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 13
As the bugle notes signalled the end of another day Andy looked over to where Kyle was sitting and then reached up to turn out the lamp on the table beside his chair. The impromptu cocktail party had finally ended around 2200. Most of the guests had left at a decent hour but the American officers, led by their Commanding Officer, had stayed, and stayed, and stayed, putting a huge dent in Doc's carefully hoarded liquor supplies. Lieutenant Broadhurst had gotten drunk and been put to bed in Cabin 5 - recently vacated by Nigel - and, as Andy knew from bitter experience, he would be out for the count until at least 0800 tomorrow morning. Dave Eddy had toddled off well before time as he had the Middle Watch. No H had left at 1900 to stand the First Watch, while Wally Higman had a cranky diesel engine that needed looking at and had gone to bed early, as he wanted to get an early start on the thing. With the other American officers gone ashore Andy could now do what he had wanted to do since Texada Island. He stood up and reached out his hand to Kyle.
Kyle looked into Andy's deep, dark eyes and nodded slowly. The two nights that he had lain in Andy's arms had been euphoric. He was ready now to progress beyond their schoolboy lovemaking - he had gotten Andy's paisley briefs off of him the night of the banyan but all they had done was 69. Now it was time to do more.
They walked slowly down the dimly lit corridor and into their cabin where, for a long time, they simply stood facing each other, holding hands. Then Andy reached out and his fingers caressed Kyle's smooth, boyish face. "Kyle could we, can I . . .?"
Kyle quickly pressed his fingers against Andy's warm lips. "I want you to make love to me," he whispered. "I've wanted you to make love to me since Texada Island."
"Are you sure?" asked Andy. Kyle seemed so . . . innocent, not at all like the hard-faced young men he had slept with while he'd been drowning himself in booze and sex in Europe, not in any way like the desperate, frightened young men he had slept with in Nam after Marty . . .
"I have never been so sure of anything in my life," replied Kyle. He reached out and slowly unbuttoned Andy's shirt. "I want you, Gyrene," he whispered as Andy shrugged out of his shirt, exposing his tanned chest. Kyle slowly ran his hands down Andy's bare chest, his fingers stopping only to gently rub the hardened nubs of Andy's nipples. He felt the bulge in the front of Andy's white trousers, and then pushed them and Andy's white boxer shorts down. "When we were together on Texada, and Harwood, when I held you in my arms, when I felt you, I knew." He pulled back and began to unbuckle his own belt.
"Let me," murmured Andy.
Nathan lay in the darkness of the berthing deck, listening to the sounds of his messmates sleeping. His ears heard the groans and coughs, the snuffling and sniffling sounds of boys settling in for the night. His nostrils took in the smell of boys, the faintly musky, slightly intoxicating odours of thirty boys, odours that overpowered his senses and caused his penis to rise and strain against the tight fabric of his underpants.
He had lain in his bunk tossing and turning, unable to sleep, unable to surreptitiously watch as the other boys stripped for bed, revealing their hard, firm bodies and trim penises as they strolled naked back from their nightly showers. God, how he loved to watch them as their genitals swung gently back and forth, to watch them as they absently fondled and rubbed themselves when they pulled on their tight, body hugging briefs. He groaned softly and slipped his hand down the front of his tighty whiteys, grasping his jerking erection. He needed release and relief as he had never needed anything before. He needed the taste of another boy, the feel of another boy's body.
From the day his brother Aaron had introduced him to the pleasures that one boy could give to another Nathan had been addicted to sex with boys. He adored the feeling of a warm mouth on his cock, of a warm body as he slowly fucked another boy, the indescribable emotions that assaulted him when Aaron came to his bed, when the smooth, spongy hard head of his brother's dick entered him with excruciating slowness.
Nathan began to breathe heavily as his hand slowly pumped his throbbing organ. He relived again the feelings of utter joy that he had felt when he'd been with Cory, of how he had felt as he thrust into the blond-haired Adonis. A sob caught in his throat as he thought of Cory. What a fool he'd been. He had seen Cory and fallen immediately in love and then promptly gone and done all the wrong things, made all the wrong moves! How he had misjudged Cory! He had treated him as he had treated all the other boys he had been with in the past, as Aaron had treated him! What a mistake that had been! He had treated the boy he was desperately in love with like some 5-dollar street boy from the docks. He had fucked it all up and now Cory wanted nothing to do with him, probably hated him. As he squeezed and stroked himself closer to eruption he cursed himself for what he had done and prayed that Cory's brother could do something, could convince Cory . . .
He had been so engrossed in his selfish musings that Nathan had not heard the soft patter of bare feet on the tile deck. He did feel the hand that touched his shoulder. Startled, he rolled on his back and saw Bob Herzog, the senior engineer, standing beside his bunk, kneading the prominent bulge in his white briefs. Bob bent low and whispered, "The officers have come back on board. Broadhurst isn't coming back tonight."
"So?"
Bob slipped his hand under the light sheet that covered Nathan's body and felt Nathan's erection. "That means his cabin his empty." He gave Nathan's hard penis a seductive squeeze. "We can . . ."
Nathan's eyes caressed Bob's smoothly sculpted, muscled body, his deep tan set off by the stark whiteness of his tight underpants. He reached out to feel the plump thickness of Bob's erection, which was clearly outlined under the cotton of briefs. He could feel the lust rising in his loins. Nathan knew what Bob wanted, just as he knew that he would give it to Bob. But not in the CO's cabin, not after having been with Cory in there. "What about Mark and Tony?" He sat up and pulled down the front of Bob's jockeys.
Bob sucked in his breath as his dick, released from the tight confines of his briefs, bounced up and down slightly. He looked down as Nathan slowly leaned forward and kissed the deep pink head of his circumcised dick. "They're . . . not back yet . . . and if we . . ." he managed to gasp. He groaned as Nathan's tongue circled the ridge of his mushroom. "Jesus, Nathan . . ."
Nathan abruptly stopped sucking Bob's dick. He lay against the bulkhead watching as Bob's muscled abdomen rippled as the engineer tried to control his desperate hardon. His eyes narrowed and he licked his lips as he thought of the last time he and Bob had been together. Getting it on with the best quarterback Mercer Island Prepatory had produced in sixty years was intriguing and, as Bob put as much exuberance into making out as he did playing football, the experience was stunning in the extreme. "We can't take the chance, Bob," Nathan temporized. "If Mark or Tony come back and they hear us, we're fucked, in more ways than one."
"The Engineering Office, then," whispered Bob desperately. "Come on, Nathan, no one will hear us in there."
"You better turn on one of the pumps, then," said Nathan as he slung his legs over the side of his bunk. He reached out and gave Bob's parts a firm squeeze. "We need something that makes more noise than you do!"
Andy was peaking, breathing hard, and thrusting slowly in and out of Kyle. Kyle's arms embraced his back and his legs gripped Andy's waist. Andy could feel his sweat-slicked abdomen sliding easily along Kyle's rock hard erection. As he thrust inward he felt his pubic hairs savage Kyle's tightened ball sack. He moved inward and his hard-on brushed against Kyle's prostate, sending a wave of passion through the black-haired young man. "Kyle . . . getting . . ." Andy groaned.
Kyle increased the pressure of his grip, and his ass clenched, sending Andy over the edge. His body tensed, every muscle rigid, as his cock thickened and his semen erupted deep into Kyle's body. At almost the same moment Kyle let go, his dick pulsing, his slit loosing a torrent of cum across his stomach.
As his body convulsed Andy collapsed on Kyle. Their lips met and they kissed deeply and passionately. Andy continued to pump, short, sharp, movements, until his well was empty.
They lay there, their lips locked, their tongues entwined, savouring each other's taste and smell. They nuzzled and nipped at each other until, finally, Andy's soft dick fell from Kyle's love hole. They lay in each other's arms, their legs entangled, soft cocks gently rubbing and touching. Andy bent his head and began licking the last trace of Kyle's orgasm from their bodies.
The small cabin was redolent with the mingled odours of their sex: musk mixed with cum, mixed with the unique sweat of each man. Kyle traced the outlines of Andy's face with his fingers, lingering as they crossed his soft lashes, tracing the slope of his strong nose, caressing his full, rich lips. "For a Marine with a small dick, you sure are good fuck," muttered Kyle, chuckling softly.
"And just how many Marines have you fucked?" asked Andy. He reached down and felt Kyle's soft penis, running his fingers around Kyle's still warm helmet.
