Phantom of Aurora

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of thumping your 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 your 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 and 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 5

Sunday was not a day of rest for The Phantom. Sucking two cocks had left him so horny that he stopped halfway to the shack, pulled down his pants and briefs, and beat off furiously, blowing a huge load into the sand. When he reached the shack he stripped naked and rolled on the bed and then, using the Vaseline that he had found in Brendan's room, he lubed a finger and finger-fucked and pumped himself to another crashing orgasm. He greedily wiped his body of every trace of his semen and sucked his fingers clean. Jesus, he loved the taste of cum!

The Phantom dressed and, his body redolent with the mingled odours of sweat and cum, he pedalled furiously home where he stripped off and showered. His erection refused to subside so he masturbated in the shower, his orgasm as strong and as powerful as the one he had experienced in the shack and he collapsed against the tiled wall of the shower stall. When he had recovered sufficiently he managed to totter into his bedroom where he fell onto the bed, exhausted and overcome with pleasure. He pulled the comforter around his naked body and fell into dreamless sleep.

He awoke feeling wonderfully refreshed and with a bone on that was not to be believed. The Phantom played with his dick and balls for a while, and rubbed his asshole, thoroughly enjoying himself. He tried inserting a finger but for some reason he was too tight. "I have got to get me some more Vaseline," he thought as he moaned his frustration.

He began his morning ritual, stroking slowly, enjoying the sensations that roared through his body, wanting to make it last as long as possible. The Phantom felt the wave of glory forming deep in his balls, felt it rise and crest, felt it crash from the gaping slit of his spasming helmet and spatter over his chest and stomach. He lay on his bed, breathing in great rasping breaths as his cock head pulsed and throbbed, his testicles emptying of his teenage nectar. This time he did not wipe himself clean with his hand. Instead he snatched up the briefs he had worn the night before and used them to wipe up every stray gobbet he could find, and then began licking and smelling his wonderfully soaked underpants. He was so caught up in what he was doing that he was only vaguely aware of someone calling his name.

There was light knocking at The Phantom's door and he heard his mother calling him to breakfast. He quickly got off the bed and snatched up a pair of track pants. All he needed was for her to come barging in and see him sniffing his undies! He yelled that he was up and going to shower. He heard her footsteps retreating, and then she called out that he also had to dress for church and, please, do hurry.

Ten minutes later The Phantom appeared at the breakfast table, fully dressed in his best navy blue suit, a crisp, starched white shirt, and a tie he had borrowed from his father. He was promptly sent back to his room to change his socks, his mother's words ringing in his ears. "Really, Phantom, you're as bad as your father! White socks with a dark suit?"

Suitably chastened, The Phantom ate breakfast and listened as his parents planned a short vacation later in the month. He was not invited, as he had to work. His parents planned to fly out to Regina and attend Brendan's graduation from the Prairies School for Wayward Boys. After breakfast the family walked to St. Peter's Anglican Church and attended Mass. The Phantom pointedly did not take communion. He loved his church, its history and its traditions. He did not love its prohibitions and proscriptions against men and boys such as him.

After church they visited with the Jensens, who were also parishioners of St. Peter's. Mrs. Jensen apologized for Amy not being present. She was off island visiting with some friends from school, which suited The Phantom just fine. He would not have to worry about her shoving her hand up the leg of his drawers for a while. Off the island was just the place for her! He noticed that Jeff seemed very pale under his glorious tan. Jeff was dressed in smart slacks and an open neck, crisply ironed shirt. He was also wearing loafers. With white socks! "So much for making a fashion statement," thought The Phantom with a small, disapproving sniff. Robbie Jensen, who emulated his older brother whenever he could, was similarly dressed and being his usual pain-in-the-ass self.

Jeff seemed preoccupied with Robbie and aside from a brief greeting ignored The Phantom, which did not bother him in the least. He had never been close to the high school football star and was, in the event, happily scoping out a few of the younger male tourists who had attended the service. Jeff's brusqueness was more than made up for by the prime stuff loose this morning, which made The Phantom more than determined to go back to AURORA that night. He was so engrossed in checking out a blond stud with a basket to kill for that he almost missed his mother inviting the Jensens over to the house for a barbecue.

The Phantom groaned inwardly. He had gone to school with Jeff but they had never been buddies. Part of the reason was that Jeff was the quintessential high school jock, the star and mainstay of the football squad. He swam with the Swim Team and, when he wasn't out shagging girls, Jeff was shagging flies with the YMCA baseball team. His chiselled good looks, shock of curly black hair, and a perfect smile guaranteed a different girl almost every night of the week. The Phantom could not get enthusiastic about sports. As Jeff worshipped at the altar, The Phantom sort of waved as he strolled past the temple. The Phantom enjoyed sports on his own terms. He swam on the school team, and was a fairly good athlete. Unlike Jeff, however, he simply could not get excited about The Team the way Jeff did. As far as The Phantom was concerned he swam because he enjoyed swimming, or played a game of baseball because it was a game, to be enjoyed and not a gladiatorial contest.

The Phantom was a little relieved when he heard Jeff beg off the invitation. He would have jumped Jeff's bones in a BC minute. Of course, had he tried to put the moves on Jeff he would no doubt beat the living shit out of him in a BC minute. The Phantom had every intention of going visiting and he wanted to be as cool and relaxed as possible when he went over to AURORA. All he needed was Jeff Jensen cavorting about the pool in a racing Speedo. Jeff in a Speedo was enough to get The Phantom's balls boiling and he'd end up spending all his time beating off to the image of Jeff.

When they got home The Phantom and his dad spent their time cleaning up the back garden and pool area. They set up the tables and umbrellas and then The Phantom's dad flashed up the barbecue. He fancied himself a gourmet when it came to grilling a steak, which had to be just so before he would deign to cook it. He puttered about, getting out the steaks, selecting just the right ones and preparing them for grilling.

Around three the Jensens drove into the driveway. The Phantom was surprised to see Jeff uncoil himself from the car. From his front door he had a heart-stopping view of the quarterback's tight, round, footballer's ass as he bent to get some food and napery from the trunk. When The Phantom expressed his surprise at Jeff's presence he mumbled something about his plans for the afternoon falling through.

They all traipsed through the house and out into the pool area. Robbie, hyper as usual, immediately wanted to go swimming. Jeff agreed to go in with him if he'd shut up and not fool around too much. Robbie agreed and The Phantom led them up to Brendan's room. "You guys can change in here." He opened the door and motioned them through. "I'll go change and meet you downstairs."

The Phantom went into his room, stripped down and put on the baggiest pair of shorts he could find. "Fuck," he thought, "I'm as bad as The Gunner." Then he wondered if The Gunner wore baggy shorts for the same reason he did. No, he decided, not The Gunner. The man had no interest in men, or boys. With a small sigh of regret over The Gunner's straightness, The Phantom went down the hall and used the john. As he passed Brendan's room he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He thought nothing of it and went on and did his business. When he was finished, he walked back down the hall and as he passed the door to Brendan's room he heard a distinct moan. Curious, The Phantom pushed the door open a bit. What he saw left him slack-jawed in shock.

Jeff was lying naked and spread-eagled on the bed. Robbie was also naked, and was kneeling between Jeff's legs, bent over, with his mouth on the top half of Jeff's hard cock, which looked to be about seven inches long, and very thick. Robbie's left hand was clasping the bottom half of Jeff's flushed, veined shaft. With his right hand Robbie was tickling and fondling Jeff's large, Grade A, prime Canadian balls.

As The Phantom watched Jeff threw his head back and lay open-mouthed, with low growling noises rising from his throat. With one hand Jeff gently cradled Robbie's head and with the other he stroked his brother's pink, little boy, bubble butt. Robbie's head began to bob up and down at a faster pace and almost immediately Jeff's body tensed. He moaned Robbie's name. Robbie moved his mouth upward, concentrating on the tip of Jeff's penis, sucking fiercely on the smooth, red, mushroom head. Jeff's body trembled and he thrust gently upward, whispering Robbie's name as he pumped his load into his brother's eager mouth. The Phantom, who had jacked up and was busily playing with his boner, watched as Robbie swallowed gout after gout of Jeff's awesome load, so huge that he could not swallow fast enough and small streams of creamy, thick, semen dribbled from his mouth.

When Jeff, moaning deliriously as Robbie continued to suck his shrinking cock, finally finished shooting, Robbie straightened. His thin, boy cocklet, a pink and white shaft crowned with a perfect rosebud of a helmet, bounced up and his small, little boy balls, which were contained in a hairless, low-hanging sac, ascended and descended gently as he breathed. Robbie smiled and threw himself on Jeff's body, kissing him passionately. Jeff's mouth opened slightly and Robbie's tongue deposited the remains of his own cum in his mouth. Robbie's pink, perfect butt began to bounce up and down as he ground and rubbed his 3-inch cocklet against his brother's semi-hard dick and through his thick, rough patch of black pubic hair.

Jeff wrapped one arm around Robbie, holding him tightly. With his free hand he rubbed and kneaded Robbie's sex-flushed, peach-shaped butt. Robbie began to hump faster and Jeff's fresh drained member hardened again. He was moaning and growling as each thrust of Robbie's cocklet crossed his crimson helmet. Robbie began whimpering as he thrust his hips faster and faster. Suddenly he seemed to freeze, his body stiff. A low, keening squeal escaped his throat and he thrust his hips strongly upward, shuddering as his dry orgasm overwhelmed his body. Moaning and whimpering he continued to make tiny thrusts until his orgasm ebbed. Much to The Phantom's surprise Jeff's piss hole gaped and first one, then another, then another small, thick blob of cum spurted out. He watched the two brothers hold each other close, both boys breathing deeply, their bodies slick with sweat and Jeff's semen. Jeff's eyes were closed, with Robbie's head resting on his broad chest, a contented smile on his face.

The Phantom backed away from the door as quietly as he could. He rushed into his bedroom and snatched up the briefs he had used the night before. He pushed down his swimming trunks and fisted his rampant hardon, pumping furiously and bringing himself to a massive orgasm within minutes. "Jesus Christ!" he thought, sitting on his bed, his hand continuing to slowly pump and caress his shrinking cock as he enjoyed the after effects of his cumming. "Jesus Christ. I thought I was weird. But this is too much. Jeff and Robbie? Robbie and Jeff? Jesus Christ!"

As The Phantom heard Jeff and Robbie pass by his door he quickly wiped himself with his briefs and pulled up his swimming shorts. He took a few deep breaths and went downstairs to the pool. He swam a little and watched a lot.

Robbie seemed totally unaffected by what Jeff and he had just done. He swam, he cavorted, and he played the fool doing a handstand on the edge of the pool, splashing Jeff and his parents. He was a now a typical 12-year-old boy enjoying himself on a hot summer day.

The Phantom wondered idly why Jeff was wearing a pair of baggy shorts instead of his usual skin-tight Speedo. But then, considering the blowjob Jeff had just received, wearing baggy shorts was probably a good idea.

Jeff was very quiet all afternoon. He allowed Robbie to tease him unmercifully, swimming with him, playing the part of the older brother to perfection, putting up with just so much of Robbie's nonsense and then ducking him when he became too obstreperous. From time to time The Phantom noticed Jeff pale, always when he was engaged in a wrestling match with Robbie. Jeff would mutter something and Robbie would nod. Then they would move away, swim about, and begin skylarking again.

