on to him, was all but overwhelmed. At first he could not understand why Stefan was doing such a thing to him. He knew that he should put a stop to it but he couldn't. No one had ever professed his love for him before. No one had ever done . . . He put his hand on Stefan's leg, and felt the warm, hairless, smooth skin. Stefan squirmed and wiggled at Harry's touch. He spread his legs, offering the treasure hidden under his gym shorts for Harry's discovery. Without thinking of the possible consequences Harry slipped his hand up the wide leg of Stefan's shorts, felt the silky softness of the boy's thin, three-inch erection - Stefan was not wearing underpants - felt the perfect little acorn that topped it throb with pleasure.

Stefan tensed and moaned softly, increasing the pace of his squeezing. He could hear Harry's raspy breathing, which grew harsher as he approached orgasm. Harry tensed and groaned Stefan's name, then grunted as his penis expanded and spat the first of what seemed like a never-ending stream of his thick spunk, which flew from his shorts and splattered against his leg. His body jerked as his penis pumped four more jets of semen, which landed across his legs and oozed over Stefan's grasping hand.

As his orgasm overwhelmed him Harry squeezed Stefan's small erection, which was so small he could only use his thumb and two fingers as he pumped the hot little cylinder. Stefan pumped his hips; two little thrusts and his penis expelled a thin, watery stream. He thrust twice more as the ecstasy ripped through his body and he squealed with delight as his very first wet orgasm caused him to convulse madly.

They sat together, hugging each other tightly, barely able to speak and both completely overcome by what they had done. Finally Stefan pulled away. "Wow!" he exclaimed, his face full of the awe he felt. He reached into his shorts and felt the warm stickiness that soiled his penis and small testicles, felt the trail of pearls that extended down the inside of his leg. "Harry!" he all but shouted. "Harry, you made me sperm!" He threw his arms around Harry and kissed him passionately. "Harry, you made me sperm!" he gasped between kisses. "Wow, Harry!"

Harry, surprised at Stefan's enthusiasm, felt like the lowest piece of whale shit on the ocean floor. "Stefan, Stefan," he mumbled between Stefan's moist kisses. "What have I done?" He gently pushed the boy away, wondering just what in the fuck he had done! He could never justify giving the boy a hand job. He had betrayed the trust placed in him. He wasn't fit to be Sea Daddy; he wasn't fit to be a Sea Cadet. He was as bad, no, he was worse than Little Big Man. He began stammering an apology.

Stefan would have none of it. He fixed his newfound lover with a steely glare. "Harry, I love you," he said firmly. "I have wanted to make you happy since I got here. I knew exactly what I was doing."

"But, Stefan, what I did was wrong. I'm your Sea Daddy! I'm ever so much older than you are," protested Harry. He reached out and clasped the boy's shoulders. "It doesn't matter how you feel, or how I feel and . . . I am not at all sure just how I feel at the moment. You are a little boy and . . ."

Stefan bristled. "I am not a little boy!" he growled. He pulled away from Harry and stared icily. "I am old enough to know what I want. I want you!" He deliberately raised his hand and licked the cooling remnants of Harry's ejaculation from his fingers. "I knew from the first day I got here that I was going to be with you. I love you very much and you had better get used to it!"

The steely look on Stefan's face brooked no argument and he looked so serious that Harry could not help laughing. "You are one feisty little fuck, you know that?" he said dryly.

"I can be when I want to," returned Stefan evenly. "I told you, I love you, my Harry. I wanted to be with you, so I was." He stood up and held out his hand.

"Come along, please, my Harry."

Harry found himself drawn to this straightforward, certain young man. "Where are we going?" he asked as he grasped Stefan's outstretched hand and got to his feet. He straightened the front of his shorts, glad that he had worn dark blue. He hoped that there were no telltale spots.

Stefan giggled. He had a fairly good idea of what Harry was looking for. "Your secret is safe, my Harry. Nothing shows."

"Thank you, Stefan," replied Harry with a grin. "So, where are we going?"

"I'm hungry. We are going to lunch," replied Stefan firmly.

"Stefan!" Harry stared at the boy. "You just demolished the biggest BLT I have ever seen and you're hungry?"

"Well, actually that seagull got most of it," replied Stefan with a smile. "And besides, making love makes me hungry, which is a good thing because everybody says that I am too skinny. Do you think that I'm skinny, my Harry? I don't but if you think so I can try to put on some weight. Not that I have ever tried before but I do want you to be happy with me."

"Stefan, I . . ."

"You do want to be with me, don't you?" asked Stefan seriously. "I hope so because I want to be with you."

Harry looked at the boy's determined face. "Stefan, this is all so . . . new to me. I've never been with another boy and, well, I really don't know how I feel!"

"Well, then we are even," returned Stefan. He pulled Harry along the jetty. "I have never been with anyone before. Not that I went out of my way looking, you know. I've always like older boys, though, and when I saw you I knew that you were the one for me. I hope that you're not too upset, my Harry, but I believe in being honest."

Harry put his hand on Stefan's shoulder. "I'm not queer, Stefan, and you are my first . . . love?"

"Nobody said you were!" Stefan gazed into Harry's eyes. "I have always known that I liked boys so do not think that you did anything wrong. I started it and I am not sorry I did." He nodded toward the clutch of buildings at the end of the jetty. "I know what they would think out there. You don't have to worry. I'm not going to tell anyone about us. And if you feel that what we did was so wrong that you don't want to be with me I'll leave you alone. I won't like it, because I do love you, but I won't bother you again if you say so."

Harry looked at the serious young boy. Stefan was young, but he came across as a very mature young man. "Why would you want me to?" he asked with a smile. "Or are you just one of those love 'em and leave types?"

Stefan giggled. "I told you, you're the first boy I've ever been with. But, my Harry, if not being with me is what you want then that is what must be. I know that you think that I am just a silly kid and . . ."

Harry placed his hand over Stefan's chattering mouth, then knelt down in front of him and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Stefan, I don't know what I want because I don't know what happened back there, or why it happened." He touched his head. "This tells me that what we did should not have happened, that I should not have let it happen." Then he tapped his chest. "But here, this tells me that something wonderful happened between us. You made me feel something that I have never felt before. Do you understand?"

Stefan grinned broadly. "Of course I understand." He gave a Harry a huge hug. "You're in love with me. Now, get up and let's go eat. I'm starving, you know." He started walking briskly toward the Mess Hall. "Now, my Harry, you have to understand that sometimes we will have to act like we are not in love or anything. You can't hold my hand, even if you do want to, because people will see us and of course you don't want to get into trouble." He made a face. "Really, my Harry, why people can't mind their own business is beyond me. It's not as if two people have never been in love before and . . ."

"Stefan," Harry interrupted quietly. "Do you ever shut up?"

The boy squawked in outrage and then grinned. "I suppose I do talk too much, my Harry," he replied, "People say I talk too much, and sometimes I think I talk in my sleep. I get it from my mother. She never shuts up, or so my father says and she does talk a lot. I have a sister, but she doesn't say much at all."

"With you nattering and your mother nattering it's probably because she can't get a word in edgewise!" cracked Harry.

"Harry!" Stefan laughed heartily. "See, you're feeling better."

"Yeah, nothing like a good hand job to make a guy feel on top of the world."

"Really, Harry, you should not be so crude. It does not become a man of your position and rank," returned Stefan coolly. "You are much too nice to be crude."

"I apologise most humbly," returned Harry with a snicker.

"Just so you know," replied Stefan with a straight face. "Harry, you have some cum on your hand. Remember to wash your hands before we eat."

Harry laughed loudly. "And you said that I was crude. 'Cum on my hand', indeed."

"Well, semen then," replied Stefan equably. "It's mine, I suppose." He brightened. "Did I tell you that I never spermed before today? I knew I was going to, of course, as I have some hairs around my penis, but not too many and not near as much as you, but I suppose more will grow, and of course the other boys in my Mess are always talking about it and my goodness, at night, they do like to play with themselves and sometimes they make some very funny noises. I wonder if that is when they sperm because my cousin Walter - he's ever so much older than me and he can sperm - he stayed at our house and he masturbated and I listened, which I had to do because he was sleeping in my room, and my word the noises he made when he spermed! Really, my Harry, I thought that the dog had caught his tail in something . . ." He drew a deep breath and carried on. " . . . And he told me that I would sperm when I got older . . ." He snickered, realizing what he had just said. "I mean Walter, not the dog! Anyway, my Harry, I did sperm for the first time, and it was with you, which I think means a lot. I mean, cumming with . . . uh, sorry, I mean sperming with the man you love, that has got to mean something fabulous and . . .

They walked toward the Mess Hall, Stefan chattering merrily on, while Harry, his broad hand on Stefan's shoulder shook his head. He was smiling gently, filled with a strange warmth, and realizing finally that he was falling hopelessly in love.

Shortly after noon hour The Gunner's battered old Land Rover pulled to a stop alongside the wide steps leading to the Mess Hall. He jumped from his car and walked briskly to the passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door. Alfie, his normal chocolate brown colouring tinged with the grey of hospital pallor, stepped down. He shrugged aside The Gunner's proffered helping hand. "I am not an invalid," he complained.

"The doctor said that you were not to move too fast, not to lift anything heavier than your dick and to go slow and easy for the next week so you are going to do what you are told," returned The Gunner. He took Alfie's arm and together they began to mount the stairs where Chef waited with open arms.

"Alfie, dear boy, you are nought but skin and bones," Chef boomed.

Alfie looked himself up and down and did not notice any difference in his physique. Hospital food, barely palatable at the best of times, had caused him to lose a pound or two, but he hardly looked like a concentration camp alumnus. He grinned at Chef's buffoonery. "I'm hungry, Chef," he said. "What's to eat?"

"Only such as would be for the likes of him," Chef replied, referring to The Gunner as he looped his arm through Alfie's.

"Jesus," muttered The Gunner under his breath and wondering what he done now to deserve Chef's disdain. He meekly followed Alfie and Chef into the Mess Hall.

Chef led Alfie to the Chiefs table and when the boy was seated to his satisfaction he began to bellow his orders. "Phantom, break out the good silver. Ray, there's a plump breast of chicken in the icebox. Sandro, fetch me the keys to the drinks cabinet."

"We don't have any good silver," said The Phantom as he brought out some of the usual stainless steel cutlery. Setting the cutlery on the table in front of Alfie he winked and asked, "How are you feeling, Alfie?"

"Not too bad," returned Alfie with a grin. He looked at Chef who was poking at a breast of chicken that Ray was presenting to him for his approval. Lowering his voice he queried, "Has Chef been nipping at the cooking sherry again?"

The Phantom laughed quietly. "No more than usual."

