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 15
After leaving The Phantom the Twins wandered over to the swimming beach and sat on the grass-covered verge, scoping out the local talent. While there were some very fine specimens in evidence, laughing and splashing in the ebbing tide, there was not all that much to see. All the older cadets had fallen prey to fashion and wore baggy swimming shorts. Only Harry's Sea Puppies, who were much too young to interest the Twins, wore the formfitting, basket showing, brief-like bathing suits. Growing bored, Todd looked around and decided to go exploring.
"What for?" asked Cory. "If we cross the road we're out of bounds, and sure as shit if someone sees us we'll be on a charge."
Todd waved away Cory's objections. "I just want to see what is on the other side. Your phantom cadet diddler has got to come from somewhere. If he comes from town, he has to drive. He cannot leave his car on the roadway so he has to drive into the woods and hide it. We might find some tire tracks."
Cory was not interested. "Todd, I really don't care. So what if some guy is going around giving out blowjobs?"
"I told you why, you dummy. Sooner or later the word is going to get out and I do not want us to be suspected of it." Todd stood up and motioned for Cory to follow him. Cory, muttering under his breath about wild goose chases and wannabe Mohicans, followed.
Almost immediately they found a well-trodden trail leading into the dark forest. They followed the trail to where it widened into a small, weed-choked clearing and found a woebegone, weather-beaten shack. "Well, well, what do we have here?" asked Todd.
"A shack," replied Cory patiently.
"I know that, fool. I have eyes." Todd went to the entrance door. "Let's see what's inside." He pushed open the door to the tumbledown shack and immediately took a step backward. "Jesus, Cory, this place reeks," he exclaimed, his face a mask of disgust at the assault on his senses. "Christ, leave the door open and let the stink out."
Cory coughed explosively. "This place smells like a shit house in distress. What the fuck is in there, a dead horse?" He waved his hand in front of his face, trying to push away the offensive odour flowing from the sun-baked building. "From the smell, I would say about thirty generations of used cum," replied Todd with a grimace. He peered into the one room and nodded. "Look, there's a window covered with a blanket. If we can get it open we can get a cross breeze, maybe clear out some of the stink."
Cory waved his brother forward. "Be my guest. A howling gale couldn't clear out that stench."
Todd made a face at Cory and plunged into the gloom. A minute later he was back, gasping for air. "There's no glass in the window." he choked. "I just pulled down the blanket and there's a good breeze coming through."
Cory wrinkled his nose and pretended to gag. "There is that. I can smell it."
They moved away from the shack and sat upwind, waiting for the light breeze to clear the foul air from the building. While they waited they talked about The Phantom. "Do you think he's really gay?" asked Cory.
Todd thought about this. "Well, Harry fell in love with Stefan, didn't he? Why can't Phantom fall in love with The Gunner? You did."
Cory agreed. "But, Harry is not gay, in the sense that I am. If I like a guy, and he wants to, I'll sleep with him. Phantom is also not gay in the sense that I am."
"True. I do not consider Harry gay. Okay, he beats off his brother, but that's just something between brothers. It happens. Hell, I can name at least six guys who beat each other off on a regular basis, and they're not even brothers! They all still go out with girls. Four of them also fuck girls. They do not, however, fuck their jerk-off buddies."
"But Harry . . ."
Todd shook his head. "No, Harry did not. He and Stefan had sex, but they did not . . . fuck. I don't know the details, but they did not fuck. He's queer for Stefan. One day he and Stefan will make love, but until that day comes Harry would not dream of fucking anybody else."
"And Phantom?"
"Same thing. Phantom has probably fooled around with some guy from school, or the Boy Scouts. That's to be expected. Probably just giving each other hand jobs. I don't think he has ever fucked anybody, and I would bet my bottom dollar no one has ever fucked him."
"So, Phantom is queer for The Gunner. Nobody else?"
"Right. He's like Harry. He loves one guy, and one guy only. Unlike Harry, who has had sex with Stefan, Phantom has never had sex with The Gunner." He glanced at Cory and said, "That little talk that Phantom had with the Gunner?" Cory nodded. "I think that Phantom tried to get The Gunner into the sack . . ."
"And The Gunner turned him down!" Cory's face hardened. "The Gunner is such a jerk!"
"For not knowing a good thing when he sees it, yes, he is," replied Todd blandly. He sighed, remembering the stricken look on The Phantom's face. "Not that it matters, I suppose. What does matter is that he hurt Phantom. Phantom is angry with The Gunner, and very hurt."
"Then we shall have to be extra nice to him," said Cory. He glanced obliquely at his brother. "So you think then, that The Gunner isn't queer?"
Todd shrugged noncommittally. "To be honest, Cory, I just don't know. He comes on so fucking macho most of the time. He's always going on about his standards and his fucking code." Todd shook his head. "I just do not know."
Cory plucked a blade of grass and chewed on it thoughtfully. "I think he's queer for Phantom." He lay on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. "He loves Phantom. It's in his eyes. It's in the way he talks about Phantom. He's like Harry when it comes to Stefan. The Gunner is in love with one guy, and no one else. And that guy is Phantom." Cory put his hand on his brother's knee. "We have to help Phantom, Todd," he said. "I do not care what Phantom says, I'm going to tell The Gunner exactly what I think of him."
"A career limiting move, if ever there was one," returned Todd. "But, yes I think we should say something. I get the impression that whatever he said to Phantom hurt, really bad."
"That is exactly what I think, and exactly why we should say something to The Gunner," agreed Cory with a nod of his head. "Do you think Phantom will tell us about it?"
Todd shrugged. "Sometimes it's better not to talk about it." They lapsed into silence. Todd lay on his back, his hands behind his head. "Cory, what about Nathan?"
"What about him?"
"He thinks he's in love with you. Can't you at least let him say what he has to say, and get it over with?"
Cory sighed. "To tell you the truth, Todd, I do like him."
"You do? But I thought that . . ."
Cory threw away the blade of grass he had been chewing on. "I know what you thought. You thought it was a one-night stand gone wrong. In a way, you're right. In a way, you're wrong."
"What I thought, Mr. Know-it-all, was that you and Nathan had a good afternoon going and it got out of hand," countered Todd. "What I think is that Nathan is a good guy, who would be good to you, if you climbed down from that ivory tower of yours and let him." Todd waited patiently for Cory to respond.