The Phantom, whose eyesight was better than 20/20, so much so that it was of the optometrist's scale, watched Jeff's face closely. He saw more than brotherly love in Jeff's warm, brown eyes. He also saw a look of fear cross Jeff's handsome face every time he and Robbie wrestled. It took him a while but The Phantom finally realized what was going on. The little bugger was groping his older brother every chance he got. "And I thought Amy was the slut in that family," thought The Phantom unkindly. "No wonder Jeff's wearing those shorts." When the beer-drenched steaks were finally ready, they gathered around the huge redwood picnic table to eat. Robbie finally settled down and sat as close to Jeff as he could, eating a prodigious amount of food. Jeff picked at his steak, claiming not to be hungry. After eating the adults sat, chatting and drinking. Jeff and The Phantom were allowed to have a beer. Robbie, bored, went into the house and turned on the television. Within minutes he was sound asleep on the couch.

The two teenagers moved away from the adults, not wanting to listen to the police gossip that always seemed to dominate their conversation. They sat on deck chairs, talking about nothing at all. Jeff asked how the job was going. The Phantom asked how Jeff was spending his summer. Then they fell silent. Jeff sipped his beer, finished it, and went to get another. When he returned he opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and sat back, sighing heavily. "Jeff, if you want to talk about something, please go ahead," said The Phantom gently. He guessed that Jeff's conscience was bothering him. "But if whatever it is you want to talk about is embarrassing you, please, we can play cards, maybe watch TV, or something."

Jeff looked at him and smiled weakly. "Can I ask you a question, Phantom?"

"Sure."

"Did you and Brendan . . . did you, uh . . .?" he stammered.

"Fool around?" finished The Phantom. It was obvious that Jeff needed to unburden himself.

"How did you . . ." Jeff began, his surprise evident on his face. "What do you . . ." he took a huge swig of beer.

"Jeff, Brendan and I never did anything," said The Phantom quickly. "Brendan was always Mr. Big Man on Campus, Mr. Stud. He never tried anything with me. All he ever did was beat off every night like some grunting water buffalo. He'll make a good Buffalo Fucker."

Jeff laughed so hard he cried. "Jesus, Phantom, he bragged about how much pussy he was getting." He wiped the tears from his eyes.

"The only pussy he was getting was if he grew hair on the palm of his hand," grumbled The Phantom.

Jeff leaned over and patted The Phantom's knee. "You're okay, Phantom," he said quietly. "I'm sorry now we did not get to know each other better.

"You have no idea how sorry I am," thought The Phantom.

Jeff looked around and saw that the adults were still deep in their own conversation and were not paying any attention to them. He looked questioningly at The Phantom. "Damn it, I have to tell someone," he muttered then said in a half-whisper, "Will you promise not to repeat what I tell you? Please Phantom?" Jeff asked.

The Phantom looked into Jeff's eyes. "You poor prick," he thought. He nodded. "I promise."

Jeff took a deep breath. "Robbie . . . Robbie and me, we . . . we do things together," he said slowly, his eyes darting around the pool area. He clasped his hands and looked down at his feet. "We do stuff."

"All brothers do," replied The Phantom playing dumb. After witnessing the scene on his brother's bed he knew exactly what stuff Jeff and Robbie did together. He continued on, pretending to be oblivious to what Jeff was trying to say. "My brother thinks I'm a dork. When I was little, he wouldn't fool around in the pool with me, wouldn't pitch a ball to me. I think he resents me. Before I came along he was the fair-haired boy. Then I popped out and, well, you get the picture." He shrugged. "But then, I think he's a jerk, so I guess we're even."

"That's not what I mean," said Jeff tightly.

The Phantom deliberately waited for several seconds before answering. "Jeff, if you're doing what I think you're doing, maybe it's better that you don't tell me." The Phantom couldn't help letting his perverse streak shine through. "Jesus," he thought. "So you're boffing your brother. Big deal, I suck a mean cock and there are two guys across the harbour that won't sleep tonight if I don't come calling. Fuck, I'd even suck yours if you want."

Jeff looked at him, stricken. "Phantom, I love him," he said, his voice a low moan. "I love him more every day. Fuck man, I love my little brother in a way that I shouldn't. I'm doing things with him that are against the fucking law! If my dad found out he'd kill me, no, he'd put me in jail. He hates queers and faggots. He's always going on about how no son of his is a faggot. He's always boasting about me, about how popular I am, what a good athlete I am!" He stood up suddenly. "I gotta go to the can."

As Jeff hurried into the house, The Phantom stared after him. "Hell and sheeit," he thought, "this is getting too heavy." He stood up and followed Jeff into the house. He found Jeff sitting in the big chair in the living room, staring at Robbie's sleeping form. He sat on the arm of the chair and put his hand on Jeff's broad shoulder. "Jeff, you're not the first guy in the world who has fallen in love with his baby brother. You won't be the last."

"Phantom, you don't, you can't, understand how I feel!" Jeff's face contorted with the inner pain he felt. "You can't know what it is like to love someone and know that at the same time it's forbidden. It's ripping my guts out inside. What makes it worse is that he loves me. I mean he really loves me. He wants to be with me all the time. I want to be with him all the time. You can't know what that does to a guy."

"Why not?" asked The Phantom harshly. "Do you think that you have a monopoly on loving someone?" He stood up and pointed his finger at Jeff. He was a little tired of Jeff's self-pity. "This isn't about Robbie, or what you do with Robbie. It's about Jeff."

He sat down in front of Jeff and crossed his legs. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw that Jeff's shorts, baggy and wide, were in his direct line of sight, as were Jeff's perfectly proportioned cock and tight, hairless balls. He could see little tendrils of pubic hair curling around the base of Jeff's dark, fleshy shaft. "You can't get it out of your mind that you are fucking your brother," The Phantom continued. "You can't get it out of your mind that for a long time, while you were fucking some broad, you were really thinking of some guy. Am I right?" Jeff coloured and nodded grimly. "On all those away games, when you shared a bed with another guy, you wanted to reach over and see what was under his Fruit of The Looms, or maybe give him a feel and see how big his dick would get. Right?" Jeff nodded again. "Your problem Jeff, what is really busting your ass, is that for years, you have known that you were gay. For years you fought to keep the feelings deep inside, to live up to . . . no, to be . . . the image everybody has of you. And then along came Robbie."

"Yes, along came Robbie," said Jeff quietly. "Remember that storm we had last winter? He came into my room. He said he was scared and wanted to sleep with me." He hung his head, and then shook it. "He looked so damned needy . . . lovable. He was wearing those damned little boy briefs, with fucking bears on them! He had this tight little butt and a cute little bump in the front." Jeff ran his hand through his short hair. "Jesus, Phantom, he looked so . . . beautiful. Not girl beautiful, just . . . beautiful. I couldn't say no."

"So, what happened?"

"Robbie snuggled up to me real close," whispered Jeff, a wistful smile on his face. "Gosh, Phantom, Robbie was so warm, and felt so soft and Christ, how sweet he smelled! He put his head on my shoulder and I could smell, I guess, just the cleanness of him. He hugged me real close and when he cocked his leg over mine I could feel his knee against my balls, and his little boner through his underpants, as he rubbed against my leg. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. He felt so tender, so helpless I just squeezed him as tight as I could. Then he put his hand on my chest and started rubbing me. The more he rubbed the lower he got until, fuck, man, he was down the front of my jockeys. He felt me get hard, and he kissed me like I never got kissed before. You can guess the rest."

"Yes, I suppose I can." The Phantom leaned forward and hugged his knees, taking a closer look at Jeff's parts.

"And ever since then, he's been driving me crazy." Jeff stifled a sob. "He wants it all the time. I mean, he jumps me in the morning. He sucks me when I get home from school. He sneaks into my room when everybody else is in bed." He coughed and coloured. "Robbie likes to suck me off. I . . . um . . . well, I suck on him too. He's a little mad at me because I won't fuck him." Jeff shook his head. "He's too young for that. So we do other things. Christ, the kid is only 12 and he knows more positions that I do."

"Never underestimate the benefits of a classical education. Or schoolyard sex-ed," replied The Phantom with a straight face.

"Thanks, Phantom, I really needed that."

"No, you didn't," replied The Phantom, chastened. "I'm sorry. That was mean of me." He leaned back and rested on his elbows. "You know, Jeff, in a way you're lucky. You love Robbie. He loves you. He expresses his love by having sex with you. Some of us aren't that lucky."

Jeff sat up with a start. "You?"

The Phantom nodded. "I love someone who will not allow himself to admit that I exist, at least not in that way. He talks to me. He ruffles my hair. He goes out of his way to be kind to me. Sometimes he looks at me and I can see something in his eyes that tells me that he knows exactly what I feel for him. Maybe he's afraid to give in to his feelings. Maybe he's not as gay as I want him to be." He sighed heavily. "All I know is, he's never going to do with me the things you do with Robbie."

"Jeez, Phantom, I didn't even think you were queer," said Jeff, completely surprised at his friend's admission.

"I am." The Phantom sat back and leaned on his elbows. He gave Jeff a strong, level look. "At least I think I am. I've been with another guy, so that makes me queer. You've been with Robbie so that makes you queer. I admit it. You might think about admitting it, at least to yourself. You'll feel a lot better. And you won't hate yourself."

Jeff leaned forward. "Is it Sam?" he asked, whispering.

The Phantom shook his head, and then chuckled ruefully. "No way. We were jerk-off buddies. He pumped me. I pumped him. That's as far as it went."

"You mean you didn't . . .?" "Blow him? No way. To tell the truth, he's pretty ugly, all foreskin and purple knob. He wasn't that queer and frankly after seeing his dick I did not want to put my mouth on it." He shuddered slightly

Jeff fingered his broad, pale pink, mushroom-shaped crown. "Sounds like you prefer a nice, clean-cut Canadian boy."

The Phantom considered this for a moment. "Come to think of it, yes, I do. They look nice. They smell nice and clean. So, yeah, I think I do prefer a nice clean-cut Canadian boy."

From the back garden came Jeff's mother's voice, calling Jeff and Robbie. It was time to go home. Jeff stood up and walked to the sofa. He picked up his sleeping brother and cradled him in his strong arms. He gently kissed Robbie's forehead. Then he looked directly at The Phantom. "I love him, Phantom, but, can I call you? Maybe we can get together, for a Coke, or something?" The Phantom nodded slowly. "For a Coke, or something."

For most of Sunday night Cory was the hero of the Mess. His ass had received so many congratulatory slaps that it was raw. Harry declared he was in love with him, and kissed him again. Todd beamed with pride whenever he looked at his brother and Val bestowed the ultimate accolade: he brought out the grappa. Val poured a stiff shot and warned Cory to take it easy. "It's good stuff, but it's strong," he cautioned.

Cory took one gulp, choked, sputtered, and it seemed as if his entire body turned red. "Jesus!" he gasped. "What is this? Gasoline?"