Chef, after giving the chicken his imprimatur, returned to the table and eased his bulk onto a chair. "A nice breast of chicken, poached in white wine and seasoned with, oh, fennel, and basil. I shall have to consult my recipes." This last he pronounced as "receipts", in the Navy way. "Served with baby new potatoes and fresh garden peas."

The Gunner raised his eyes to Heaven. Chef was off on a culinary cloud nine. "You forgot the wine," he sniped.

"I have not!" roared Chef. "A Moselle, I think, or perhaps a nice Riesling. I shall have to see what I've managed to lay by." He grinned broadly. "And for dessert, fresh strawberries, with Devonshire cream. Phantom will serve." He noticed that the other boys had begun to gather around the table. "Ah, the gannets have arrived," he bellowed. "But, no matter, for only my Nubian puti shall dine well this day!" He struggled erect and gave Alfie a pat on his back. "I'm sorry to see you leave us, lad."

"I'm sorry to be leaving," replied Alfie. He smiled at Chef. "I'll miss you as well, Chef." He looked at the assembled cadets, his messmates, his friends. "And I'll miss you clowns, though God alone knows why."

"Ah, come on Alfie, we weren't all that bad," replied Todd with a laugh. "And all I did was poke you with a marlin spike."

"Count yourself lucky," said Nicholas. "You do not want to know what he'd like to poke me with!"

The other boys oohed and aahed and rolled their eyes. Todd took Nicholas's remark in stride. "Oh, really? Would it be what you wanted to poke me with - a much smaller version - this morning in the showers?"

"I did not," yelped Nicholas.

"It could be worse," interrupted Thumper. "You haven't showered with Two Strokes!"

Alfie doubled over with laughter and clutched his right side. "Don't make me laugh," he cried.

"Oh, my Jesus, his stitches!" exclaimed Harry. "Alfie . . ." he rose slightly in his chair, his hand extended.

Alfie sat up abruptly and waggled his eyebrows. "Gotcha!" The boys groaned and shook their heads. "You guys are too easy!" He sighed and shook his head. "I am going to miss that."

"Well, we'll miss you, Alfie," said Tyler. "It's just too bad that there isn't some way you could stay."

"It wouldn't be right," replied Alfie as he picked at the bowl of fresh fruit that The Phantom had placed in front of him. "I can't strain myself, and the doctor told me that for the next little while I'd tire easily. I'd have to be a Day Man, with no Duty Watches. It would not be right because I'd be sleeping all night and half the day and somebody would have to do my work." He regarded the cadets. "It would not be right and it would be damned ungrateful after everything you all have done for me."

"But Alfie, we didn't do anything but chuck shit at you and make fun of the size of your pecker!" protested Fred.

Alfie smiled. "Yes, you did that. But more important, you made me one of you. You let me share something very special."

"You were always one of us," said Cory. He reached out and gave Alfie's hand a squeeze.

"I know, that's what made everything so damned special." He gave Cory a gentle smile. "You, and Todd, more than anyone else know what I mean. You are both, in your own way, just as marked as I am." He looked away from the others, as if seeing a far distant scene. "Out there, across the water, I'm a nigger."

The Phantom was so shocked at Alfie's statement he dropped the basket of rolls he was holding. "Alfie," he exclaimed. "You were never that!"

"Yes, Phantom, I was and am. Back home, I'm a nigger to a lot of white folks." A smile creased his face. "But here, here I'm just Alfie. I'm not black, or white, gay or straight. I'm just me, and that means a lot."

"Come on Alfie," began Val. "You were always one of us."

"Hear me out, please?" asked Alfie. "Just listen because while you might not know it, you have something special here, and it's ripping me apart to leave." He pushed the uneaten bowl of fruit away. "I live in Windsor, and nine years ago I stood on the banks of the Detroit River and watched a city burn. My daddy, he was with me, and he watched the fires and he said that now everything was different." He sobbed a bit. "He was right, but not in the way he was thinking because from then on I was no longer the 'nice little coloured boy' who live down the road.' I was a nigger arsonist who was going to put the match to Windsor."

"Alfie, you can't be more wrong. We're not like that up here in Canada. This is not Alabama, or Mississippi!" declared Tyler hotly, suddenly relieved to recall that the American cadets were on their cutter, steaming about the Strait.

Todd gave the Master at Arms a pitying look. "The Klan was big up here, Tyler, in the '20s and '30s, particularly in Alberta and parts of the other Western provinces. They were very big in southern Ontario until the mid-1940s, when they just sort of disappeared. But, like Alfie says, they are still here. Perhaps not so visible, but they're here. They have a different name, and their sheets are on their beds, but they are here."

Alfie nodded. "I see it, sometimes, back home. I'll pass some white folks in the street and their eyes will look at me and then slide over to glance at Detroit. I saw it in school, if my black friends and me just sat together. We were black so we had to be up to no good"

The Phantom took away the bowl of fruit and replaced it with a plate of chicken. "You better eat it because if you don't it won't be some guy in a white sheet and a pointy hat chasing you. It will be some fat guy in a round-topped hat waving a wooden spoon," he joked.

From deep in the galley came Chef's roar. "Phantom, I heard that!"

There was a clattering of pots and pans and Alfie started to laugh again. "That's what I mean. Here, we can joke about the things that hurt us. We can do that because we trust each other." He did not see the look that passed between Harry and Tyler.

Alfie started eating, talking while he did so. "I know you guys think I'm crazy, but really, I mean every word. You guys never treated me like I was different from you. Oh, at first, when I first joined the Cadets I had to prove myself, but then, everybody did. In Kingston, in Esquimalt, I was Alfie. I was me. I wasn't black. I was one of you." He smiled softly. "You know the worst thing I had to put up with?" The others shook their heads. Alfie grinned. "It was guys trying to catch me in the showers because they all thought that since I'm coloured I have an eleven inch dick! All us coloured boys have big dicks, you know."

"You don't?" asked The Phantom, pretending surprise.

"He don't," returned Two Strokes with a grin. "It looks like a beer bottle with a plum stuck on top. He used to be called 'Stubby'."

"Thank you for sharing," replied The Phantom. "So, that's one stereotype shot to shit. How about rhythm? All you guys are supposed to be just a-shuckin' and a-jivin' all the time."

"If I knew what shuckin' and jivin' was I might answer," replied Alfie. "In the mean time I couldn't dance to save my soul. I also hate fried chicken but I love watermelon!"

"Well, I must be queer then," said Cory with a huge grin, "because I love fried chicken and I can't stand watermelon!"

"Jesus!" The Phantom almost exploded. "You are too much, Cory!"

Cory grinned. "Gotcha," he whispered.

Alfie waved away The Phantom's offer of dessert. "God, I am going to miss all this. I don't think you guys know how much."

"Don't get all stroppy, Alfie," said Todd kindly.

"Why not?" How do you say goodbye to the best bunch of guys I ever knew? How do I say goodbye to my brothers? How do you say goodbye and how do you express your gratitude?"

"You don't have to, Alfie," replied Cory. "We know how you feel." He glared at his brother. "And you can get as stroppy as you like."

Before things got too heavy The Gunner intervened. "We have to go soon, Alfie. The car will be here at 1330. Are you packed?"

"He's packed," said Todd. "We did everything this morning." He looked at Alfie. "You can write, you know, and there's always next year."

Alfie shook his head. "There isn't going to be a next year, at least not with the Sea Cadets."

"You're quitting?" This was the first that Todd had heard that Alfie would not be returning next year.

"I'd have to anyway as soon as I got back," replied Alfie with a slight shrug. "I wasn't planning on making a career with the cadets."

"So, what are you going to do? Go back to school?" asked The Gunner.

Alfie made a small circle with his finger on the table. "I'm going into the Army. The Black Watch."

"The Infantry?" asked Cory, his tone intimating exactly where his sympathies lay.

Alfie nodded. "It was my father's old regiment. He wanted to go into the Navy back in '39 but back then coloureds were not allowed in the RCN, so he went into the army. The Black Watch didn't have any problems with him being in the Regiment."

"They must have had fun with your dad, him being black, and all," said Thumper.

"You haven't met my dad," replied Alfie with a grin. "He takes shit from no man and he looks great in a kilt!"

Tyler laughed and then looked at The Gunner. "I find it hard to believe that blacks were not allowed in the Navy."

The Gunner slowly nodded his head. "It's quite true. When the Navy was authorized in 1910 a phrase was put in the Navy Act which said that only those of, I believe the term was, 'pure European descent', could serve in His Majesty's Canadian Fleet." He smiled sadly. "No blacks, no Jews, no Aborigines. The Navy was lily white until 1952."

Kevin, who had finished his lunch, left his table and went outside. He was back within minutes. "Hey, Gunner, the Admiral's Barge is alongside and waiting for some VIP."

The Gunner grinned and looked at Alfie. "I think your transportation is alongside."

Alfie stood up and began to shake hands around the table. "I'll always remember you guys. I may travel a different road but I'll always remember my last year at AURORA."

Harry, who was really a big softy at heart, harrumphed and announced that he would fetch Alfie's kit bag. Alfie asked the Twins to walk out with him.

"Holy shit," swore Todd when he saw the motorcar that The Gunner had laid on. It was the Admiral's Barge, a Fleetwood, long, black and polished to the nines. Todd turned to the Gunner, who grinned.

"I have friends," said The Gunner. "Nothing but the best for one of our boys."

Chef came bustling out of the Mess Hall holding a huge wicker basket. The long necks of two bottles stuck above the linen napkin that covered the contents of the basket. "Now then, Alfie, here's a little something to snack on should you feel peckish." He glared at the young Air Force corporal who would be driving. "And you, mind that you drive carefully. No speeding, and if the lad has to stop for a wee break, you stop." He turned back to Alfie. "Now, there's some nice chicken, fried, and some potato salad made fresh this day. Some fruit, and some cheese."

"Chef, I just ate lunch," protested Alfie.

"Bah, you ate like a bird." He gave The Gunner a dirty look. "Tis the hospital food, Stevie. 'Twould gag a maggot and half his brood, so it would. Spoils a man's appetite for months!" He turned again to Alfie. "Now, do you have to use the facilities before you go? The driver won't mind waiting."

The driver muttered something about crazy old cooks under his breath. Chef fixed him an icy glare. "Just remember, young man, that crazy old cooks, who just happen to be Chief Warrant Officers, have friends in low places!"

"Usually referred to as the Sergeants and Warrant Officers Mess," explained The Gunner to the perplexed and suddenly frightened driver. "But, don't worry, boychick, the old fool's bark is worse than his bite."

"With respects, Leading Seaman, I really don't want to take the chance," replied the driver. He opened the back door of the limousine. "If the young man is ready?"