Cory lay down and moved closer to Todd. He had a thoughtful look on his face. "I like Nathan, Todd. I won't deny that. I suppose that deep down I'm not all that angry with him, even if he did strip naked in the middle of the parade square."
"Well, at least you didn't hit him," said Todd, putting his arm around Cory.
Cory shook his head. "I wanted to, but what was the point?" He grinned at Todd. Todd hugged his brother and laughed. "It's finally happened."
"What?"
"You're growing up. The old Cory would have decked Nathan and then jumped him and spent an hour rolling around in the muck and mire."
"There's still enough of the old Cory inside me to jump you."
Todd ran his finger along Cory's warm cheek. "That's my boy."
Cory pushed him away. "Don't get any ideas, Toddy. You dragged my ass off base on some wild goose chase, playing Uncas, and I am not in the mood anyway."
Todd grinned. "We'll see about that. There is a bed in there."
"I do not care if it's a gold divan in the Taj Mahal," retorted Cory, rising.
"Come on, hot shot, this was your idea."
The smell inside the shack was bad, but not as bad as it had been. After about five minutes of snooping around they more or less became used to it. The bed was rumpled, but the old blanket covering it was relatively clean, with only one large stain soiling the middle of it. While there was dust in the corners of the room, the table, and the Coleman lantern that stood on it, was clean. The lantern had obviously been in use. Todd shook it and heard the fuel swishing about in the reservoir. "About half full, I would say." He replaced the lantern and looked around. "Somebody's been using this place."
"And I can imagine what for," sniffed Cory. "Somebody got lucky, and from the size of that stain, more than once."
Todd nodded his agreement, then bent down. "Well, well, what have we here?" he asked, holding up a pair of white boxers he had seen lurking under the bed.
"Drawers. White," offered Cory with a snicker. "I said somebody got lucky."
"And from the cum stains, very lucky. He must have shot two or three loads in these!" Todd dropped the boxers to the floor.
Very gingerly Cory sat on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking in protest at his intrusion. "So, Sherlock, what are your deductions?"
"I don't have any. If someone should step out from behind a lamp post and ask me, I'd have to guess that the local kids use this place for a little privacy." He sat down beside Cory.
"Privacy? Who would use this place? The smell alone would kill a moose."
"Oh, I don't know . . ." murmured Todd. He reached around and began to massage Cory's bum.
Cory pushed him away. "No, Todd, now stop it."
"Aw, come on Cory." Todd wheedled. He kissed the tip of Cory's nose. His hand returned to Cory's firm behind. "You have a very nice bum, Cory." With his other hand Todd began to caress Cory's chest.
"If it's so nice how come Harry bit it?" complained Cory. "Toddy, now, aw, Toddy, I am . . ."
Todd slipped his hand under the band of Cory's shorts, feeling the rising mound in his briefs. "You asked for that, Cory. You did try to make a fool of him." He squeezed Cory's rising erection. "He only pinched mine." He pecked Cory's slim lips. "Come on, Cory, please? We haven't been alone for a long time."
Cory, who could never fail to respond to his brother, returned the kiss. "Just two weeks, ago, is all. We were alone then." He slipped his hand down the front of Todd's shorts. He ran his thumb along the top of Todd's smooth, curving glans. "You're little friend seems to have sprung a leak."
Todd giggled. "Yours too." He pulled back and looked at Cory. "You're wearing underpants. You never wear underpants if you can help it."
"With Nathan on the prowl, I am not taking any chances." Cory kissed Todd lightly. "But, since you're not Nathan you just might get to find out what's in 'em."
"Oh, I know what's in them," grinned Todd. "I want to get them off you." Cory sniggered. "They came off quick enough on Texada."
"And Harwood Island. But we couldn't do anything about it." Todd squeezed Cory's boner tightly. "I could have used some of this then." He laughed. "Of course, with Two Strokes on one side of you and Chris on the other, I guess you were lucky that all you got poked with was a clasp knife."
"That's not all I got poked with." Cory squeezed back.
"Cory, you didn't?" exclaimed Todd. "Not with Two Strokes?"
"Well, sort of," admitted Cory. He felt Todd's tightening balls.
"Sort of?"
Cory nodded slowly and grinned. "I woke up in the middle of the night and I thought the fool had his clasp knife again, so I, um, sort of reached back and, well it wasn't his clasp knife."
"So you sort of reached around to feel just what it was, right?" laughed Todd as he pushed down Cory's shorts and briefs. "Sort of something like this." He bent down and licked a pearl drop of precum from Cory's pink helmet.
"Yes, something like that." Cory breathed softly, enjoying the feeling of his brother's hand on his dick. "I just felt around a bit, and then he grumbled and muttered and rolled over on his side." He put his hands under Todd's T-shirt and began pushing it over his brother's head.
"And?"
"It was okay, almost as big us, as you know, and he has nice balls, even if they are not all that big. They were nice and warm, though. Everything felt nice." Cory pushed Todd's T-shirt over his head and pulled it off. He began licking Todd's hardening nipples. As he licked he began to stroke Todd's hot, dripping hardon.
"I woke up with Chris's dick in my butt crack." Todd groaned as Cory pleasured him. "He was as hard as a rock, and he held me really close and began pumping, and kissing the back of my neck." He felt Cory tremble as he ran his fingers down his spine. "I thought for sure he would start moaning and groaning, (you know how much noise he makes), but he didn't, and then he just shivered and creamed me."
Cory laughed, then bent down and began to lip suck Todd's helmet. He stopped and looked at Todd. "Pity the Fort Henry Guard if Chris ever gets loose in their barracks."
"That's just for the tourists. The Guard doesn't really sleep in barracks."
Cory pulled Todd down onto the blanket. "But if the Guard did sleep in barracks, they would be the happiest Guard since the Creation."
Todd laughed and embraced Cory. "So let's pretend I'm the Guard and you are Chris."
"Why not? You've got your bayonet fixed."
They fell asleep in each other's arms, their legs entwined, Cory's head resting on Todd's chest, exhausted from their lovemaking. When Todd awoke, the sky was dark, and it was pouring rain. "Cory, it's dark out. Come on, wake up." He untangled himself and left the bed. "Hurry up. We have to get back. Jesus, where are my clothes?"
Cory was a totally satisfied young man and stretched languidly. "Light the lamp. There have to be matches around somewhere."