"That, my man, is Pop's prime grappa. It's famous throughout Saskatchewan. Guaranteed to put hair on your chest and lead in your pencil," boasted Val. "Good for ague, influenza and impotence. Kill or cure, guaranteed." He joined the other cadets in laughter.

"Well, I don't have the ague, I don't have influenza, and I am most definitely not impotent." Cory smiled wickedly and waggled his eyebrows at Val, who took as step back.

"Plus he's got as fine a set of balls as I've seen in a long time," hooted Harry. "Do they always hang that low?"

"Only when I'm horny," rejoined Cory.

Val took another step back.

"I guess getting felt up by The Gunner does that to a guy," said Two Strokes.

"He did not feel me up!" replied Cory hotly. "His hand slipped! All he touched was my belly."

"Hey, Cory, I was only kidding." Two Strokes held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Hell, he'd never do that to you, or to any of us for that matter. He's too straight."

"Damn straight on that!" snapped Cory. He chugged the rest of the grappa, stood up and stomped from the mess. Todd hurried after him.

"What's bugging his ass?" asked Two Strokes to no one in particular. "Hell, I didn't mean anything by it."

"You don't have to," said Tyler, who had been listening. "All it takes is a word, and then well . . ." He shrugged. "Cory admires The Gunner tremendously." He poured a huge shot of grappa into a glass. "A lot of the other boys do as well."

Val, who was watching and about to warn Tyler about the potency rating of the grappa, saw the look on his friend's face, and said nothing.

Fred put in his oar. "You make it sound like Cory's in love with him."

Tyler took a drink of the grappa, grimaced and stared at Fred, then shook his head slowly. "In a way, he is. Maybe that is what is bugging him."

"Ah, fuck, man. We all have heroes," Harry chimed in. "We all have guys we look up to, who we want to be like." He held out a plastic mug and waited while Val poured him a drink. "Sometimes it's a teacher. Sometimes it's a sports guy. Sometimes it's a rock star." He sat down beside Fred. "Look at the guys who think the sun shines out of Elvis Presley's ass. They dress like him, they talk like him, and they wear their hair like him." He took a sip of his drink. "Jesus, Val, what does your dad put in this?"

"Grape juice," said Val truthfully.

Harry looked at him doubtfully. Then he continued. "I know some guys who would kill if you said a word against the King. They'd also cum their shorts if they ever actually met him."

Tyler chuckled. "Only you, Harry, could put it so succinctly." He turned to Fred. "You see, Fred, by inferring that The Gunner did anything wrong makes Cory angry and upset. In a way Cory is in love. I suppose you could say he has a tremendous crush on The Gunner. He is not alone, you know, and if some of the other guys heard you they would probably get just as pissed off. It's not sexual. It's way beyond sex."

"Well I never felt that way about anybody," sneered Two Strokes. "Nobody at all."

"Which probably explains why you can be a proper little shit at times." Tyler held out his glass for a refill. He saw the look on Val's face and raised his glass slightly. "Just do it, Val. Don't lecture me and put another drink in the fucking glass."

Cory sat on the concrete slab, his elbows on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands. Todd sat down beside him and put his arm around his shoulders. Cory shrugged him away. "Shit," thought Todd, "he's got it worse than I thought." He put his arm around his brother's shoulder. "Cory, you shouldn't let something like this get to you. Two Strokes didn't mean anything," he said, his voice warm and calm.

"So? He shouldn't have said what he said!" Cory turned his head and glared at Todd. "The Gunner did not feel me up!" His face was almost purple with the anger he felt. "I was jumping around and he was trying to hold me down."

"I know, Cory. I was there, remember?"

"Then you know what happened. You should have said something," insisted Cory. Todd sighed. "Cory, nobody thinks anything bad happened. I really do not think Two Strokes meant anything by what he said."

"Two Strokes is a jerk!" snapped Cory angrily, standing up. "And so are you!" He barged into the mess and Todd could hear him yelling. "You can all go and fuck yourselves! And the horses you rode in on!"

Todd got up and went back inside. He saw Cory slam through the door to the Petty Officers Mess and heard an echoing bang as he passed out the door at the other end of the barracks. Tyler, Val, and Harry were sitting at the mess table, nursing their drinks. Two Strokes and Fred were curled in their beds, pretending to be asleep. Todd switched off all but one of the overhead lights, and then joined the other cadets. Val silently passed him a mug of grappa. Harry poured a little water in it. Todd nodded his thanks and took a deep drink.

"Is he going to be all right?" asked Tyler.

Todd nodded. "Eventually, yes." He debated whether or not to try to explain Cory's actions.

"Todd, I'm going to Royal Roads in September. When I become a naval officer, it might help me to understand my men better if you tell me what is going on." Tyler reached over squeezed Todd's shoulder. "I promise. It will go no further than this Mess."

Val and Harry nodded their agreement.

"I said no further than the Mess!" repeated Tyler a little louder.

Fred and Two Strokes sat up, then got out of bed and sat down at the table. "Okay, Tyler. No further than the Mess," said Fred.

Two Strokes thought about the night of the storm, when they had all sat around, shooting the shit, exchanging confidences. No matter what he thought, or suspected, about the Twins, he knew instinctively that part of that night was part of this night. He was one of them, a member of the mess. "My word of honour," he swore. "No further than the Mess."

Val passed the bottle to Two Strokes and Fred. After they had poured their drinks, Todd spoke. "A long time ago something happened to us. We were not hurt physically and nobody touched us." He took a long slow drink. "A family friend took us to Stanley Park. He . . . he wanted Cory to do things to him. It was . . . well . . . it was bad. We were eight years old. Ever since then Cory has never allowed an adult male to get close to him, or allowed himself to get close to an adult male. Not my dad, not my uncles. I am the only one he has let get close to him. Now someone comes along he can relate to, someone who is never going to hurt him, someone, like you said Tyler, he admires. For the first time in a long while he feels comfortable with being with an adult and, well . . ."

"To have him accused of doing something the other man tried to do hurts," finished Tyler.

Todd looked at Tyler. "So, you know then?"

Tyler nodded. "Just common sense, Todd."

"Which this place doesn't have!" growled Harry. He stood up, pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them. He threw them in the corner by his bunk. Wearing only his white briefs, he sat down again and reached for the bottle of grappa.

"Uh, I'd go easy on that stuff, Harry," cautioned Val. "It's pretty potent."

"Mother's milk, m'boy, mother's milk," replied Harry, doing a fair W.C. Fields impersonation. "I was raised on slivovitz and beer. Back home we'd put this stuff in my baby brother's bottle." He poured a huge drink and cut it with an ounce of water. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. This place." Harry cast a baleful look at his mess messmates. "I am 18 freaking years old. We are all of us 18 or close to it!"

Actually some of the Staff Cadets were barely past 16, but since Harry was half in the bag, and on a roll about something, everyone thought it best to let the big moose ramble on.

Harry downed a large gulp of grappa, grimaced, and then continued. "We're all over the age where we can go to the bathroom by ourselves. I even manage to wipe myself without any help." He grinned. "Back home I run a tractor. I drive a car and the truck. My mother lets me pick out all my own clothes. If I go out, she doesn't follow me around. My dad, he just says not to bring back anything I didn't take with me when I left the house. Here, you can't shit without an officer telling you how to do it, or worse, watching you do it to make sure you do it the right way. Back home I can go into the fridge and take out a beer, no problem. On Sundays my Pops, and my brothers and me, we sit around on the porch, pass a jug or three, smoke cigarettes - except for Pops, he uses a pipe - and we have a hell of a time. Here, we have to hide our booze and hope to hell no one finds out about it. Sneak out behind the fucking barracks for a smoke and get caught and shit, Tyler or Val get their asses in a sling for letting us - get that - letting us do it. And don't get me started on sex." He took another slug of grappa, stood up and started pacing. "I'm 18 fucking years old! I beat off - and no cracks from you, Todd!"

Todd made a face and shrugged. "I'm not saying anything, Harry."

"Good. Now then, I beat off. Val does, Tyler does. Thumper, God love 'im, does nothing but beat off! Cory does; Todd does; Fred does and so do you, Two Strokes, and don't bother to deny it!"

Two Strokes, fascinated, had no intention of denying anything. He smiled. "Sure I do. It's gotta be fed and it won't eat hay."

"Fuckin' aye," smiled Harry. "We all do it and that's the point, guys, we all do it! So what happens? Poor old Gunner comes truckin' down and gives us all a lecture on it and hands out shot mats. And who sent him? The officers! The Old Man, Father, whatever you want to call him. We are cadets; we do not do such things. We're all good boys."

"And that's the point Harry is trying to make," said Tyler slowly. "We are all still boys, little boys to the officers."

"You got that right!" agreed Harry. "We are little boys to them. The officers get all bent out of shape if we beat off. Fuck 'em. Maybe I should tell 'em who taught me to beat off. My older brother, Nicky, that's who, and I had fun doing it!" Harry, for all his boasting, was roaring drunk. He sat down beside Todd and put his arms around his shoulders.

"Harry, you are very, very drunk," grinned Todd.

"Todd, I are very, very so!" Harry replied with dignity. "But I ain't finished yet. In September Tyler goes to Royal Roads. In two years he'll be on the bridge of a destroyer, the man in charge with 250 guys depending on him. Do they consider that here? No. He's a little boy so he can't go out on a YAG and drive the fucking thing. Ya gotta have an officer to make sure he doesn't hit anything!" He grimaced his disdain and disgust. "Everything we do has to be looked after by an officer, from taking a swim to firing off the cannons, even though we did fuck that one up." He stopped and looked apologetically at Todd. "Fuck, Todd, sorry, no offence, guy, no offence."

"None taken, Harry. None taken."

Harry kissed Todd on both cheeks. "See that? If an officer saw me do that he'd shit! Why, he'd think I was queer or something. What he doesn't know is that it's part of my heritage. My people are from the old country. Kissing is a way of life. We kiss at weddings, at funerals, every time the family gets together. Big wet ones, on both cheeks, on the lips. Men, women, kids, everybody kisses. Every day of my life I've kissed my Pops. I kiss my brothers. Try that around here and see what happens." He reached around and pinched Todd's bum. Todd jumped and squealed. Then he laughed and poked Harry in the ribs. "See, Todd knows I don't mean anything by pinching' his ass." Harry looked around Todd's back and grinned. "Which is a nice lookin' one, I might add."

"Thanks, Harry. I think."

"You are welcome. Todd knows I ain't goin' to try anything funny. But the officers, hell, they'd have me on the next flight home if they saw me do it. Or whacking a guy on the fanny! Shit, if I had a buck for every time I got whacked on the ass by another guy I could pay off every fucking mortgage in the family, and still have money left over." He slumped, and then straightened. His voice was very low, and very steady. "What the officers forget is that little boys, and sometimes, big boys, need to be shown affection. But big boys can't show it, because they're afraid to. Show a little affection to anybody, to another guy, and everybody thinks you're queer! I don't blame Cory for getting pissed off. I don't know what happened to him, and I don't want to know. All I know is that for the first time in a long time an adult has shown him affection, with no strings attached, is not trying to put the moves on him, and we make fun of him. That ain't fair." He slumped dejectedly.