Alfie thanked Chef for the food and then shook his hand. He turned to The Gunner. "I'm glad to have met you, Gunner. Please, can I talk to Todd and Cory for a minute?"

"Take all the time you need," replied The Gunner with a sly grin. "Those two skates aren't going anywhere for the next week or so," he said, a subtle reminder that the Twins were still under punishment and if they had any idea about wheedling their way ashore, they could forget it.

The three boys walked a short way away from the car. Alfie stopped and regarded them both. "You were the first to make friends with me back when."

I remember," replied Todd, feeling a little misty-eyed.

"I want you both to know that I will always treasure your friendship. You treated me right. There were some who wouldn't have pissed on my head if it was on fire." He hugged Todd, then Cory. "I love you two turkeys, more than you will ever know. Just be careful, and watch your backs because as my daddy would say, just because they ain't wearin' them it don't mean the sheets ain't hangin' in the closet."

"We always watch our backs and we try to know our enemies," replied Todd.

"Yeah? Well, just remember, the broom will come out of the dark just when you least expect it!"

"Broom? I don't understand, Alfie," said Cory.

A serious look came over Alfie's face. "Back home, when the bubbas get all liquored up they like to go hunting for coon. They have a game. It's called Broom-a-coon. They get some corn brooms and they all pile into the back of a pickup truck then go driving in what they think are the coloured areas of town. They see a black man, or boy, walking down the street minding his own business and then they drive by him and one of them . . ."

"We get the picture," said Todd slowly. "The broom from the dark."

Alfie nodded. "I didn't see him around today."

"He's out on the American cutter. I suspect by this time they've discovered what a little dipshit he is and turned him into fog dodger."

Alfie laughed and walked to the car. "No such luck. He's trouble, guys, and he's got a corn broom."

Todd shook his head and made a face. "Maybe he has. But then, we know he has it."

Alfie climbed into the back of the car and settled back on the soft, plush seat. "Knowing he has it and keeping him from using it, my dear friends, are two entirely different things." He waved as the driver closed the door.

The Twins watched him go and turned back toward the Mess Hall. Cory looked at Todd. "Do you think Alfie's right?"

Todd nodded. "Little Big Man would like nothing better than to see us, and every boy like us, tucked away in some godforsaken hole dressed in striped suits made out of mattress ticking and with a pink triangle on our chests. The sad thing is, Cory, that there are many more like him out there."

As 1700 approached the sailors returned from the sea. Led by the USSC cutter the small flotilla cruised slowly down the harbour and made their approaches to the jetty. On the fantail of the cutter Little Big Man stared morosely out toward the town of Comox. His day with the Americans had not been a rousing success, which he blamed on his lack of training as a seaman. He had been trained as a drummer and musician and how was he supposed to know how to steer a boat? It wasn't his fault at all and the Master Chief had no right to yell at him for steering toward a rock. He'd missed it, hadn't he? And could he help it if he didn't know how to coil a rope? He was full of self pity and studiously ignored the fact that when he had been detailed to attend seamanship classes back home he had always managed to find someplace else to be.

As the cutter moved smoothly alongside the jetty and the berthing lines were passed to the waiting cadets, Little Big Man looked around, half expecting to be greeted by a lynch mob. He was aware that what he had done this morning would not go down well with his fellow cadets. He was, however, convinced of his rightness in reporting the party in the Gunroom, which was a flagrant breach of half the regulations in the book. He had done his duty and if the others didn't like it, well, fuck 'em. Besides, they were all faggots anyway and what could they do to him? They would not dare touch him because that would get them all a one-way ticket home and wouldn't that look good on Master At Arms Tyler Benbow's Service Record, him being so high and mighty and heading for Royal Roads? Or the Twins' record, or Harry's. None of the cadets might like what he had done but there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it and he was smugly confident that he was home free and had no fear of retribution.

He watched as the Berthing Party, a gaggle of Sea Puppies led by Chris and Jon (Stuart and Steve were off in the wilds of Vancouver Island doing the orienteering phase of their leadership course) fumbled their way through the not so very complicated process of mooring the small wooden vessels to the jetty. Once the small vessel was secured alongside the jetty Little Big Man jumped the short distance from the boat to the wooden planks of the jetty. He did not notice that both Chris and Jon turned their backs to him, just as he did not notice the darting glances and knowing smirks of the Sea Puppies as he walked toward the Dockyard gate.

The Phantom surveyed the dining hall, watching as the tables filled with hungry cadets. As usual the boys seemed to congregate at their own at separate tables. At the Chiefs Table the two senior American cadets joined Tyler and Val. He also noticed that the two Americans, Mark and Tony, looked particularly smashing in their tight white walking shorts and open necked, short-sleeved shirts. At the gunners table the Twins were, as usual, holding court while at a long table - actually a series of three butted together. Harry and his Sea Puppies laughed and giggled at another long table. Harry seemed more jovial and outrageous than normal, if such a thing was possible for Harry and The Phantom had a feeling that the young Sea Puppy who sat close to Harry had a lot to do with Harry's mood.

Stefan, his eyes flashing behind his rimless spectacles, was happily listening to his Harry as he chucked shit at the other boys. From time to time he would casually caress Harry's strong, muscular leg, or drape his arm over Harry's chair so that he could gently rub Harry's firm, broad muscles hidden under the starched cotton of his gunshirt. Stefan was in heaven. He felt warm and just sitting beside Harry had caused his boner, which was only held in check by the tighty-whiteys he had on under his shorts (which Harry had insisted he put on before coming to supper), to tingle deliciously.

From time to time Harry would turn and smile at Stefan, a special smile that seemed to light up his face. Cory saw the smile, as did The Phantom. Cory looked over to where the Phantom was standing and their eyes met. A slight smile grew on The Phantom's face as he watched Harry and Stefan and a twinkle came into his emerald green eyes, a twinkle that matched the sparkle in Cory's smashing blue eyes. Cory nodded toward Harry and Stefan and The Phantom nodded back and Cory knew. "Phantom knows," he thought, "He knows that Harry and Stefan have something going, and he doesn't care."

The Phantom's gaze was drawn to Brian and Dylan, who were sitting apart from the other gunners at a table on the far side of the huge dining hall. They were eating and talking quietly, and both had silly grins on their faces. As The Phantom watched Brian reached for a slice of bread at the same time as Dylan. Their hands touched and Dylan blushed and ducked his head.

"They sure got it bad," murmured Ray in the Phantom's ear, giving notice that The Phantom was not the only one who watched what was going on in front of the steam tables. As he leaned close to whisper a slight, pleasant scent drifted into Ray's nostrils. "There it is again," Ray thought. "Could it be, could that wonderful scent mean that . . ."

"You think?" asked The Phantom, interrupting Ray's musings. He nodded slightly toward the two gunners.

"Oh yeah," replied Ray with a grin. "They got it, big time." The Phantom leaned in front of him to rearrange the salad trays and Ray's dick twitched as the teenager's odour filled his senses. His eyes widened. "Well, I will be damned! Phantom, you . . ."

Ray's surprised musings were cut short when Little Big Man, glowering as usual, slithered into the mess and walked importantly to the food line. With Chef nowhere in sight, and not around to gainsay him, he began to pile a plate high with salad. He looked up to see the two food servers staring back at him. "What are you two fucks staring at?" he snarled.

Several heads turned to look at Little Big Man. What the tow-headed drummer did not know was that word of his latest exploit, and treachery, had gone 'round the ship with a speed resembling light. Harry's rampaging all over the place, growling his threats of dire punishment had almost guaranteed that everybody knew exactly what Little Big Man had done within an hour of his leaving the Headquarters Building. Everybody also knew that there had been a conference of the senior hands in the Gunroom at Stand Easy. At the New Entries Table, 38 young faces tightened. Harry was their Sea Daddy. And who hurt him, hurt them. An air of expected retribution hung heavily over their table.

In the corner, where the officers' table was located, Kyle, Dirty Dave the Deacon, and Lieutenant Dickensen, the Tizzy-Snatcher, decided that a post-dinner drink in the Wardroom was just the ticket and made a hasty, if dignified departure. Nearby Mike, the Chief PTI, and the Assistant, both of whom had the misfortune to share a mess with Little Big Man, suddenly found their food very interesting. The Gunner, who was eating his supper with the three officers, declined their offer of a drink and sat back, prepared to intervene if things got out of hand. He had been fully briefed by Tyler and was curious as to how Little Big Man would react to his first taste of Lower Deck justice.

Little Big Man repeated his snarl. "Well, what are you staring at?"

"A dead man," replied The Phantom quietly.

Little Big Man snorted contemptuously and moved on down the food line, helping himself to double portions of everything, not knowing that he had just taken his first step on the road to Coventry.

When Little Big Man approached their table, David and Ryan made to get up and leave. Rob motioned for them to remain. The three boys knew what they had to do although they had not yet agreed on a united front. Ryan, who had only put up with Paul Greene because of his friendship with Rob, had wanted to start the plan in motion as soon as Little Big Man made an appearance. He had no use for sneaks and traitors. David, a placid soul, and never one to be confrontational, was prepared to go along with Rob who, while he was prepared to believe that his friend was capable of such deceit and disloyalty, wanted to hear it from him. Harry had given them all a choice; Tyler had understood about their friendship but had been firm. They all knew what their friend had done and they all knew what was expected of them.

Little Big Man put his food-laden tray on the table and sat down. He looked at his friends and snarled, "What the fuck's the matter with everybody?" He began wolfing down his salad. When no one answered him he looked up. "What? Have I turned purple or something?"

"No," replied Rob quietly, not quite believing that Paul could not know that his actions this morning would cause serious repercussions.

Little Big Man speared some lettuce. "Those two faggots been gossiping about me while my back was turned? Trust those two fuckin' queers to stab a guy when he's not around."

Rob kept his temper in check. "If you are referring to the Twins, no, they have not said a word about you. They were over in Boatswains Stores weaving new trails for the drums. They were there all afternoon."

"Probably blowin' each other," retorted Little Big Man.

Ryan had had all he could stand. He did not care what Rob thought. He gave Little Big Man a black look. "You can be such a fucking asshole, Paul," he growled.

Little Big Man returned Ryan's look. He did not see The Phantom leave the food line and drift over, pretending to clear the nearby tables. "You guys piss me off," Little Big Man complained loudly. "Those two queers have been running around this place feeling up anything with a pulse. You know that as well as I do! And when they aren't doing that they're parading around half-naked!"

Ryan's look emphasized his complete disbelief in what Little Big Man had just said. The Twins had never, so far as he knew, done any such thing. As for them being naked half the time well . . . "So what if they like to dress comfortably," he said with a shrug. "You don't have to live with them and you ain't exactly shy when it comes to parading around half-naked, or naked. None of us are."

