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 12
When Cory entered the Gunroom a very low-key party was in progress. The door to the Chiefs Mess was open and as he passed the open door he could hear the laughter as Tyler and Val entertained Mark and Tony.
In the Gunroom Two Strokes was engaged in an arm wresting match with Harry. Chris and Jon were playing cards, while Fred was asleep on top of his bunk, snoring softly. Greg was sitting on his bunk sorting his clean laundry and kibitzing Harry and Two Strokes. Todd was industriously polishing his boots. Cory walked to his locker and began taking out some clean boxers and a towel.
"Hey, Cory. Where have you been?" asked Todd, looking up.
"Oh, here and there." Cory replied nonchalantly. He sat on his bunk and smiled lovingly at Todd.
Todd smiled back. "What was that smile in aid of?"
"Oh, I just felt like it. You're my brother and I love you. When I was talking to Phantom and I told him about Stanley Park I realized how much I love you." Todd put the boot he was polishing on the deck. "You told Phantom about Stanley Park?"
Cory nodded. "Yes, I told him," he replied without apology, "Just after I went for a walk to dry off. He was sitting in front of the Wardroom having a cigarette. So we talked a bit, then . . ."
"All stop! Back both!" Todd moved to Cory's bunk and sat down beside him. "Just what in the hell do you mean you went for a walk to dry off? How did you get wet?"
"I fell into the harbour. I was wet so I went for a walk to dry off," Cory replied casually, as if falling onto the harbour was an everyday occurrence. "I met Phantom and we talked. I asked to him come over for a while. I also told him that if it got too late he could stay over with us, you know, for the night. He told me he had to go home, so he isn't coming over." Cory stood up, ignoring the look of utter confusion on Todd's face. He pushed down his damp shorts, stepped out of them and wrapped a towel around his waist. "I even told him he could sleep with me, but no dice," he said, his face a theatrical mask of sadness.
Todd ran his hand across his face, shook his head and grabbed Cory's waist, pulling him back down to a sitting position on the bunk. "Cory, before I blow a gasket, would you please tell me what the hell you are talking about?"
Cory sighed dramatically. "Well, if you must know, I fell into the harbour. I was tidying up and missed my footing." He was not about to go into any more detail than he had to. "Since I was wet, I decided to go for a walk and dry off. I went to the beach, but every bugger and his brother was there so I left. I walked around a bit more and then I decided to come back here. I met Phantom. We talked a bit, I copped a feel, and then I came home. Are you satisfied now?"
"No!" snapped Todd. He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, not wanting to attract any more attention than was necessary. "You left out the part about asking Phantom to sleep with you. You also left out the part about you telling Phantom about Stanley Park and Cory, why the fuck are you wearing a towel?"
"Well, I'm going for a shower."
"So? Since when do you wear a towel? We just spent two days buck-naked and you never complained. Shit, Cory, most of the time I can't keep clothes on your behind."
"I seem to recall you insisting that we should project a more conservative persona," replied Cory archly. Then he sniffed. "Somebody has to set the tone around here. Just look around."
Todd looked. Harry, who was now taking on both Greg and Two Strokes, was wearing boxers. His legs were wide spread and his smooth parts were hanging out. He was nonchalantly sipping a drink of rum while Greg and Two Strokes, their hands firmly grasping his fist, were grunting and straining, trying to pull Harry's arm down. Both were wearing tight white briefs, their skinny asses clearly outlined.
Jon was lying on his bunk, playing cards with Chris, who was seated half on and half off the bed. Jon was wearing a pair of very brief cut-offs and the rosy pink head of his cock was peeking out of the leg. Chris's boxers had ridden down, exposing his butt crack. Nicholas was bent over, searching in the bottom of his locker for a pair of underpants to cover his hairy ass. Thumper was lying on his bunk, on his stomach, his bubble butt rising nicely under his pale blue briefs. He was hiding the boner he had gotten from watching the lump in Fred's yellow boxers grow bigger and bigger.
Todd ran his hand over his face and shook his head. He waved Cory to the showers. He had no doubt that Cory had been up to something. He also had no doubt that getting an answer out of his brother when he was in his stubborn mode was next to impossible.
When Cory left Todd rummaged in his sea chest and pulled out the bottle of vodka. Cory could be the most damnable close-mouth, frustrating SOB when he put his mind to it. Todd poured a drink, and then surveyed the Gunroom. He smiled knowingly at Thumper, who was desperately trying to calm his raging hardon, which was difficult. Fred was huge, a solid eight inches of neatly circumcised cock, if Todd was any judge. To make matters worse the angry red tip of his erect penis was sticking above the elastic band of his boxers. As both Todd and Thumper watched a small drop of precum oozed from Fred's helmet. Thumper groaned and buried his face in his pillow.
Todd chuckled at Thumper's discomfort. Fred's hardon did not interest him at all. Both he and Cory were not big fans of oversized dicks. As far as they were concerned, anything over six inches, maybe seven if the guy was a total hunk, was a waste of good dick. He turned to watch as Greg and Two Strokes, grunting and groaning noisily, tried to pull Harry's iron hard arm down. Both of them were red-faced, every muscle straining, their faces contorted from their effort. They were getting nowhere fast and Todd figured that at any moment the pair of them would either shoot their loads or drop dead from a heart attack.
Harry, who was tired of playing silly buggers, and in need of a refill, let out a roar, so startling his struggling antagonists that Greg let go of Harry's clenched fist and flew backward, landing on Harry's bunk with such force that he bounced twice before settling into a breathless heap. Two Strokes, made of sterner stuff, held on. Harry lowered his arm and dragged Two Strokes across the width of the rough wooden table. Two Strokes, forced to let go, ended up bent at the waist, his front end hanging over the end of the table.
Harry reached over and pulled down the back of Two Strokes' briefs. "Anybody ever tell you that you have a skinny ass?" asked Harry nonchalantly. "Nicely tanned, but skinny."
Two Strokes reached back and snatched his briefs from Harry's hand. "You've been looking at my skinny ass for a month now. You also saw it yesterday and the day before that." He struggled upright and sat on the table, then leaned forward and whispered. "Harry, I think I've got a splinter in my dick."
"What?" Harry pretended not to have heard.
"Damn it, Harry, I've got a splinter in my dick," repeated Two Strokes fiercely.
"Why are we whispering?"
"Because, Harry, the whole fucking Gunroom does not need to know that I have a splinter in my dick. That's why we're whispering." Two Strokes was very angry at Harry's indifference to his plight.
"Oh, is that all?" Harry grinned and smiled malevolently. He deliberately raised his voice, making sure it carried. "Well, Two Strokes, if you think you have a splinter in your dick I better have a look." He stood up, reached over, lifted Two Strokes and sat him at the edge of the table, his legs dangling. Before Two Strokes could object Harry pulled open the front of his briefs and peered in, nodding sagely. "Yep, looks like a splinter," he said gravely. "Looks like you'll have to go to Sick Bay," Harry opined as he released the band of Two Strokes' briefs.
"Sick Bay?" Two Strokes breathed a low groan of despair.
"Sure," grinned Harry. "Matron will get it out for you. She likes pulling splinters from tiny Sea Cadet dicks." Then he roared with laughter at his own joke.
Harry's howl of laughter echoed throughout the Gunroom. Fred sat up with a start, took one look at his lap, swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and bent forward, hiding his hardon. Thumper, taking advantage of the commotion, rolled from his bunk and, bent forward, hiding his hardon, hurried to the heads where he locked himself in a cubicle.