Tyler stood up and walked to where Harry was sitting. He put his arms around him and, with Todd's help, brought him to his feet. They led him to his bed. "Harry, I think it's time you had a nap. All right?" said Tyler affectionately.

Harry nodded blearily and allowed himself to be put to bed. Tyler and Todd returned to their seats. Val smiled at Tyler and Todd. "Thus speaks a man we all dismissed as nothing but a football jock."

"Strong like bull, smart like streetcar!" roared Harry.

"Harry, go to sleep," ordered Tyler.

"Yes, Chief," Harry bellowed. "Little shit," he muttered drunkenly under his breath.

The cadets smothered their laughter.

Tyler waited until the laughter subsided and then filled a glass for each of the cadets. He looked strangely wistful as he began to speak. "What Harry was trying to say is that he, we, are no longer little boys. The officers do not realize it. They are trying to make us be what they think our parents want us to be. At the same time they say that they are fair but firm. Little boys must have discipline. Little boys must be taught to be men! We hear them crying at night, the younger ones, and we do nothing to comfort them. Men don't do that. So we let them cry, because everybody says it's good for them." He stood up and stretched. He looked at Two Strokes and Fred. "We may never understand why Cory acted the way he did. What we all, as senior Cadets, must understand is that each and every cadet is different, with different feelings, different outlooks and, as in Harry's case, have different traditions that we, who know fuck all about those traditions, dismiss or ridicule."

"Sometimes my mouth is like the way I cum," said Two Strokes.

"What?" Tyler had a shocked looked on his face.

Two Strokes held out his hands and shrugged. "Big and too quick." He turned to Todd. "I didn't know that Cory was so emotional about these things. Nobody did. Maybe it's about time we all started to think about those things. You all think I'm a prick. I am, I guess, in a lot of ways. Tyler is right. We have to start thinking about what makes the other guys the way they are, what hurts them, what makes them happy. We're supposed to be here for them, not for us. Maybe it's about time we started remembering that." Two Strokes stood up and walked to where Todd was sitting. He held out his hand and, when Todd took it, embraced him. "I'll make it up to Cory, Todd. I'm not such a prick as all that."

"I know you will, Roger," replied Todd, using Two Strokes' proper given name. "I never thought you were that big of a prick. A little one, maybe, but not a big one."

Two Strokes punched Todd's shoulder. "I'm going to bed."

As Two Strokes crawled into his rack Fred approached and shook Todd's hand. "In a way I understand how Cory feels," he began, his voice low. "I have an uncle, who loves me more than life. He's always there when I need him. Ever since I can remember he's always treated me like a real human being, and not a little boy. He talks to me, not down to me. He's never done anything wrong, never touched me, except when I was little and he paddled my ass when he thought I needed it, which I did, of course. So, Todd, yes, I understand because I would get very angry if someone said things about him like Roger said about The Gunner. Which is going to happen."

"How so?" asked Todd.

"Well, he's coming to our final parade in August," replied Fred, pulling back his covers and climbing into bed, "and the first thing he's going to do when he sees me is kiss me on the cheek and whisper that he loves me. He always does that."

"How is that going to raise eyebrows?" asked Val. "I'm Italian. We kiss all the time, too."

"Well, he'll be in full uniform. Dress whites, sword, and medals," explained Fred. "My uncle likes to show off all his gongs"

"He's a naval officer?" asked Two Strokes.

Fred nodded. "Just a Vice-Admiral. He's Royal Navy. Didn't I tell you?" asked Fred as he pulled the covers over his head. "G'night, guys."

Tyler shook his head and looked at Todd. "What about Cory? Should we go looking for him?"

"No. When he gets this way its best to leave him alone. He'll come home when he's ready."

"Better be soon," said Two Strokes, glancing out the window. "It's starting to rain."

Wrapped in a thick sea blanket and covered with a rubber poncho Todd sat on the concrete stoop, waiting for Cory to come back. He was partly sheltered from the light, cold rain by the overhang above the door and was, in fact, not uncomfortable. He was cold, but relatively dry and he was quite prepared to wait until dawn if necessary.

The night was, as usual, very quiet. There was no moon and when he looked skyward he could see the rain clouds skittering darkly across the paler sky. The rain had driven the night crawlers and critters into their burrows. It was so quiet he imagined he could hear the soft purl of the waves as they washed the beaches surrounding the Spit. The lights in the barracks were out. It was long past Lights Out and the only illumination came from the low-watt bulb in the fixture beside the door. He sat there patiently shivering. After what seemed like hours he heard a soft footstep.

"You sit there much longer and you'll get piles," said Cory softy as he appeared out of the mist of rain and rounded the corner of the barracks. "You sound like Aunt Gemma." Todd smiled and shuffled over to allow Cory to sit beside him.

"As long as I don't look like her," returned Cory as Todd pulled the blanket around his shoulders, then removed the poncho and draped it over both of them. They sat quietly together, bodies touching, each drawing warmth from the other. "Are you angry with me?" asked Cory presently.

"I was, I got over it," replied Todd. He wrapped his arm around Cory's waist and pulled him closer. "You feel better now?"

Cory pressed his lips close to Todd and kissed him tenderly. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Since before Last Post."

"You're cold. We should go in. You might catch pneumonia." Cory snuggled closer to his brother.

"What about you, door knob?" returned Todd. "All you are wearing are shorts. You must be frozen!"

"I'm fine, Todd. I found a dry place." Cory pulled away from Todd and smiled at him. "You going to yell at me?"

"No. I think that you did your own yelling at yourself." Todd pulled Cory to him. "You're wet, and so are your shorts."

Cory jerked his head towards the barracks. "Are they angry with me?"

Todd shook his head. "The others are fine. I told them a little about Stanley Park." He waited for the explosion, which did not come and, cautiously, continued on. "We talked about what happened and . . . other things. They understand a little."

Cory reached under the blanket, undid the snap on Todd's shorts and pulled down the zipper. He slipped his hand in Todd's shorts and felt the end of his brother's penis. Cory rubbed his thumb tenderly over Todd's chilly helmet. "It's cold, your shrinkage problem is back, and your balls are shrivelled," Cory giggled.

"You try sitting out in the rain for hours and see how your parts look." Todd glanced at Cory. "Is this an 'I'm sorry and I want you to hold me grope' or a dare I hope for more grope? If it's more I am not going to have a shrinking problem in about one minute."

Cory giggled and squeezed Todd's stiffening cock. "A little of both. I want you to hold me and I want to solve your shrinkage problem. See, it's solving itself."

Todd moaned softly as Cory's hand squeezed and stroked him to erection. He reached around and found Cory's zipper. He pulled it down and slipped his hand in Cory's damp shorts. "You should talk about a shrinkage problem." He began stroking and gently pumping Cory's cold three inches, which began to lengthen under his warm touch.

Cory nuzzled Todd's neck. "We haven't done this for a long time. It feels nice." "No, we haven't," agreed Todd. "But then, we did find other things to do." He began to breathe deeply as the warm, familiar feeling began to grow in his guts. Cory could always bring him off quicker than anyone else. He knew just the right places to stimulate. He began to squeeze and stroke Cory in time with his brother's hand.

Cory and Todd had been masturbating one another since they were ten. Just as Cory knew just which part of Todd's penis was most sensitive, Todd knew just which part of Cory to toy and play with to bring him over the edge. Each brother cupped the other's helmet, squeezing and stroking, stimulating their pulsing domes with the precum that oozed from the slits. They began to breath heavier as the intense pleasure washed through them. As Todd's penis pulsed and squirted his seed into Cory's hand, he grunted and bit his lip to keep from crying out. Cory buried his head in Todd's neck as his own body trembled and his dick spasmed, shooting his thick cream into Todd's hand. As wave after wave of ecstasy passed through them Todd held Cory tightly, continuing to grunt as more and more his sperm gushed out. Cory whimpered and trembled until finally, they were both spent.

They sat together as the pleasure drained from their bodies and their cocks began to shrink. Cory sighed contentedly, and then withdrew his hand. He raised it to his mouth and began licking Todd's cum, cleaning every morsel from his fingers and palm. Todd lifted his hand and breathed deeply, smelling the sweet, sweet odour of his brother's juice. Then he too cleaned his hand with his tongue. "That was great," he said presently. "Better than for a long time."

"It was good for me, too. I needed it." Cory reinserted his hand and felt Todd's sticky penis. "I am sorry, Todd. I should not have lost my temper."

"Cory, it's cool. The guys understand. We had a long talk about a lot of things. I had to tell them a little about Stanley Park."

Cory nodded his understanding. "I am not upset, Todd. The story had to come out sooner or later. I don't care what they think of me. I don't want them thinking badly about The Gunner."

"They don't. They know nothing happened, just as we both know nothing is going to happen."

Cory sighed heavily. "Yes, I know. I don't even know if he's gay." He snickered. "Wouldn't that be a pisser, falling in love with him and then finding out he is gay but doesn't fool around with boys our age?"

Todd laughed softly. "It would serve you good and right, wearing your heart on your sleeve like that."

"I guess it was pretty obvious." Cory grinned and shook his head. "Jesus, I acted like a little kid with his first crush."

"You did that," agreed Todd. "But the guys think it's just a crush. They think it's not sexual."

"You're kidding?" Cory's tone was scoffing.

"I am quite serious," replied Todd. "The others know that you have a crush on The Gunner. Once I told them about Stanley Park, they all agreed it was just you responding to him being kind to you."

Cory considered this. "It is not a crush," he said firmly. "I want The Gunner to be with me, to do things with him." He gave Todd a squeeze. "I want it to happen Toddy, but we both know it won't. At least not yet."

Todd raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

"I think it because The Gunner thinks that I am a kid Sea Cadet. When he doesn't think that anymore, when he knows I am a man, then that is when I would like it to happen. I know it sounds crazy, but that's the way I feel." Cory stood and held out his hand. "Can you understand?"

Todd stood up and hugged Cory. "What I understand is that you want to be his equal. What you want is for him to love you as a man, not a boy. It's deep, but it's what you want."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I love him, but not the same way you do. I wouldn't say no to him if he asked. I love him for the way he treats you, and me, too. I love the way he talks, the way he looks. I love him because you love him. I'd like to sleep with him, just once. Just to know how lucky you were, if it happened."

"You're as nutty as I am," opined Cory, softening his words with a warm smile. Todd reached for the door handle. "True. But then I have a nice ass so I can be as nutty as I like about another guy."

"Who told you that?"

"Harry."

"Harry? Our Harry?" asked Cory, incredulous.

"Yep. Our Harry. He pinched it too." Todd pulled open the door and walked inside.

"Wait," whispered Cory fiercely. "What do you mean he pinched it?"

After a quick shower the Twins retired to their separate beds. Todd drifted off to sleep, marvelling at the depth of love Cory had for The Gunner. Cory drifted off smiling contentedly, secure in his brother's love and knowing that one day, he wasn't sure of how or when, he would have another man's love.