Todd fumbled in the dark and found the table. He opened the drawer and reached in, searching for some matches, which he found readily enough. He lit the lantern and as it flared he averted his eyes and saw a tiny glint of light sparkle on the floor near the door. He bent over and reached down, inadvertently mooning Cory, who sighed at the sight of his brother's wonderfully perfect, round, butt.
The light had come from the heavy crystal lens of a watch. Todd picked it up and examined it briefly. "Well, well, well," he grinned. He held up a green and black camouflage watch. "Look what I found."
Cory looked and then grinned broadly. "Well, now we know whose drawers were under the bed." He left the bed and took the watch from his brother's hand. "We may have to rethink our opinion of Phantom," he said thoughtfully. Cory returned the watch to Todd and began pulling on his clothes.
"Well, maybe," replied Todd reluctantly. He placed the watch on the table beside the lamp and regarded Cory a moment. Todd was not quite ready to believe that Phantom was gay so he reasoned, "Cory, Phantom could just be experimenting. You know, two guys out here, alone."
Cory nodded slowly, a doubtful look on his face. "Todd, I accept that at our age a whole lot of guys fool around with each other. Hell, that's only natural. But, Jesus, Todd, there's been enough cum produced in here to repopulate China!"
Todd pulled his T-shirt over his head. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah," replied Cory. His foot brushed against the soiled lump of white cloth on the floor. "And if Phantom is experimenting there's either a detachment of the Fort Henry Guard bivouacked in the woods or one very happy football team somewhere in Comox!" he thought as he edged the soiled boxers back under the bed with his toe.
They said nothing as they returned to the spit and hurried to the Gunroom, where they stripped off and showered. When they returned they found that Greg had returned, trumpeting the latest bad news. "Number Ones, for fuck sake!" Greg snarled. "Blues, with gold badges. Fuck me!" Greg flounced on his bed and groaned loudly. "Full blues tomorrow for the Drill Routine. Full whites for the Board."
"Where are we going to get gold badges?" asked Jon.
Chris groaned. "I've only got rank and Good Conduct badges, and only one set of those."
Cory looked at Todd, who nodded. They pulled on clean boxers and reached for their sewing kits. Harry, who had heard Greg moaning, joined them. "Here we go again," sighed Harry.
"I don't have any gold badges," moaned Two Strokes. "And I only have the one set of blues, and they're the pits!"
"We have the same waist size, Roger. I have an extra set of blues, but no badges." Fred reached into his locker. "Cory, you or Harry will have to take up the legs. I'm taller than Two Strokes."
Cory nodded his thanks and held out his hand for the trousers. He immediately set to work pulling out the stitching. "I have an extra gold Petty Officer's badge, and an extra set of GCs. But I'm Gunnery, so I can't help anybody out with the Regulating badge."
"I'm in the same boat," said Todd. "Jon, you can have my extra rank badge, and you can trim the three GCs to two."
Nicholas, Thumper and Harry searched their lockers and managed to come up with rank badges and Good Conduct badges. The problem of trade badges remained. Jon, Fred and Two Strokes needed Regulating Branch badges, and Chris needed a Boatswain's badge. Two Strokes appealed to Val and Tyler.
"Jesus, they are really laying it on, aren't they?" asked Val. "I only have one gold trade badge and it's on my uniform. I never thought to bring any extra badges."
"Nobody did," whined Two Strokes.
"Well, let's not panic just yet," returned Tyler calmly. "Let's see what we're up against and then we'll go to panic stations."
Followed by Val and Two Strokes, Tyler left the Chiefs Mess and entered the Gunroom where he gathered the cadets together. "Well, guys, it looks like we are faced with an exercise in scrounging," he said apologetically. "Obviously somebody has decided to present us with a problem, and we have to solve it."
"We're short three badges in the Gunroom alone," Val pointed out needlessly. "What about the rest of the guys? What about Ray, and Stuart and the rest."
Tyler thought a minute. "Okay, here's what we do. Todd, go next door and see what you can scrounge."
"They'll want something," returned Val darkly. "They always do and it won't be cheap."
"Negotiate, then," replied Tyler. He looked thoughtful. "I see The Gunner's hand in this. He keeps telling us that we are the best of the best and now, damn his eyes, he's looking for us to prove it!"
"We can do it," said Todd. "I might have to sell Cory, but we can do it!"
Cory glowered at his brother and snarled, "We'll talk about that later!" He turned and began rummaging in his sea chest. "But first we'd better come up with something shiny to use as trade goods."
"Whatever it takes," said Tyler, a stern look in his eye. "Todd, do what you can in the Petty Officers Mess. Mike should have some badges, and Mal. Just make sure he washes his hands before you take anything from him." Todd snickered at Tyler's veiled reference to Mal's habit of skinning his "Monster" on a regular basis. Tyler turned to Val. "Find Stuart and Steve and get them over here. They should have a badge or two." He rubbed his chin. "And go alongside Barracks 2 and find Rob. He owns Stores, for Christ's sake, and he has got to have some spare badges hidden away."
Tyler could not get rid of the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that this little exercise was for his benefit, as well as the candidates. The Gunner was a sneaky, rotten, rat bag of a man! He was testing them all, making sure that they lived up to his expectations and their potential. If it was The Gunner's intention to weigh the boys in the balances he would not find them wanting. Not if Tyler had anything to say about it. He was determined that he would do whatever it took to get his friends and messmates promoted. He surveyed the Gunroom. "Whatever it takes, do it! Just get whoever has a spare badge to cough it up. If you have to kiss him on both cheeks and pat his bum to get the badges, then do it!"
While the others scattered to visit their peers and hopefully scrounge whatever badges were available, Todd knocked on the door to the Petty Officers' Mess and waited. When the door opened he asked Mal, a tall, thin, dark-haired boy for permission to enter.
Mal was the son of a Chief Diver, and his greatest wish was to follow in his father's footsteps. He had a well-defined physique, with golden bronze skin, well-muscled legs, and a firm, strong chest and his boyish face was set with two startling, hazel eyes, and dark, almost black, eyebrows. Mal's passion was diving and he spent most of his waking hours in a wet suit, pestering the life out of the Chief Diver of the Comox Coast Guard Station. He was a great friend of the Chief PTI, who helped him maintain his trim body. "Sure," replied Mal. "You can always come in here."
Todd smiled his thanks. "We need some help, Mal. We need every gold GC you guys have. Also any gold rank or trade badges."