"It's not the same when those gearboxes do it!" asserted Little Big Man. He waved his fork at Ryan. "They do it because they think it turns the other guys on! They're lookin' for dicks to suck and if you ask me, given half the chance, they'll blow every swingin' dick in sight before the summer's out!"

Rob resisted the urge to advise Little Big Man that he would not be on the Twins' visiting list. He sighed inwardly. He was fast approaching the end of his tether so far as Paul Green was concerned. What loyalty he had felt was slipping away. His sense of fair play told him that Paul had to be given every chance to explain his actions, and while he knew what Tyler and the other senior cadets were planning to do, he still could not quite bring himself to throw all the years of friendship away. "That is not true, Paul," he said patiently. "The Twins have never done anything inappropriate, and you know it."

"Bullshit!" snapped Little Big Man. "They're queers and they're just waiting to turn you, and Ryan and me into queers."

Rob was so stunned at Paul's asinine accusation that he could not speak. Ryan, however, could. "Who in the hell would want to turn you queer?" he asked hotly.

"Even if the Twins are queer, and so far they haven't done anything to make me think they are, they sure as fuck are not so desperate that they'd try to recruit you!"

David could not contain his disgust at Paul. "Ryan is right!" he declared. He pushed aside his half-eaten piece of pie. "You don't like the Twins because of what they did to you last year - which you deserved - and because they won't put up with your name-calling. They have done nothing to me, have never come on to me, or anybody else for that matter." He gave Little Big Man a firm look. "And even if they are queer, who cares? I sure as fuck don't!"

Little Big Man threw his fork down. "It's not right! You all know it's not right! Queers shouldn't be allowed in the cadets! Last night? You should have seen what was going on in the Gunroom. Those two queers started something and everybody in the place was naked! Harry was bare-assed naked! The whole fucking' place is full of queers and perverts!"

"You do not know that it was the Twins who started anything," returned Ryan, his colour rising. "We know what happened in there. It was all just a bit of harmless fun."

"They were naked!" growled Little Big Man.

"So? They did a Zulu Warrior to impress and entertain the Yanks," retorted Ryan, who was not backing down an inch. "You can hardly not get naked when you do a Zulu Warrior!"

"I don't consider it harmless fun!" Little Big Man pushed his duff - a huge piece of chocolate cake - across the table toward Ryan, who was always looking for extra dessert.

Ryan wanted no part of Paul Greene, or his bloody cake. "Look, Paul, everybody has done a Zulu. Or at least seen it done. It does not mean . . ."

"Only queers and perverts take their clothes off and dance around!" interrupted Little Big Man rudely.

"Perfectly straight guys have done a Zulu Warrior, Paul." Rob smiled and shook his head, remembering.

"So I heard!" Little Big Man screwed his face into a look of disgust. "Even the fuckin' Gunner!"

The other three cadets stared in disbelief. "The Gunner did a Zulu?" gasped Ryan. "Our Gunner actually did a Zulu Warrior?"

"Yes, our Gunner did a Zulu," replied Little Big Man, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He saw the looks on Ryan and David's faces. "What the fuck's the matter with you two? You act as if he's some god who never did anything dirty in his life! Well, fuck faces, he did a Zulu!"

Both Ryan and David actually did consider The Gunner something of a god and the thought of him parading around naked was mind-boggling. David, however, was not too boggled and he allowed his natural curiosity to ask, "When did he do it?" He loved gossip and he hadn't heard anything that promised to be quite so juicy in a long time. Imagine, The Gunner doing a Zulu!

"And how would you know?" asked Rob evenly.

"I know because The Gunner told me when I couldn't see Number One and had to listen to him," replied Little Big Man, unknowingly turning over the first shovel of dirt that would be his metaphoric grave. "He did it when he was an Ordinary Seaman in Gunnery School. He said that his whole term went down to the wet canteen on Saint John the Frog Day and . . ."

"That's Saint Jean Baptiste day to you, asshole!" interrupted Ryan angrily. His people might not have been across the Quebec border in three generations but his forebears were Quebecois, and so was he.

"Whatever," replied Little Big Man dismissively. "He said that him and his mates all got shit-faced on beer and a did a Zulu Warrior. The Frogs all got pissed off at 20 naked Anglos making fun of their holiday so there was a big riot. The Gunner said he didn't know what was funnier, doing a Zulu or fighting in the buff. The fucking queer thought it was a big laugh."

The Phantom, who had heard every word of the exchange between Little Big Man and the other three boys, stiffened when he heard The Gunner being slagged off. How dare that little piece of shit call The Gunner a . . . The Phantom could not bring himself to even think the word.

"And just when did The Gunner confide in you?" asked Rob with calm deliberateness. He knew what Little Big Man's answer would be because he had already had it from Tyler, chapter and verse. He did, however, want to hear it from Paul.

"When? When I went to Headquarters this morning is when," replied Little Big Man. "Somebody had to tell the officers about the faggotfest in the Gunroom, so I did!" He snorted indignantly. "And a fat lot of good it did me. The fucking faggot blew me off! He thought it was a big laugh and told me that it was just the boys having some good, clean, fun! You ask me, all them faggots stick together worse than the officers, and it ain't from the Vaseline they use!"

The Phantom growled low. He would not stand for Little Big Man calling The Gunner a faggot! He was about to take a step toward Little Big Man when a restraining hand gripped his arm. He turned and saw Chef, who shook his head, no. Chef's eyes seemed to say that if Little Big Man was determined to hang himself in front of his friends, then let him.

Ryan's eyes widened and he shook his head. "You actually went to the Flag Deck and told one of the instructors about something that happened in the Gunroom?"

"I reported an incident," returned Little Big Man defensively.

"You squealed on your mates! You ratted out your shipmates!" retorted Ryan.

"They are not my mates. They don't live in the Petty Officers Mess and they're all a bunch of faggots anyway!"

"You squealed to The Gunner," accused David, his face hard as he pushed back his chair.

"I reported an incident prejudicial to good order and discipline," returned Little Big Man with an exasperated growl. He truly believed that he had done nothing wrong.

"You squealed on your mates!" Ryan stood up and shook his head. "We were friends once, Paul, but no more. I won't sail with you." He turned abruptly and walked away from the table.

"And I won't sail with you." David rushed after Ryan, who was now seated at a table as far removed from Little Big Man as he could be.

Little Big Man was momentarily stunned. "What the fuck is wrong with those two?" he demanded of Rob when he recovered. "What's with this 'I won't sail with you' bullshit?"

"It is not bullshit, Paul," replied Rob, a note of true sadness in his voice. He had hoped that his former friend would have at least felt sorry for what he did. He realized, now, what a treacherous, venal little boy Paul Greene actually was. "You took it upon yourself to report something that was none of your business. You thought that by squealing on your mates you would get them into a shit locker full of trouble." Rob had known Little Big Man for many years, and at one time had actually liked him. But no more. "You betrayed your friends, Paul. You could care less about good order and discipline! All you were interested in was maybe getting something on the Twins, on hanging them. Instead you ended up hanging yourself!"

Little Big Man at long last finally realized that he done something that was beyond the pale. He had let his hatred of the Twins cloud his judgement, and while he realized that he had managed to back himself into a corner he did not believe that his friends would desert him over such a trivial matter. He was also too stubborn and clung to his rightness. "They are all a bunch of faggots!" he stormed. "All of them. They shouldn't be in the cadets! I did what any right-thinking person would do!"

"Are you saying that anyone who associates, lives with, or parties with the Twins is homosexual?"

"The Twins are queers," returned Little Big Man. "As for their so-called friends . . ."

Rob cut him off with an angry gesture. "The Twins have more friends than you will ever know, Paul. Good friends, true friends who know what it means to be a friend." He stood up and leaned forward, his fists clenched. "You're a hater and a bigot, Paul. You hate anyone who doesn't think the way you think. You apply guilt by association and you condemn people simply because they don't conform to your warped ethics or skewed morals. You accused some of the finest guys I have ever served with of being something they are not! You accused our American guests, boys you don't even know, of being something I doubt they are! You associate doing a Zulu Warrior, which is nothing more that a stupid, silly routine that's been done in every ship and every shore establishment of the Navy for years, you associate anyone who does a Zulu, or watches a Zulu, with homosexuality." He pushed his face forward until his nose was barely an inch away from the now horrified Little Big Man's. "If that is the case then I guess that makes me queer because two years ago, when I was on an exchange with the Brits, I drank six pints of Double Diamond, and I did a Zulu Warrior!" Their noses were almost touching now and Little Big Man could see flames of outrage in Rob's eyes. "I ripped off my Fruit of the Looms and whipped them around and I showed those Brits what a Canadian cock looks like!" He drew slowly away from the boy he had always thought of as a friend. He was no longer angry, or disappointed, or sad. He felt nothing towards Paul. Their friendship was over. He took in a deep breath. "Paul, I won't sail with you." With that Rob turned and walked to where Ryan and David were seated.

Little Big Man watched open-mouth as Rob joined the other two cadets. His mind reeled with the indignation he felt. How dare they treat him this way? How dare they talk to him that way? How dare they! He straightened his back. Well, fuck them! At least he knew what faggots they were. Not sail with him? Bugger them! He wouldn't be caught dead with them! Come the day, come the day and then . . . He gave his former friends a hate-filled look and left the Mess Hall.

David watched Little Big Man leave. "Do you think he really doesn't know what he did was wrong?" he asked presently.

"He knows, he just won't admit it," replied Rob. "It might not sink in until he sees what's waiting for him in the Petty Officers Mess."

"Fuck him!" snapped Ryan, who had no regrets at all over losing Little Big Man as a friend. "He stuck his dick in where he shouldn't have and he got it bitten off. He's also the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met, and believe me, I've met a few!"

"He is that," agreed David.

Ryan nodded enthusiastically. "Look, Rob, the only reason I put up with Paul was because of you. I wanted to be your friend and if having to be friends with Paul was a condition, fine, I went along with it. That does not mean I like what he did, or what he said. With him it was always faggot this, or queer that. If somebody pissed him off, or he got mad at a guy, he was a queer. He's got a hate on for Todd and Cory. I don't and I won't have him tell me that I can't be a friend to the Twins. He deliberately picked a fight with Phantom just to prove he could do it and because he thinks that Phantom's tight with the Twins. Well, enough is enough! Paul made his bed, let him sleep in it. Without me!" He looked evenly at Rob. "I mean what I said. I will not sail with Paul Greene!"