Kyle pretended to think, as if mulling over a long list of names and faces. Finally, he grinned. "Just one," he said softly. "Just one."
"You're my first sailor," murmured Andy. "And, if I have anything to say about it, my last."
Kyle put his arm across Andy's chest and lay his head on Andy's shoulder.
"You're my first. If I'd known how good it was, I might have . . ."
"You have never been with a man before?" asked Andy, surprised. Kyle seemed very experienced. He felt Kyle shake his head.
"There were guys, of course. Guys from school, guys from the cadets." Kyle stirred and kissed Andy's nipple. "It was all the you-show-me-yours, I'll-show-you-mine schoolboy stuff." He pulled away and propped himself on one elbow. "You know, the usual stuff young guys do."
Andy nodded. "I know. I did the same things."
"The most I ever did was to suck a guy's cock," said Kyle. "I made him promise not to cum in my mouth and to swear never to tell anybody."
Andy snickered. "God so did I. The guy's name was Larry Benton. I remember it as if it was yesterday. 'Swear, swear, you won't tell'," he mimicked.
"Yeah," agreed Kyle. "And he never did. We only did it the one time. I was 13. I knew from then on what I liked, and what I wanted." He shrugged expressively. "He didn't want what I wanted."
"Larry liked it. A lot." Andy began caressing Kyle's balls, feeling the heft of them. "We never fucked. That was queer stuff. When he was in the mood he'd come over to my house. We'd go up to my room, and sixty-nine."
"How long did it last?" Kyle groaned softly. "You keep that up and I'll have to prove that sailors do it better."
"That's the general idea." Andy bent down and began lip sucking the underside of Kyle's stiffening cock. "And it lasted until the day before I left for Parris Island."
Kyle chuckled and then pulled Andy to him. "I want to know something. I am going to ask you a question, and I want a straight answer. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Andy, how far is this going to go? Am I just some summer fuck, all forgotten about, never talked about again?" Kyle was very serious.
"A straight answer?" Andy kissed Kyle gently.
Kyle nodded.
"Let me put it to you this way," began Andy. "When I get home the first thing I am going to do is enrol in the fall semester at Seattle University. The second thing I am going to do is to march down to the Recruiting Centre and join the United States Marine Corps Reserve". He pulled Kyle on top of him. "And the third, and most important thing I am going to do ask a certain Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets if he would like to spend the rest of his life with an almost, maybe, someday soon, 2nd Lieutenant in the USMC Reserve." Andy smiled as he pulled back his legs and felt Kyle enter him. "Is that a yes?" he asked as Kyle leaned forward, staring into the face of the man he had come to love.
Tony lay beside Mark in the gloom of the Ropewalk, slowly licking the last traces of Mark's wonderfully sweet semen from his semi-hard cock. As Tony's tongue traced the vein coursing along the underside of his dick Mark groaned and raised his hips. "God, Tony, I love it when you do that," he moaned.
Tony slowly took Mark's sensitive helmet into his mouth, his tongue tracing the smooth, crisp ridgeline of Mark's crimson mushroom. He released Mark's crown and began moving slowly, sensuously, upward, tracing Mark's treasure trail, rimming his navel, lingering at his rosebud nipples. Finally, he reached his goal and his mouth found Mark's parted lips.
Mark felt Tony's tongue explore the inside of his mouth, and tasted again his own semen. He reached down and felt the length of Tony's hard rod. His thumb explored the leaking crown, lubricating it with the precum that seeped in an almost never-ending stream from Tony's slit. He pulled away and then kissed the tip of Tony's nose. He gazed into Tony's deep brown eyes. "When I was ten my mother sent me to the local grocery for some milk," he said quietly. "Behind the counter was a skinny, black-haired Italian kid with the brownest eyes I'd ever seen."
"Yeah? Anybody I know?" Tony grinned, his hand tracing Mark's treasure trail.
Mark ignored him. "For the next 4 years I kept hoping we'd run out of milk. Then, one day, I saw him again. Only he wasn't skinny anymore. He was dressed in soccer gear, and there were two broads hanging off him, mooing at his every word."
"Sounds like somebody I do know," snickered Tony.
Mark reached down and cupped Tony's tight balls. He squeezed gently. "Tony, shut up. I'm trying to tell you that I love you."
"You don't have to tell me, Mark," whispered Tony. "I know you love me. Just as you know I love you."
Mark leaned down and kissed Tony. "I fell in love that day, and I never looked at another guy."
"When I was 10 years old," smiled Tony, "I was standing behind the counter in my Father's store and this tall, skinny, blond-haired kid came in. He had a brush cut, and he was wearing red and blue Adidas shorts. When he bent over to take a bottle of milk from the cooler those shorts rode down and I saw his underpants. He was wearing white Fruit of the Looms and I felt the weirdest sensation. When I gave him his change he smiled at me. His blue eyes lit up and I thought I would die. Just drop dead, right there." Tony nuzzled Mark's neck. "The first time I fucked a girl, I was fucking her, but I was really making love to that blond-haired kid."
Mark pulled Tony close to him. "God, I hate that," he grimaced. "Having to play the big jock, fucking anything with a pulse, knowing that I wasn't in the least interested in fucking some girl. The first time I did it I went home and spent two hours in the shower, scrubbing and scrubbing, trying to get the stink of her off of my body." He sat up and began rubbing Tony's stomach. "I hate the pretence, Tony. I love you, and I always will, but I hate the pretending."
Tony nodded his agreement. "I hate it as well, Mark, but we have to pretend. If I went home and told my folks how I really feel, if I told them what I really am, they'd throw me out. And I could kiss my appointment to Annapolis goodbye."
Mark whooped and hugged Tony as tightly as he could. "It came?" his voice full of joy. "You're really going?"
Tony struggled from Mark's arms and sat up. "The letter came the day before we left to come up here." He took Mark's hand and rubbed it against his face. "I was a little afraid to tell you."
"Fuck, Tony, why?" I knew you wanted it. I wanted you to want it." He hugged Tony again. "I think it's great!"
"It means I won't see you for almost a year. I have to report next June, and I don't get leave or anything while I'm a Plebe. I don't know if I can . . ."
Mark put his hands on Tony's shoulders. "You listen to me, Antonio Eugenio Valpone, I didn't spend four years pounding calculus, and trig, and the mechanics of fluids into your thick Wop skull for nothing. I didn't put up with your whining and moaning every time we had to pull an all-nighter just to have you turn around and have second thoughts. You're going to Annapolis if I have to drag your skinny, hairy ass every inch of the way."
"You really mean that?"
"I mean more than that, because when Ensign Valpone, Class of 1981 graduates, I am going to be there, watching. I am also going to take him into the Cadet Chapel and tell him how much I love him, and ask him to marry me."
Tony almost choked. "Guys can't get married."
"Maybe not in the conventional way. But I'm going to put a ring on your finger, Tony, and I am never going to be away from you again."
"Jesus, Mark, you're serious." Tony wanted desperately to know that Mark was not joking.
"Deadly serious," affirmed Mark. "So serious that I took my grandfather's signet ring out of the bank. It's in my locker. I had our initials engraved in it. Will you wear it?" Tony hugged Mark passionately. They lay down and ground their hips together, their hot erections pulsing and rubbing. "I'll take that as a yes," Mark murmured as he felt Tony's fingers probing his puckered, pink, entrance.
In Barracks 2 Rob slept lightly, awakening to the slightest sound. He could hear David snuffling and muttering in his sleep. He could hear Ryan murmuring softly. He sat up and adjusted his hardon. He had gone to sleep stroking and jerking himself, hoping that the night visitor would return. The front of his tight briefs were wet with precum, his dark, rough, pubic hairs clotted with the sticky substance.
Rob got out of his bunk and went into the heads where he stripped off his soaked briefs and washed his boner, barely touching his firm, curving helmet, afraid that if he did he would shoot his load. He returned to the mess deck and, as quietly as he could, pulled a pair of boxers from his locker. As he was pulling them on he glanced over and saw that Ryan was lying flat on his back, not an ideal position to be in when drunk.
Rob knew that he could not leave Ryan as he was so he walked over and, as he bent turn his young friend on his side, he glanced down. Under the thin black cloth of Ryan's briefs Rob saw that Ryan had a hardon, about four inches, rising and falling, straining against the fabric as he breathed softly. At Rob's touch on his shoulder Ryan stirred, then reached out. He pulled Rob down and kissed him. For a moment Rob was too surprised to react, then he began to pull away. Ryan pulled him closer, his tongue searching for, and finding, Rob's. This time Rob did not try to pull away.