Mal motioned for his messmates to gather round. Willy and Jack, the two Boatswains, were as different as night and day. Willy had dark, black hair, and olive skin. Jack was blond, with tight curls that he kept in check by frequent, and close, haircuts. His fair skin, with bright, rosy cheeks, never tanned, and he always seemed to be sunburned. Together with the others, Phillip, called The Assistant, and Mike, the Chief PTI, they listened, and searched their lockers.
"We would appreciate the loan of anything you have," said Todd. "We're desperate."
Mike handed over two gold wire Good Conduct badges. "That's all I have. You're welcome to them."
Willy and Jack came up empty, as did Phillip. "I gave what I had to Brian. He still needs a Gunnery badge," Phillip said.
Todd looked at the double and single badges that Mike had donated. Cory's expertise with needlework would be well tested sewing the two badges into one.
"I have an extra badge," he told Mike. "So does Cory, so we can fix Brian and Dylan up."
"I'm really sorry, Todd," apologized Mal. "I wish we could do more but . . ." He frowned, a sudden thought entering his mind. He knew of someone who had a collection of badges. His eyes slid down the Mess toward the small cubicle formed out of their lockers. He made a face and shrugged. "I'm very much afraid that the only one left is Little Big Man . . ."
"Did I hear my name, asshole?" Little Big Man's wheat blond head appeared around the corner of the barrier of lockers. "Did I hear that someone needs gold badges?" He smiled crookedly.
"All candidates are required to wear Number One's with gold badges," explained Todd. "Not all of us have them. If you can help out, we would appreciate it."
Little Big Man laughed cynically. "You'll wait a long time. All you bone blowers in the Gunroom can go whistle up your asses."
"Paul, I am not asking for myself. There are other cadets who need them," replied Todd reasonably, struggling to keep his temper in check. "You would not be helping me, or Cory, but your friends."
"I have no friends!" snapped Little Big Man. He sneered contemptuously. "I don't associate with people like you, or the rest of them. Get what you need from that faggoty Gunner, or maybe Phantom. He came up with special boot polish for all you queers, maybe one of his gearbox friends has some badges."
"That's not called for, Paul!" Mike's lips were tight with anger. He towered over Little Big Man, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Rob and Ryan are your friends. If you don't want to help Todd, you could at least help Rob and Ryan."
"Fuck them!" Little Big Man laughed harshly. "Rob is the Storekeeper. Let him give them to you. I'm sure he'll open Stores for you. If you can drag him away from Ryan's ass."
"Paul!" Phillip, who had participated in more than one Sea Cadet Regatta with Rob and Ryan and liked them both, was not about to stand for Little Big Man's blatant accusation against his friends. He moved toward the short cadet, his fists clenched.
Todd grabbed Phillip's arm. "Leave it, Phillip. You hit him and he'll report you."
"Fucking straight on that one, mate." Little Big Man rubbed his crotch. "I would not give any of you queers the sweat off my balls. You can all suck my dick! All of you can suck my dick, including that gearbox, Phantom." He simpered, "My girlfriend says my dick tastes real sweet."
Mike shuddered at the thought of anyone, male or female, low enough to service this piece of shit. He pointed to Little Big Man's cubicle. "You have a choice. You get back in your hole, or you go out in the rain. Your choice." It took every ounce of Mike's self-control not to add, "You little piece of trailer trash."
Little Big Man grinned savagely. "Too bad. I have some brand new badges. Gold wire." He chuckled snidely and walked into his cubicle.
"What a prick," muttered Willy as he watched Little Big Man retire to his lair.
Todd shook his head. There was no point in saying anything to or about Paul Greene. Paul was his own worst enemy. Todd gave the other cadets a warm, soft smile. "At least you guys tried, and I thank you for that," he said sincerely. "I wont forget tonight, and that is a promise." He nodded to the connecting door between the Mess and the Gunroom. "Come on next door. I can at least offer you a drink."
Mike glared at Little Big Man's cubicle. "A lot of what happened in here tonight won't be forgotten," he declared, his voice edged, his face pale with hot, hidden anger.
Willy and Jack settled in the Gunroom and began polishing boots. Mal, whose brother was over in the Engineering Mess, went to canvass the Stokers. Mike was busily ironing every gunshirt in sight while Cory, Todd, and Harry began sewing on what badges they had. Rob and Ryan came in carrying the few badges Rob had in stock. Ray, the only cook on the promotion list, was in despair. He had no gold badges at all, and Cook badges were rare. There were none in Stores.
Jon sat beside Chris, wringing his hands. Thumper sat slumped on his bed. Two Strokes was trying to bluff his way through their despair. "So we don't have badges," he whispered despondently. "I didn't want to be a Chief, anyway."
"Balls!" Chris put his arm around Jon. "We'll get you a badge, we have to."
"Where? There are none in Stores," replied Jon with a slow, despairing shake of his head. "It wouldn't be so bad, but I already wrote and told my folks."
Chris suddenly started. "The Gunner's ditty box!" he exclaimed.
"What?" Two Strokes looked questioningly at Chris.
"The Gunner's ditty box. When he sent me to get the buttons and crowns for Tyler and Val, there were gold badges in there. I'm sure of it."
"Great. He's ashore and his box is in his desk."
Tyler motioned to Greg. "Let's go. You have to open the Ship's Office. I need a telephone and the Gunner's home number."
Leaving the other cadets to carry on as best they could, Tyler and Greg ran through the downpour to the Ship's Office. The Gunner answered the telephone on the second ring. He did not appear at all surprised that Tyler was calling.
"Badges, gold wire, C1A1, for the use of," he chuckled before Tyler could even ask.
"How did you know?" gasped Tyler.
"I'm the prick that set the exercise," replied The Gunner, confirming Tyler's dark suspicions. "It's called teamwork. You might be familiar with the phrase. You know, where a disparate group of men work together to reach a common goal?"
"Jesus, Gunner, that was mean!" exploded Tyler. "I mean, on top of the Parade State you set the Gunners to doing . . ."
"Tyler, meanness has nothing to do with it. If they can work together to solve this little problem they can work together to solve the big problem, should it arise." He chuckled dryly. "So, have you reached the goal?"
"Almost," admitted Tyler.
"No panic. No running in circles?"
Tyler laughed. "A little, at the beginning. Once everybody got calmed down, we figured out what to do. "
"And?"
"We have begged, borrowed, but not did not steal, extra badges and uniforms. Todd even offered to sell Cory!" Tyler, while not yet ready to admit defeat, could not keep the despair from his voice. "We can cover most of the guys so far as rank badges and GC's are concerned."