David agreed with Ryan. "Paul's an asshole, Rob. You're well rid of him. All the guys here this year, they're great guys. We could be having a hell of a good time but because of Paul everybody avoids us. I'm tired of listening to him bitch and complain and call other guys names. Paul's bad news and the sooner you realize that the better off you'll be!" He looked at Ryan. "I don't care if you're gay or straight, Ryan. I don't give a damn if you sleep with a guy or your pet poodle. You're my mate and I'd sail with you." He turned to Rob. "But I won't sail with Paul!"

Rob nodded his silent agreement. Then he raised his eyes. "It's just that I didn't think that Paul would do such a thing. We've been friends for a long time and . . ."

"Sometimes it's hard to lose a friend," interrupted The Phantom, who had overheard the bulk of their conversation. He slid a tray filled with plates of pastry in front of the three boys. "Sometimes you never really know a person and when you do you can never understand why you wanted to be a friend to him in the first place."

Ryan, who was eyeing the pastry, gave The Phantom a smile. "I'm sorry about what happened the other day. I don't think you're queer, and I didn't want to fight you, or those crazy cooks."

"Those crazy cooks made that pastry so be careful what you say," replied The Phantom with a grin. His face softened. "Look, Rob, Ryan, David, I'm not a cadet, and chances are I never will be one. But, I've been around cadets long enough to know that nothing, and I mean nothing, ever goes beyond the Mess. You can talk to the Chief, you can talk to each other, but you never, ever, squeal to the officers."

"You got that right," said Ryan. "You have to trust your mates. Goes without saying, doesn't it?"

Rob let out a long, sorrowful breath of air. "Yes, Ryan, it does. Paul betrayed us and we can never trust him again."

"Thank God that's finally out of the way," replied David with a huge grin. He pointed at the pastry-filled tray. "What is that?"

"Cherry strudel. Chef made it up for the officers' afters."

"Their what?" asked Ryan.

The Phantom shrugged. "Their afters. That's what Chef called it. I think he means they need something to eat after they get all tanked up." He gestured toward the pastry. "It's cherry strudel. It has kirsch in it and is very good so dig in."

Both Ryan and David lunged. "This is great," said David between mouthfuls of the dessert.

Rob refused the pastry. He knew that what he and the other two boys had done had been the right thing to do. Still he felt sadness and disappointment. The Phantom, his green eyes searching Rob's pensive face, seemed to know what he was thinking. "Rob, what is done is done. You can't dwell on it," he said quietly. "Friendship with Paul meant conforming to his way of thinking and I think that you are not at all like him or think the way he thinks. He hates and sooner or later you would either have to hate with him or he would turn on you."

"He already has," said Ryan, grimacing. "We were all faggots because we tried to talk him out of going to see the Executive Officer."

"So now you know what he is really like," observed The Phantom. "I don't know why he is the way is. Frankly, I don't care. He chose his path."

Rob nodded. In a way he knew why Paul Greene was the way we was, and why he had chosen a path that few would follow. He lived next door to the Greene family, and he had heard them talking. Paul was part of an agenda - just what kind of an agenda Rob did not know. What he did know was that Paul would do anything to further whatever aims his agenda - or the agenda of his father - demanded. It was better that their ways had parted now, Rob thought, because there were certain feelings . . . He glanced quickly at Ryan and just as quickly looked away.

The Phantom had seen the look. He was mildly surprised and wondered just what sort of relationship Rob had with Ryan. He also thought that it was perhaps time he visited Barracks 2, where the Storekeepers lived. Rob had the clean, chiselled looks of a model, while Ryan's soft features and dark, smouldering eyes . . . He quickly sat down to hide what was growing in his boxers. "Well," he said with a small chuckle, "At least you won't have to listen to him after he finds out what is waiting for him in his Mess."

It was the quiet that Little Big Man first noticed when he entered the Petty Offices Mess. With Saturday being a half-holiday he had expected the place to be quiet, but not this quiet and, except for Mike, who was lying on his bunk with his right hand down the front of his tighty-whiteys and leafing through a muscle magazine with his left, the Mess was empty.

Little Big Man gave Mike a disgusted look and turned to where his bunk and locker had stood only this morning. His eyes widened at what was now a sleeping bay that had been created by using all the lockers in the Mess, facing outboard. In the bay was a neatly made up bunk, a sea chest, and one inward turned locker. It took him a minute to realize that the bunk, locker and sea chest were his and had been moved slightly to accommodate the wall of lockers that effectively blocked his berthing space off from the rest of the Mess. "What the fuck . . ." He turned and glared at Mike. "What the fuck is this in aid of?" he demanded to know.

Mike glared back and gave his tackle a squeeze. He raised his eyebrows and gave the new sleeping bay a cursory glance. "That is where you sleep from now on. The boys thought that a rat needed its own nest," he said bluntly. He returned to turning the pages of his magazine.

Little Big Man's mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to articulate a protest. "But, I'm a senior cadet! You can't do this . . ." he managed to get out.

Mike slowly closed his magazine, swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and stood up. He towered over Little Big Man, who took a step back. Mike pointed at the small cubicle. "That is your Mess. That is where you live, that is where you stay." He turned to his locker and pulled out a pair of grey sweat pants and a white T-shirt, ignoring the pale young drummer as he dressed. When he was finished he looked directly at Little Big Man. "I won't sail with you," he said quietly, then walked the length of the Petty Officers Mess, opened the door and passed through into the Gunroom.

Little Big Man, flabbergasted, sat on his bunk and stared around the small area. He barely heard the door leading to the Gunroom close. "Well," he thought, "at least they gave me a window." He lay back on his bunk and stared at the deckhead, wondering what in the hell he was going to do now.

In the Gunroom the Twins were busily working on their projects. With it being a half-holiday just about everybody was either ashore or off playing silly buggers. As Defaulters they had worked all afternoon, weaving new trails for the drums, and re-working the rope work on the bass drum. Now it was time for them to relax. They were dressed for coolness in their boxers. The late afternoon sun filled the Gunroom with light that gave the two slim, golden-haired boys an almost ethereal look.

Todd was adding the finishing touches to his artwork for the Course T-shirt and Cory was completing the intricate decorations to the Executive Officer's lookstick when Mike came in. He stopped and regarded the Twins' handiwork. "I wish I could do that," he said presently. "But . . ." He held up his broad, inelegant hand. He jerked his head toward the Petty Officers Mess. "It's done."

The Twins nodded in unison. "No trouble with him?" asked Todd as he drew the final flourish to his artwork.

Mike grinned broadly. "Not bloody likely." He rubbed his chin and then said,

"So, what's on for tonight?"

Cory shrugged. "Not much. We're on defaulters."

"Oh, yeah," replied Mike with a small sigh. There was not really all that much to do of an evening and, if the truth were told, he was lonely. He had hoped to spend some time with the Twins but . . . "I guess I'll hit the pictures."

"What's on tonight?" asked Todd. "Not another western, I hope."

"I wish it was," replied Mike. "It's Charley's Aunt, with Jack Benny!"

"I'm surprised that got by the Grand Inquisitor," responded Todd. "Jack Benny in drag? Dickensen must be slipping."

"It's an Edwardian Farce," said Cory. "Nothing gay about it."

"We are Sea Cadets, after all," said Mike with a grin. "It's either that or TV in the canteen."

"Then it's The Waltons or Little House on the Prairie," said Todd with a grimace.

"Or the ever-popular Don Messer's Jubilee, with 'Our Pet, Juliet," offered Cory.

Mike shuddered. The CBC's Saturday schedule left a great deal to be desired. At least in the winter, if he got really bored, he could always watch Hockey Night In Canada. "I guess it's the pictures for me, then."

Todd put aside his artwork and looked at Mike. He pointed with his chin toward the bulkhead that separated the Gunroom from the Petty Officers Mess. "It can't have been easy, telling him, Mike," he said.

Mike shrugged. "It goes with the territory." He smiled thinly. "I know that all you guys think that just because I'm a Physical Training Instructor I'm a softie, not quite good enough." Before either of the Twins could contest his statement Mike held up his hand. "I'm a Chief, and I know my business. Somebody had to been in the Mess when Paul came back. I'm Chief of the Mess, so I did it."

"You should be in the Gunroom," said Todd. "You're entitled."

Mike shook his head. "It's not your fault that my promotion came through after my papers were approved for posting here and nobody bothered to tell the Ship's Office." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm comfortable in there. It's not crowded, and having to look at Mal airing the monster every morning is not that bad and, aside from Willy and Jack bickering like magpies, and Phillip farting like a Force Nine gale half the night, and Little Big Man carping about you two, it's not a bad place to hang my posing strap."

The Twins broke into delighted laughter. This was a side of Mike that they had never seen before. "You really do have a sense of humour," cried Todd. "You should let it out more often."

"Not my style," said Mike dryly. "Comes from a strict Baptist upbringing. It only comes out with people I trust, people I hope to sail with one day."

Cory looked at Todd who looked at Mike. "Mike, we would have sailed with you anyway," he said quietly.

"Bloody aye on that!" exclaimed Cory.

A huge grin broke Mike's face. "You know, I've been waiting a long time for someone to say that to me and you bastards had to wait until my last year to do it!"

"Little Big Man is not the only one around here capable of making an ass of himself," returned Todd. "But we do mean it. And what this crap about your last year?"

"I'm going to be 18 in November, officially over the hill," replied Mike. "I won't be able to come back next year. I was going to just sort of let things slide when the Area Cadet Officer talked me into taking on the Chief PTI's job. Phillip is qualified but a little shy in the rating department so here I am." He grinned at Cory. "I also heard a rumour that a certain set of Twins would be here this year and thought that somebody had to be here to make sure you got your proper exercise in the morning."

"No offence, but I could live without it," grumbled Cory.

Mike chuckled. "Not a morning person?"

"Oh, I am," said Cory, returning Mike's chuckle. "I just object to having to bend and stretch at the crack of dark! It's unnatural."

"An opinion shared by just about every guy I've ever met - except the hard core jocks, and they're a little warped to being with." Mike shook his head. "Which is why I'm taking freshman biology when I go up to the university. No sports for me."

"Biology?" asked Todd.

"Yeah. I hope to become a high school biology teacher."

"So you're to be a civilian first class, then?" asked Cory. "A lot of guys join the Navy Reserve, you know."

"There's no Navy in Brandon, Cory. There is a militia unit, The Argylls, but . . ." He unconsciously reached down and held his crotch. "When you have a dick as small as mine you do not want to be wearing a kilt and no underwear on!"

The Twins coloured. "Mike we're sorry," began Todd.

"I've learned to live with in," responded Mike. "Or, in my case, without it!"

"Another joke!" said Cory, laughing.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," responded Mike. "This doesn't happen too often." He glanced at the Gunroom clock. "Well, I'm off to the pictures."