Ryan released his grip on Rob and his hand moved down, feeling Rob's thick thigh, then finding the slit in Rob's boxers. As they kissed Ryan's hand found Rob's cock and began pumping it, his thumb crossing and re-crossing Rob's quivering helmet. Rob reached down and slowly rubbed Ryan's small boner. Ryan shivered and opened his soulful, black eyes. Their lips parted and Ryan grinned shyly. "Always wanted to do this with you," he murmured, his words slightly slurred.
Rob nodded and reached down. He lowered Ryan's underpants and his hand found the slim, smooth, tapering penis. He pushed Ryan's foreskin down, revealing the perfectly shaped, plum-coloured helmet. He stroked Ryan's cock and on each upward stroke a small drop of clear, thick, precum oozed through the tiny opening left in the gathered foreskin. Ryan raised his hips, moaning, stroking Rob's boner and matching his pace to Rob's.
Rob lowered his head and his lips parted. He slowly took every inch of Ryan's erection into his mouth, stopping when his nose was buried in Ryan's sparse, straggling bush. Ryan's body arched and tensed. His hand gripped Rob's cock. "Rob, gonna . . . shoot . . . gonna . . . " he groaned through clenched teeth.
Rob sucked faster. Ryan's dick twitched and a small dribble of weak liquid dribbled out of his slit, quickly followed by two fierce, firm, jets that exploded in Rob's mouth. Ryan's hips jerked and bucked as he strove to drive his dick even further into Rob's mouth.
Ryan's eruption set Rob off. He felt the surge of glory rage upward from his balls and he began cumming so hard his brain all but shut down. Stream after stream of thick juice flew from his slit, covering his stomach and coating Ryan's pumping hand.
When Ryan stopped jerking Rob slowly withdrew his mouth from his softening dick, which fell softly over his hairless balls, twitching as the flow of pleasure ebbed away. Ryan withdrew his hand and raised it to his lips. His tongue darted out, and he tasted for the first time another boy's exquisite fluid. Ryan smiled and motioned Rob down. They kissed and Rob's tongue spread what little of Ryan's cum that was left in his mouth along Ryan's tongue.
For a long time they lay there, kissing softly. Finally Rob pulled away.
Across the harbour The Gunner tossed and turned, trying to sleep. He had returned, finally, from AURORA, a little the worse for wear from the booze that Father insisted they all drink in quantity. He had stripped off and showered, then picked up the telephone. As he expected there had been no answer.
He had paced the floor, muttering, trying to decide what his next course of action should be. He had to confront Joel. He had to know if their relationship was over. He had to know just what it was Joel wanted from him. He knew that Joel had made it very plain that he was not going to become some Navy groupie, following him from ship to ship, from port to port.
The Gunner had stopped his pacing and gone to bed, lying on top of the covers, naked. More and more he wanted to leave the Navy. Joel was a part of it. The Navy itself was a part of it. The old ways, the old traditions were gone, only the barest vestiges kept alive, in the Sea Cadets, in the Old Guard reserve units. Hell, there was even a rumour that Ottawa wanted to replace Heart of Oak with a new Naval march. Ottawa wanted to have a contest, for fuck's sake!
He had reached out and felt . . . nothing. No sweet, warm body against his. No steady, warm breath against his cheek. No soft penis pressing gently against his thigh. No gentle hand resting over his genitals. No Phantom. As he tossed and turned he realized that he was totally, completely in love with Phantom. He loved Joel, but he was not in love with him. "Damn Andy," he thought angrily, "Why did you have to open that can of worms?"
Unable to sleep The Gunner got up and went out to the lanai. He held his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He wanted Phantom. With all his heart, with all his soul, he wanted the boy. Phantom wanted him. Two damned souls each wanting the same thing, with no hope of ever having it.
Phantom could not understand that their relationship, what little there was of it, could not and would not proceed they way he wanted it to proceed. The boy could not understand that he lived his life according to a code of honour. So long as he was in any way responsible for Phantom, he could not permit their love to be anything more than what it was. His code would not allow him to have sex with Phantom. It would not allow him to have sex with the Twins. It did not matter that they wanted it. It did not matter that he wanted it. What mattered was that when he looked at himself in the mirror in the morning he could truthfully say he had never taken advantage of them. He hated being a role model. He hated his overbearing sense of responsibility. He was a product of his training. Time and time again it had been pounded into him that you never, ever, for any reason, used your position or your rank to influence those in your charge. You never, ever, abused your authority, your power over those same people. It did not matter what you felt, what you wanted. It was a "thou shalt not", period, end of story, case closed.
As he thought of Phantom The Gunner's slowly stroked his soft organ. He felt himself rising and he began to slowly stroke his cock to full erection. His breathing became raspy as his hand moved up and down on his rocklike cock. He began moaning, grunting, as his balls tightened and the wonderful feeling engulfed him. As he approached the precipice he threw his head back, and grimaced as the sluice gate of his dick gaped open and a his semen spurted, splattering the flagstones of the terrace.
He continued to pump, his hand passing over his red, hard, helmet, his body screaming in ecstasy. Finally, he could stand no more and he released himself. His dick began to soften, a last drop of cum oozing slowly from his slit. When his breathing slowed he lowered his head, cursing silently. Damn, damn, damn, he thought, I just jerked myself off, but it wasn't my hand on my dick, it wasn't Joel's hand on my dick."
He stood up and walked toward the shower. It's not Joel that I want. I want . . . I want a 17-year-old kid with light brown hair, emerald eyes, and slightly jugged ears. He turned the shower on and stepped into the cubicle. "God damn, Phantom, God damn . . .!" he breathed. "God damn . . ."
In his bedroom in the large Victorian house The Phantom lay on his bed, slowly stroking himself to his second orgasm of the evening. The first had been in the shower, shortly after he and his parents had arrived home.
After arriving home they had sat by the pool as The Phantom regaled them with stories of what they had gotten up to on the sailing trip. He did not mention that they had been nude most of the time, nor did he mention that he had slept with The Gunner. They had laughed uproariously at Harry's discomfiture when Kyle had smacked him on the behind. They laughed even harder when he told them about stealing Andy's underpants and raising them on the makeshift flagpole. Later, after his mother had gone to bed, he and his father had shared a scotch, and another laugh as he told him all about the mooning episode.
Finally, it was time for bed, and The Phantom showered before retiring. He soaped himself and his hand automatically found his dick. He closed his eyes and remembered feeling the soft, smooth, cock and heavy balls he had cupped only last night. He stroked himself slowly, glorying in the feeling of exquisite pleasure that welled through him, his legs almost buckling as he shot a stream of his thick cum across the shower stall.
Once in bed he lay there, visiting once again the beaches at Texada and Harwood. In his mind's eye he devoured the sleek, smooth teen cocks the cadets so brazenly presented to him. He ran his tongue around his lips, in his fantasy running it up and around the satiny helmets of those beautiful cocks, savouring, tasting, the hard maleness of each and every one of them, but most of all The Gunner's.
He cursed an unkind fate that had caused The Gunner to wake up before his dick hardened. The Phantom wanted to feel that hardness, wanted to feel the man's huge balls tighten. His mind reeled as he imagined the taste of that wonderful velvet cock, and as his own cock spasmed and the huge stream of his second orgasm splattered across his chest. He moaned, the imagined taste of salt, and gunpowder, an indescribable something, filling his mouth.
He groaned, revelling in the ferocious afterglow of his orgasm, vowing, swearing, determined, that one way or another, he would make The Gunner fulfil his fantasy. He would, somehow, find a way to make love to the man he wanted above every other man or boy. He would, somehow, find a way to make that man make love to him. Somehow.
Promptly at 0600 the tannoy growled and the strident bugle notes of Reveille echoed through the Gunroom. This lasted about ten seconds. Harry's size 14 boot flew through the air and crashed into the speaker, knocking loose a wire somewhere inside and silencing it.
The cadets began crawling out of their pits. Harry, as usual, grumbling the loudest. He adjusted his morning woody, ran his fingers over the picture of Stefan that hung over his bunk and headed for the showers. Nicholas, Greg and Two Strokes were not far behind. The Twins, being the Twins, sputtered and coughed, groaned, threw pillows at each other and then arose. Cory admired Todd's morning woody and asked if Mrs. Fist had come calling during the night. Todd made a face and opined that she had, and a very pleasant visit it had been, too. He then commented that Cory's morning woody seemed a trifle limp.