A few hundred yards away in the Gunners Barracks, Brian lay tossing and turning, listening intently for the soft gliding footsteps that would herald the promised arrival of the man or boy who had visited on him such pleasure that he boned up every time he thought of it. He had been so enthralled with the painful pleasures that had coursed through his body that he had lain for over an hour afterwards, basking in the glow of it and, later, had for the first time in many years, a wet dream, blowing a load so massive and pleasurable that he awoke with a startled yell. The rest of the day had been as bad. He walked around with a semi for much of it, so fearful of touching his sensitive crown that he was almost afraid to pee. His dick had been so sensitive that he had had to put on boxers, not being able to bear the slightest friction caused by briefs. He listened to the rain beat against the metal roof of the barracks. He had to lie on his side, to prevent his stiffy, which was jutting out from the front of his boxers, from rubbing against the starched fabric of his sheets. It took all his willpower not to reach down and fondle his red, blood-engorged helmet.

Brian heard the door to the mess creak open and held his breath, hoping it was . . . He sighed in disappointment as the Duty Roundsman tramped through. He lay back again, listening to the night sounds. He could hear Dylan snuffling and muttering two beds over so he sat up and saw Dylan's coverlet covered behind pumping up and down as he humped his mattress.

Brian immediately regretted his voyeurism. He felt his balls contract and his dick throb. He barely had time to reach under his pillow and encase his spewing penis with the old T-shirt he kept under there. He shot load after load, trembling and gasping as his body became engulfed with pleasure. When his balls were finally empty he flopped back against his pillow, his T-shirt-shrouded dick pulsing as it slowly recovered. He cursed under his breath as he wiped himself clean. "Shit, fuck, piss," he muttered, punching his pillow. "Shit, shit, shit!"

In the Cooks barracks Ray tossed and turned, waiting impatiently for the night visitor. His erection throbbed painfully and his testicles seemed on the verge of exploding. His tight briefs rubbed the sensitive underside of his erection, causing him extreme pleasure. He wanted desperately to cum and while he knew that he could obtain gratification with a few strokes of his hand, Ray also knew that he would much rather have his balls and dick sucked to extinction.

Ray had showered carefully and put on fresh underpants in anticipation of what he felt sure was to come. Now, as he lay there, listening to the rain pattering against the windows, he could feel the dampness as his precum seeped in a seemingly never-ending stream. Twice he had gotten out of bed and stumbled into the wash place where he splashed cold water on his face.

He listened impatiently for the soft steps that would herald the arrival of the only person he had ever had any kind of sex with. Ray was no stranger to masturbation - what boy his age was - but he had never had sex with anyone before. Back home all the girls, because of his short height and baby face, thought that he was cute. Which was the kiss of death so far as Ray was concerned. The girls might think him cute; they didn't date him.

Not that he would have been allowed to date just anyone. Ray's life was complicated by his family's strict, evangelical religion. Back home in Ottawa his father and mother always had an obscure biblical passage handy to condemn just about any pleasurable thought or deed he might have. Back home he shared a room with his two brothers, one older, one younger. He had never seen them naked. They were required, in accordance with the biblical proscriptions against nudity, to be fully clothed at all times, to the extent that they all went to bed wearing underpants under their flannel pyjamas. Neither he nor his brothers dressed or undressed in each other's presence. In order to prepare for bed he had to lock himself in the bathroom and change there. In the morning he waited patiently, clothes in hand, outside the bathroom while his brother changed for school behind the locked door.

Sins of the flesh were strictly forbidden. Upon reaching puberty both Ray and his older brother were regularly questioned on their conduct and thoughts. An unexplained stain on their underpants, which their mother checked carefully when she did their laundry, was cause for a beating. To make matters worse they were required to "confess" their moral lapse to the entire church congregation, after which they would be prayed for, the hope being that they would overcome the temptations of the Devil, real or imagined.

Everything Ray had learned about sex he had learned in the schoolyard, or in furtive whisperings with his more knowledgeable friends. He had early learned to suppress any and all feelings he might have for other boys. He also, from the day the first, spare hair had sprouted at the base of his then immature penis, learned the art of the silent jack-off. He always carried a small package of Kleenex. He never knew when his dick would bone up, screaming for release and had managed to find every hidey-hole in the school he attended, and points in between school and home.

Ray had long known the pleasure his dick gave him. He now knew how much more pleasure it brought him when someone else manipulated it. As for his first blowjob . . . he had reached such a pinnacle of ecstasy that he had lain for what seemed like hours, suffused with the warmth and slowly diminishing feeling of frightening pleasure that had stayed with him almost all night.

Eventually Ray realized that the visitor was not coming. Frustrated beyond endurance he hauled himself out of bed and hurried into the heads where he locked himself into a cubicle. He pulled down his briefs and his hot, turgid, boner bounced and pointed at a stiff angle from his body. With one hand he stroked his glowing pink member. With the other he stroked his balls, so tight that they were reduced to two small, vague ovals flush against the base of his erection. He pumped wildly and as his orgasm crashed upward from his balls he pushed his rock like dick downward. His body trembled convulsively as a thick stream of semen jetted from his penis and exploded on contact with the water in the bowl. His knees buckled slightly and his lips curled as he shot stream after stream into the toilet. He continued pumping long after he had any hope of producing more sperm, then slumped against the wall of the cubicle, trying to recover from his mind-altering orgasm, breathing heavily as his dick shrank, to hang limply over his depleted balls. When he recovered he dragged himself to a sink, stripped off his briefs, and washed his still sensitive penis and crotch. Finished, he stumbled back to bed and climbed in, not bothering to pull on another pair of briefs. "Let 'em sue me for sleeping bare ass," he thought.

The rain continued to fall in sheets and Ray turned on his side. His hand found his warm penis and he closed his eyes.

Across the harbour The Phantom dreamed erotically of naked cadets, of Jeff, of Robbie, and of The Gunner. He fisted and pulled on his huge erection in his sleep, moaning quietly.

He had been unable to get out tonight. His parents had stayed up talking and he dared not try to sneak past them. Finally he beat off in frustrated impatience. Later on, sometime during the night, he awoke and groggily listened to the light rain falling. Listening to the rain he knew that he could not visit AURORA. He muttered a swart curse and reached down to idly play with his tremendous boner before turning over and going back to sleep.

In his small garden apartment The Gunner had paced the floor for what seemed hours. He had sipped a large drink intermittently, gone to bed, got up, and paced. From time to time he smelled his palms, imagining that he could still detect the sweet, boy smell left on them by Cory's body. He rubbed the back of his hand, remembering how soft Phantom's balls had felt under the serge when he brushed against them.

He cursed himself for even remembering. He could well understand his attraction to the two boys. Cory was a damned good looking young man. Phantom, slightly darker in colour than Cory, was as handsome, and obviously well set up in all departments. The whole base now knew that Cory, while not huge, was not small either. Phantom, if the light touch he had inadvertently made was any indication, was endowed in proportion to the rest of his body.

The Gunner sat in his chair, listening to the rain that had started to fall and thinking. He could understand boys having crushes on their teachers. He had, when he was barely into puberty, mooned dreamily at the sight of his maths teacher. Later, much later, while serving in his first ship, he had secretly lusted after his Divisional Officer, a red- haired, wonderfully handsome man.

What The Gunner could not understand was what was so special about him that caused two boys to fall hopelessly in love with him. He wasn't bad to look at - far from it, if Joel was to be believed. He had a decent body, and he kept in shape. His tackle was average he supposed, though neither boy could possibly know that, or even guess that his best effort might produce a little over six inches, and that with a following sea and all laundry aloft.

What was troubling was that The Gunner felt an affinity with the boys, which he could not under any circumstances allow them to see. He had exercised self-control all of his life, never allowing his emotions to rule him. He had imposed iron discipline on his passions, so much so that his one, and only, shipboard encounter had ended with his gently pushing away a man who had kissed him long and passionately, a man he would have, under different circumstances, allowed to fondle and possess him. He remembered that long-ago time in the showers, felt again the smooth hardness that pressed against him, the roughness of the tongue that tried to force its way into his mouth. And he remembered the discipline of fear that not allowed him to respond, a fear so great that he had not become aroused when the man fondled his genitals, a fear so terrible that not an iota of feeling penetrated the wall he had built around himself. The Gunner finally went to bed, convinced that he could control the situation. When sleep finally took him he dreamed of batteries of field guns firing in Point Pleasant Park, of lithe, muscular, naked blond boys cavorting with dark haired, naked athletic boys, all with perfect genitals, and, for the first time in years, he awoke to find that he had had a wet dream.

Monday morning dawned clear and dry. As the cadets shuffled and grumbled their way from their barracks to the parade square for morning PT, a soft, southwest wind blew warmly against their skin. Much to the annoyance of the Mike Sunderland, the Chief PTI, nobody was in the mood to play. Everybody, with the exception of Harry, who was suffering from a massive hangover, seemed to be infected with the Monday morning blahs. The assembled cadets, a multicoloured sea of unmatched shorts and T-shirts, muttered, groaned, moaned and whined with every movement.

In the rear rank the Gunroom cadets, with the exception of Alfie and Jon, who had stood the Middle Watch and were enjoying a Guard and Steerage, listened while Harry complained mightily. His head ached, his back ached, even his dick ached! As he squatted to complete the first deep knee bend, always the first exercise, his stomach grumbled alarmingly, which set the Twins, Two Strokes, Thumper and Fred to tittering. On the second knee bend Harry's sphincter opened and he let loose an explosive fart. The Twins and Thumper collapsed in laughter, to be quickly followed by the others when Harry reached around, felt his bottom, and asked if farts had lumps, which drew the immediate attention of Mike, who threatened to put them all on report if they didn't smarten up. Harry roared back that if he did he would hide Mike's posing strap. The other cadets gleefully joined in the ridicule, casting aspersions on Mike's manhood. Laughing so hard that he could hardly talk, Thumper said that Gerbil Dick was in a right mood.

"You'd be in a permanent mood if your dick was that small," opined Todd.

"He's so small even Little Big Man is Little Bigger Man beside him." offered Two Strokes.

Mike, who was actually a very sweet young man, was obsessed with his body. He was tall, with a broad, chiselled chest, wasp waist, and thick, muscular legs. He ate sparingly and only what he considered health food, was forever stuffing himself with vitamin supplements, and bored the hell out of his messmates in the Petty Officers Mess with his constant chatter about body building and the contests he had entered and won. He also annoyed them by doing his early morning warm ups totally naked, usually ending them with a series of handstands and leg splits. He further annoyed them every evening after supper when he posed in front of the full-length mess mirror, wearing only a silver posing strap. Mike would pose, flex various and sundry muscles, admiring his image and fretting about the size of his waist. It was widely rumoured that his use of steroids to bulk up had caused his genitals to cease growing, which accounted for them being small and out of all proportion to the rest of his body.

With as much dignity as he could muster Mike sailored on, running the parade through yet another set of exercises. The third set, which consisted of the assembled cadets lying on their backs, raising their legs and then spreading them as wide as they could, was a disaster in that Harry had neglected to wear his jock. His genitals popped out of his shorts and he flashed not only the Mike, but also Kyle and Dirty Dave the Deacon, who were directly behind Mike, who was so nonplused by the sight of Harry's massive parts staring at him that he fucked up the count.