"Trade badges are a problem, though. Am I right?"
"Yes. Big time problems there." Tyler gave a heavy sigh. "Can you, um, can you help us out?" He hated asking anyone for a favour. But needs must as needs require.
"Chris, it would seem, peeked into my ditty box."
"Well, he mentioned that he had seen some badges. You know, when he got those crowns for us."
Tyler could almost see The Gunner nodding, a smile on his face as he said, "In my desk, which is unlocked, is the ditty box. It is also unlocked."
"But, I thought you kept it locked."
"Normally I do," chuckled The Gunner. "But I do my homework. You will find all you need in the box. My only surprise is that it took you guys so long to ask me."
Tyler grinned at Greg and nodded. "Say, Gunner, if all the guys pass . . ."
"They'd better. I just spent two hours trying to decipher the most appalling handwriting I have ever seen," complained The Gunner. "Don't they teach you guys how to write a clear hand any more? And tell Harry that The March of the Sugar Plum Fairies is not the recommended March Past music for an Admiral's Inspection."
"Well, you did say they could choose the music," replied Tyler, laughing.
"Yeah, well, a lesson learned for me. Anything else?"
"Do they get Number 11 uniforms? If they pass muster?"
The Gunner groaned loudly. "Are they expecting new uniforms?"
Tyler grinned sadistically. So, The Gunner had decided to test them on their teamwork, had he? Payback time. "Well, to be honest, they've talked about it," he lied enthusiastically. "You know Fred's uncle is coming to the final parade. So are the Twins' parents. My Mom and Dad are coming too, I hope, and you know my Dad is ex-Navy and . . ."
"All right already!" growled The Gunner. "I'll see what I can do."
"The cadets will appreciate anything you can do for them." Tyler's tone was positively syrupy.
The Gunner snorted. "You guys are worse than a bunch of girls."
"Well, we learned from the master. Besides, you would want them to look good, wouldn't you?" Tyler put his hand over the receiver and laughed silently.
"I should learn to keep my big mouth shut." The Gunner sighed. "I can only repeat, I will see what I can do."
Tyler thanked The Gunner and hung up the phone. He licked his forefinger and ran it down an imaginary wall.
"What the hell was that for?" questioned Greg.
"One up for me." Tyler grinned hugely. "How would you like to go on parade wearing a Number 11 uniform?"
"Well, yeah, I would," said Greg. "What did he say?"
"He'll see what he can do."
Greg grinned. "That will teach him to pull a bonehead play like this."
When Tyler and Greg returned to the Gunroom they found the air thick with steam, spray starch and the smell of boot polish. Mike had run out of gunshirts and set up a pant-pressing station. Mark, who had drifted in with Tony looking for a drink, had been promptly put to work by Todd, and was helping Mike.
All the candidates had gathered in the Gunroom and all of them were in various stages of undress. Tony, who was measuring Ryan's inseam, waved at Tyler. "This place is busier than my Uncle Angelo's tailor shop before a Mob funeral." He grinned, and then looked up at Ryan. "Okay, Sunshine, down you get and strip them off." Ryan, who had no compunction in taking off his clothes in front of his mates, was a trifle modest. Tony was, after all, a stranger. Tony saw Ryan's hesitation and said jokingly, "Come on, Ryan. There ain't anything in your pants I haven't seen before." Ryan laughed and dropped his pants. Wearing only his white briefs and a gunshirt he went over to where Rob was sitting, sewing gold badges on a jumper. Tony joined them and began sewing on Ryan's trousers. "You guys sure know how to run a sweat shop," he said with a grin.
With the gold badges that Tyler had gotten from The Gunner's ditty box, everybody was fitted out. Once the blue uniforms had been taken care of the cadets then concentrated on their whites. They chattered back and forth, chucking shit. The talk turned to Little Big Man.
"You guys should deep six that little bastard," advised Mark.
"We can't, mores the pity," sighed Rob. "Still, it could be worse. His buddy Rich could be here. He's as bad."
"Who is 'Rich' when he's up and dressed?" asked Greg, applying a final coating of shoe polish to his boots.
"Where do you think Little Big Man got all the bullshit he spouts?" asked Rob.
"His father?" Greg dabbed his polishing rag in some water.
"Partly," said Ryan. "His father is a right dickhead, believe me. But, at least he keeps his opinions in his house. Rich's father, though . . ." Ryan shook his head. "He is one bad piece of work!"
Tyler sat down on the bench and looked at Rob. "This 'Rich' critter. Is he in the Sea Cadets?"
"He was," replied Ryan, "until his dad found out that the Sea Cadets accept people of colour." He rubbed the front of his briefs and winced slightly. He looked and saw that no one had noticed.
Rob made a face. "Rich's father was in the Service Corps, a Corporal, I think. He was stationed at Windsor Park, you know the Stores Depot in Halifax? He's a member of something called the White Aryan Nation. He hates Jews, Coloured people, Catholics and Homosexuals."
"I'm familiar with the philosophy of racism," said Tyler someone pedantically.
"He hates everyone who is not a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant."
"He's bad, Tyler," replied Rob. "I mean he is really bad. He organized a protest in Halifax and the MP's spotted him, was charged with sedition, or something, and bounced out of the Army. After that his whole tribe drifted to Ottawa. He's banned from Uplands. Little Big Man worships the ground the guy slithers across."
Tyler groaned explosively. "That is all I need. A fucking racist!"
"So, what do we do?" asked Val.
"Watch Little Big Man like a hawk and keep our powder dry," replied Tyler grimly.
Just after Last Post sounded they finished. Every candidate had a complete set of gold badges sewn on his pressed and tailored blue uniform. Every candidate had a freshly starched and ironed white uniform. In the short interval between the Last Post and Lights Out they all had a small drink. When the bugle sounded Lights Out they drifted off, Mark and Tony to their cutter, the other cadets to their barracks, or beds, except for Thumper who retired to the heads for his nightly meeting with the Fist Sisters.
Todd and Cory took a blanket and their ponchos and sat on the barracks stoop. They were more or less sheltered from the steady drizzle that continued to fall. They sat quietly, holding hands, enjoying the nocturnal peace. Cory sighed happily and rubbed Todd's hand against his cheek. Then he kissed it.
"Are you all right?" asked Todd, surprised. Cory had never been what Todd would call a romantic. "You haven't been reading Barbara Cartland novels, have you?"