"Hey, Mike," said Todd. "If it gets too boring come on back." He winked at Cory. "You can have a glass of something. Unless, of course, your body is a temple and you wouldn't pollute it with something so base as Smirnoff and tonic."

Mike held out his arm and Cory quickly grabbed it, making mock twisting motions around Mike's wrist. "Ouch, ouch, I give," Mike pretended to wail. "If the movie is too bad for comfort I'll be back for a drink."

"You know, Mike's a good guy," Cory said when Mike left. "He puts on this big dumb jock act but I think that deep down there is a very intelligent and sensitive guy."

Todd studied his drawing and nodded. "What say we try to talk our way onto one of the YAGs for a day steam? We can get Mike to go along and then we can say that we sailed with him."

"He'd like that," agreed Cory. "And it would make up for all the times we called him a Stud Budgie or Gerbil Dick."

Before Todd could reply Harry came bustling in. "Hi, guys," he said as he moved directly to his bunk space where he stripped completely, grabbed a towel and his shaving gear and went into the washplace.

The Twins returned Harry's greeting and returned to their work. Having Harry rushing around was nothing new. He was a busy man, what with being the Sea Daddy, and the Drum Major. They paid him little attention when he came back into the Gunroom. What did get their attention was what Harry did next.

As the Twins watched Harry first took a can of Johnson's Baby Powder from his locker and powdered his body with talcum, paying special attention to his private parts. Then, to the Twins' astonishment he brought out a bottle of Lilac Vegetal, which Cory insisted they could drink if they ever ran out of booze since it was about 80% alcohol. Harry splashed his face with the scent, then for good measure sprinkled some across his chest. Next came pit spray. Powdered, sprayed and sprinkled to his satisfaction Harry then carefully combed his hair, ruffled his dark, wiry pubic bush, check the whiteness of his teeth, hefted his testicles, and brought out a brand new pair of tighty-whiteys, which he drew on, then carefully smoothed the soft fabric across his melon-shaped butt and adjusted his parts so that they hung comfortably. After checking his chin for any hint of a zit, he pulled on freshly laundered sweats and a new, white, AURORA T-shirt.

"Uh, Harry, are you going anywhere?" asked Todd tentatively. Harry had been known for some very strange behaviour in the past, but this was the strangest yet.

"Uh, well," stammered Harry. He recovered quickly. "I'm just going to the pictures. The Sea Puppies are going and I really should be there to keep an eye on things," he said nervously. "You know how rambunctious they can be."

"You'll have your hands full, then," said Cory. He gave Harry a dubious look. "You do know they're showing Charley's Aunt?"

"Um, well, no, I didn't," returned Harry. He tried to look thoughtful. "Still, as long as it keeps them occupied." He gave the Twins a small wave. "I'll see you later."

Harry had barely cleared the door leading to the barracks yard when Cory offered a sceptical snort. "Pictures my Royal Canadian tochas! He's in love!" Then he giggled.

"And how would you know that?" asked Todd. He gave his brother an astonished look. "I admit that Harry has done some strange things in the past, but really, Cory, Harry in love?" He did a double take. "And what in hell is a 'tochas'?"

"It's Yiddish for your bum," replied Cory calmly. "I read it in Mila 18." He carefully finished tying the last knot in the last rose decorating the Executive Officer's lookstick. "And Harry is still in love," he insisted stubbornly.

Todd rolled his eyes. Cory's deduction was almost as ludicrous as Harry powdering his bum with baby powder. "Now, Cory, really!" he began. "Think on it for one minute. There are no women here, unless you count Matron, or one of the ladies who clean the Wardroom. Who could Harry possibly be in love with?"

Cory growled his impatience. "No, you think on it," he retorted. "Harry came in here and took a shower for the third time today that I know of. He shaved. He powdered his ass, he splashed sure fuck on his mug." He pushed aside the lookstick and gave his brother a withering look. "Assuming that Harry is a normal, run-of-the-mill, or garden variety teenage male, put all that together and he is not going to the pictures alone."

"And the undies, Sherlock?" asked Todd, still not believing.

"Ah, the undies," replied Cory expressively. "Clean, fresh from the package undies are the kicker, Dr. Watson. Harry is in love!"

"Bullshit!"

Cory shook his head. "He's in love and I think I know who with."

"You do?"

Cory nodded and a strange look came over his face. "I have my suspicions, but I don't want to say until I am sure."

"Har, har, har," guffawed Todd. "Since when have you not wanted to spread a little gossip? Why change the habit of a lifetime? "

Cory looked at Todd with a look of sadness and disappointment "Since I think that the object of Harry's affection is a Sea Puppy."

Todd slowly rolled his artwork into a cylinder. He shook his head slowly. "Dear, sweet God."

Harry collected the Sea Puppies from outside their barracks and shepherded them into the Drill Shed. He bought each of the boys a bag of popcorn and a Coke, and saw them settled in their seats before settling into a chair at the back of the cavernous building. Stefan firmly ensconced himself in the chair beside Harry's.

When the lights went down and the elderly projector started to grind a cheer went up as the first of a string of cartoons appeared on the screen set up at the front of the hall. Harry settled back, munching on his popcorn and sipping his Coke and content to just have Stefan sitting beside him. Stefan had other ideas. Every so often he would reach down and stroke Harry's crotch, or reach around and run his hand up the back of Harry's T-shirt, caressing his waist and slipping his thin hand under the wide elastic band of Harry's briefs to rub his finger up and down the crack of Harry's behind.

Harry squirmed and wiggled with each touch of Stefan's hand on his body. He made no effort to stop the boy's caressing hands and did not stop Stefan when he reached down and slowly pushed Harry's aching erection up so that it pointed toward his navel. When Stefan's hand returned to massaging his butt Harry looked around and quickly pulled his T-shirt down so that it hid the huge bulge in his sweat pants. Stefan saw Harry's quick attempt at camouflage and reached under the T-shirt to slowly rub his hand across Harry's bare stomach, and then feel the weeping tip of Harry's dick that peeked up above the waistband of his underpants. He leaned forward and Harry felt Stefan's warm, sweet breath on his neck. "Come on, my Harry," Stefan whispered as he gave Harry's throbbing boner a firm squeeze. "I'd like us to leave now."

Harry nodded dumbly as Stefan led him from the Drill Shed. "Where are we going?" Harry asked as they stood outside the hall.

Stefan giggled and slipped his hand in Harry's. He led the teenager to the side of the Drill Shed facing the harbour and pushed him into a seated position. He then sat on Harry's lap, grinding his miniature erection into Harry's hard stomach. Then he slipped his arms around Harry's neck. "I want to cuddle," he whispered with a grin.

Harry smiled back as he slowly encircled the boy's thin waist and pulled him close. He could feel Stefan's erection pulsing with every breath the boy took. He could smell the sweet aroma of Stefan, Life Buoy soap mixed with the odour of fresh, clean clothes mingled with a touch of boy musk. The scent of Stefan tickled his nostrils. "Dear God," he thought as his hands drifted down to caress Stefan's thin behind. "Why do I love this scrawny boy? Why does he love me? Why do I feel so good when I'm with him."

Stefan moaned at Harry's touch and reached down to feel Harry's rock hard erection through his straining sweat pants. His lips touched Harry's and then he wiggled his way off of Harry's lap. "I love you, my Harry," he whispered as he pushed Harry's legs apart and knelt between them.

Harry's heart skipped a beat as Stefan slowly pulled down the front of his sweat pants and then his briefs. As Stefan lowered his head Harry tried to stop what he knew was coming. "Stefan," he whispered. "That's not . . . you don't have to . . ."

"I want to do it for you, my Harry," whispered Stefan in return, looking at Harry with love-filled eyes. He lowered his head and his tongue slowly licked away the clear precum that oozed from the slit of Harry's sex-heated glans. Then he slipped his mouth over the wide, curving head of Harry's penis. He could not take all of Harry in - his thick, hard erection was much too big - so he concentrated on the top two inches, sucking slowly, driving Harry to groan loudly.

Harry's groan turned to a gasp and he lifted his hips, offering himself to Stefan, who continued to suck in slow, rhythmic motions, his tongue, as soft as a mouse's ear, savaging the special spot on the underside of Harry's glans where the soft-skinned, hard shaft joined his throbbing, spongy glans corona. He felt Stefan's hands pull his sweats and underpants lower, felt the small hand lovingly roll his large, oval testicles, felt the power building in his loins. He began to squirm as he approached the ultimate pleasure. "Agh . . . Stefan . . . pull away," he warned, his words punctuated by his heavy panting. He was so close. No one had ever done this to him before. No one had ever sucked him and he could not stop. "Stefan . . ." he groaned loudly.

Stefan smiled as Harry's penis throbbed, jerked and the first of his ejaculate filled his mouth. Harry's ejaculate, his sweet, heavy cream was everything Stefan had expected. He wanted all of it; he wanted every drop of his Harry. He sucked savagely, swallowing rapidly as Harry's penis pulsed and pulsed until finally he was drained. Stefan continued to suck on Harry's deflating dick until Harry yelped and pushed him away gently.

"I'm sorry, Stefan, but please, no more," Harry said, trying to catch his breath. "It's too sensitive once I've cum."

Stefan, afraid that he had hurt his Harry, struggled upward and wrapped his arms around his lover's neck. He kissed Harry, pushing his tongue into Harry's mouth and for the first time in his life Harry tasted sperm. When he pulled away Stefan began chattering. "I'm sorry, my Harry. I didn't know, I mean, I've never done this before and . . ."

Harry laughed and kissed Stefan quiet. Stefan growled quietly as they kissed passionately. He adored Harry with every fibre of his being. Harry was breathing heavily, still in the thrall of his orgasm. Finally he pushed Stefan back. "You didn't hurt me, Stefan. It's just that a lot of guys like us, guys who are circumcised, well, we are very sensitive after we orgasm."

Stefan thought about that for a minute. "Well, my Harry, I do admit that I am very much that way as well. Of course, I've never had anyone suck on my penis. All I've ever done is masturbate. Not like Thumper, though. I only do it twice a day, once in the morning, and once when I'm in bed. I do have to be careful at home because my sister is always barging in my room and . . ." His mouth closed with a loud snap when he realized that Harry was slowly pushing him away. Harry had a funny look on face as he pushed Stefan upward, forcing him to stand. "Harry . . ." he began, a small note of fright in his voice.

Harry shook his head and reached out, his broad hands searching under Stefan's gunshirt and encircling his slim waist. Harry kept his eyes riveted on Stefan's face as his hands moved and slowly pushed down the elastic waistbands of his shorts and briefs. Harry felt the soft warm flesh tremble as he continued to push Stefan's clothing down, smiling as the boy's almost hairless mound, then his thin erection, were revealed. Harry bit his lip to keep from moaning when Stefan's penis bounced gently as his underpants were pulled down, releasing it from their tight embrace. Soon Stefan was naked from the waist down, his shorts and underpants gathered around his ankles.