The other cadets gathered around the now irate Two Strokes, offering useless advice, agreeing with Harry. Two Strokes would have to go to Sick Bay.
"I am not going to Sick Bay," said Two Strokes with flint in his voice. "That Gorgon is not touching my dick."
Todd wandered over and put in his oar. "Well, you'll have to take it out yourself. If you leave it until tomorrow, when Doc is on duty, it might get infected and rot off."
Fred, his dick back to its normal size, pulled on a pair of sweats and offered a needle from his locker. Greg offered the tweezers from the First Aid Kit. Everyone else demanded a look at the injured member.
"What's the matter with you guys?" demanded Two Strokes heatedly. "You act like you've never seen my dick before."
"Not with a splinter in it," said Nicholas with an evil grin. "We'd also like to see just how big of an internal splint it takes to finally stiffen up that limp little thing of yours!"
Two Strokes' face turned so red that the other boys thought that his head would explode. He opened his mouth several times before he spoke. "At least my 'limp little thing' found its way into a pussy, and I didn't need a splint, internal or external, to do it," he returned with a triumphant stare. Then he delivered the coup de grace while staring pointedly at Nicholas's virgin crotch. "Unlike some people I could mention!"
The other boys oohed and snickered. Todd laughed quietly, thinking "Well done, Two Strokes! Game set and match!"
Two Strokes jumped off the table. He snatched up the offered needle and tweezers, went to his bunk, and sat down, his back to the gathered audience. He fiddled in the front of his briefs, and then stared at the needle in his right hand. He swallowed and turned, white-faced, to face the other cadets. "I can't do it," he croaked. "I can't stand needles."
Harry roared with laughter. "Looks like Matron gets lucky, because I am definitely not touching your dick."
There was a chorus of agreement from the other cadets. They all adamantly refused to help Two Strokes remove the splinter. Then Cory returned from his shower.
The Devil was in Cory this night. He was not all that hot to trot about Two Strokes and could not pass up the opportunity to revenge himself for all the snide cracks that Two Strokes had made in the past month. Cory's eyes glistened evilly. He waited patiently for his moment to arrive.
Tyler and the other Chiefs, hearing the noise, came into the Gunroom and gathered around the hapless Two Strokes. Tyler, in his role as Master at Arms, demanded to see the injured party. A self-inflicted wound was cause for a charge. Two Strokes reluctantly pulled down the front of his briefs. "It is not, damn it, a self-inflicted wound!" he shouted. "It's a Harry-inflicted wound. He dragged me across the table."
Tyler considered this for a moment. "Consider that a lesson. Don't play with Harry." He turned to Harry who grinned at him. "Harry, try not to be so rough with the children."
Two Strokes puffed up with anger and indignation. "Oh, that's just great. I have a splinter in my dick and you tell Harry not to play rough. Come on, Tyler, you're my Chief. Please take the splinter out."
Tyler shook his head. "Not me. The only dick I touch is my own. How about you, Val?"
Val, who had been into the grappa, declined. "He got it in there, he can get it out." He turned to Mark and Tony. "Unless one of you would like to help a Canadian sailor in distress?"
"I'm all for international co-operation," replied Mark gravely, "but I don't co-operate with another guy's dick, thank you."
Tony nodded his head in agreement. "I somehow think that Nelson did not have taking a splinter out of a guy's dick in mind when he talked about a Band of Brothers."
Two Strokes gave the Americans a sour look and then glared at Harry. "Damn it, Harry . . ." he sputtered.
"Let Harry take it out." Val grinned widely and waved his hand toward Harry. Harry looked at Val over the rim of his glass. "I don't think so," he said as a menacing smile spread across his face.
Everyone promptly agreed that Harry was not the man for the job.
"Well, fuck, guys, somebody's got to do it. I can't leave it in there," whined Two Strokes.
Cory casually walked over and looked into Two Stroke's briefs. "I'll do it, if you like," he said with feigned casualness.
Two Strokes almost fainted at the offer. "Oh, no! No, you won't!" he howled. He pulled up the front of his underpants, flopped on his bed and pulled the coverlet over his head. "Cory is definitely, never, ever going to touch my dick. No way, no how!" he howled.
"Suit yourself. I offered." Cory strolled back to his bunk and began to dress, pulling on white boxers and his spare pair of gym shorts.
Tyler raised his eyes toward the deckhead and then bent down and addressed the curled, covered lump that was Two Strokes. "Two Strokes? Are you in there?" Tyler asked soothingly.
"Of course I am! Where the fuck do you think I'd go?" snapped Two Strokes angrily. He buried his head under his pillow.
"Two Strokes, you have to listen to me." Tyler's voice was velvet. "You can either go to Sick Bay and have Matron removed the splinter, or Cory will do it for you. You can't leave that thing in there. Your penis is a very delicate organ. You don't want to get an infection, do you?" The coverlet shook. "Well?" "Only if he promises not to do anything to me." Two Strokes was wavering. Every time he moved the splinter seemed to dig just a tad deeper into his most precious possession.
Tyler motioned for Cory to come over. "Two Strokes, Cory is only trying to help. He's not going to do anything but take the splinter out. Isn't that right, Cory?"
Cory nodded, a false look of concern on his face.
Two Strokes peeked out from under his pillow. "I suppose he has to hold it."
Tyler sighed. "Two Strokes, the splinter is in your dick. Of course he has to hold it. How else can he get the splinter out?"
Two Strokes considered this. He pulled the coverlet down. "Well, okay. But he has to promise not to try anything funny. And do all you guys have to witness it?" The gathered crowd nodded in unison. "Sheeit," moaned Two Strokes. "Okay, but I mean it Cory, no funny business."
Cory assumed a hurt look. "I promise, Roger, I will be as gentle with your dick as if it were my own, which, as you know, is very precious to me. Besides, would I harm The Pride of the Fleet?"
"That's Harry," Two Strokes pointed out crankily. "Mine is very handsome, one that any man would be proud to own."
"And so it is," cooed Cory. "Now get out of bed, take off your underpants, and lie down on the table."
"What? I am not lying on that fucking table. I might get a splinter in my ass, and wouldn't you have fun with that!"
"Two Strokes, we'll put a thick, blanket over the table. You have to lie down there. I need the light to see," explained Cory patiently.
"You could also use a magnifying glass," snickered Fred.
"To see the splinter?" asked Chris, always willing to play the straight man.
Fred shook his head. "No, to find Two Strokes' dick."
"That did it!" shouted Two Strokes. He dived back under the covers. "It's bad enough that I have a splinter in my dick, I don't have to take these insults!"
Tyler made a face and waved his fist at Fred. Mark and Tony, totally absorbed in the drama going on in front of their eyes, all but choked to death in trying to stifle their laughter. Tyler sat down on the bunk and rubbed Two Strokes' back. "Come on, Roger, Fred didn't mean it," he said soothingly.
"No, no I didn't," confirmed Fred. "I was just trying to lighten up the situation." He grinned stupidly at Tyler and shrugged.
"Roger, you have to make up your mind. Do you want Cory to take the splinter out or do you want to go and see Matron?" asked Tyler, continuing his massage.
"Which do you want?"
"It will hurt," whined Two Strokes.
"Just a little," agreed Cory. "But a good stiff shot of rum will take the pain away."