"Piss off, Todd," retorted Cory. "I was just thinking about us."
"Yeah? And what were you thinking?"
Cory kissed Todd's warm lips. "I was just thinking about how much I love you." Todd hugged him closely. "You goof. I know you love me. I love you, too."
"I was also thinking that I would not want to lose you."
"What are you talking about, Cory? I'm not going anywhere."
"Not now, but, well, times change."
Todd nodded. "Yes, they do. Which is why I want you to meet someone you can get along with and who loves you. You do not need protection. God knows that."
"I could never love anyone the way I love you," interrupted Cory.
"I know that," nodded Todd. "But, at the end of the day, who do we really have, other than ourselves? All the guys we've been with were more or less fuck buddies, or a one off. And, for all our talking, there really have not been all that many guys."
Cory thought a moment. "You're right. Last year, when we were here, we didn't touch anybody. This year, there's only been Chris, and now that he's found Jon, I really don't expect he'll want to spend any time in the Ropewalk with us."
Todd chuckled. "Well, maybe not. But then, he's not all that shallow. He'll still fool around with us."
Cory laughed. "If he can stand the pace. What a wicked combination! Jon, and us!"
"Chris can handle it. Right now he's like any other teenager. He'll go for the gold with Jon, or us. He doesn't love us. He is very fond of Jon. But he's not ready to settle down and frankly, neither are we." Todd squeezed Cory's hand. "Unless you've decided you've found someone?"
Cory glared at Todd. "Don't be stupid. Who would I want to settle down with?"
"Sorry, a poor choice of words," replied Todd calmly. "What I mean is, well, sooner or later I will not be the be all and end all of your life. We are two different persons. We have different ways of looking at things. I am content to go along to get along"
"You mean hide in a closet!" snapped Cory.
"Yes. I admit it. You, on the other hand, are totally uncompromising. You know you are gay. You accept that you are gay, and to hell with those who do not accept you for the way you are. You do not lie, or cheat. In fact, you are probably the most honest person I know."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Cory, because we are two different persons it stands to reason that sooner or later our lives will take different paths. Papa wants us to go to Law School. I am not all that hot and bothered about the idea, and maybe I will try it. You like the idea. If I do go to Law School, I would not want to be a criminal lawyer. You, on the other hand, would make a great criminal lawyer. You have the brains, and the balls, for it. Me, I prefer to be behind the scenes."
"So, what you are saying is that circumstances change. We're together now, but later, when we get older, we might not be," sighed Cory.
"Yes. I do not plan on spending the rest of my life in Vancouver. After we finish university who knows where our careers will take us?"
Cory had to admit the truth of Todd's statement. "But, Todd, there is no one I love more than you."
"I'm not saying you have to set up housekeeping with him. What I am saying is that maybe it's time you found somebody you are comfortable with, someone who doesn't look at you with a gleam in his eye and his pecker in his hand, At least not all the time. Someone you can do things with, you know, go to the Symphony with. Somebody to go to a ball game with, a friend just to hang out with, someone who is not a sex maniac, but just a plain, ordinary guy who wants to be with you because you are you. Someone you can call up and invite out for lunch who doesn't, as soon as he hangs up the telephone, reach for the Vaseline."
Cory laughed. "There's a lot of that sort around." He stood up and stretched. "Well, me for my bed. You coming?"
"To bed?" asked Todd suggestively.
Cory stuck out his tongue. "To bed! I am tired, I am wet, and I am not about to sit out here all night waiting for Mr. Right to come ambling down the path."
"Why not?"
"There is no Mr. Right," returned Cory tartly as he entered the barracks.
Todd snickered. "A lot you know, hot shot."
The next morning, under overcast skies and a steady drizzle, the cadets, grumbling and muttering, awoke. The grumbling increased tenfold when they found out that despite the rain morning callisthenics and Divisions would go on as planned. For the candidates this meant two changes of uniform before breakfast: sports gear, then blue uniform, negative jumper. After breakfast they would have to clean into their No. 1's, complete with recently acquired gold badges.
The Twins dawdled as long as they dared. They had no desire to stand in the rain doing push-ups. They could skip breakfast if they had to. Harry, however, would have none of it. If he had to go to morning callisthenics, so did they. He threatened them with mayhem if they did not appear on the parade square.
"Well, I am fucked!" snarled Cory as they pulled on their gym shorts and tees.
"I have better things to do with my time than to run around playing the jock." Todd, suffering Cory's tirade in silence, followed him out of the Gunroom.
Even as they returned from callisthenics, rain-soaked and muddy, Cory was still complaining about all and sundry. Todd was finally about to tell him to shut up as they approached the steps to the Gunroom when he stopped abruptly. Cory continued on, waving his arms and yapping. He was also not paying attention or looking where he was going and did not see Nathan sitting near the bottom of the steps.
Nathan was wearing a ratty, old, grey bathrobe, and calmly dipping into a paper bag of ashes, which he poured over his head. Cory promptly fell over him and lay sprawled in the mud, sputtering and glaring at Nathan.
Todd, knowing that discretion was the better part of valour, retreated into the barracks where his laughter could not be heard.
"And just what the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" yelled Cory as he pulled himself into sitting position. "Where the fuck did you get those ashes and what the fuck is that getup you have on?"
Nathan blandly ignored him. He reached into the paper bag, brought out a handful of ashes, and sprinkled them over his head.
Cory pounded the soggy ground in frustration. "Answer me, you half-fucked fool! And there had better be more than you under that . . . shroud . . . you are wearing!"
Nathan calmly lifted the hem of his bathrobe. He was wearing tighty-whiteys. Then he sprinkled more ashes on his head. "I got the ashes from the wardroom fireplace."
"Nathan, I am cold, I am wet, and I am in no mood for your nonsense," declared Cory. He stood up and shook his fist at Nathan. "Now, either you tell me what this is all about right now or I go inside!"
Nathan looked at Cory, his sapphire blue eyes gleaming. "Will you talk to me?" he asked softly.
"And if I say I won't?"
"Then I will stay here until you say you will!"
"You're under sailing orders, remember. You leave at noon."
"I'll desert."
Cory raised his eyes heavenward and shook his fists. "Aaagh," he yelled in exasperation. He looked daggers at Nathan. "You can't desert! You're a Sea Cadet, for Christ's sake!"
"Then I'll sit here until I die!" declared Nathan passionately.