Stefan giggled when Harry reached out and rubbed his fingers against the iron hard flesh that jutted at a sharp angle from Stefan's body. "God, you are beautiful," whispered Harry. He continued to fondle Stefan's perfect organ. The boy had been circumcised high and tight and the upper third of his boner was a dusky pink. His neat little acorn of a helmet was shining purple red from the blood that filled it. "So hard," Harry whispered huskily. "So smooth and warm."

Harry continued to softly stroke Stefan's trembling erection with his right hand while with his left he rolled Stefan's small testicles in their smooth, hairless sac. Except for a few scraggly, jet-black hairs at the base of his penis, Stefan was hairless. Harry leaned forward and buried his face in Stefan's crotch, kissing the boy's hard three inches and drinking in his boy smell.

Stefan's head rolled back as Harry started to kiss his boner. "Oh, Harry, that feels ever so wonderful. But, Harry, you don't have to do it, even though it feels very nice. Harry, you must be careful or I'll squirt and . . . "

"Stefan?" Harry's voice was a low growl.

"Yes, my Harry?" replied Stefan, wondering why Harry was talking and not sucking.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Stefan's hackles immediately rose and his erection began to wilt. "Well, really, Harry, you do not have to take that tone! After all I . . . AWK!" He squawked loudly and his eyes opened wide as Harry's mouth took in his flaccid penis. Harry began to suck with excruciating slowness and his tongue traced the crisp, clean, curving glans of Stefan's rising penis.

Harry's tongue worked its way slowly up and down the straight, smooth shaft of Stefan's erection, which began to pulse and twitch. Stefan, with feelings such as he had never felt rampaging through his body, began to pant and a puppy dog growl rose in his throat. He began thrusting his hips as he was transported to a new level of pleasure. He could feel something wonderful screaming to get out and suddenly his body went rigid. "Oh my!" he managed to gasp as his face scrunched and his penis spasmed and the first of three watery jets of his immature seed spurted onto Harry's tongue. "Oh My, Oh MY!"

Stefan pumped his hips in short, tiny thrusts while Harry continued to suck on his inflamed helmet. He stood it as long as he could but when the sensitivity that Harry had warned about, and was so much more that he could ever imagine engulfed his penis Stefan pulled back with such force that he sat down on the grassy patch with a loud thump. He sat there scarcely able to comprehend what had just happened, unable to put into words the pleasure he had felt. His heart was racing and his lungs seemed incapable of taking in enough air. Harry reached out and pulled him onto his body and then fell back. He embraced the boy tightly.

"Oh, my Harry, that was so wonderful," began Stefan. "I never knew that I could feel so good." He squirmed, positioning his body so that his soft penis was resting against Harry's warm, slightly furry stomach. "I would really like to do it again, my Harry. I know that you only squirted a little while ago but you are so very big and strong and . . ."

"Stefan," grumbled Harry. So much for afterglow!

"I know, Stefan, shut the fuck up!" He giggled and then rubbed his cheek against Harry's chest. He began to mew quietly and slipped his hand under Harry's dishevelled T-shirt, gently rubbing his chest and nipples. Harry sighed contentedly and reached down to caress Stefan's firm, round, melon-like butt cheeks.

After what seemed like an eternity Harry rubbed his chin against the soft hair on the top of Stefan's head. "We must go now, Stefan," he whispered quietly.

"But Harry, this feels so nice. Do we have to?" replied Stefan.

Harry pushed Stefan away and then made him stand up. "Stefan," he began quietly, "we have to go back. When the lights go up we have to be exactly where we were when the picture started." He slowly pulled Stefan's tighty whiteys up, covering the boy's still red penis. He then leaned forward and nuzzled the small mound hidden by the soft cotton fabric. He kissed Stefan's soft, flaccid penis and smelled the clean smell of his briefs, the musk of him and the hint of his sweet essence that lingered on his body. He withdrew and looked up into Stefan's brown eyes. "We have to Stefan. If people saw us, there would be trouble. He pushed Stefan's shorts up, covering his underpants, and then rearranged his T-shirt. "We have to be so very careful." He stood up and pulled Stefan to him.

Stefan hugged his Harry. The top of his head was just touching Harry's firm chin. He could feel the soft bulge in Harry's sweats pressing against his chest. "I understand, my Harry," he murmured. "People will say bad things about us if they see us." He kissed Harry's chest. "But my Harry, I do love you so much." Harry rubbed his chin in the boy's soft hair. Tears rose in his eyes as he said, "And I love you, Stefan. God alone knows how or why, but I love you, my sweet, beautiful, wonderful boy."

Harry returned to the Gunroom just as the bugle sounded First Post. He seemed to be in a trance as he went to his locker, undressed, found a towel and all but floated into the washplace. The Twins, who had been playing a half-hearted game of Hearts with Chris, watched him pass.

"The last time I saw anybody looking like that it was my youngest uncle," said Chris with a snicker. "He'd just gotten his first piece of ass."

Cory shot a look at Todd over the edge of his cards. "Told you so," he said smugly. Then he lowered his hand and grinned at Chris. "It do seem that somebody got lucky."

Todd gathered up his cards and threw them into an untidy pile on the table. "You two are disgusting, you know that?" He glared first at Cory, then at Chris. "You don't know that Harry did anything but go to the pictures!"

Both Cory and Chris snorted in unison but before either could comment on Harry's alleged activities Two Strokes and Thumper banged into the Gunroom. Nicholas and Greg quickly followed them. All four were talking a mile a minute, bitching about the complete lack of tits and ass in the movie they had just seen, and what a complete bust Jack Benny had been as a woman.

"Only you two could reduce what is a classic of cinematography to the level of a porno flick!" sniped Todd. He was roundly ignored.

Jon and Fred came in and added their complaints to the litany of groans and moans, decrying the state of the Drill Shed, the deck littered with popcorn, candy wrappers, and the assorted detritus left behind by 100-odd disgruntled movie-goers. They joined Nicholas and Greg in stripping off, throwing their dirty shorts and underpants on their bunks as they prepared for their official daily shower.

Cory almost had a heart attack when Greg stripped his clothing and revealed what Cory thought was one of the most perfect dicks he had ever been fortunate to see. Greg's circumcised penis seemed to flow from the dark brown hair of his pubic bush, and was balance by low-hanging testicles, which were contained in a smooth-skinned, hairless sac. Greg's genitals seemed to mirror his body, perfectly proportioned and delightfully coloured. Cory's soft sigh of licentious desire earned him a vicious kick under the table from Todd, which brought him back down to earth. After yelping loudly he fetched Todd a sharp rap on his shoulder. "That hurt!" he hissed.

"It was meant to," Todd hissed back. "Behave yourself! You're acting like you'd never seen a dick before!"

"Not like that one!" returned Cory with pointed look.

Todd shook his head in disgust and then turned to watch as Harry turned the corner from the showers. He was still naked and had draped his towel around his neck. He had a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes and only seemed to notice the other cadets when he brushed against Todd's shoulder as he passed by. "Oh, hi guys," he murmured as he walked down to his bunk. He took a clean pair of briefs from his locker, pulled them on and then lay on top of his bunk, staring at the deckhead. Every so often he would sigh, close his eyes, and smile fleetingly.

Chris grinned and pointed with his chin at Harry. "At least he washed the cum from his belly!" he declared, snickering.

Cory giggled and buried his face in his hands. Todd glared at the pair of them. "You two make me sick!" he growled, speaking low enough so that only Cory and Chris could hear him. "You don't know that he did anything with anybody. Maybe he took a time out and jerked off. It happens!"

"At the pictures?" asked Chris through snorting giggles.

Cory, who was aware of Todd's secret infatuation with Harry, joined with Chris in giggling. "I can just see it now. During the interval everybody but Harry went to buy popcorn and a Coke. He snuck into the bushes and thumped his gun."

Todd knew better than to continue the conversation. He stood up and jerked his head toward the door. "Are we going or are we not?"

Both Chris and Cory had been waiting impatiently for the others to return and the lights to go out. They were anxious to steal away to the Ropewalk. They quickly followed Todd's example and all three boys left the Gunroom. As they walked down the path Cory could not resist getting the last word in. "I don't care what Todd says, Chris," he muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Harry is in love and from the look he had on his face someone is in love with him. He got lucky tonight!"

Chris nodded silently. He could not understand Todd's reluctance to think that Harry might be involved with another boy. Harry did not seem the type, but then, who did? He unlocked the door to the Ropewalk, deciding that now was not the time to tell the Twins that he had seen Harry and Stefan coming back from the Dockyard earlier in the day.

Later, the passion of their lovemaking slowly draining from their bodies, they sat naked, their legs spread, balls and cocks hanging lazily down, simply enjoying the presence of each other. Cory sat between Todd and Chris, idly playing with their fittings. Chris was sitting back with his head against the bulkhead, frankly enjoying the feel of Cory's hand on his spent penis. Todd had his arm loosely draped over his brother's shoulder.

"I have to admit that you two really know how to make a man feel satisfied," said Chris presently. "Every time we're together it just gets better and better."

"That's what is supposed to happen," replied Cory. He squeezed Chris's soft penis and watched as a small, precious drop of opal coloured fluid seeped from the pee slit of Chris's helmet-shaped glans. He shook off Todd and leaned down. His tongue swirled the jewel from Chris's helmet as he drew it into his mouth.

Chris spread his legs a little wider, giving Cory free access to his hardening penis. He groaned softly and then pulled away. "God, Cory, you have to stop," he growled. "We can't keep this up!"

Cory stopped his ministrations. "Would you care to make a small wager on that?" he asked with a huge grin. "Something is already up!" He gave the head of Chris's erect penis a soft thump. "Something is most definitely up!"

Todd glanced at Chris's tumescence and then pushed Cory's hand away from the boy's erection. Duty called. "Enough, Cory. We have a parade tomorrow and I for one want to get a good night's sleep. Now then, both of you get dressed."

Cory and Chris groaned but made no protest. Todd was right. They began to dress . . . slowly.

"Now I know how Harry feels," said Chris with a snicker. "God, it's so good to be with you two." He pulled up his boxers and stepped into his gym shorts. "If he got what I just got, well . . ." he buttoned his shorts and pulled up the zipper. "No wonder he looked goofier than normal!"

Todd, fully dressed, gave Chris a dirty look and pointed to the door. "When you are ready," he said with heavy emphasis.

"Don't mind him, Chris," said Cory as they exited the building and began their walk back to the Gunroom. "He refuses to believe that Harry might have found a friend."