Cory, although in a high dudgeon, refused to rise to the bait. With as much dignity as he could muster he grabbed his towel and was about to head for the showers when he noticed that Jon's bed had not been slept in.
Chris, who was lying under the covers taking care of his morning woody, was very put out when Cory shook him, disturbing what had promised to be a very satisfactory hand job. "God dammit, Cory," snapped Chris. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Fred and Thumper shuffled by, both only half-awake. Todd waited until they had disappeared down the corridor leading to the showers. "Leave that thing alone. Let it grow," he said with a grin.
Cory shot his brother a dirty look. He had much more important things to worry about than the state of Chris's dick. "Jon's not in his bed and it looks like it hasn't been slept in."
Chris sat up with a start. He stared at Jon's empty bed and shook his head. "Yeah, come to think of it, he wasn't there when I came in." He got up, his morning glory deflated.
"What the fuck did you do to him?" demanded Todd angrily. "I warned you not to fool around with him."
"Todd, calm down," Cory said, rubbing his brother's bare back. "Chris, what did you do to Jon?"
Chris looked around, making sure that no one else was in the room. "I gave him a blowjob," he whispered. "Nothing else. He never said anything while I was doing it, and when he shot his load he zipped up and said he had to go. That's all."
Todd returned to his bunk space and pulled on his gym shorts and a T-shirt. He sat on his bunk and began pulling on his running shoes. "Well we have to do something. Cory, get dressed." Todd tied his shoes and looked at Chris. "You stay here in case he comes back while we're gone."
"But I want to help," began Chris, pulling on his clothes. "I did it, he's my responsibility."
Cory held up his hand. "Chris, some guys can handle it, some guys can't. Let me and Todd find Jon and then we'll go from there. Okay?"
Chris sat on his bunk, nodding his agreement a look devastation on his face. "Find him, please Todd, please Cory," he whispered. "He's . . . I mean . . . "
Todd patted Chris' shoulder. "Stay here, we'll find him." As they left the Gunroom he muttered to Cory. "I just hope Jon hasn't gone and done something stupid."
As it turned out, the only thing stupid that Jon had done was to sit on the beach and watch the lights of Comox shimmering across the dark harbour. He had barely slept, and was dozing when the Twins found him, his back against the wall of the Ropewalk. He awoke at Todd's light touch on his shoulder. He blinked, saw the Twins staring down at him, and smiled. "Hi, guys. What's up?"
"Jon, are you all right," asked Todd, a note of concern in his voice.
Jon nodded. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"
"Jon, you didn't come back to the Gunroom last night. You didn't sleep in your bed," said Cory. "Did you spend the night out here?"
Jon struggled to his feet and put his arms around the Twins' shoulder. He had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Guys, I had some serious thinking to do." He gave the Twins a hug. "I know what I want to do now and I am perfectly fine."
Cory exchanged glances with Todd. Sometimes it was best not to probe too deeply. "You must be knackered," said Cory, as he and Todd led Jon toward the Gunroom.
"Why don't you get your head down until Divisions?"
"Yeah, get some sleep. You'll feel better," agreed Todd.
Jon chuckled and took his arms from around their necks. "I feel great. I appreciate your concern, I really do." At the door to the Gunroom he turned and his hand brushed first Todd's, then Cory's face. "I wish now . . ."
Todd stopped him. "Chris is waiting inside. You want to talk to him?" Jon nodded, turned and entered the Gunroom.
The place was bedlam as the other cadets hurriedly cleaned into sports gear. Locker doors were slammed, muttered curses made the air blue. Jon ran his fingers across the back of Chris' head. Chris looked up and paled. He watched silently as Jon slowly removed his cut-offs and T-shirt, then reached in and took a towel from his locker. "Feel like a shower?" he asked with a shy smile.
Chris nodded and slipped out of his boxers. He picked up his towel and walked with Jon down the corridor.
The day progressed as normally as it ever did. The assembled cadets, minus the Americans and the YAG crews, grumbled their way through callisthenics, then returned to their barracks and cleaned into the uniform of the day. At breakfast the Twins and Chris sat together, devouring a mountain of bacon and eggs. Jon passed by and smiled warmly at Chris. He knew instinctively that he could not change his routine and sit with Chris. He sat down with Two Strokes, Fred, and Thumper.
The Americans came in en masse. They were all dressed in short, khaki, tight fitting shorts and short-sleeved, blue denim work shirts. Mark and Tony waited until their people had passed down the food line, then, filled trays in hand, joined Tyler and Val. Nathan, a tray piled high with bacon, eggs, and toast, in his hands, stood in the middle of the Mess Hall, looked around, and then moved to where the Twins and Chris were sitting. He politely asked Todd's permission to join them.
"No!" snapped Cory.
"Yes," smiled Todd. "He asked me, not you, fuck wad, so keep quiet."
Cory glared at his brother.
Nathan thanked Todd and sat down. He asked Cory to pass the salt, please. With ill grace Cory handed Nathan the salt. "Shouldn't you be out sailing, or something?" he asked icily.
"We sail at 0900 for exercises at sea." He shrugged. "Replenishment at sea, jackstay transfer. The usual."
"So, Nathan, how do you like Canada?" asked Todd, deliberately stirring the pot. Nathan smiled at Cory. "I like it fine. I just wish I could stay longer." His gaze slid over Cory. "And I really would like to get to know people better."
Cory gave Nathan the evil eye and stood up. His chair toppled over with a crash. "I do apologize," he snarled through clenched teeth as he righted his chair. He hurried to the dish racks, put away his dirty dishes and left the Mess Hall.
"Well, that went well, I think," grinned Todd. "Eat your food, Nathan, before it gets cold."
"Well?" gasped Chris. "He was so cold I almost froze my balls off."
"What am I going to do?" asked Nathan, pushing his plate of food away, his appetite gone. "He won't even give me a chance."
"Ah, but he did speak to you. I grant you he was barely civil, but he did speak to you."
"And I'm supposed to feel good about that?" asked Nathan doubtfully.
Todd nodded. "It's a sign that he's still in one of his snits. If he were really pissed off at you he would have left as soon as you sat down. He can be very rude when he puts his mind to it."
"So I just keep coming back, hoping that one day, maybe years down the road, he'll actually speak to me decently. Is that it?" Nathan shook his head.
Todd grinned and leaned forward. "Nathan, if you do what I tell you to do I guarantee within twenty-four hours he'll accept your apology. And he'll let you love him."
Nathan glanced uneasily at Chris who smiled and nodded. "Listen to him, kid. I did."
Todd grinned and bent forward. In a low tone, so that he could not be overheard by anyone other than Nathan and Chris, he began to spin a web in which he hoped to trap his obstreperous brother.
When Todd finished speaking Chris looked at him, a puzzled look on his face. "But Todd, we don't have a barracks gate."
At 0830 Greg opened the Ship's Office and began his daily routine. The mail run from CFB Comox had been by and he sorted the variety of envelopes and packages addressed to the Ship and the Ship's Company. Mail addressed to a cadet was placed in the box reserved for their particular Mess or barracks. Officers, and Senior Staff, had individual boxes. After sorting the mail he opened all the official envelopes and logged the contents. Then he placed it all in a huge pile and carried it into the Executive Officer's cabin. Number One, along with the Commanding Officer, read every piece of official mail that came in.
Shortly after nine Number One entered the office and, with apologies, gave Greg a list of names and a covering note. "Put that all in proper Navalese, will you young feller?" he asked. "When you've typed it up all shipshape and Bristol fashion, bring it in and I'll sign on the dotted line. And don't look so downcast. I have reason to believe you'll like what you read." With a large grin he was gone, off to discuss the day with the Commanding Officer.
Greg put a fresh piece of paper in his trusty Olympic and started typing, barely absorbing the hand written words on the piece of paper Number One had given him. As he typed his eyes scanned ahead, reading the list of names. As he read his typing speed dropped, then stopped. He jumped up, reading every word carefully. "Holy Shit!" he whooped, pumping the air. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy SHIT!"
In the Commanding Officer's cabin, Number One took a sip of his tea. "It would seem that someone agrees with our choice of candidates."
Father listened as Greg whooped and hollered. "He might have expressed his agreement a tad more quietly." Then he grinned broadly.
For the next hour Greg typed furiously, checking each page, rechecking each page and, when he was satisfied that the papers were error free, carefully stapled the typed pages together. He carried the finished document to Number One's cabin and placed in carefully on the Executive Officer's desk.