Cory realized that he was facing an immovable object and, from the laughter he could hear emanating from the barracks, a very embarrassing situation. He squatted down in front of Nathan. "I will meet you in ten minutes, in the breezeway flats, if you promise not to desert and to go back to your boat and get some clothes on," he said quietly.
Nathan nodded his agreement. "The breezeway flats. You will come?"
"I said I would, and I will."
As Nathan walked back down the path, Cory entered the Gunroom where Todd handed him his soap and a towel and chuckled, "Try not to bite him, Cory."
Cory threw his soap at Todd and padded into the showers. When he was showered, he cleaned into the uniform of the day and, throwing his poncho over his uniform, stomped of to the breezeway flats where he found Nathan, himself freshly showered and fully dressed, his uniform protected by a yellow rain slicker, waiting for him. Cory sat down beside Nathan. "Well?" he asked coldly. Nathan looked at the boy he adored. "I am truly sorry for what I said to you. I would never, ever, hurt you. Please, Cory, accept my apology."
Cory stared at Nathan. "Anything else?" he asked, his tone colder than the rain that continued to fall.
"Cory, I love you. I know you don't love me, but that's okay. I just want you to know how I feel."
Cory's attitude softened marginally. "Nathan, we only met for a few minutes last Sunday. How can you say you love me?"
Nathan shrugged. "I know." He touched his chest. "I know in here."
Cory sighed. "Nathan, I am not going to say I love you. I've only just met you, and I hardly know you. And you can hardly say you love someone when all we ever had was a tawdry hump in your Commanding Officer's cabin. I would hardly . . ."
Nathan grabbed Cory by the shoulders and shook him. "You listen to me, Cory Albert Victor William Louis Francis Leveson-Arundel, Cadet Petty Officer in the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets, student at St. George's College, what we had was not some tawdry hump. Don't ever say that to me, Cory, dammit!"
"You remember my name?" asked Cory in a whisper, amazed at the depth of Nathan's declaration.
Nathan held Cory at arm's length and grinned with new hope in his heart. "I remember your name. I remember the shape of your dick and the feel of your balls. I remember the warmth of your body when we held each other. I remember how wonderful you tasted. I remember your smell. You smelled like the sea."
Cory was stunned. "You remember all that?"
Nathan nodded. "I remember. No matter what happens now, I will remember."
Cory reached out and took Nathan's hand in his own. "Nathan, I don't love you. I do like you, but I do not love you." He would not lie to Nathan.
"Cory, I know that. After the way I treated you, I can understand how you feel. But, can't we start over? Like we never did those things on the cutter? Please?"
"I don't know . . ."
"Cory, please. Just see me. That's all I ask," asked Nathan earnestly. "All we have to do is see each other, be with each other. That is all I am asking."
"What if I said no sex?"
Nathan paused, then nodded slowly. "If that's the way it has to be, okay."
"You're nuts!" Cory snatched his hand away.
"Yes, I am," agreed Nathan. "I'm nuts, crazy, loony. I will sleep with you, or not sleep with you. Whatever you want, I want." He reached up and rubbed his fingers along Cory's chin.
"Stop that. People might be looking."
"I don't care."
"Well I do! We do not need to tempt fate or upset the bigots. If I see you we would have to be discreet. No holding hands in public."
Nathan laughed and hugged Cory. "You'll see me?"
Cory struggled and squirmed from Nathan's embrace. "I said if. And if I do I am not jumping into bed with you. At least not right away."
Nathan nodded enthusiastically. "Whatever you want. I can come up to Vancouver. We can get to know each other. You can come down to Seattle. It's a great place, and I live in a big house, you wouldn't have to sleep with me, you would have your own room . . ."
Cory started to laugh. "You seem awfully sure of yourself."
"Please, Cory, say you will come down. Or I'll come up to Vancouver. I have my allowance saved up. I was going to buy a car, but fuck that noise. I . . ."
Cory put his hand on Nathan's lips. "Nathan, let me think about it, okay? You're going too fast. That was what started all this nonsense."
"When will I know? I leave at noon. Please, before I go . . ."
The bugle sounded, calling the Ship's Company to Divisions. Cory stood up, looked around, and gave Nathan a light peck on his lips. "I have to go. I can't miss Divisions."
"You promise?"
"I promise. Before you sail I'll tell you what I want to do." Cory turned to go, then turned around. "Nathan, do you like baseball or football?"
Nathan preferred football but he had heard rumours about a certain baseball game and decided to lie. "Well, I can take or leave football," he said, pretending indifference, "but I love baseball. A lot!"
"Now we are learning about each other, and not just the shape and size of our cocks." Cory smiled. "See you before you sail."
Immediately after Divisions were over the 19 candidates hurried to the Drill Shed dressed in an eclectic assortment of slickers, ponchos and issued Burberrys. They carried their Number Ones and glossy parade boots in double-wrapped green plastic gash bags. Rather then risk what to them was ruination they would change in the Drill Shed before their examinations began. They found The Gunner, Tyler, and Val waiting for them. Tyler and Val were resplendent in their Class I blue uniforms, gold badges gleaming in the hard, overhead, fluorescent lighting. Between the two cadets stood The Gunner, feeling very much like the ugliest duckling in a pond full of elegant swans.
After marking the Parade State examinations, The Gunner had pressed his best green uniform and polished his parade shoes. As he watched the candidates changing, bitching and complaining, he sighed heavily. No matter what one did, the green suit was a green suit; complete with plastic, gold-coloured buttons and shoddy rank badges. It was small comfort to him that around his neck he wore a sterling silver Gunner's chain and whistle. On one side of the whistle was the Queen's Cipher, on the other the gold and enamelled Royal Coat of Arms. The chain and whistle were all that remained to remind him of his days in the Old Navy, a souvenir of his time as a member of the King's Company, HMS EXCELLENT School of Gunnery, Whale Island.
The Gunner watched silently as the cadets fussed and grumbled, each taking care that their mates looked the best they could be. They fiddled with each other's lanyards and silks. They knelt and made sure that the white canvas gaiters were properly worn. Tyler heard The Gunner sigh heavily and smiled a secret smile. "Just wait," he thought, "until you see them with their Number 11s." Tyler had no doubt that The Gunner would produce the required uniforms.
"Are they going to be much longer?" asked The Gunner impatiently. "This dog and pony show is supposed start in . . ." he glanced at his watch, " . . . exactly seven minutes."