The next set, which consisted of a series of jumps, was even worse. Harry, who had been meaning to buy a larger pair of gym shorts, and red with embarrassment, tried vainly to replace his parts in his shorts and only succeeded in tripping over his own feet. He fell, crashing into the Twins, who cursed him roundly. As they untangled themselves Cory gave Harry's naked genitals a quick feel, which earned him a cuff on the head from Todd and a stern warning to behave himself. Fortunately Harry was far too hung over to notice. They stood up and resumed the exercise, hopelessly out of sync with the rest of the parade. Mike finally gave up. He turned the parade over to his assistant and scurried off to the Drill Shed where he did 50 desperate pushups and cursed the day he ever applied for the position of Chief PT Instructor.

Phillip Adean, called the Assistant, had been a drummer before changing trades. He was deathly afraid of Harry, and had been since the day Harry, howling and waving a set of drum mallets, chased him from the School of Wind for screwing up the sticking of Heart of Oak. Harry, who ruled the Band with an iron hand, was intolerant when it came to improper or slipshod performance by the musicians and had threatened to stick his mace where the sun didn't shine, then chased terrified drummer from the school. The Assistant opted for discretion over valour and announced that it was time to pack in PT and dismissed the parade. Val and Tyler congratulated him on his intelligence.

After Divisions the cadets dispersed. Chris, together with over half the cadets boarded buses and left the ship for their classrooms in the high school. The Twins, with Val, headed for the Drill Shed where they were to conduct drill examinations of the General Training Cadets. Two Strokes, Thumper, Jon and Alfie went to the Regulating Office where they busied themselves in preparing Station Cards for the New Entry Cadets who had arrived the day before; in every building on the base cadets were busily working or training.

Harry dragged himself over to the School of Music. The place was a cacophony of noise as the musicians practiced in one room, the buglers in another, and the drummers in yet another, none of which did his throbbing head a lick of good. The Director of Music, who was a good sort, wanted him to go to the Sick Bay but Harry, being Harry, refused. He practiced his mace drill, went over some parade orders and generally suffered until Stand Easy, when The Gunner rescued him.

The Gunner had spent the first two hours playing Snotties' Nurse to the New Entry Cadets, a job normally done by the Executive Officer. He shepherded the young boys from office to office, from stores to barracks. All 38 of them were barely into their teens, the oldest a boy only two weeks away from his 14th birthday. They were far from home amongst strangers and, in some cases, frightened at the strangeness of the place.

When Stand Easy finally sounded he led his young charges to the Canteen where he stood them a round of Cokes. Here he met Harry who was frantically drinking anything wet, trying to quench his insatiable thirst. The Gunner had been around long enough to know a hangover when he saw one. He beckoned Harry to come alongside and asked him what he was doing.

"The Director says for me to go to Sick Bay. I'm feeling real sick," replied Harry, his face pale and drawn.

"I'll bet you are," returned The Gunner. "From the looks of you you've got as fine a case of Molson's Flu as I've seen in years. Sick Bay is no good to you. All Matron will do is shove a thermometer up one end of you and pour castor oil down the other." The Gunner was trying very hard not to laugh at Harry's discomfiture. He led Harry to the galley and sat him in Chef's office, left for a few minutes and returned with an egg, some Tabasco Sauce, a can of tomato juice, a large glass, and two bottles of beer. The Gunner cracked the egg into the glass, liberally sauced it, poured in half a bottle of beer and topped it off with the tomato juice and ordered Harry to start drinking. Alternately gagging and choking Harry managed to get the fiery liquid inside of him. The Gunner refilled the glass and motioned for Harry to drink. When Harry was finished The Gunner sat back and chuckled. "Well, boychick, what do you have to say for yourself?" he asked.

Harry blushed and began stammering an excuse, prepared to lie through his teeth. The Gunner raised an eyebrow, indicating his doubt so Harry, who realized he couldn't put anything past The Gunner, told him the truth. "We were, um, sort of celebrating the ball game, and I guess, um . . ." he shrugged and smiled weakly. Shaking his head sadly, The Gunner said, "From the look of you it must have been one hell of a celebration." He cocked an eyebrow. "What was it, Two Strokes' brandy or Val's kickapoo-joy-juice?

Harry blanched. How could The Gunner possibly know about . . .?

Laughing inwardly, The Gunner knew exactly what Harry was wondering. The Gunner, in his younger days, had hidden a bottle or two. Fortunately for his career, the Killick of the Mess had never managed to find the hidden stashes. "Harry, I was hiding bottles of Pusser Rum when you were still peeing in your pants," said The Gunner with a straight face. The time frame was not exactly chronologically correct, but what the hell, it made a point. "You are very lucky the Old Man is more interested in finding the little books you read to help you get your rocks off than looking for the booze you clowns have squirreled over there." He poured the other bottle of beer into the glass and motioned for Harry to drink, slowly. "Once you have some hair of the dog in your system you'll feel better. Then it's off to bed. To sleep, understand?"

Harry understood. "Shit, Gunner, I couldn't get a hardon if ten naked females walked past me." When he realized what he had said he began choking and tried to stammer an apology

The Gunner could not control himself and laughed uproariously. "Harry, in your condition I don't doubt that at all."

Harry smiled thinly. "I'm really sorry about this. Um, things got kind heavy last night."

"How so?"

Harry considered The Gunner's question. Under normal circumstances, what was said, or done in the Mess, stayed in the Mess. However, on reflection, Harry considered that the senior cadets were going to need a little help in what they planned to do. He decided to relate a careful, edited version of what had gone on. "Well, we got to talking about, well, about this place. We talked about how we should be with the other cadets, the younger ones, and stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" asked The Gunner, wondering what Harry was going on about.

"Well, we sort of think we should take more interest in them. You know, they get scared and, sometimes, homesick and there's nobody around to talk to them." He took a drink of Dutch courage. "You ever been homesick?"

The Gunner thought carefully before he answered. "Frankly, no. My parents died just before I joined up, so, really, I guess you could say that I had no home to be homesick about."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"Nope, an only child. You?"

"Six brothers." Harry paused. "When I left." He smiled at his own mild joke.

"Must have been fun in the mornings when every one of them needed the can." The Gunner leaned forward and looked at Harry. "I think I know what you mean, though. Some of the kids can handle it, some can't. They are far from home with no contact with the familiar. It gets hard. I try to help where I can."

"You're the only one who does," replied Harry gloomily. "The other's don't seem to give a shit."

"That's not all that fair, Harry." The Gunner sat back and crossed his arms. "When I was your age, younger really, the old Chiefs and Petty Officers were there if we needed them. They were there because that's how they had been trained, brought up, really." He shook his head sadly. "None of the younger officers are trained the way I was. Take Kyle, for instance. He came up through the Cadets and I'll bet that he never once was told how to react when a young cadet cries himself to sleep every night because he's lonely or homesick, or just plain scared. Kyle isn't all that much older than these kids. Nor are you. Sometimes they need an older brother around to help them. In the old days there was always someone to talk to. Today, though, call it lack of training, call it indifference, call it what you will, there's nobody there." He scratched his head. "Things were better done in my day."

He stood up and left the room, then returned with a bottle of beer, opened it, and sipped slowly, a contemplative look on his face. "Another thing is fear. Far too often people read into a perfectly innocent gesture something that isn't there. People have such dirty minds, especially when there are young boys involved. So Kyle, even though he wanted to, couldn't join in the tomfoolery after the game. He wanted to, but he didn't, probably for fear that someone would call him some kind of a queer."

"You did, and nobody thinks you're a queer," said Harry. "Hell, it was only some fanny slapping, anyway."

"And some kissing, as I recall," returned The Gunner with a grin. "And I certainly don't think you're some kind of a queer."

"Good job he doesn't know about me pinching Todd's bum," thought Harry.

"What is missing, I think," continued The Gunner, "is that little touch of . . . caring. It's gone now. It was there. I remember, years ago, I went to a Navy League inspection and one of the little ones fainted. The Sea Cadet Chief came over and took him in his arms and carried him to Sick Bay. As they were going across the Drill Deck the little nipper put his arms around the Chief and snuggled against him. He was safe, and somebody was caring for him. There was a picture in the paper. Everybody oohed and aahed, and had a warm fuzzy."

Harry felt marginally better when he finished his beer. He stood up and turned to go. He looked levelly at The Gunner. "All the senior Cadets are going to try to bring the warm fuzzy back, Gunner. You going to keep the officers off our backs?"

The Gunner held out his hand. Harry took it. "You didn't have to ask," said The Gunner. Harry shook The Gunner's hand and started to leave. The Gunner's voice stopped him momentarily. "Do me a favour, Harry?"

"Sure."

"Don't breathe on anybody."

The Twins were elated. They had suddenly discovered that they had friends, and it felt good. They had discussed the events of the night before as they sat in the breezeway flats during Stand Easy. They also discussed their future. Todd, level headed as always, pointedly told Cory that it was time to smarten up.

"Why?" Cory asked. "We are what we are, and we can't change it."

Todd agreed. He also pointed out a few truths. Being gay in a straight world, where everybody who wasn't gay hated everybody who was, was not good. "Look, Cory, we're good looking, we're smart. We come from a damn good family. Dad is as close as dammit to being named to the Supreme Court. We keep fucking around like we have and we could screw everything up."

All of which was true. They were handsome; they were smart and came from a well-off, socially prominent family. They were, in fact, United Empire Loyalists had relatives in England who were on a first name basis with most of Debrett's. Two uncles on their mother's side were Equerries to the Queen. Their father's name was on the short list for appointment as a Justice of the Supreme Court. There was a lot to lose. Cory, who hated dissimulation of any kind, was not at all happy. "That means we have to lie, to live a lie. I happen to like being gay," he stated firmly.

"So do I. Cory, we're accepted by the guys in the mess," replied Todd. He smiled warmly. "I like being accepted. I liked the way we sat around that night. I like being a part of this, and I want to stay a part of it. I don't want to lose that. I don't want to hurt those guys in any way. I don't want to hurt Mummy and Papa." He looked sternly at his brother. "However, we have got to start thinking about them, too."

"So what do we have to do?"

Todd thought a moment. "The clothes go. No more queer duds. No more groping every guy you see. We can talk queer, a little bit, but that's all. From now on we act as straight as we can."

"Does that mean we can't . . .?" asked Cory, crestfallen.

"Of course we can." Todd's eyes softened. "We just have to be discreet, and very careful. Agreed?"

Cory reluctantly agreed.

"Good, so no more feeling Harry's balls the next time they fall out of his shorts, or groping Phantom when his back is turned. So long as everybody thinks its part of a game, it's fine. We just tone everything back a bit. No, we tone everything back a lot."

Cory nodded his agreement. "We will have to get some new swimming suits," he said. "All we have are Speedos and, of course, all those briefs. We will have to get some white ones. We have our boxers, but we'll need more."

"And the tank tops go as well," said Todd. "From now on it's T-shirts and shorts." He looked pointedly at Cory. "No short shorts."

Cory scratched his chin. "We can buy the white undies in the canteen, if the Canteen Mangler has them in our size. As for the rest, we'll have to ask someone to get them for us. We can't go into town until next week."

Todd thought a moment. "We'll ask Phantom. He's a good guy, I think. I also think he likes us."