Number One harrumphed, glanced at Greg over the rim of his reading glasses and then, as Greg waited with increasing impatience, carefully read the document. Satisfied, he unscrewed the top of his fountain pen and, with a flourish, signed his name. Greg picked up the document and smiled. Number One returned the smile. "Scratch, I expect great things from you in the next three days."
"Sir, I'll do my best."
"As you always do, my boy. As you always do."
When he returned to the Ship's Office Greg flashed up the photocopier and ran off enough copies of the document for every cadet whose name was on the list, plus enough copies to post on all the notice boards that littered the ship. He left the office and went next door, to the Regulating Office, where Jon and Two Strokes were idling away the day. He hugged the startled Regulating Petty Officers and planted a big wet kiss on each of their cheeks. "Read it, read it," he exhorted happily. "Read it and rejoice!"
Two Strokes, stunned, and thinking that Greg had been sniffing the Gestetner fluid again, slowly read the document. His eyes widened as he read the General Order nominating the listed cadets for promotion. "Well, I will be fucked and sent to Heaven," ejaculated Two Strokes when he had finished reading. "You, me, and Fred nominated for Regulating Chief Petty Officers, and Thumper for Petty Officer First Class."
"And will you look at the others names!" Jon waved the paper at Two Strokes. "Harry for Chief Bandsman, Greg for Chief Writer, Nicholas for Chief Yeoman of Signals, Rob and Stuart, and Chris, Chiefs, and, God alone knows why, the Twins. Imagine, the Twins as Chief Gunnery Instructors."
Two Strokes grabbed Jon and hugged him. "And look, look at the others. Ray nominated for accelerated promotion to Cook Petty Officer First Class. Brian, Gunnery Petty Officer First Class; Dylan, Gunnery Petty Officer; Steve, Boatswain Petty Officer and little Ryan, Engineering Petty Officer!"
Two Strokes and Jon hugged and danced around the office, laughing and slapping each other on the back. "We have to find Fred and Thumper. Come on, let's go and congratulate our fellow Chiefs." Two Strokes was halfway to the door when Jon stopped him.
"Roger, these are nominations. We have to write the qualifying exam, then do the practical exam and then we have to endure the Selection Board."
Two Strokes laughed and hugged Jon. "Bollocks! We're in. It's all smoke and mirrors, and we're in."
"Maybe so," agreed Jon doubtfully. "But I'm still digging out my old manuals."
Of all the cadets in AURORA only one was disappointed at the news of the nominations for promotion. Little Big Man was furious that his name had not been included on the list of cadets eligible for promotion. He stood in front of the Ship's Company Notice Board and glowered at the notice. Two Strokes and Jon, who were sitting at the desk playing cards, at first paid him no notice. He was, after all, essentially a non-person. They both knew that Little Big Man was not to be trusted in anything.
Little Big Man muttered under his breath. Two Strokes thought he heard the word, faggot, and his head snapped up. "Did you say something, Petty Officer Greene?" he asked coldly.
"Yeah," snarled Little Big Man. "I said it pays to be The Gunner's pet and a faggot. All the queers are on the list."
Two Strokes, followed by Jon, stood up and stared menacingly at Little Big Man. "My name is on the list," Two Strokes growled menacingly.
Jon paled at the word, faggot. His heart pounded rapidly. He and Chris had been alone in the breezeway flats and nobody could possibly know what had happened between them. He asked quietly, "Are you suggesting that Roger or me is a faggot?"
Little Big Man saw the looks on the faces of the other two cadets. "Did I say that?" he asked calmly. "Did I?" Little Big Man knew that he was in shit with most of the cadets. They all hated him, didn't they? Still, there was no reason to antagonize the Regulating Staff. "I didn't mean you two," he continued placatingly, his voice smooth. "I know you're not queer. I meant those fucking butt-fucking Twins. And Rob and Ryan."
"I thought Rob was your friend." Jon breathed a silent sigh of relief. If Little Big Man did not know about him and Chris, then no one knew.
"That gearbox? My guess is he's been fucking Ryan up the ass for years."
Two Strokes reached out and grabbed Little Big Man by the front of his gunshirt. "One day, Petty Officer Greene, that tongue of yours will hang you."
Jon grabbed Two Strokes' arm. "Let him go, Roger. He's not worth it. Let him go."
Little Big Man struggled vainly as Two Strokes' hand closed tightly. "Lemme go, Roger! You have no right to touch me."
Two Strokes shook off Jon and raised his fist. "You're a mean, vicious little prick, you know that? You're also a liar. Take it back. Take it back about Rob and Ryan. Now!"
Little Big Man held up his hands. "Okay, okay, calm down. I'm just pissed off that they're on the list. I won't take it back about the Twins. They're queers, and you can't deny it."
Two Strokes pushed Little Big Man up against the notice board, knocking down several of the printed notices. "What the Twins are, or are not, is none of your fucking business." His voice was very low and heavy with menace. He lowered his face until it was within an inch of Little Big Man's. "I give you fair warning. If I ever again hear you say one word, just one word, against the Twins, or Rob, or Ryan, or any other cadet, I will come looking for you." He slammed Little Big Man so hard against the notice board that it fell down with a resounding crash.
"You wouldn't dare!" whispered Little Big Man, knowing full well that the look in Two Strokes eyes meant that he would.
"Try me."
Two Strokes released Little Big Man and pointed towards the door. "Get out. And remember what I told you. One word and I guarantee that you will regret it for the rest of your life." As Little Big Man scuttled from the office Two Strokes turned to Jon. "Sorry about that, Jon. Lost my temper."
Jon smiled wanly. "He does that to people."
"Are you all right? You're awfully pale," said Two Strokes, his voice full of concern. For some reason Jon was as pale as a sheet and he had been quieter than usual all morning.
"Me? Yeah, I'm okay. I didn't sleep too well last night." This was essentially the truth. Sleeping on the beach had not been a good idea. He bent down and began to clean up the wreckage. "Help me with this, will you?"
"You work too hard. You should learn to relax more."
Jon smiled. "Yeah, Roger, I guess I should," he agreed, wondering if Chris would want to go for a Coke later on tonight.
When The Phantom arrived for work he found jubilation reigning in the galley. Chef was puffed up, an overweight pouter pigeon strutting his stuff. The two Makee-Learns, Randy and Joey, were grinning like loons. Sandro was happily stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce, humming the Imperial Russian Anthem in a quite respectable baritone. When The Phantom asked what in hell was going on Ray hugged him, then kissed him full on the lips.
The Phantom was so startled he did not at first pull back. Actually, he rather liked it, so much so that he felt the head of his dick start to tingle.
Ray pulled away and told The Phantom about his accelerated promotion. He was so excited that he stuttered. The Phantom whooped and hugged Ray tightly. Then he figured, what the hell, and kissed Ray. For a brief moment their lips parted and their tongues met.
Blushing, feeling himself hardening, Ray pulled back. He smiled at The Phantom. "Well, I'll be damned," he thought. He grinned widely, mentally thanking the green-eyed boy. For the kiss, and a lot more.
"So, what's everybody all excited about?" asked The Phantom. He returned Ray's smile, wondering what in hell he was up to. There was a look in Ray's eye that spoke of deep secrets suddenly revealed.
"Because, you ninny, what happens to my boy happens to all of us," boomed Chef. As Chef explained it, Ray's impending promotion, accelerated at that, was a reflection not only on Ray, but also on himself, and everybody in the galley. Everybody who worked with Ray had, in his own way, contributed to Ray's abilities. " . . . Even those two skinny-assed skates, who should be doing up the sandwiches," Chef finished.
Joey and Randy looked at each other's asses and grinned.
"Whatever it takes, Ray, I'll help you," grinned The Phantom. "You want me to go over the manual with you?"
Ray shook his head. "Chef is going to do that. But, Phantom, thanks. I really appreciate everything you've done for me. You're a good friend." He hugged The Phantom again.
"So are you Ray, so are you," murmured The Phantom, rubbing Ray's back.
Chef, uneasy, broke up the love fest and ordered everybody back to work. Later, when Ray came over to have Chef approve some menu changes, Chef asked him what he thought about The Phantom. "Phantom's a friend. That's all he is," replied Ray quietly. "He's a good guy. I like him, a lot."
Chef nodded, satisfied that nothing untoward was going on. He grinned. "For a minute there I thought you'd be making The Gunner jealous, so I did!"