"Well . . ." Two Strokes appeared to be weakening.
"I'll get the rum." Chris grabbed Harry's bottle and poured a generous slug into a cup. "Here, Roger, get this down you."
Two Strokes threw the covers aside and sat up. He reached for the cup of rum and downed it in one gulp. "Okay, Cory can do it. But no funny stuff!"
"I already said I wouldn't, didn't I?" replied Cory. "Now take off your underpants and lie down on the table."
Jon spread a thick sea blanket on the table and the cadets watched as Two Strokes, blushing furiously, pushed his briefs down and off. With as much dignity as he could muster he climbed onto the mess table and closed his eyes. The cadets gathered on either side of the table, staring alternately at Cory and at Two Strokes' splinter-pierced tackle.
"Okay, this is what I'll need," began Cory, taking charge. "I'll need some antiseptic. Todd, you can get it from the First Aid kit. I'll need the tweezers and a needle. Also, some clean towels. Clean handkerchiefs would be better."
"I have some clean handkerchiefs. They've never been out of the box," offered Nicholas. He rummaged in his locker and handed Cory a box of brand-new linen handkerchiefs. "My mother packed them. I almost forgot that they were there."
Cory nodded and assumed his clinical mode. He opened the box and, using the tweezers, took out the handkerchiefs, which he placed on the table beside Two Strokes.
"What are they for?" asked Chris, totally absorbed in what Cory was doing.
"To drape the area. You always drape the working area so that only the part you're working on is exposed," explained Cory. This was total bullshit. Cory had once seen a medical documentary on television and was repeating what he had seen.
"Where did you learn that?" asked Tony, impressed at Cory's expertise.
"Could someone bring me a bowl of hot water and some liquid soap?" asked Cory. "I have to wash my hands." This also was total bullshit. He'd seen many movies with medical scenes in them and the doctor always washed his hands and asked for hot water. He forgot that most of the scenes involved childbirth. "To answer your question, Tony, the Headmaster's son at our school is a pecker checker with the militia. I used to help him with his anatomy and something called management of wounds."
Todd was standing to one side, his arms crossed, laughing so hard inside that his liver ached. Not only did he know the Medical Assistant Cory was talking about; he also knew just what kind of anatomy they had been studying and that any "wound" either of them had sustained had been when they were both about three days old.
Nicholas carried in a bowl of hot water and placed it on the table. Todd watched as Cory made a great production of washing his hands thoroughly. He ostentatiously held his hands in the air, something he had also seen in the documentary, and bent down and looked at his subject. Assuming what he hoped was a professional look, Cory nodded sagely and pretended to study Two Strokes' slim, very sleek, soft, two-and-a-half inch penis. Just below Two Strokes' pale tan circumcision ring was a tiny bit of wood imbedded in the flesh of his penis. Cory nodded knowingly. "All right, Roger, here we go. First, I'm going to drape the area."
Two Strokes grimaced and nodded.
Using the tweezers Cory picked up a clean handkerchief and gently placed it under Two Strokes' penis, so that the handkerchief was flush against the base of his shaft. Cory draped another handkerchief over Two Strokes' pubic area and lower stomach. Then he draped a clean handkerchief on either side of Two Strokes' flaccid organ. "Now, Val, open up one of the packets of antiseptic," directed Cory. "Don't touch the swab."
Val did as directed and Cory plucked the dark, coppery coloured swab from the package. He gently smeared the injured area with Betadine. What had been tan and pale pink was now a deep, reddish, coppery colour. Cory rubbed his hands together. Two Strokes peeked out from under his arm and saw Cory's gesture. "What that's in aid of?" he demanded to know.
"I am merely warming my hands," Cory assured his patient. "I have to hold your di . . . penis, and you would want my hands to be warm, wouldn't you?"
"I always warm my hands before I milk the cows," put in Harry. "They like warm hands."
"I am not a cow! And my dick is not some tit!" flared Two Strokes.
"Harry, you're not helping," warned Tyler.
"Sorry."
"Yes, you surely are," retorted Two Strokes.
Cory placed the needle and tweezers on another clean handkerchief and had Nicholas pour a packet of antiseptic over his instruments. This done he looked at Two Strokes. "Now then, Roger, I have to hold your dick," he said importantly.
"I know that. Get on with it!" snarled Two Strokes in reply.
Cory nodded. He had planned on telling Two Strokes that, being a normal, healthy, and presumably horny 17- year-old, he would have a reaction and bone up. However, since Two Strokes was being bloody ungrateful, Cory thought, "Screw him," and picked up the needle. With his left hand he gently cupped Two Strokes' soft dick. It fit perfectly in Cory's hand, with room to spare. Cory squeezed Two Strokes' dick, holding it firmly. Then, holding the needle lengthways, he gently pushed the bottom of the small splinter of wood up. He realized almost at once that the splinter was not in all that deep and would come out with little effort, probably without using the tweezers. However, since he did have an audience standing around holding their collective breath, he decided to play the crowd. He gave Two Strokes' dick a gentle squeeze. "Almost there, Roger." he murmured. A Harvard trained surgeon could not have been more professional looking.
Two Strokes had never had another person's hand on his dick before. Being a normal, healthy, horny, 17-year- old, he reacted as Cory expected. He could feel Cory's warm hand enveloping his dick. He could also feel his dick starting to harden. He groaned and turned beet red.
"Jesus Christ, he's getting a hardon," gasped Greg, watching wide-eyed as Two Strokes' dick lengthened to almost six inches of deep red, hard, flesh.
Holding Two Strokes' stiff penis down, Cory nodded. "It's just a natural, quite normal, involuntary reaction to digital stimulation," he babbled. "It's not a problem. I'm almost finished."
The other cadets nodded their understanding. Who wouldn't bone up if some other guy were holding your dick in his hand? It was, indeed, a natural, quite normal reaction.
With a flourish Cory dropped the needle, picked up the tweezers, and plucked the offending sliver of wood from Two Strokes' rigid dick. "And there, gentlemen, is the splinter," he announced dramatically. He held it up for all to see. As all eyes turned to look at the splinter Cory slowly drew his hand along Two Strokes' hardon, squeezing it gently and in the process running his thumb across the curving glans.
Two Strokes felt his balls tighten and his dick trembled. "Oh, no, not now!" he thought, inwardly cringing at the thought of what he feared would happen.
Just at that moment Brian and Dylan stormed into the Gunroom. Brian was waving a forty pounder of rum over his head. "Hey, guys, welcome home. I come bearing a gift," crowed Brian.
As the assembled cadets turned to look at the new arrivals Cory's hand brushed gently against the sensitive underside of Two's Strokes' dick, his fingers caressing ever so gently the small knot of scar tissue just under the curving ridge of Two Strokes' circumcised penis. This was probably the most sensitive spot on Two Strokes' body and he trembled because . . .
Two Strokes had been aptly named. He had a hair trigger at the best of times and Cory's quite deliberate stimulation pushed him over the edge. His face contorted, his back arched and his dick spasmed, sending a warm jet of his watery semen into Cory's palm. In quick succession two more streams squirted, filling Cory's cupped hand. Two Strokes' gasped as the pleasure flooded through him.
Cory, grinning inwardly, pretended to be horrified. He released Two Strokes' twitching cock and quickly pulled the top handkerchief over it, hiding the semen-streaked organ. He snatched up the antiseptic stained handkerchief and rubbed it over his palm, wiping away the evidence.
