Space Ship Boys

This chapter took a little longer than expected, and ran a little longer than I would have liked. However, there was a lot to cover to get the story moving, and things are starting to take off. Please feel free to email me at erikritler@yahoo.com with comments or suggestions -- I'll always respond to feedback.

As always, for those seeking a quicker and more arousing read, I header the sex scenes with the phrase `xes' -- just use the find function in your browser if you get tired of my lengthy plot.

To recap the story so far, our main character, Devon, is a 17 ½ year old college kid who finds himself on a ship on a long voyage to a new home planet. Having been located at a boy's college in a low population town, the mass majority of the passengers on Devon's ship are college-age guys. Devon lives with his two best friends -- Reid and Patrick, as well as two other roommates, Nick and Jacob. They live in one bedroom of a five room subsection on the ship.

Devon begins questioning his sexuality after spying on two friends, Sean and Dog, mutually masturbating. He spends the next couple of weeks trying to spy on other guys with limited success. He watches the cute and twinkish Mike jerking off in his room, and later witnesses one of his flatmates, Chris, violently masturbating in the shower late at night. They are good shows, but somewhat unsatisfactory for Devon.

Devon gets his chance to explore some more after a malfunction on the ship causes a heat wave and lockdown all day. Horned up from sitting around with half naked sweaty guys, Devon can't sleep and wanders around his flat. He discovers that his friend, Charlie, has wandered off drunk. He goes looking for Charlie and finds him passed out in one of the unoccupied dorms. He can't resist feeling him up, and although Charlie wakes up halfway through, Devon wanks him off. He then carries the drunk Charlie home. The next day, Charlie doesn't remember anything, and Devon thinks he's off the hook. But then he discovers that someone had been watching him and Charlie through the vent. Who could it have been? Devon resolves to not let these questions detract him from having a good day off work, which he's planned to spend with his friend Conner.

And that brings us up to chapter four. Enjoy!

Space Ship Boys

Chapter 4 -- The Great Day

i

Friday morning arrives, and I'm in a better mood. It may be the first time in months I'm not cranky. I know I don't seem tense, but I always feel a little on edge. Anyway, we have the day off because of the lockdown yesterday, and Fridays are my least favorite day at work, so that makes the break extra-cool. I got off last night, which helped me sleep without any bad dreams for once - even if it was with a drunk and passed out Charlie, and even if we were spied on by some hidden sneaky wanker in the emergency access tunnels. It was still hot and relaxing. Now I'm on my way to Conner's dorm for the afternoon, and even if you can't really have a lazy sunny spring day on a space ship, that's kind of what it feels like to me.

While my dorm is in the forward section of the ship, Conner lives in a smaller cluster of living spaces under an area of the ship called topside. Topside, as the name suggests, is located in the highest habitable parts of the ship. From Area 23, where my room is, you can either take a hike down a long hallway that traces the circumference of the ship, or you can take a shorter walk to the commons and catch the main elevators from there. Most mornings I'm hyper and like the longer walk, but being in the unoccupied section twenty-four last night was kind of cold and creepy, and I decide to take the main route through the heart of the ship.

Area 23 exits into the middle of the forward concourse, which is part of a larger area we call the commons. There are three concourses extending out from the center of the commons, the forward, port and starboard concourses. These are moderately large and open spaces -- basically three story rectangular areas running along the central-most plane of the ship; they serve as the commercial heart of the community. They're not unlike your average shopping mall on earth. The ground floor provides space to hang out and mingle in an environment that is much more open than the dorm areas. The ship designers put a wide variety of stuff in here, which I have a feeling I'll appreciate more and more as time goes by. There are cafes and lounge areas, and even a mini golf course.

Walking down the concourse this morning, I pass the various seating areas that range from large couch configurations to small groups of café tables. There's an amphitheater near the exit to our living area, which I guess could be used for club meetings or small plays or something (it gives me a slightly creepy flashback to my third grade production of Peter Pan, in which I played a bored and lackluster lost boy). At the end of the concourse, opposite the direction I'm now walking, there's a big empty area where the floor is recessed by about twenty inches. We're told this is designed to become a park with trees and grass and everything, although it will probably be a while before it gets planted. Mostly, the ground floor is made up of a series of courtyards, each with its own distinct use. The second and third levels are open to the ground floor and contain spaces that can be used as both retail stores and offices.