Ray giggled. "Him? Chef, he's so straight he's got a ramrod for a backbone. Besides, Phantom's not that way."
"And you'd know?"
Ray sat down and bent forward to murmur confidentially. "Chef, most of the time, well, all of the time, when we were away, Phantom and The Gunner, they were together. They slept together. But nothing, and I mean nothing, happened. That's the God's truth, Chef."
Chef considered Ray's words. The he snorted. "Just a bunch of guys doing manly things in manly ways."
Ray stood up and punched Chef's meaty arm. "If you don't count being buck-assed naked most of the time. Bye, Chef."
"What?. . . WHAT?" roared Chef as Ray scurried into the dining hall to set the tables.
Lunch was a jolly affair. By now every cadet knew about the Promotion Boards, and there was much backslapping, hand shaking and high fives all around. Harry held court, not only with the Band members, but also with the Sea Puppies and the General Training Cadets. Tyler, as Master at Arms, insisted on his Regulating Staff lunching with him. Val, as Chief Gunnery Instructor, lunched with the Twins, Chris, and Brian. Stuart and Steve hosted a particularly rowdy table of Boatswains. Nicholas, not to be outdone, feted his Signalmen.
When Kyle, Andy and The Gunner came in for lunch they were cheered, and inundated with invitations to sit at a particular table. "Sorry, guys, we can't," The Gunner said to Val. "Andy and Kyle are on the Board, and I have to scrutinize the examinations. I also get to mark the candidates when they do their Drill Practical."
"Without fear or favour?" asked Todd, grinning hugely.
The Gunner nodded. "No favourites! You are all on your own. Just remember, I am only satisfied with the very best." He laughed hugely and moved on.
Todd frowned. "Shit. He'll check us out from top to bottom, if I know him."
"Cheer up, at least he won't check to make sure you've got clean underwear on," said Val, laughing.
"Well, I am definitely doing a laundry tonight," said Chris. "I'm not taking any chances."
"Do it right after supper. We absolutely must have a party tonight," replied Val.
"We're running low on supplies," said Cory. "We used the last of the vodka last night.
"Not to worry," Todd motioned The Phantom over to their table.
"What?" asked the Phantom.
Todd slipped his hand up the back of The Phantom's wraparound apron and began to rub and knead his ass. Under The Phantom's thin, cotton, cook's whites Todd could feel that he was wearing boxer shorts. "We need a favour, Phantom, a big favour." Todd grinned and rubbed.
"What . . . what kind of a favour?" The Phantom squirmed as Todd's hand went between his legs and began rubbing his balls.
"We'd like you to, um, borrow some booze for us. Just a couple of bottles," smiled Todd. He could feel The Phantom getting hard.
"We'll replace it later," giggled Cory, watching with growing amusement as Phantom tried very hard not to react to Todd's probing hand.
The Phantom was breathing very heavily. "I can . . . uh, I can get it from home." He couldn't stand it any longer, afraid that he'd cream his boxers. He moved a step back.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Val, who had not seen where Todd's hand had been.
"Asthma," said Chris, giggling. He had seen where Todd's hand had been.
The Phantom glared at him. "I do not have asthma. It's just hay fever." Jesus, now I'm lying for the Twins. "I can get all you need. My Dad has cases of it in the basement. He gets tons of bottles for Christmas and such. But how will you get it?"
"Easy. Rob has to go to base later on. You can go with him, pick up the stuff, and then come back." Todd had a ready solution for any problem.
"Rob doesn't have to go to base," said Cory grinning at the nice-looking bulge pooching out the front of The Phantom's apron.
Todd held up his hand and waggled his fingers. He grinned wickedly. "Even money says I can convince Rob that he does!"
At 1630, while The Phantom and Rob went off to raid Chief Lascelles' liquor supply, the Twins, together with Chris, went swimming. The beach was very crowded, as the Americans had returned, so they spread their blankets far up the sloping embankment, giving themselves a wonderful view of the swimmers. Cory noticed that Nathan was nowhere in sight.
"We should be studying, you know." grumped Chris as Cory rubbed more sunscreen across his bare back. "We do have an exam tomorrow."
"So, go study." Cory ran his hand down Chris' back and into his swimming trunks.
"Cory, as much as I like it, the swimming beach is hardly the place to feel me up." Chris squirmed as Cory rubbed his soft butt cheek.
"Besides, Nathan might get jealous," laughed Todd.
Cory bristled, then withdrew his hand and gave Todd the finger. "Remember last night? The night you had a meeting with Mrs. Fist and her daughters?" Todd grinned and nodded. "Well you're meeting with her again, asshole. You can laugh all you like, Todd, but it wasn't me who gave The Phantom a monster feel in the Mess Hall, which is hardly an appropriate place!"
"He likes to get a rise out of straight guys," guffawed Chris.
"He did that," replied Cory sourly.
Chris and Todd roared with laughter. Cory assumed a hurt air and contented himself with checking out Mark and Tony's baskets. He sighed happily.
Jon, bare-chested and wearing a pair of dark blue gym shorts came down the path. He hesitated when he saw the Twins with Chris. Then he walked directly to where they were sitting and asked if he could join them. "Sure. Why not?" asked Todd.
Jon settled himself beside Chris, his legs spread, the wide legs of his shorts open and exposing the tighty-whiteys he wore underneath the shorts. Cory sighed inwardly. There was something so damned seductive about slim boys in tighty-whiteys. It did not help that Jon's small, but very neat penis and perfect oval balls were cleanly outlined under the white cotton fabric.
If Jon noticed Cory's staring he ignored it. His eyes were on Chris, and Chris alone. He slipped his arm around Chris's waist. "I missed you at Stand Easy," he said softly, his voice low. "Have you been avoiding me?"
The Twins exchanged a glance. Jon met it, silently daring them to say something. Chris smiled at Jon. "They know about us, so take that look off of your face."
Jon blushed and smiled crookedly. "And how can you say I'm avoiding you?" demanded Chris with a grin. "We took a shower together this morning, didn't we?"
"Yes. But we didn't . . ." Jon's mouth closed with a snap when he realized what he was saying.
Todd and Cory laughed hysterically.
Chris glared at the Twins. "Shut up, you two." He turned and smiled at Jon. "I had to teach at the High School this afternoon. I wasn't avoiding you at all." His hand found Jon's. "Does this mean you want to go for a Coke after Secure?"
Cory giggled and lay down on his stomach. "You guys are too much. Just don't start necking. People might talk."
Todd reached out and smacked Cory's sweet behind. "Behave yourself." He turned to Chris and Jon. "Mind, he's right. There's some around here who would just love to point a finger."
Jon withdrew his arm. He left his hand at his side, firmly holding Chris'. "Sorry, but, well, you of all people should know how I feel."
"I do know. Believe me when I tell you that I'm very happy that you and Chris found each other," said Todd kindly. "And because I do know I have to tell you to be discreet. All it takes is a word. I'm very happy for you, Jon. But remember, all it takes is the wrong word, in the wrong ear, and it's goodbye, so long, and don't let the doorknob hit you on the ass as you leave."
Cory rolled on his back, stood up and walked up to Todd. He felt playful and decided to play with Todd. He pushed his brother's legs apart and sat between them, his head resting against Todd's chest. He wiggled around a bit, feeling Todd's soft parts through the thin shorts rubbing against his spine. "Todd and I can get away with it. We've been doing it for so long nobody expects anything else from us. But if they see you and Chris, well . . ." He shrugged expressively.
"I'm not too worried about Two Strokes," began Chris. "But that fucking Little Big Man . . ."
"Not after today." Jon put his arm back around Chris' waist.
"What do you mean, not after today? Todd, if you get hard do not start rubbing yourself off. You'll get all chafed and Mrs. Fist won't like it." Cory deliberately squirmed. He felt Todd's dick stiffening.
Jon chuckled, wishing Chris would get between his legs. "Two Strokes blew his stack. Little Big Man was doing his usual everybody's a fag routine in the Regulating Office. I swear Roger was going to kill him. In the end he told Little Big Man if he opened his mouth again about you two, or anybody else, his days were numbered."
Cory was now slowly, rhythmically, rubbing his back against Todd's crotch. He was also watching as Jon's low-hung balls, clearly outlined under his thin white briefs, moved slowly up and down as he breathed.