Two Strokes was mortified. "Jesus," he thought, "the guy goes to all that trouble to help me, and I go and blow my load in his hand." He sat up quickly and bent over. He tried to wipe his penis clean but the tip was so sensitive he had to stop.
"Hey, Two Strokes, are you all right?" asked Jon, hurrying to his friend's side. Two Strokes nodded slowly. "Just a little pain, is all."
"Yeah, I should think so," commiserated Jon. "How about another drink?"
"Good idea," groaned Two Strokes. Jon hurried off to get the booze.
Cory accepted the congratulations for a successful surgery with feigned embarrassment. When the crowd dispersed and settled down for a recuperative drink, Todd sidled up to his brother.
"You did that deliberately, didn't you?" he sniggered.
"What?" asked Cory, all sweetness and light.
"You deliberately made Two Strokes get a hardon. I don't know how you did it, but you did. And don't give me any of that natural, normal, crap."
"It is a perfectly normal, expected reaction," insisted Cory. A sly look came over his face. "I suppose then you don't want to know how I made him cum?" he asked with a wicked grin.
Todd almost choked. Then his jaw dropped. "You didn't!" he gasped.
Cory waggled his eyebrows and grinned an evil grin. "Drink?"
While the other cadets settled around the table for what they thought was a well-deserved, post-trauma drink, Two Strokes wrapped a towel around his waist and hurried into the washplace and showered, scrubbing away the discolouring antiseptic and the drying residue of his orgasm. As he stood under the stream of water pouring from the showerhead the anger that he felt at himself burned in him. While he was very embarrassed about getting a hardon, and mortified that he'd shot his load in Cory's hand, he had to admit it had been very satisfying. Cory's gentle hand and deft fingers had inadvertently caused a massive orgasm, quite unlike any he had ever had before.
Two Strokes' feeling of euphoria was quickly replaced with a feeling of self-loathing. It was bad enough that he had shot his load into Cory's hand but what made matters all the worse was that Cory had been such a gentleman about it, first defending his hardon, then covering his still spurting dick and pretending that it was all just a natural accident, compounding everything by not saying a word.
Two Strokes turned the water off and shook his head. "Damn it," he thought. He had suddenly realized that, despite all his loudmouthed cracks and mild insults, he actually cared for the Twins, Cory most of all. Todd and Cory were good friends, as they had demonstrated time and again, and would do anything needed to help out, never complaining, always willing to go the extra mile for their messmates. They could, and did, chuck shit with the best of them, giving as good as they got. It was just that they were, well, they were queers. He was not supposed to like queers. Everybody said that queers were naturally no good, creatures to be shunned.
He sat on the bench, idly rubbing his parts with his towel. Everybody said that if you met a queer he would try to do you, to suck your dick, maybe try to fuck you up the ass, especially if you were young and not bad looking. Yet neither Cory nor Todd had ever tried anything funny. Sure, they kidded around, but then so did the other guys. Neither one of the Twins had ever tried to cop a feel. Hell, if the truth was told, he was the one who had squeezed Cory's balls, the morning of the Church Parade. And if the truth was further told it had not been Cory who had been stimulated and excited when they slept together on Texada, and again on Harwood. It had been him, Roger Home, big macho Regulating Petty Officer Two Strokes, who not once, but twice, had popped a boner and beat his meat, his hind end pressed firmly against an unsuspecting Cory's body while he did it!
That first night, as they lay together, snuggled under the thick blankets, Two Strokes had awoken with a hardon. He was lying on his back, his hip pressed against Cory's warm bum. He had rolled on his side, pulled aside the sleeping bag he sleeping on and beat off furiously, spurting into the sand.
The second night, after Cory had given him a thump and snatched away that stupid clasp knife that he brought to bed, Two Strokes had put his arm around Cory, and held him tightly, revelling in the warmth of Cory's smooth body. He had drifted off and then awoken, his boner pressed neatly into Cory's soft butt crack. Two Strokes had lain there, his dick pulsing, listening to Cory's slow, steady breathing, afraid to move for fear his dick would explode. Then he had felt Cory's hand reach around, probing whatever it was that was poking him in the ass. Galvanized, he had rolled quickly on his side, which was fortunate, for his balls tightened and pumped. He did not have to touch himself. An avalanche of exquisite pleasure roared through Two Strokes as his dick jerked and spasmed, adding more and more of his semen to the growing pool forming near the edge of the sleeping bag and soiling it. When, finally, his eruption slackened and then ceased, he had lain there, so in the thrall of one of the best orgasms that he had ever had that he could scarcely breathe. The next morning he could have sworn that his body was still glowing.
As Two Strokes thought of those two nights he played idly with his semi-hard penis. While he recalled the pleasure of his second orgasm, his dick hardened and he unconsciously made every effort to repeat it as he slowly stroked his hard cock. For once his hair trigger failed to function and he stroked slowly for longer than he had ever done before. All too soon he could feel the wondrous feeling building, first in his balls, then spreading to engulf his entire body. Two Strokes pushed his hips up and out, his boner tightly gripped in his hand. He groaned, his dark eyes tightly shut, his teeth clenched as he gave himself over to the power that streaked through him. As his slit gaped and a huge torrent of milky white, thin semen flew out he moaned and writhed, bucking slightly, thrusting as each successive stream squirted onto the concrete floor. When, finally, his dick stopped twitching Two Strokes tried to clean the residue from his curving helmet, which was so sensitive that he practically leaped from the bench every time he tried to wipe the excess spunk away.
As he waited for his hormones to settle down and his dick to return to at least a semblance of normality, Two Strokes considered that he had cum four times in two days, once almost in the ass of the boy who he now realized was one of the best friends he could ever hope to have. He had also creamed that same boy's hand. He had slept with that boy. He had held that boy's body as tightly as he could against his own. He had rubbed his hard dick against that boy's soft, warm ass.
As he rose gingerly to his feet Two Strokes had a thought. "Who, then," he wondered, "is the queer in all of this?"
When he returned to the Gunroom Two Strokes was forced to undergo a post-operative inspection. Cory, as Surgeon-in-Chief, reviewed his handiwork. Except for an almost invisible redness over the entrance wound caused by the tiny splinter, Two Strokes' dick was clean and unmarked. "There will be no scar," he announced ponderously.
Todd almost peed himself trying to contain his laughter.
"Is it going to get hard again?" asked Brian, which earned him a cuff from Dylan.
The assembled cadets laughed and clapped and permitted Two Strokes to put on some clean briefs. The briefs came down almost immediately. Rob, David and Ryan had wandered into the Gunroom and, upon hearing of the splinter, demanded to see Cory's handiwork. Much to everyone's surprise Two Strokes, who had a prudish nature in him as wide as the room, agreed. He lowered the front of his briefs and allowed them a good, long, look. When everyone's curiosity was satisfied Two Stroke's sat down beside Cory. Their thighs were touching and Cory could feel Two Strokes' warmth through the thin cotton briefs he was wearing.
Tyler and Rob began regaling the cadets with their unexpurgated tales of derring-do on the high seas and the noise level in the room rose steadily, as everyone who had actually been on the trip just had to put in their own version of events. Two Strokes put his arm around Cory's shoulder. He squeezed gently and bent his head, his mouth an inch or so from Cory's ear. "Thanks, Cory," he said as loud as he dared, "Thanks for everything."
Cory smiled and gave Two Strokes' knee a pat. "Two Strokes, you don't owe me anything."