"He does," replied Cory firmly. "He has grown out of being just a little bit queer, like he was last year, so we don't have to worry about him trying to put the moves on us."

"How do you know?" asked Todd derisively. "You haven't been sniffing around the galley, have you?"

"I have not!" growled Cory, his face the picture of innocence. "Last year Phantom was drooling every time he saw us. This year he smiles, and laughs with us. Last year I think he was trying to figure out what he was. Now he knows. It's very simple, if you take the time to think about it."

Todd shook his head. At times Cory could be the biggest scatterbrain on two feet. At others he could analyse and study a person or a subject, and come up with a reasonably correct assessment. He thought about what Cory had said and nodded. "It's too bad that Phantom is straight."

Cory giggled and nudged Todd with his elbow. "I thought we were talking about getting Phantom to buy us some clothes, not getting into his pants!"

"I had no such thought," protested Todd. He glared at his brother. "That's another thing. We have got to stop looking at guys as if they were our next conquest. Phantom is a nice, normal, straight boy."

"Which is exactly what I said," said Cory, returning Todd's glare. "Phantom is not gay, nor is he interested in getting into our pants. He likes us as people and I really do not think that us being gay has influenced his opinion of us." Todd recognized the signs that Cory was becoming very pissed off with him. "I don't think he's gay, either," he said quickly."

"Good," returned Cory with a sharp nod of his head. "It's enough to know that he likes us and will probably do us a favour. He lives in town so it will not be going out of his way."

"We'll ask him then," said Todd. He looked at Cory and grinned. "It will make Chris a lot happier. I think sometimes we embarrass him. He's so conservative." He stood up and continued, "I think he likes his boyfriends to look and act straight."

"So we look and act straight." Cory shrugged and then made a face. "I do not think that I am going to care for being in the closet!

Todd sighed. "We will have to learn to like it because we are going to be in there a long time."

The Phantom had been awakened at what to him was to the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m. by the roar of the power mower his father used to cut the lawns. He stuck his head out of the window of his bedroom and saw his father, who waved at him, merrily trundling around the front lawn.

He flopped on his bed and groan loudly, remembering now that his father was on his days off, which meant that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for him to get out after dark. He swore mightily, wondering who would have the most trouble managing to survive without sex for the next three days, him or the cadets. He looked down and checked the front of his briefs. He then checked his sheets. He vaguely remembered dreaming and had been afraid that he'd creamed himself. Thankfully, he hadn't.

In his briefs The Phantom padded to the bathroom where he checked his chin in the mirror and decided he needed a shave. Then he opened the front of his briefs and examined his strangely quiet, neatly proportioned little friend, which was nestled snugly against his thigh. He remembered Jeff's remark about clean-cut Canadian boys and smiled, very glad that he was just such a boy.

He fingered his brownish-pink helmet and briefly debated giving himself a little morning delight. He decided to wait as he always enjoyed a little foreplay and decided that he would have plenty of stimulation once he got to work. He chuckled malevolently. There was always the Swim Parade after Secure!

After closing his underpants The Phantom rummaged in the medicine cabinet and discovered that he was not only out of shaving cream but that his razor had rust along the honed edge. He swore again, a little more loudly, and then showered.

He went downstairs, had a bowl of cereal, and left by the back entrance, deliberately avoiding his father, who would have put him to work raking the yards. He went downtown, visited the bank, then the drugstore, where he bought some shaving supplies, and two tubes of Vaseline, secretly thankful that the clerk was new and didn't know him. He strolled from the drugstore down to the local surplus store where he bought some dark coloured boxers, having decided that he was too old for briefs. He also bought a new watch, which had a luminous dial and a dark green and black camouflage cloth band and cover.

When he returned home The Phantom found his father asleep on the living room couch, snoring away. He scribbled a note, left it on the kitchen table, and then pedaled off to work.

As he expected, the galley was humming along. Vats of soup were bubbling away, Ray and Sandro were bickering while they prepared a huge mound of sandwiches and Chef was muttering over an array of naked, fresh- baked cakes. He greeted The Phantom with open arms and set him to work icing, then slicing the cakes into 8 equal portions.

The morning passed quickly. At lunchtime The Phantom bussed tables and listened to the gossip. Cory was still a hero, thanks to his flashing the ball game. Harry was not far behind, having flashed the Chief PTI and two officers. Mike came in while Harry was bragging, looked at him as if he were a bad dream, and went immediately to the salad bar where he picked over the raw vegetables. The Phantom was well aware of Mike's reputation as a body builder, and one look at his oversized chest, muscles and legs confirmed that he was doing a good job at it. As far as The Phantom was concerned Mike looked grotesque, a sort of young Charles Atlas in uniform.

Brian passed down the food line, looking tired. The Phantom's dick twitched at the sight of him. He promised himself to be extra nice to Brian when he could finally return to the Spit.

The members of the work party from Base entered for lunch. They had spent the morning raking and cleaning the grounds, removing as much of the storm-damaged trees, plants and whatnot as they could. They were all older men; most of them under some sort of disciplinary punishment or other, and The Phantom had no interest in them.

The Gunner entered and The Phantom's heart skipped a beat. Although he appeared to be surrounded by a herd of chattering, uniformed urchins, he stopped and spoke, which made The Phantom's day.

After lunch The Phantom helped Ray, who was quiet, but then he always was, and Sandro, who was going on about spending an extra night, thanks to the storm, at the Commanding Officer's house, in cleaning and then prepping the galley for the supper crowd. At 1500 The Phantom took his break, sitting on the galley stairs. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He figured that since he wouldn't be going anywhere for the next few days he might just as well enjoy a smoke or thirty.

Sitting there he was conscious of how warm it was. The temperature had been in the high 80's and promised, at least according to the radio, to remain that way all week. What little wind there was came from the west, bringing with it the smell of rotting fish, tar, hemp and, faintly, the smells of the forests that surrounded the town. It was very humid and he expected a good turnout for the Swim Parade. He was not disappointed.

First down the path was The Gunner, trailed by the New Entries. As usual, he was dressed in his baggy shorts, and an oversized T-shirt. He looked very uncomfortable and The Phantom guessed that he really didn't care for boys at all, big or little. The thirty odd boys surrounding and following him were dressed in a variety of suits and trunks, and each boy carried a towel and a life jacket. No cadet was allowed to go swimming without a jacket until he had been certified. Which explained the presence of the Chief PTI and The Assistant. Phillip was a skinny, blond kid with no discernible chest and stick-like legs. He was wearing a pair of red lifeguard shorts. Mike was dressed in a startlingly tight, red, brief, bikini-like suit, so thin that The Phantom, though he tried not to look, could clearly see outlined a pair of small oval balls. Directly above the bulge of Mike's balls was what could only be described as an obviously circumcised knob, with no shaft, or so little it didn't seem to matter. The knob was not much bigger than Mike's balls, and there was a total absence of any pubic hair. Except for the hair on his head the Mike was absolutely hairless, his arms and legs bare, with only stubble where his treasure trail had been. As part of his body builder routine he regularly shaved his body. The Phantom thought that all things considered, it was no wonder the other cadets called him Gerbil Dick.

The Crushers wandered by, some Engineers, and then the Twins. He almost fell off the steps at the sight of them. For weeks they had strolled by, wearing a Speedo so thin that he knew that they were both circumcised and that their dicks were exactly the same length, about 3 inches long. They had medium, oval balls, although Cory's were just a bit smaller than Todd's. They both had a lovely, dark blond treasure trail, with curly hairs of the same colour peeking out of the edges of the thin fabric. He had jacked off nightly thinking of them, at least until The Gunner had come along. "And now," he fumed inwardly, "look at them!" He felt betrayed.

The Twins were conservatively clad in navy gym shorts. Peeking out of the waist of their shorts was a thin white band of elastic. The Phantom could not believe it. Not only were they wearing shorts, they were wearing briefs underneath! They looked like two particularly devout seminarians out for a swim. They gave The Phantom a wave as they passed him, continued down the path, and then stopped. Todd said something to Cory, who shrugged, then nodded. They returned to stand in front of The Phantom. The Phantom gave them the eye. They were up to something, and he had no desire to be on the receiving end of whatever it was they were up to.

"Um, Phantom . . ." began Todd.

"Can we, um . . ." continued Cory.

"Um, maybe . . . talk to you?" finished Todd.

The Phantom took no chances. He butted his cigarette, made sure there were no sharp objects around, and crossed his legs. "Sure," he replied, hoping that he was prepared for anything. He liked the Twins, he liked what he had seen resting under their Speedos and would, if given half the chance, liked to have played around a bit with them. He still wasn't taking any chances with the two boys.

The Phantom's movements were not lost on the Twins. "Were sorry . . ." began Todd.

"About that time in the Canteen," continued Cory.

"Honest," finished Todd.

They both smiled at him and The Phantom felt his wariness slipping away. He returned their smiles. "You're forgiven, I guess," He grinned. "But do you really have to do that?"

"Do . . ." began Todd.

"What?" asked Cory.

"That, dammit," laughed The Phantom. "Todd, you start to say something, then Cory picks up on it and finishes what you are saying! It's driving everyone crazy!"

Being Twins, Todd and Cory shared many characteristics, not the least of which was the seeming ability to communicate without speaking. Each twin seemed to know instinctively what the other was thinking. They also seemed to know what the other was about to say and finished each other's sentences constantly. Some would have thought it precious and endearing; others merely considered it damned annoying. The Phantom was one of the others.

"Oh, well, force of habit, I guess. Sorry," apologized Todd.

"Our mother thinks it's cute," said Cory.

"No disrespect to your mother, Cory but, Jesus, it is annoying. Park your butts and say your piece." He indicated the bottom step.

Both Twins sat down sideways, propping one leg on the cement step. The Phantom could see up the legs of their shorts. He winced at the sight of their briefs, which were an annoying shade of green. Outwardly they might be dressed as seminarians, but underneath they were the same old Twins. He grinned and shook his head. Both Twins looked down the leg of their shorts and grinned back. "They are not that bad, Phantom. At least they are clean and paid for," said Todd.

"Whatever you paid for them was too much." The Phantom turned and yelled for Ray to bring out some Cokes. Ray's head popped out of the door. He looked at the three laughing boys, arched an eyebrow, disappeared, then reappeared and handed the Cokes out.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Cory as Ray went back into the galley. "He on heat or something?"

The Phantom shook his head. "No, I think it's just the heat getting to him. It's pretty warm in the galley. We all get that way sometime." He knew exactly what Ray's problem was, and he would dearly love to help him solve it, but he couldn't and there was no need for the Twins to know.

"It is hot," agreed Todd. "Which is one of the reasons we'd like to talk to you." He glanced at Cory who nodded. "We can't get off Devil's Island. You probably know we're confined to base."

"Barracks, I heard," replied The Phantom with a slight grin. He had heard the gossip.

"Well, yes," admitted Todd. "But The Gunner gave us a parole until the Executive Officer comes back. He said in this heat we shouldn't be kept cooped up in some hotbox."

"He also said that no good deed goes unpunished." Cory took a swig of coke. "Jesus, that is nice and cold." He gave The Phantom a small smile. "We had to promise not to get into trouble. The Gunner said it was his ass that would be in a sling if the Number One finds out."