"Uh, Cory, if you don't . . ." breathed Todd heavily. "Cory, uh . . . oh shit!" Cory grinned broadly and gave Todd's crotch another rub. He could feel the warm wetness spreading across the front of Todd's shorts. Todd pushed him away. His cock head was far too sensitive to be played with anymore. "Jesus, Cory!" gulped Todd.
Chris looked at Jon, who looked at Chris and smiled. Chris quickly positioned himself between Jon's widespread legs. With barely perceptible squirming movements he quickly brought Jon off. Jon turned beet red as his dick began spurting. His eyes bulged and his chest heaved as he creamed his swimming shorts. He felt the warmth spreading across his pubes. He too pushed Chris away. "Sorry, Chris, but, Jesus, that's too good to stand." Chris pushed back and Jon's leg kicked out. "Fuck, Chris, stop it, please." he begged quietly.
"Nothing like a good dry rub to settle the nerves and calm the wind," grinned Cory. He stood up and sat beside Todd. Chris sat beside Jon and put his arm around his waist.
Jon, once he had recovered his breath, told them that it he did not understand why Little Big Man was such an asshole.
"That's very easy to answer," replied Todd. He rubbed the cold cum congealing in his shorts. "Damn, Cory," he thought. "All I need is my drawers full of spunk."
"Little Big Man is gay," said Cory seriously. "He knows it, he just can't admit it."
"If Little Big Man is gay, the Pope is Jewish," scoffed Chris.
"Cory's quite right." Todd stretched and cracked his knuckles. "Little Big Man is as queer as I am. Nobody else carries on like he does. Look at Nicholas, or Greg, or Stuart. They're straight, and they know it. Like Cory said, I gave Phantom a monster feel at lunch. But he's straight and just moved away. Just like the other guys, Phantom knows that we pose no threat to him or them. They are simply not interested in having sex with us, or any other guy."
Chris thought a moment. "Come to think of it, yeah. Most straight guys could care less. Even Roger. He's straight and he knows that when one of you cops a feel, it's just a feel. He's not about to jump into bed with either of you."
"Which proves my point." Todd stood up. "Deep down inside Little Big Man knows what he really is and he hates it. So much so that he vents his hatred at guys he thinks are gay. He's so afraid of what he is he just spouts his venom, hiding behind it, when all the time what he wants, no, he needs, is a good old-fashioned blowjob, followed by an equally old-fashioned fuck. I'm going for a swim. Jon, you want to go for a swim?"
As Todd and Jon ran into the water Cory looked thoughtfully at Chris. Chris saw the look and shook his head violently. "Don't even think it," he declared heatedly. "There's a lot I want to do in life, but helping Little Big Man pop his puppy is not one of them."
Cory grimaced. "Well, its not something even I would do."
"Good."
"Still, it's an idea. And you have to admit, it would serve the little bastard good and right if someone should do it to him."
"Well, while you're thinking about it, how about if I come over there and sit between your legs?"
Cory smiled, spread his legs, and motioned Chris over.
Before he left work The Phantom stopped by Chef's office and found the information he needed. Ray's warm and very satisfying kisses, together with Todd's feeling him up, had set him to thinking. He had spent half the day mooning about it. It was time.
He pedalled home and spent a few hours with his parents. The mail had brought a huge information package on the UNTD programme at the University of Victoria and he and his father had gone over it carefully. "It says here," pointed out his father, "that only those candidates with at least a B average will be considered."
"Not a problem, Dad. I got a B+ overall this year. If I can pick up on my chemistry I can up that to at least an A-."
"You seem very sure of yourself, Phantom."
"I'm smart. It's in my genes. I take after my Dad." The Phantom grinned at his father.
"Flatterer. And are you sure you want this? You really want to join the Navy?"
The Phantom did not hesitate. "Yes, Dad, I am. It's what I want."
The Phantom's father went to the fridge and took out two beers. He handed one to his son. "Your mother and I are proud of you, Phantom," he said quietly, sitting down again. "You've never caused any trouble, and we both feel that what you are doing is a good thing."
"But?" The Phantom took a sip of beer.
"We just want you to be sure. We're not exactly poor, you know. We can afford to send you to any university you want."
The Phantom leaned over and kissed his father. "Dad, I know what I want."
"Don't get all mushy on me, boy," said his father with a grin, secretly pleased.
"Harry kisses his dad all the time. He loves his dad. I love mine, so from time to time expect a kiss." The Phantom stuck out his tongue, and then took a drink of beer.
"How is the big moose?"
"Harry? He's great. He's getting promoted. Well, if he passes his exam and the Board, he will. Also Two Strokes, and Jon, a whole bunch of guys. And the Twins."
"Good for them all. They have to work for their promotions?"
The Phantom nodded. "You bet your ass! An exam, then a practical test, then they have to go before a Selection Board. They have to really toe the line."
"Aside from not being a betting man," grinned The Phantom's father, "I'm glad for them."
"I don't envy them. The Gunner is inspecting them and believe me, he has the eyes of a hawk when it comes to dress and deportment. He can spot a pee stain on your underpants at a hundred yards."
"Phantom, I hardly think he'd go around looking at cadets' underpants."
The Phantom snickered. "No, he doesn't. It's just that he's a real stickler for the cadets being properly turned out. Which reminds me. Can you get some more of that special polish? The guys really have to look sharp."
The Phantom's father nodded. "Nobby Clarke makes it up by the barrel. I'll give him a call later on."
"Thanks, Dad. The guys will really appreciate it."
They finished their beer and The Phantom carried the empties out to the back porch, where the empty beer bottles were stored. "What are you up to this evening?" asked his father when The Phantom returned to the kitchen.
The Phantom shrugged. "I thought I might go downtown for a while. See what's doing."
"See what girls are on the prowl, you mean," laughed his father.
The Phantom shrugged. "Maybe. You never know. Maybe I'll hook up with Jeff. He's always been a babe magnet."
"From all the bragging that lad's father does I hope the kid is using protection. UVic won't appreciate him showing up to take up his football scholarship with one of his girlfriends in tow, with a bun in the oven."
The Phantom snorted and laughed. "Yeah, Jeff's got quite a reputation."
His father looked directly at Phantom. "I'm glad you don't."
"You are? I thought that, what with Brendan popping corn all over town, you'd be disappointed and . . ."
His father shook his head. "Phantom, the last thing I want you to do is to try to put the moves on every female on the block. There's too much of that going on. Far too much. You might think that because I'm a cop, and served in the Airborne, that I want my sons to be some kind of studs. Well, I don't."
"You don't?" The Phantom was flabbergasted. He always thought that his father was like Jeff's father. As far as Jeff's father was concerned women were there to service men. And the younger a guy started getting that service the better.
"Phantom, I'm going to tell you something." He took his son's hands in his own. "The first woman I ever slept with was your mother. The first time I ever slept with her was on our wedding night. I was so scared and nervous I puked."
The Phantom started laughing. "Jesus, Dad." He could not imagine his father, his wonderful, macho Dad, being a virgin on his wedding night.
"Stop laughing, you impudent brat." He cuffed his son on the head. "It's true. Your mother almost divorced me that first night." He leaned over and kissed his son. "Phantom, from the day I met your mother to this, I never cheated on her, and I had ample opportunity, believe me. She was all I ever wanted. She's all I will ever want. That's what I want for you. To find that special person. You wait for that special person, son, because believe me, it's worth it. I tried telling Brendan that, but . . . "
"If Brendan's brain was as big as his dick he would have listened."
"Phantom! He's your brother," protested his father. Then he burst out laughing. "But you're right."
"I'm going up to shower. You working tonight?"
"Yeah, special deal going down. I might not be home until the morning."
"I'll see you then. And Dad, thanks for the pep talk. I'll wait for that special person."
As he climbed the stairs leading up to the bathroom The Phantom smiled. "I've already found him, Daddy," he thought. "You won't approve, but it's my life, and I know what I want."
The Gunner was sitting at his dining room table sketching out a series of paper exercises. The Gunnery candidates would be presented with a Parade State. They would have unlimited personnel, on paper. They would be required to sketch out, in great detail, each evolution that would bring the parade to a successful conclusion. They could choose the music that their Band would play (which usually gave rise to some very interesting tunes) and, so long as they followed the regulation instructions, could use their imaginations. The purpose was to ensure that they knew how to plan, and execute, a parade. It was also to ensure that they, as potential Chief Gunnery Instructors, knew the Manual of Drill and Ceremonial. He was about to get up and take a welcome beer break when someone knocked on the front door. When he opened the door The Phantom smiled and walked in.