"More than a friend," replied Chris. "And from the state of Harry when he came in tonight I would say that they have, how shall I put it? Ah, yes, I would say that Harry and his young friend have consummated their relationship."

Cory leaned against Chris and whispered a name. Chris nodded vigorously. "I knew it!" declared Cory.

Todd stopped abruptly. He glared at Cory and Chris. "Would you mind telling me what you know?" he demanded.

Chris looked at Cory, who shrugged, and then back at Todd. "Harry is in love or lust, with a Sea Puppy. And, to be perfectly accurate, the Sea Puppy is in love with Harry."

Cory shook Chris's arm. "It is who I think it is?"

"Really, Cory, you are worse than an old fishwife!" snapped Todd.

"Inquiring minds want to know!" returned Cory.

"Whoever said that you had a mind?" snarled Todd. He turned on Chris. "You don't know that Harry did anything with anybody, much less a Sea Puppy. He would never do that! He's not the type!"

"And just what do you mean by that?" asked Cory quietly. "Are you saying that Harry is not the type to be with another boy?"

Todd realized that he had put his foot in it. "What I mean is that for Harry to be with another boy he would have to be gay. I've known him; Cory has known him, for five years! He has never once done anything that would make me think that he would even want to be with another boy! He's never done anything with a Sea Puppy. He was Sea Daddy last year and nothing untoward happened! Harry simply would not do that!"

"Oh, really," Cory drawled his disbelief.

"Yes, really," declared Todd hotly. "After 18 years Harry did not wake up this morning and say, 'Oh, the sun is shining, the birds are singing so today I'm going to turn gay and fall in love with a boy'." He looked daggers at both boys. "And as for some Sea Puppy falling in love with him . . ." He snorted. "Hell, most of them are too young to know what love is! Most of them still think that their dicks are for peeing out of!"

"How old is old?" demanded Chris. "I knew that I was gay by the time I was nine! I also fell in love when I was 11! I do not see where age has anything to do with it!"

Todd shook his head. "How can you say that? You can't possibly know . . ." he began.

"Why not?" interrupted Cory. "We knew that we were gay when we stopped calling our dicks pee-pees and graduated to wieners and boners!" He leered at his brother. "And Dermid decided that he was in love with me the first time we played and you can't find anyone straighter than him!"

"Who's Dermid?" asked Chris.

"Dermid is our cousin. He is three years older than we are. He also has buck teeth and is ugly!" growled Todd.

"He is also hung like the Great Bull of Arran," returned Cory flatly. "He was five inches, soft, back then, and he was 15!" He snickered helplessly. "He also giggled when he shot his wad."

"And just how long did your little affair with Dermid go on?" asked Todd, plainly displeased.

"Until he decided that sleeping with me was queer and took up with girls," returned Cory. He was very matter of fact about his relationship with Dermid. "He still comes sniffing around, though." He grinned impishly. "And he still giggles."

"Cory!" Todd had known nothing about Cory's relationship with his cousin, who was straighter than straight and deeply involved with a vapid girl who went to the university with him.

"Uh, guys?" said Chris. "We were talking about Harry and Stefan?"

"Stefan?" Todd's jaw dropped. "Stefan? Little Stefan? You can't mean that! He's just a little kid!" Todd's shock was written all over his face. He realized that sheer horniness might have driven Harry to take up with one of the other cadets - he had, after all been masturbating with his brother for years - but Stefan? Fred, or Jon, Todd would have believed. Even Two Strokes, he would have believed, but Stefan? "You can't mean that!"

"I do," confirmed Chris emphatically. "I saw them coming back from the Dockyard at lunchtime. I saw how they were looking at each other. I've seen the way Stefan's eyes light up when he looks at Harry. I've seen the way Harry looks at Stefan. They're in love, Todd, and there's not a damned thing to say about it."

"But, Chris, how can Stefan know what being is love is?" began Todd.

"Don't say that he's too young," snapped Chris. "Stefan is almost fourteen. He knows what he feels, and how he feels, just as we knew. Age has nothing to do with it! I knew what I wanted from the day I discovered that there is a room on the tour of Old Fort Henry that looks directly into the showers the guard members use."

"There is?" asked Cory, intrigued and curious. He had toured the fort several times and had never found such a room.

"There is," confirmed Chris. "The first guy I ever saw naked was a member of the Fort Henry Guard. He was a pioneer and had this great, bushy beard. He also had the ugliest dick I ever saw. It was all covered in veins and . . ."

"Obviously it didn't stop you from going back," sniped Todd.

"Of course not," returned Chris. "Because the second guy I ever saw naked had a very nice dick. I wanted to see more so I snuck in whenever I could. I saw some very interesting dicks."

"Then it's no wonder that you're so hot to trot about the Guard," sniffed Todd.

Chris grinned, ignoring Todd's sarcasm. "They are hot," he agreed. "So, I knew early on that I was interested in guys. Not girls, guys. I also fell in love when I was 11!" His voice took on a dreamy quality. "I was a Navy League Cadet when I saw him. He was in the Sea Cadets and we only interacted with them once a year or so. I took one look at him and I knew that he was what I wanted. I used to dream about seeing him naked and I couldn't wait until I was 12 and a half when I could become a Sea Cadet and be with him."

"Kyle?" asked Cory, remembering that Chris had declared his love for the young Sub-Lieutenant from almost the beginning of their relationship.

"Kyle," replied Chris with a nod. "He was everything I wanted." His face hardened a bit. "Of course, he did not know that I existed. To him I was just another pesky junior cadet. Still, I went on every training weekend, never missed an opportunity to see him, to be with him. The first time I creamed myself was during a sports weekend and I saw him strip down to his tighty whiteys!"

"God alone knows what happened when you actually did see him naked," said Todd, not at all interested in Chris's past obsession with Kyle.

"It was during a swim meet. He stripped off and I thought that I had died and gone to heaven," replied Chris, ignoring his friend's venom. "He was beautiful." He sighed. "He still is."

Cory returned Chris's sigh. "Yes, he is."

"Jesus Christ!" exploded Todd. "We start out talking about Harry and his Sea Puppy and you two go off into Neverland about Kyle!"

"Oh, Todd, be still," retorted Chris. "What I was trying to do was to make you understand that falling in love does not have an age limit." He looked thoughtful a moment. "I admit that I personally would not take up with an almost fourteen year old boy, but that's me. But, and this is important, what I think, or you think, or Cory thinks, is not important. What is important is that Harry, who may be gay, or may be bi, has fallen for another boy. I also admit that by falling in love with Stefan that Harry is playing with fire."

"You do know what could happen to Harry if . . ." Todd could not complete his sentence.

"I know," replied Chris. "As his friend, I should say something to him."

"But you won't?" Cory looked at Chris. "I can't say that I agree with what Harry is doing. Even if Stefan knows what he is doing there is a load of shit coming if anybody were to find out about him and Harry. No matter how you slice it Harry is an adult and Stefan is a minor."

They had reached the Staff Barracks and Todd sat heavily on the steps. Cory and Chris joined him. Presently Todd rubbed his knees and blew out a long breath of air. "Harry has to know that what he is doing is dangerous."

"I think he does," replied Cory. "My guess is that he is so infatuated with Stefan, so in the thrall of being in love for the first time in his life that he doesn't care."

"Which means we can't talk to him about it. As his friends, we should, you know." Todd felt devastated. He glanced at Cory. They both knew all too well what happened when an adult took up with a minor. It did not matter if the minor was a very willing participant. "We can't say anything, because Harry is Harry and will tell us to mind our own business. We can't say anything to anyone else because that would make us squealers."

"As bad as Little Big Man," said Chris slowly. "But, and I think I'm right on this, the time to really worry about Harry is when Stefan leaves." He saw the quizzical looks on the faces of the Twins. "Harry is in love for the first time in his life. From the look of him, I would say very deeply in love. Stefan leaves in a week. Harry might not be able to handle it."

"Harry's pretty strong, Chris," offered Cory.

"Yeah, he is," agreed Chris. "Still, it will be a hell of a ride after Stefan leaves."

"Perhaps," said Todd. "Hopefully he will accept that he's had a summer romance and move on." He scratched his chin reflectively. "I think that Harry will move on. What he is doing is totally out of character for him. Once Stefan has gone home he'll realize that their relationship was a one off. I firmly believe that Harry is not gay. He's still learning about his sexuality. So is Stefan."

"So, it will blow over?" asked Cory, his voice filled with doubt.

Todd nodded. "I think it will. Harry will go back to the farm. He'll remember what happened here and probably want to forget all about it. He'll realize he made a terrible mistake and then he will really fall in love. With a girl."

Cory wanted to agree with his brother but could not. "Harry will do that, I think. He will find a girl, and marry her, and have lots of kids."

"But?" asked Chris, who had a strong feeling about what Cory's answer would be.

"Harry will do the guy thing," confirmed Cory. "He will conform to all the modes of conduct society demands of him. But deep down inside, deep, deep down within his heart, Stefan will always be his first, and only love."

"So, we keep our mouths shut and hope?" Todd was still doubtful of the rightness of Harry's relationship.

"We have to, Toddy," replied Cory. "We really don't have a choice. What Harry does is Harry's business. If he asks for our opinion, or comments, then we should give them. But until he does, I for one am minding my own business."

"Now that's a first," returned Todd, smiling. "I just hope that the first love of his life is as wonderful as the first love of my life."

"And who might that be?" asked Chris.

Todd gave Cory a squeeze. "A certain blond-haired critter that plagues my very existence!" He leaned forward and kissed his brother's forehead. "I can't help myself. I love him." He gave Cory a look. "Even if he is as mad as a hatter!"

Cory stuck out his tongue. "You really didn't have much choice, seeing as how we were sleeping together. And I haven't noticed anybody scratching at the bedroom door to take my place in your bed!" He looked at Chris. "At least that's what I thought until you came along!"

"Well, thanks a bunch, Cory," retorted Chris. "I didn't notice you throwing me out!"

"Now why would I do that? You are a very nice boy, and you do know how to make a fellow feel good." Cory smiled and ruffled Chris's hair. "Not to mention that you are not really in love with me, or Todd."

Chris had to admit that what Cory had said was true. "I do love you," he said slowly. "But I've never been in love with either you or Todd and I've never hidden the fact that I am in love with Kyle."

"That is all well and good and while I wish you the best of British luck I do feel I should tell you that I don't believe that you have a cat's chance of getting into Kyle's pants." Cory could be cruelly truthful when he put his mind to it.

Chris looked sad for a moment and then his face brightened. "True, Cory. If Kyle hasn't got the hint so far he never will." He smiled at Todd and winked evilly. "But then, there's always the Fort Henry Guard!"