"Which he will," sighed Todd. "As fast as Little Big Man's hands and knees can carry him."

All three boys nodded sagely. Little Big Man was still on their shit list.

"So, then, what did you want to ask me?"

"We've decided . . ." began Todd.

Cory opened his mouth, saw the look on The Phantom's face, and closed it quickly.

"We have decided that the fairy act is over," said Todd solemnly. "We have decided to think of the future, and acting the way we have, well, it's not doing our reputations any good."

"What reputation?" asked Cory bluntly. "What reputation we had is in shreds!" Cory was never one to dissemble. He believed in calling a spade a spade.

The Phantom burst out laughing. "You two take the cake. First you get half the guys around here so worried that they wear cast iron cups to bed, and now you want to be straight-arrows."

"We mean it," said Todd seriously. "How would you like to spend half of your life being called a queer, or a faggot? It is not nice."

The Phantom thought seriously about Todd's question. While he was deep in the closet, and had never done anything public that would have labelled him, he could see the Twins' point. "Well, I can only imagine," he said sympathetically. He fixed the Twins a baleful look. "I could never understand why you thought it necessary to act the way you do. You're not flamers, and if you would just act your normal selves, nobody would ever think that you were gay." He shrugged. "I don't care what you are. I like you as yourselves. It's just too bad that people have to judge a guy by the way he walks, or talks, or acts."

"Bad or good, people love to label other people," said Todd sadly. "I have to admit, though, that we did help with the labelling." He looked at The Phantom, his eyes soft. "We have to think about others, Phantom. Our parents, for instance, and you."

"Me? I'm your friend. At least I think I am. I know what I think about you and Cory."

"If everybody thought the way you do, Phantom, there would not be a problem. Unfortunately, not everybody does." Cory put the Coke bottle on the ground and shook his head. "People judge other people by the friends they keep."

The Phantom chuckled and slapped Cory on his shoulder. "Are those drawers part of the great makeover?"

Cory grimaced. "They are a bit much," he replied, fingering the edge of his shorts, "but we didn't have anything else."

"So, the Speedos are gone?" The Phantom shook his head with mock sadness. "You two could really fill out a Speedo!"

Todd glowered sourly. "When next we participate in a swim meet we'll invite you," he grumbled.

"I am only kidding," said The Phantom. He reached over and pulled back the top of Todd's briefs. "And the psychedelic undies?"

Cory sighed. "Gone with the wind," he said with a slight grin. The days of infamy for their brightly coloured briefs and racy Speedos were over. "It's plain white briefs, solid coloured boxers for us from now on." He paused a moment. "Maybe a nice pinstripe for church."

The Phantom snickered. Cory was still Cory underneath the shrouds. "And you want me to do what?" He cast an appraising look over the Twins. "Loan you some boxers perhaps?"

Todd grinned. "No, buy us some boxers."

"We can't go ashore to shop," interrupted Cory. "The canteen has some briefs, but not in our sizes."

The Twins' request was a new one on The Phantom. "I suppose I could. I might not be able to get into town until tomorrow or Wednesday, though."

"That's fine," replied Todd. "We can give you our sizes, and the money, of course. All you have to do is buy what we need and bring them into work with you."

"I can front the money. Just tell me what you want, and the size you want them in."

The bugle sounded, calling the First Dog Watchmen to dinner. The Phantom stripped back the cover of his new watch and looked at the time. "I have to go in." He was about to go inside when a harsh voice stopped him.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

The three boys looked up and saw Little Big Man and his usual coterie strolling down the path. He stopped and sneered, first at the Twins, then at The Phantom. "Looks like the weekly meeting of the AURORA Boneblowers is in session."

The Twins jumped up, their fists clenched. The Phantom stood up slowly and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'll handle this," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Little Big Man. "If you two fight him you'll get the chop. You also promised The Gunner to stay out of trouble. All they can do is fire me."

"We can take care of ourselves," replied Todd softly. "We've gotten used to it."

"Maybe so. Maybe so, but you're on my patch now," growled The Phantom. He had just made two friends, and he wasn't about to let a little prick ruin it. He walked down the stairs and confronted Little Big Man. "You have something to say, queer bait?" he asked, deliberately challenging Little Big Man. There was a dangerous tone in his voice and glint in his eye that caused Little Big Man to step back a pace. The Phantom glared at Rob, David and Ryan. "You faggot finders want a piece of this?" he demanded. The Phantom was quite surprised at the macho tone in his voice "Fuck maybe I'm not all that queer after all," he thought.

The Twins stood behind The Phantom. "Well?" asked Todd quietly, addressing Rob, Ryan and Dave. "Phantom asked you a question."

Before Rob could answer there was a soft scuffle of feet on the stairs. The Phantom looked and saw Ray and Sandro standing at the top of the steps. Ray had been listening and had realized that people such as Little Big Man could only exist if no one stood up to them. He was pretty sure, no, he was sure, that he was gay. He figured that sooner or later he'd have to draw a line in the sand and that he might as well start here. Sandro only knew that his friends were in trouble. A friend stood by a friend.

"You two aren't queers. This isn't your fight," said David, addressing the two cooks. Then he saw the looks on their faces and decided that he did not want this to be his fight, either. "This isn't your fight," he repeated weakly.

Sandro spat contemptuously in the in the dust and glared at Little Big Man. "My folks and me, we left the old country to get away from scum like him," he said, waving a contemptuous hand at Little Big Man. "They put my people in jail. They killed them. But we survived. They would not let us practice our faith. Each month I had to go to KGB, and show them that I have not been circumcised. Still we survived. In September I become a son of Abraham for real. These . . ." he indicated the Twins, The Phantom, and Ray, " . . . are friends, I ask to come to service afterward." He took a step forward. "You fight them, you fight me. Just remember, assholes, the Jews survived for six thousand years without fighting back. Now we do, and we fight dirty." He made a ripping motion with his hand.

"Jesus, Paul," exploded Ryan. "It's bad enough you had to start with Cory and Todd. Now you've got a religious war going." He grabbed Little Big Man's arm and pulled him back.

Rob held out his hands, palms forward. "Look, no trouble, okay? We don't need this and neither do you," he finished placatingly.

"Your little friend should keep his big mouth shut," said The Phantom, his voice calm and low.

Little Big Man was about to say something. Rob gestured him to silence. "Shut up, Paul. Shut up, now," he ordered fiercely. He looked at The Phantom and shuddered inwardly. There was a look in the teen's green eyes that warned them not to fuck with him. "We're going swimming." He roughly jerked Little Big Man's arm. "Aren't we?" He began pulling Little Big Man down the path leading to the beach. The heard him telling Little Big Man to just shut up.

Ryan approached the Twins. "We're not like him, honest," he said shyly.

"We know, Ryan," replied Todd. He smiled at the dark haired boy. "We know."

Ryan returned the smile and followed Rob and Little Big Man. David gave a slight wave and trotted off down the path.

"Well, this calls for a celebration," said The Phantom, breaking the sombre mood. "Who wants cake?"

"Cake?" piped the Twins. They both had a huge sweet tooth and being limited to one carefully proportioned sweet per meal was a pain in the ass.

"Sure. Chef's is over in the Wardroom. We have lots of cake left over from lunch," said The Phantom as he led them up the stairs and into the galley. He waved at a gallery of cake and then handed each boy a huge slice of chocolate cake.

The boys settled in, chattering as they devoured huge mouthfuls of cake. Cory thought of the off-hand invitation Sandro hand delivered. He looked at the Russian. "So, Sandro, you are really going to be . . .?" He made a scissoring motion with his fingers.

Sandro nodded.

"Fucking aye!" crowed Cory. "Just about everybody is. Todd is, I am, and I know Ray is. Probably Phantom too."

"I am," confirmed The Phantom.

"See, Sandro." Cory waved his fork at Sandro. "You'll be just like us, one of the boys." He grinned, his teeth covered in chocolate icing.

Sandro considered this for a moment. He jerked his head toward the beach. "Even him?"

Todd looked at Cory, who looked at Todd. They both shrugged. "Gee, I don't . . ." began Todd tentatively.

"He is. I was on course with him," said Ray. He smiled his gentle smile. "Sorry guys, but he is."

"Too bad," mumbled Sandro through a mouthful of carrot cake, his favourite.

"People like him deserve foreskin."

At 1800 the Twins reported to the Regulating Office where they were informed that they would not be going back to Boatswain Stores. It was being used as a classroom. Instead they were sent to the galley to scrub pots. They were prepared to moan and groan at the unfairness of it all but were pleasantly surprised when they found themselves actually having a very good time. The Phantom, Ray, and Sandro showed them how to properly scour a pot, and slipped them pieces of cake and cookies whenever Chef's back was turned. They joked with the other boys, and chucked shit at Sandro, kidding him about his coming circumcision, and demanding ironclad assurances that they were really invited to the party afterward.

Chef, unaware that there had almost been a riot in his backyard, was pleased. Ray was finally coming of his shell, Phantom was his old self, and Sandro was finally speaking proper English. When the Staff was happy, he was happy. He inspected the Twins work and was even happier. Every time he thought no one was looking he slipped them a piece of cake or pie, always indicating that they should keep quiet about it. At 1900, when the galley closed and the cadets and The Phantom left, he told the Twins to take a hike. They protested that they had another hour to go before they were off duty. "Well, do what I'd do. Hide!" ordered Chef. "Now get out of here."

The Twins waved goodnight and left the Mess Hall. They were at a loss what to do next. They couldn't go back to the Gunroom. Little Big Man was not on duty and would be in the Petty Officers Mess for sure. If he heard so much as a peep out them he would scamper to the Regulating Office and report them for being absent from their place of duty. They couldn't go to the canteen. Kyle, who seemed to be on permanent duty, was a nice guy but he always checked the canteen and would not hesitate to put them on report if he found them in there instead of working. Feeling defeated the Twins returned to the Regulating Office and told Jon what had happened. Jon told them to fuck off somewhere and hide. He'd sign them out at 2000. As he said, that's what messmates did for one another.

They decided to go down to the shore and watch the world go by for the next hour. As they walked towards the Drill Shed they met Chris, who was loaded down with bits and pieces of gear. They asked him what the hell he was doing.

"I have to return all this shit to Boatswains Stores. I had to use the Drill Shed for my class," Chris explained.

"That's right, the First Aid Team was in Boatswain Stores, practicing," said Todd.

"Yeah, and I get to haul this shit back and forth for the next two days." Chris handed some of his load to Todd and Cory. When they reached Boatswains Stores they found the lights out, and the door locked. Chris dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys. He unlocked the door and went inside. As he replaced his training aids he saw that the first aid supplies had been neatly piled on the workbench. He grinned at the Twins and pulled out a blanket. "The office is unlocked," he said with a huge grin. His dick started to harden and a small tent formed in the front of his bell-bottoms.

Todd locked the front door and Cory turned out the lights. As they went into the office Cory, who was unbuttoning his shirt, spoke to Todd. "It would seem that Chris wants to play."

Chris turned to the Twins and held out his hand, showing the small tube of lubricant he had taken from the first aid supplies. "Actually, Chris wants to get fucked."