"What . . . what are you doing here?" The Gunner did not know that The Phantom knew where he lived.
"Came to visit. Had nothing else to do," answered Phantom airily. He had lied about having nothing better to do. He knew that there would be a rousing party in the Gunroom tonight - Cory had been most effusive when he'd issued an invitation to attend, but being with The Gunner was much more important to The Phantom. "Aren't you glad to see me?" he asked as he settled himself on the sofa.
"Well, yes, of course. You're always welcome. It's just that I'm hardly dressed to receive a visitor." Which was true. He was wearing only his boxers and a white T-shirt.
"Green plaid suits you." Phantom sat down and waited.
"Phantom, why are you here, and how did you know where I live?"
"I looked up your address on the Emergency Recall List. As to why I'm here, well . . ." The Phantom stood up, walked over to The Gunner and kissed him as passionately as he knew how. At the same time he reached down and squeezed The Gunner's privates.
So great was his love for The Phantom that The Gunner almost lost it. With great difficulty he pushed the boy away from him. "Phantom, we agreed," he said quietly.
The Phantom shook his head. "I'm in love with you. You're in love with me."
The Gunner held him in his arms, feeling his warmth, smelling his sweetness. "Phantom, I do love you. I'm in love with you, and yes, damn it, I want you. But we can't, and you know it."
The Phantom pulled away and sat down on the sofa. He rolled his eyes. "Here it comes. Do I also get Kipling quoted at me?" he asked sarcastically.
"Don't be a smartass, Phantom!" snapped The Gunner.
"Why not? Nothing else seems to work."
The Gunner sat wearily in the chair opposite Phantom. "Phantom, Phantom, how can I make you understand?" he asked slowly. "How can I make you understand that I can't make love to you."
"Don't you want to?"
The Gunner looked fondly at the boy. "Yes, I do."
"Then for Christ's sake, let's do it." The Phantom stood up and began pulling off his T-shirt.
"No! And keep your clothes on. Nothing is going to happen, Phantom."
The Phantom sat down and shook his head. "Why? Just tell me why, damn it!"
The Gunner leaned forward. "Phantom, I live by a certain code. I do not fool around with cadets, with my students, or with boys I have in my charge and care. I'm sorry, but that's the way I am."
"I'm not a cadet, I am not one of your students, and I am sure as hell not in your charge and care." The Phantom spat the words at The Gunner. "I'm a civilian. I go where I like, when I like, and with whom I like. I can sleep with you, or the ship's cat. It's my concern, my business!"
"That's all true," agreed The Gunner. "But so far as I am concerned, you are just as much a part of the AURORA cadets as the Twins, or Harry, or any of them. That makes you off limits."
"A touching and noble sentiment," sneered Phantom. "I can always quit."
"You can be a right little asshole, Phantom."
"As much of an asshole as you're turning out to be?" The Phantom could feel his anger rising.
The Gunner decided to try a different tack. "Phantom, please try to understand why a relationship with me would not work out. In less than a month I go back to the fleet. As of right now I belong to the Reserve Training Unit at NADEN. Tomorrow I could be drafted to a destroyer based in Halifax. I go where they send me. I don't have a choice. It comes with being in the Navy."
"You have to land somewhere. I'd wait."
"Phantom, I could be away for months. If I were drafted to the Standing Naval Force, I'd be gone for a minimum of six months. You'd never see me."
"I'd wait," replied Phantom stubbornly.
"There's something else you should know." The Gunner leaned back, thinking. He wanted Phantom to know the cruel reality of it all. "I live in a world that does everything in its power to root out people like me. It's a mean, cruel, terrible, world out there. I can't, I won't, ask you to live in that world."
"You haven't asked me. And if you did, I'd say yes," cried The Phantom passionately. He rose, crossed the room and knelt beside The Gunner's chair. "I love you. I want to live your life. I want to live my life with you. I want to be with you, always."
The Gunner kissed the top of Phantom's head. "Phantom, you must understand what I'm saying to you. There are people out there who . . . In the Navy there is a unit, part of the Military Police. It's called the Special Investigations Unit. They spend all of their time looking for people like me. It doesn't matter that Victoria is so full of drugs you can buy a hit outside the main gate of CFB Esquimalt! It doesn't matter that every Wren is harassed from dawn to dusk. None of that matters to these people! All they are interested in is getting the homos, getting the queers. And do you know why?" The Phantom shook his head. "Society says that we are all abominations. The Navy says that all we are all interested in is putting the make on straight, God-fearing young sailors. We are feared, and we are hated. We are not good enough to be in the Navy and we must be rooted out."
"You're not like that. The cadets don't fear you, and they sure as hell don't hate you."
"They might if they knew what I am."
"NO!" declared The Phantom. "They would never betray you. Never."
"I wish I could be sure of that. Think on, Phantom, it gets worse. If, and I say if, SIU got wind of me, they'd land on me, hard. They love investigating homos and queers. We're easy targets. We never fight back, you see."
"You'd fight back. I know I'd fight back," said Phantom firmly.
"No, Phantom, I wouldn't." replied The Gunner sadly. "I wouldn't because if I did they would find out about you. They would go to every ship, every station, I've ever served in or been drafted to. They would ask questions and sooner or later your name would come up. They might not be able to prove anything went on between us, but that wouldn't matter. To get me, they would destroy you. They would destroy Harry, the Twins, Two Strokes, anybody, so long as they got me. They are a constant threat to me. A threat that causes me to look over my shoulder and mind my back, always." He held Phantom's face in his hands. "I do love you. I want to wake up in the middle of the night and feel you snuggled against me."
"Then why . . .?"
"Why? Because we could never let anyone know about us. We would have to live a life of secrecy and fear. I don't want that for you, Phantom. I don't want you to live in fear.
The Phantom pulled away and returned to his seat on the sofa. "I understand what you are trying to tell me, Gunner. I might only be 17, and living in some backwater town in the middle of nowhere, but I know what is going on. I hear the names that gays are called. I see the looks they get. I hear the disgust that creeps into my father's voice when he talks about a raid on some fag joint downtown. So, you see, I know what other people think about people like us." He sighed sadly. "I also know that so long as the Navy is the way it is there's no point in me joining. I'm gay, I know it, and I don't want to be a part of something that hates me for what I am, or that demands that I live a lie."
"Phantom, you don't mean that."
"Yes, I do," replied Phantom sadly. "I was prepared to share your life, to be with you always. But you don't want me on any terms but your own. That's what this little chat has been all about. It's been what you want, not what I want." He stood up. "It's over, Gunner, I won't bother you again."
"Phantom, please, don't do this."
"Why not? You won't sleep with me. You won't make love to me. What point is there in going on?" The Phantom's eye caught the reflection of a framed photograph sitting on the end table. The Gunner cringed as The Phantom picked up the photo of Joel. He remembered the day it had been taken. They'd gone to the beach and Joel, as always, proud of his body, wore a white, very revealing Speedo. "Who's this?" asked The Phantom, his voiced edged with jealousy.
"A friend."
The Phantom snorted. "He must be a very good friend. Nice body. How old is he? He looks to be about 15."
"He's 28. He looks a lot younger, I know . . ."
"Is he a civilian?" The Phantom demanded to know, his voice knife-edged.
"Yes. He lives in Vancouver."
The Phantom looked directly at The Gunner. "Are you fucking him?" he asked bluntly.
"Phantom, that is none of your business. I told you, he's a friend."
The Phantom laughed bitterly. "Which means you are fucking him." He threw the framed picture onto the sofa. Tears rose in Phantom's eyes. "He's a civilian, he's 28, and you're fucking him. You lied to me. All you had to say was that there was another guy. That's all you had to say! But no, you don't have the balls to tell me the truth! You get on your high horse and spout noble platitudes at me, and all the time you're lying. You'll fuck him, but you won't fuck me." Weeping bitterly The Phantom pulled open the door. "Well, you keep on fucking him. Fuck him! Fuck you, you bastard, and fuck the Navy and all the fucking horses you rode in on!"
The Phantom ran from the small apartment, mounted his bike and pedalled off, not hearing The Gunner begging him to stop. He cried openly all the way to the shack, cursing The Gunner, cursing the Navy, cursing the unknown young man in the picture.
Inside the shack he let himself go, his body wracked with great heaving sobs. "I loved him," he moaned. "I loved him." His hand touched the camouflaged wristwatch. He ripped it off and threw it across the small room. "Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!" He pounded the mattress with impotent rage. "FUCK HIM!"