Tyler nodded and walked to the side of the Drill Shed, where the cadets were just finishing adjusting their uniforms. He noticed Ryan wince as he pulled down the front of his jumper. "Are you are hurting, Ryan?" asked Tyler. Everybody liked Ryan and his short, slim stature and boyish shyness endeared him to all, so much so that Tyler and the senior cadets tended to be overprotective of him. Ryan blushed. "I caught myself in my zipper this morning," he lied quietly.
Tyler, who had suffered the same accident on more than one occasion when he was younger, winced.
"Maybe he should go to Sick Bay," said Rob, looking pointedly at Ryan.
Ryan gave Rob a steely look. "It's nothing. And I do not need to go to Sick Bay."
"As long as you're sure." Tyler was not all that concerned. Such an injury, while painful, was hardly life threatening.
"I'm sure," replied Ryan, squaring his cap.
When Tyler was out of earshot Rob rounded on Ryan. "Why did you tell him that? You need to go to Sick Bay. Fuck, Ryan, there is pus leaking through your underpants."
Ryan refused to listen. "So that Doc can tell me exactly what the doctor at Uplands told me three months ago?"
"Ryan . . ."
"No! If I go to Sick Bay Doc will take one look and send me home. I am not going home, Rob! I am going to be a Petty Officer! I am going to have a Number 11 uniform! When I do go home I will see the Quack and . . ."
"Dammit, Ryan, that's three weeks away. By then . . ."
"I have some medicine left from the last time." Ryan stared into Rob's eyes and grabbed Rob's arm. "If you love me," he whispered, "if you really love me, you'll say nothing. Promise me Rob, promise me, now."
Rob stifled a sob and nodded. "I promise."
Then The Gunner blew his whistle and the cadets formed up for their inspection.
By and large the morning went well. Each candidate was required to shout out a set order of drill movements. Each candidate was required to bellow orders from one end of the Drill Shed to a platoon of General Training Cadets and Sea Puppies, which was formed at the other end, a distance of just over 150 feet. The candidates were judged on their dress, deportment, and clarity of orders. The cadets had been trained to give orders in a loud, clear, voice, ensuring that their orders came from the diaphragm, and not their throats. This was also marked.
Cory, who was slated to be the last examinee before lunch, fretted and fumed. He wanted to keep his word to Nathan, and worried that the American cutter would sail before he had a chance to say goodbye.
Things went very well and moved along smoothly. It was more than evident that the candidates knew their stuff.
At 1000, just as the bugle sounded Stand Easy, The Phantom went over to the Drill Shed with a plate of sandwiches. "You missed breakfast. Eat," he said as he handed the plate to Cory.
Cory nodded his thanks. "How did you know?" he asked between bites. "Nathan told me. He said you missed breakfast and asked me to see if I could get you something to eat."
Cory looked at The Phantom and shook his head. "You look like hell."
"I'm not sleeping too well." The Phantom noticed The Gunner looking in his direction. He abruptly said goodbye to Cory and left the Drill Shed.
Harry was scheduled for his turn in the barrel immediately after Stand Easy. He assumed his position at one end of the drill square and, when The Gunner nodded, cleared his throat. Harry then let out a stentorian bellow that reverberated throughout the Drill Shed. Two of the Sea Puppies were so startled they dropped their weapons and a third peed himself.
In The Gunner's office Andy had just settled down to enjoy the cup of coffee he had cadged from the pot of evil that The Gunner kept bubbling on a hot plate in his office. Andy and The Gunner were the only two on board who could stomach the liquid. Andy said it reminded him of every bad cup of coffee he had ever had in Nam.
Harry's bellow caused Andy to start so violently that he dropped the boiling liquid in his lap. The proceedings were immediately halted while Andy was helped to Sick Bay where, as he later told Kyle, he was forced to undergo the indignity of having Matron rub a healing lotion over his not too badly burned thigh, all the while thanking his God that he had elected to wear boxers, rather than briefs, when he dressed that morning. The Gunner thought the episode hilarious. Laughing uproariously at Andy's discomfiture, The Gunner rescheduled Harry and Cory's Drill Mutuals until after lunch, dismissed the cadets and went off to the Wardroom to console Kyle.
Heedless to what the teeming rain might do to his boots Cory grabbed a poncho and hurried down to the Dockyard and onto the jetty. He heard the cutter sound a long blast on its horn, signalling its imminent departure. Cory saw that only the fore and aft springs were in place and ran as fast as his heavy boots would let him.
Nathan was standing on the fantail of the cutter and when he saw Cory thundering down he jumped nimbly onto the jetty. Cory slammed to a halt in front of him. Nathan was still wearing his yellow slicker. His Dixie cup hat had been soaked through and the brim had fallen down over his eyes and ears; his dark blue uniform and his boat shoes were sodden. He had a wildly happy grin on his face. "You made it."
Cory laughed at the sight of Nathan. "Nathan, you're soaking. How long have you been standing out here?"
"Not long, only since 1100. And you should talk. You're the one getting soaked."
Cory did not care that the rain was streaming from his round, stiff cap and cascading down the back of his uniform, soaking his gunshirt and seeping into his trousers.
Nathan reached out and placed a small bit of paper in Cory's hand. "That's my address and telephone number. God, I wish I could hold you."
Cory shook his head. "No, too many eyes." He smiled. "Nathan?"
"What?"
"I'm kissing you."
Nathan coloured. "Fuck, man, I mean, ah, shit, I don't know what I mean. But I'm kissing you back."
"Get back on board before Broadhurst starts yelling. Look, they're taking in the fore spring. You'd better get back on board."
"You'll come to Seattle?"
Cory nodded. "The Friday before Labour Day. I'll stay the weekend. I will be on the first bus I can get out of Vancouver. I'll let you know what time the bus gets in."
Nathan jumped back on board the cutter. "Call me, please, Cory." As they talked the deck hands hauled in the last line. The cutter backed, swung to starboard, and then slowly moved ahead. "Call me," yelled Nathan.
"I will. And Nathan?"
"What?" Nathan cupped his hand to his ear as the stern of the cutter moved away from the jetty.
"Maybe I will stay in your room. You know, just to keep you company." Nathan laughed and waved happily.
Cory followed the cutter as it passed along the jetty and watched as it made a wide turn into the harbour. He stood on the jetty, waving slowly, watching the small vessel, and the smaller figure on the fantail, until they disappeared into the mist.