"Yeah, I do," replied Two Strokes. "You could have made a big deal out of my . . . well, you know, in your hand."
Cory giggled. "It happens, so don't beat yourself over the head about it."
"Well, thanks for not saying anything. And I am truly sorry for being such a shit to you and Todd. Please don't lump me in with the same lot as Little Big Man."
Cory smiled and squeezed Two Strokes' knee. "Roger, we would never do that. You are far above that little prick." He smiled again and leaned over to whisper in Two Strokes' ear. "This does not mean that we are going to take long, warm showers together during the Middle Watch."
Two Strokes' face tightened, then brightened. "I'm usually free during the Dogs. How about then?"
Cory reached over and gave Two Strokes a huge hug. "Two Strokes, you are officially forgiven. Now, lets have a drink."
Tyler and Mark sat at the end of the Gunroom table watching the antics of the Canadian cadets. Harry had decided to take on all comers in arm wrestling. He even agreed to take them on two at a time. He was winning handily and had not yet been beaten. Tyler noticed that the Twins and Two Strokes were sitting about halfway down the table, out of the line of fire, chatting quietly, laughing and making the odd face as they discussed the weekend. Jon and Chris were standing beside Nicholas, who was waiting his turn to arm wrestle Harry. Greg was hovering about, vowing revenge for his earlier defeat.
A shout went up and Tony, defeated, came and sat down beside Mark. "Jesus, is Harry strong," exclaimed Tony. "I thought for a minute my arm was going to come out of the socket." He rubbed his aching shoulder.
"Hey, that reminds me." Mark stood up and pulled off his tee. "Look at this." He pointed to a newly acquired tattoo decorating his left arm.
Tyler looked at the white, green, and gold, stylized rose tattoo. "You do know that's the White Rose of York, don't you, Mark?"
Mark looked at the tattoo. He laughed. "All I know is that it's not the last rose of summer. I saw it in the tattoo parlour and had the guy do it." Tony snorted. "It was either that or a garter snake."
"A garter snake?" asked Tyler. "What are you talking about?"
Tony grinned and poured himself a fresh drink. "Me and Mr. America here, we go down to the docks one night. We're half in the bag and Mark says he wants to get a tattoo. I say he's nuts." He took a sip of his drink. "We find this tattoo parlor and we go in. We look at all these pictures of tattoos and such and Mark falls in love with this fucking snake tattoo."
"It was a python," moaned Mark, as if in the throes of lust, "A beautiful python."
"Who's telling this story? You or me?" asked Tony darkly. Mark motioned for him to carry on. Tony nodded and carried on. "So, Mark says to the guy that he wants the snake tattoo. Only he wants it on his dick."
"His dick? You didn't!" exclaimed Tyler.
Mark blushed and shrugged. "I was pissed. What can I say?"
"Anyway," growled Tony, "the tattoo guy says he'll do it, but it's awfully painful. Mark says that's okay, he plays football and is used to pain. I say balls, since Mr. Big High School Football Jock spent most of last season sitting on the bench playing with his!"
Tyler looked at Mark and laughed. "Another illusion shattered." He turned to Tony. "So, what happened to the snake?"
"Well, the guy says for Mark to drop his pants and his shorts, which he does," continued Tony. "The guy looks at Mark's dick, then he looks at the tattoo of the python, then he shakes his head and says, 'Well, son, the python is out, but I have a very nice garter snake that just might fit.'"
Tyler laughed so hard he strained himself and Mark, who swore that every word of Tony's story was true, laughed so hard at himself he cried. Tony fell off thebench, which caused another fit of laughter.
There was another shout from the far end of the Gunroom. Another candidate had bitten the dust. They watched as Ryan, all 5 feet and 100 pounds of him, muckled onto Harry's heavy fist. Ryan grunted, groaned, and strained, the sweat pouring from him, plastering his black hair to his head. Try as he might, he could not move Harry's arm.
Harry grinned. "Tough little fucker, aren't you?"
Ryan growled low. "Just wait, you big ox."
Harry roared with laughter and watched as David sidled around behind Ryan. He winked at David who winked back and reached down, whipping down Ryan's blue shorts, revealing a very well formed behind covered by black, white banded briefs.
"Hey!" yelled Ryan, letting go of Harry's fist. He flew backwards, tumbling over David and landing on Harry's bunk. Snapping, snarling, and threatening David with mayhem and murder, Ryan was struggling to extricate himself from the wreckage of Harry's bedclothes when Rob calmly walked over, reached down and flung the boy over his shoulder. He gave Ryan's briefs-clad bum a resounding smack.
"Behave yourself, you little git," Rob ordered. "We're guests here."
Ryan immediately stopped his wiggling and went limp. His shorts fell softly to the deck. Then he moaned. "Agaaiin," he groaned, his voice reeking of lust. He ground his crotch against Rob's bare chest. "Do it agaaiin."
Rob coloured and very quickly threw Ryan back on Harry's bed. Ryan writhed seductively, offering the small mound pushing out the front of his underpants to a thoroughly startled and nonplussed Rob. "Take me, Rob," he moaned in mock ecstasy. "You know how I love it when you do it rough!" He groaned loudly then sat up and offered his arms to his friend. "Take me, pleaaase!"
Harry and Greg roared as Rob, who had finally realized what Ryan was up to, lunged. "You little Frog bastard!" he howled.
Ryan nimbly rolled from the bunk, leaped to his feet and took off, heading for the door, where he collided with Stuart, who was just coming into the Gunroom. Rob was about to snatch Ryan to his feet when Tyler took control and told both of them to settle down and to go and play at the other end of the Gunroom. He poured Stuart a drink and returned to his seat.
Mark shook his head and then waved his arm, his gesture encompassing the whole Gunroom. "What is it with you guys?" he asked. "You all have some sort of religious conviction against wearing pants?"
Tyler and Val roared. "Look who's talking," Tyler said between gales of laughter. "I seem to recall the last time a certain Master Chief visited this place it didn't take much to get his pants off of him."
"When in Rome . . ." replied Mark airily.
When their laughter finally subsided, Stuart turned to Todd. "I almost forgot," he said. "There's some American Sea Cadet outside looking for Petty Officer Arundel."
"Which one?" asked Todd. "There are two of us." Stuart shrugged. "He didn't say. I didn't ask. All I know is the way he's dressed he's either going to a wedding or a funeral."
Cory, who had a fairly good idea just who the American Sea Cadet was, suddenly had a consuming desire to join the gladiators at the end of the table. "Come on, Two Strokes. Let's whup Harry's ass."
Todd looked at his brother's retreating back. As he left the Gunroom, he wondered if Cory's hasty retreat to the end of the Gunroom had anything to do with the young American cadet standing in the barracks yard.
When Todd stepped onto the barracks stoop he saw a white uniformed, young cadet, pacing back and forth. He was having an animated conversation with himself, obviously rehearsing what he was going to say. He was squeezing his Dixie cup cap tightly. On the left sleeve of his white jumper Todd saw the single chevron, crossed anchors and eagle of the American cadet's rank: Petty Officer Third Class. On the right sleeve were the crossed signal flags of his trade: a Bunting Tosser.
The American cadet was about 5 feet, 7 inches tall, muscled, with a long, oval, firm-jawed face. He had curling black hair and a high, wide, brow. He also had one hell of a good ass and, if the neat package bulging the front of his tight bell-bottoms was any indication, a very nice set of tackle. He turned and looked at Todd, his soft, yet masculine features creased by a shy smile. His most arresting features were his flaming sapphire eyes.
Todd, who was quite taken with the young man, smiled back. "Hi. I hear you're looking for Petty Officer Arundel."
The young man nodded. "Yes. Can I speak with him, please?"
"There are two of them. Which one did you want?"
The young man ducked his head. "Petty Officer Cory Arundel, please."
"And one part of the puzzle plops noisily into place," thought Todd. "He's a little busy right now. I'm his brother, Todd Arundel. Can I take a message?"
The young man paled and took a step back. "Please, don't hit me." He held up his hands. "I only want to talk to him, to tell him that I'm sorry for what I did."
Todd regarded the young man quizzically. "First of all, I don't usually hit guys I don't know. Second of all, I don't know what you did." He sat down on the stoop and patted the cold concrete. "And third of all, I don't like talking up, or down, to people. Sit."
The young man gulped and nodded. "Yes, Petty Officer."
When the young man had settled himself Todd looked at him. "My name is Todd, not Petty Officer, okay?" The young man nodded. "And you are?"
"Nathan Berman." Nathan was about to add his catch phrase when he remembered the stinging rebuke he had received from Mark and Tony in the berthing deck and closed his mouth.
"Well, that's a start. Now, tell me, Nathan, why would you think I would want to hit you?"
"Master Chief van Beck said that when you found out about me and Cory, you'd get angry and you have a big fist . . ."
"Stop!" ordered Todd. "I don't know anything about you and Cory, so I can hardly get angry. Mind you, I do have a big fist when it comes to my brother. Why don't you tell me what happened?" Nathan looked at Todd. There was no anger in his bright blue eyes, and his calm face radiated serenity.
Up to a point Nathan told Todd what had happened. He had a nice, gentle voice, and the depth of emotion he demonstrated whenever he spoke Cory's name made Todd realize that as far as this sad young man was concerned Cory was no afternoon delight to be quickly forgotten. Nathan did not elaborate on what he and Cory had been doing. "So, after I called him those names, he got real mad," he finished, almost in tears.
"And hit you?" Todd eyes were twinkling with hidden laughter. This was better than a soap opera.
Nathan nodded. "Right on the chin. For a while I thought he'd broken my jaw." Todd grinned. "He has a mean right hook, has Cory. You should, however, consider yourself lucky. In moments of stress he's been known to bite."
"He bites?" Nathan's eyes widened.
"He can be very vicious," replied Todd earnestly. This was a bald lie, but Todd was enjoying himself. "That having been said, now tell me what you want from him."
Nathan grabbed Todd's bare arm. "Please, Petty Officer, I mean, Todd. All I want to do is to tell him that I'm sorry. I just want to talk to him. That's all. He's got to know I didn't mean to call him those names. As God is my witness, I didn't mean to hurt him. I just want to apologize to him, that's all."
Nathan was obviously in distress and quite sincere in his need to apologize to Cory. Todd decided to take pity on the boy. "Nathan, Cory can be very stubborn when he wants to be," he said gently. "He was obviously very hurt by what you said to him. I'm not sure that he'll want to talk to you."
"Please, can't you talk to him? You're his brother. Can't you do anything?"
"I can't make Cory do anything he doesn't want to do. I don't doubt that you're sorry for what happened. I also don't doubt that you're very sincere in wanting to make your apology to him. I figure anybody who gets into his best rig just to make an apology has got to be sincere."
Nathan smiled. "Well, my mother always told me to dress well and make an impression."
"She was right," laughed Todd. "You've impressed me. But why are you here? Like I said, Cory can be a right stubborn cuss, and if you've pissed him off . . ."
"I don't want to lose him," Nathan said simply.
"That's it?"
Nathan nodded. "That's it. I don't want to lose him."
Todd put his arm around Nathan's shoulder and squeezed his leg. "Nathan, all I can do is tell him you came by. If he wants to speak with you, he will. I can't promise anything, but I will talk to him. Okay?"
Nathan nodded and stood up. "That's all I can ask, then. It was nice meeting you, Todd."
"I'll talk to him," promised Todd. "Say, when do you guys go back to Seattle?"
"Wednesday noon."
"Then I have two days and bit to work on him."
When Todd returned to the Gunroom Cory and Two Strokes were just returning, defeated, from their attempt to best Harry. Mark was sitting at the end of the table, alone. Tyler and Val, with Tony along for moral support, waited their turn with Harry. "Trouble?" asked Mark when Todd sat down.
Todd shook his head. "Not for me. Cory just had a gentleman caller." He could barely control his laughter. "Shit, I felt like I should be sitting in our library at home, listening while the guy stated his intentions."
Mark nodded and chuckled. "It could only be Nathan, who's not Jewish, by the way."
Todd looked blankly at Mark. "He never said he was. He never said he was not, for that matter."
Mark roared. "Well, goddamn, goddamn, maybe Tony is right." He told Todd about Tony's assertion that Nathan had been hit by the thunderbolt. When Todd stopped laughing, he asked Mark what Nathan was really like. "He's a bit of a jerk. His people have big bucks, and his uncle is a power in the Democratic Party. He likes to remind everybody of that. But Nathan does work hard; I'll give him that. He's not too bad once you get to know him. It's just that, well, he has this thing about being Jewish. He just can't understand that nobody cares, that nobody automatically associates his last name as being Jewish."
"Cory will knock that out of him once they get together."
Mark stared. "You don't really think that's going to happen, do you?"
Todd grinned and nodded. "Nathan seems very . . . determined. He's not going to give up until Cory either talks to him or kills him."
Mark nodded toward Tony. "I know how Nathan feels."
Todd nodded. "You might drift by the Ropewalk. I think I forgot to lock the door when I put away some of the gear this afternoon." He smiled. "I also think that if you look in the locker near the door you'll find that some kind soul has stored some blankets in there."
Mark returned the smile and murmured, "In thank case, I think I'll ask Tony if he'd like to go for a walk." His eyes brightened. "Who knows, we might just drift by the Ropewalk and check out how Canadian Sea Cadets store their blankets."
When First Post blared over the loudspeaker Mark and Tony took their leave. They were under Sailing Orders for 0600. Although they would not actually sail until after 0900, there was a lot of pre-operations work to be done. They would be steaming with the YAGs all day. Before he and Tony left Mark reminded Tyler of his request to be photographed. Tyler looked at Nicholas who said, "How about tomorrow? I can get a proper camera from Base tomorrow morning and do the job properly." The other boys took the hint and began to say their goodbyes. Tomorrow was another working day and they all needed their sleep.
Rob glanced at Ryan, who had fallen asleep on Harry's bunk. He smiled, picked the sleeping boy up, and slung him over his shoulder. "The little French git is pissed," he said, patting Ryan's butt affectionately. "You little scut" He rubbed his head against Ryan's waist. Ryan muttered, stirred slightly, and then settled down.
"Why don't you just leave him here?" asked David. "And you better hope he doesn't puke down your back. He looked around the Gunroom, then under the bed.
"I can't find his shorts."
"He has his own bed to sleep in and that's where he's going to sleep. Don't worry about his shorts." Rob ruffled Ryan's already mussed hair. "You won't puke on me, will you?"
"Won't puke on Robbie. Wanna sleep in my bed," muttered Ryan, shaking his head. "Thanks, Robbie."
Rob blushed. "You're welcome, my little friend." He patted Ryan's briefs-covered bum again. "You are most surely welcome."
With their guests gone the Gunroom cadets began to settle in for the night. Fred, Greg and Nicholas crawled into their bunks and were soon fast asleep. Harry, Cory and Two Strokes went off to shower. Todd was about to join them when Chris called him over.
"Jon and I are going for Cokes. You want the keys to Boatswain Stores?" Todd could see Jon idling in the doorway. "You sure you won't be using them?" Chris saw Todd looking in Jon's direction. "Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. Or maybe never."
Todd looked knowingly at Chris. "Be careful. Be very careful."
"I plan to be," replied Chris. "If I don't think the time is right, I won't do anything."
Todd watched Chris and Jon leave the Gunroom. "Be very careful, Chris," he thought, "for the road you are about to go down is littered with rocks that will trip you every time. Be careful, Jon, because if you awaken the genie of your inner fears, you might never get him back in the bottle.
Chris and Jon sat on the bench in the breezeway flats, watching the stars that blanketed the overhead sky. The lone pale light burning in the Ship's Office barely dispelled the gloom. "You know, I'm going to miss this place," said Chris. "I'll miss the guys."
Jon nodded. "Me too. But you'll be back next year, won't you?"
Chris shook his head. "No. I'll be 18 in January, so I'll be pushing 19 by the time the next training period comes around. Besides, I don't much like the thought of the Wrens coming into the Sea Cadets."
"Don't you like girls?" Jon asked.
"Just to dance with and, you know, go out with. Not much else they let you do anyway."
"You got that right," agreed Jon. "In May I took this girl to the Prom. It cost me 50 bucks for the tickets, and I had to rent a tux, because she didn't want me wearing my uniform. Another 60 bucks shot. Plus money for the corsage my mother said I had to buy. All in all it cost 200 bucks."
"Wow!" exclaimed Chris. "I hope you at least got your end wet."
Jon snorted. "I got a feel, and that's all."
"You're kidding!"
Jon leaned back, his head resting against the windowsill. The thin light shone off his dark brown hair, picking out red highlights. "She told me I mustn't muss her dress. Then she said all I wanted was to get into her pants, which was true." He laughed quietly. "I ended up going home and doing what I always do. Beating off."
As Chris watched, Jon ran his hand across the crotch of his cut-offs, slowly massaging the bulge hidden under the denim. "The time before that, we're making out in the back seat of my dad's car, which I had to bribe my brother to let me use, and she lets me feel her tits, then she puts her hand down the front of my pants. She gives me a good feel, playing with my balls, gets me all hot, then, boom, she pulls her hand out." While he was speaking, Jon was rubbing his hand over the growing bulge in his shorts.
"What happened?" asked Chris, watching carefully as Jon massaged his now obvious hardon.
"She says it's gross. She say's it's all sticky and she isn't touching it. Well, fuck, Chris, sure it was sticky. I was leaking, you know, like you do just before you cum, and man, I was just about ready to blow my load." He sighed heavily. "Bitch!"
Chris watched as Jon's hand fell away from his bulge. Jon's eyes were closed, and his head was back. He was breathing heavily through slightly parted lips. Chris hesitated, and then ran his hand slowly across Jon's hardon, feeling the quite respectable length of it under the rough denim. Jon caught his breath, and then spread his legs. He did not push Chris' hand away.
Chris unbuttoned Jon's cut-offs and lowered the zipper. In the dim light he could see that Jon was not wearing any underwear. Chris ran his hand over Jon's thick, curly, pubic bush and felt the warm stiffness. At his touch Jon raised his hips slightly and Chris pulled the rock hard organ out. He continued to watch Jon's face as he slowly pumped Jon's erection. He ran his thumb across Jon's blood-hardened helmet, wiping away a small drop of pre-cum that had oozed from the slit. Chris would have loved to feel Jon's respectable balls, which he knew hung low, but the tight shorts prevented it.
Jon made no sound as Chris continued to jerk him. Emboldened, Chris lowered his head and slowly sucked the firm, mushroom-shaped head of Jon's dick into his mouth. Jon whimpered once as Chris took all of him into his mouth, sucking softly. The only movements Jon made were short, slow upward thrusts as Chris' tongue curled under the rim of Jon's helmet, caressing his tender spot. Chris could taste the incredible sweetness of Jon's dick; smell the wonderful, clean, slightly musky smell of Jon's crotch. He wanted this blowjob to last, so he took his time, making small, almost imperceptible sucks on Jon's pulsing cock, luxuriating in the flavour of his precum.
As Chris sucked he felt Jon's dick thicken, pull back slightly, then push forward, and his mouth was flooded with Jon's wonderfully thick, sweet, semen. He swallowed greedily, taking every drop, continuing to suck until Jon pulled back.
Jon, a stricken look on his face, quickly stuffed his softening penis back into his cut-offs. He stood up and pulled up the zipper. "I, uh, I gotta go," he muttered. "I got, uh, duty tomorrow, early. I gotta go."
Without a backward glance Jon hurried toward the Gunroom, not knowing that Chris was smiling contentedly, pleased that he had just given Jon his first blowjob. Chris smacked his belly, filled with Jon's cum. "If it was as good as I think it was, Jon, you'll be back. Oh, yes, you'll be back," he chuckled quietly. "You'll be back."
The Twins had just settled themselves onto the barracks stoop when Jon came hurrying down the gravel path. He was pale under his tan and obviously distracted. He barely noticed the Twins and hardly acknowledged their greeting before entering the barracks. A few minutes later Chris strolled in, smiling happily.
"You look like the cat that swallowed the cream," grinned Todd.
Chris nodded. "Let's just say I got what I went looking for."
Cory and Todd exchanged a look. "I hope you know what you're doing, Chris," said Todd evenly. "Jon is Regulating Staff, and a good friend of Two Strokes."
"You object?" asked Chris. He sat down between the Twins and rubbed Todd's back. "I checked him out and I liked what I saw. He never objected. In fact, he never said a word. He just let me do what I wanted to do."
Todd shook his head. "I don't object at all. It was bound to happen. We both knew that sooner or later you'd want to meet other guys. I just worry that Jon might not be the best person to put the moves on."
"Don't worry about Jon," said Cory. "He won't say a word. They never do."
"The voice of experience," sniffed Todd, nodding his head toward Cory.
"As a matter of fact, yes." Cory grinned and pushed his hand down the front of Chris' shorts. He began to squeeze Chris's penis. "Jon let Chris do whatever it was Chris did. He either liked it, and will want more, or he liked it but his conscience will bother him and he won't come back for more. In any case he'll keep his mouth shut. It's the macho guy thing. He'll never admit that he had sex with another guy." All the while he was talking Cory was masturbating Chris, his hand slowly caressing the ultra-sensitive ridge under Chris's throbbing glans. Chris, unable to speak, and gasping in short, raspy breaths, thrust his hips upward as Cory's thumb crossed and re-crossed his helmet. Cory reached over with his free hand, pulled down the front of Chris' shorts and increased the tempo of his pumping.
Chris felt his rod thickening and lengthening as his balls contracted. He grunted loudly as an aurora borealis of exquisite pleasure exploded in his head. A small dribble of opaque semen bubbled from his slit, followed by jet after jet of high arcing cum, which splattered across his T-shirt-covered chest and oozed over Cory's tightly squeezing fingers.
When Chris finally finished shooting and spasming, Cory licked his fingers clean. Todd reached down and slowly massaged Chris' now soft dick, using the material of Chris' shorts to clean his dick. Chris yelped and pulled away. "Jesus, Todd!"
Todd grinned and stopped his ministrations. "Nice and tender, just the way it should be," he grinned.
Chris stretched his legs and shivered. "God, that was good." He kissed Cory, then Todd. "I haven't cum since last Thursday, and doing Jon sure made me horny."
Todd nodded his understanding. "I know the feeling. As a matter of fact I haven't cum since last Thursday." He snickered. "When we were with you."
Cory was conspicuously silent.
Chris looked at Todd, who shrugged. "Well, me for a shower," said Chris shooting an inquiring glance first at Cory, then at Todd. Todd shook his head so Chris kissed them both goodnight. Just as he went inside, the bugle sounded Lights Out. The barracks area went dark as someone, probably Chris, turned out the lights.
Todd waited patiently for Cory to make the next move. Cory sat humming quietly, drumming his fingers on his knees, waiting patiently for Todd to make the next move. After what seemed liked an eternity punctuated with heavy sighs and soft coughing, Todd cracked. "Well, Cory, it seems that you've had a very busy day," he said calmly, succeeding in keeping his curiosity under control.
"Yes, I have," agreed Cory, just as calmly. He was not about to give up anything.
Todd seemed to think for a moment. "It's amazes me what you do to while away a pleasant Sunday afternoon. You went for a sail, fell into the harbour, got laid, beat up an American cadet . . ."
"I did not!" interrupted Cory angrily. "I did not beat him up!"
Todd's right eyebrow arched imperceptively. Either Cory had not heard it - which was hard to believe - or he had deliberately chosen not to react to the crack about his getting laid. Todd suspected that Cory was so pissed off at Nathan for what the boy had done that he was never going to admit to having had sex with him. Could it be that Nathan had touched a chord just as deeply within Cory? Todd decided to probe deeper. "Whatever," he drawled, ignoring his brother's outburst. "Then you went to the beach, propositioned Phantom, came home, conned a Regulating Petty Officer into letting you poke at his dick with a needle . . ."
"Todd, I did not con anybody!" Cory interrupted again.
"Okay, I'll give you that," agreed Todd. "Then you manipulated the same Regulating Petty Officer into shooting his load . . ."
"Are you finished?" asked Cory icily.
Todd nodded. "More or less."
"Good."
"That's all you have to say?
"Oh, no," said Cory rounding on Todd. "You're one to talk about whiling away a pleasant Sunday afternoon. You're also one to talk about conning people because I seem to recall a pleasant Sunday afternoon when you conned a certain school prefect out of his Jockeys when you were supposed to be tutoring him for his chemistry finals."
"Quite true," agreed Todd. "The same school prefect who's Jockeys, if I recall correctly, ended up on your bedpost when you were supposed to be tutoring him in trig and calculus."
"Under the bed, actually," giggled Cory. "And they weren't Jockeys. They were Stanfields. They smelled of him. He had a wonderful smell."
Todd grimaced. "You actually kept his undies and smelled them?"
"He had a most intoxicating odour," replied Cory with a wistful smile, remembering. "They were tighty whiteys and I sniffed them for a week."
"Cory!"
"Well, he was nice, and he smelled nice, and you weren't around so . . ." Todd collapsed in laughter. Cory joined him. "When they started to smell musty I took them to school and asked him to trade them for the ones he was wearing. He wouldn't, the ungrateful bastard."
Todd convulsed and buried his head in Cory's shoulder, laughing so hard he couldn't talk. When, finally, he managed to gain some measure of control, Todd rubbed the inside of Cory's thigh. "We can always console ourselves with the fact that not only did he get straight A's, but also a scholarship to MIT."
Cory returned the gesture, and then slipped his hand into Todd's boxers. "Somebody's happy to see me," he chuckled, feeling Todd's warm penis stir and begin to rise.
"Happier than you were when Nathan came calling."
Cory withdrew his hand. "Nathan is a closed subject, Todd. Clear?"
Todd could have kicked himself for mentioning Nathan. He liked Nathan, and he felt deep down that Nathan was so taken with Cory that anything could happen. He sighed. Better now than tomorrow. "Cory, you just can't dismiss Nathan out of hand. He has deep feelings for you. Deeper than you know." He put his hand on Cory's shoulder. "He's not asking to sleep with you. All he wants is the opportunity to apologize. Nothing else."
"Nothing is exactly what he is going to get." Cory stood up, feeling his anger rising. "And nothing is what you're going to get tonight." He turned and opened the door to the barracks. "Nobody calls me names, Todd, nobody," said Cory with icy control.
Todd calmly rose, stood beside Cory, and then put his arms around him. "Cory, I love you with all my heart and soul. I will, if necessary, die for you." He kissed his brother deeply. "As long as I am alive no one will ever hurt you. No one will ever harm you in any way. I swear that to you."
Cory, his anger receding, was wiggling about. "Come on, Toddy. I know that."
"Then listen to me, please?"
Cory loved Todd and because he loved him he sat down again. "Cory, this afternoon you were intimate with another guy, namely Nathan." It was a statement of fact, not a question. Cory nodded. "He made a mistake. When you were fucking . . ."
"DON'T!" Cory's anger had returned. "Don't make it sound like a one night stand. It wasn't." He clenched and unclenched his fist. "It wasn't."
Todd caressed Cory's flushed face. "Cory, you feel something for him. You're pissed off at him right now, but that will pass. Nathan doesn't want to lose you."
"He already has. He lost me when he called me a bitch. I am nobody's bitch. Not his, not Chris', not yours!"
"Nathan didn't mean anything by what he said. How could he know that you don't like that sort of talk? How could he know?"
Cory pulled away from Todd. "Why are you defending him?" he demanded. "What's so great about Nathan?"
"Because I want to be sure that when I'm not around - and there will come a day when I won't be - I want to know that there will be someone there who loves you as much as I do, who will love you and protect you and just be there when you need him."
"So now you've taken on the job of Nathan's pimp," said Cory venomously. "Thank you so very much."
Todd shook his head sadly. "Cory, I am not 'pimping' for Nathan. All I am doing is asking you to give him another chance. All I am doing is asking you to just get to know him a little. Let him get to know you. Is that too much to ask?" "Yes. What's done is done. He had his chance and he blew it."
"So, you won't let him apologize?"
"No."
"Even after he got all dressed up in his best uniform just to come over here to apologize to you?" Todd nuzzled Cory's ear. "He probably put on fresh underpants as well."
"He can stand naked in the middle of the Parade Square at high noon or squat at the barracks gate wearing sackcloth and ashes for all I care."
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do." Todd might think that a little nuzzling and rubbing was going to make Cory change his mind. Todd had another think coming.
"Even when you know how much he loves you?" Todd began rubbing the front of Cory's shorts. "Even though you know he'll do whatever you want?"
Cory very firmly pushed Todd's hand away. "What I want is someone who treat's me with respect. What I want is someone who doesn't treat me like I'm some queen. What I want is someone who knows that he's in bed with a guy. Do you want me to spell the word?"
"No. You've made your point."
Cory went into the barracks and slammed the door behind him.
Todd yawned and stretched. Yessir, he thought, grinning broadly, they will make a very fine couple one day. Laughing quietly he got up and went into the barracks.