The forward concourse is busy today, with dozens of guys sitting around and going here and there. It normally wouldn't be this crowded at 10 a.m., but everyone is off work and probably eager to hang out in the open spaces. Two guys are tossing a football down the way, throwing it high to let it soar up and close to the ceiling of the concourse before plummeting back downward. They yell each time they catch the ball, the happy sounds of their play echoing throughout the large space. That makes me think - I bet bottomside is completely packed today; Reid organized a baseball game and took off at like 7 am to make sure he could get a field. Bottomside is the recreational area of the ship, and has sports fields, an awesome gym, and a lot of cool stuff.

Most of the permanent crew -- those who worked on the ship before the evacuation occurred -- have offices here, and a few are coming and going. One of the officers, a woman called Linda, is sitting at a café table drinking a cup of coffee. There were about a hundred permanent officers on the ship and another two hundred reservists, and while the student body of the school was mostly male, there's about a 50/50 mix of women amongst the primary crew. She's dressed in the standard crew uniform, which is a kind of grey jumper thing, and is gazing thoughtfully at a mural on the wall. It's a moderately ugly drawing of a forest scene in spring. She nods to me as I walk past. I nod back and notice the steam rising from her coffee. I wonder briefly if the idea of being on a ship with 4,500 college boys is appealing for Linda, or horrifying. Maybe a little of both. We're sexy, but also annoying, if you know what I mean. The forward concourse is completely open to the main lobby of the commons, and when I reach the end I find myself in one of the most spectacular spaces you'll find on the ship.

The lobby of the commons, located in the dead center of the ship, is a massive open sphere hundreds of feet in diameter. A lot of the spaces are very enclosed, and although places like the concourses feel comfortably open, when you enter the lobby of the commons, it feels spectacularly large. The domed ceiling towers two hundred feet overhead in a metal octagonal grid that is quite beautiful, and when you've been living on a space ship for three months, having two hundred feet of open air overhead is a bit breathtaking and brilliant. All three concourses exit into the commons, so there is always a lot of foot traffic. Today there seem to be hundreds of people moving from one part of the ship to another, some busily moving about their way and some sitting and chatting in the many seating areas located throughout the lobby.

The commons is also moderately green. Many areas of the ship are designed to have a lot of plant life, but most of these are bare now since the plants need to be grown and transplanted there. The commons is one of the rare areas that was already fully functional before launch, so that there is a profusion of palm, oak, and magnolia trees throughout, as well as ample smaller trees and bushes. It gives the room a cooler, damper feel that makes it seem more natural that the dorms areas.

In the center of the room is the main elevator bank, which is where I'm headed this morning. These take you either up to Topside, or down to Bottomside. You would think a space ship would have elevators running all over, but for the most part this ship is all hallways. These are the only main elevators and they can only take you to topside or bottomside, but they're pretty fun to ride. I get in the elevator and hit the button for the topside lobby. No one gets in with me, although twenty guys are trying to pack into the other elevator that's going down. Yep, it's going to be a busy day down there. The elevator lurches as it takes off, and I ascend in the clear tube up through the metal gridwork that comprises the domed ceiling of the commons. As you slip upwards, you get a great birds-eye view down into the lobby.

The topside lobby is also impressive, but on a much smaller scale than the commons. Topside is made up of a series of multi-use spaces, which right now are largely dedicated to training and administration. Topside is decorated with lots of wood and leather, and has a feel a lot like the libraries back at JDU. Opposite the elevator exit is the entrance to the main auditorium on the ship -- a place where large gatherings of the passenger population can meet for meetings and stuff. There's a huge mural that runs in a ring from the elevators to the auditorium and back -- It's about ten feet high in most places, depicting art deco scenes of earth and the progress of man. Above the elevator bank, it extends thirty feet up the wall and shows a cool scene of an artist's imagining of our new sun and home world. The rest of topside is comprised of rooms in varying sizes and functionality, most of them medium sized training rooms suitable for twenty to thirty people.

The lobby is filled with leather chairs and wood benches around heavy oak tables, and most times of the day it's pretty busy, especially since almost everyone on board has their training modules up here. This morning there are maybe a dozen guys hanging out -- training is cancelled, but anyone who has an essential work assignment still has to report for duty today. One guy is snoozing in an oversized leather chair, sunk deep into his leather jacket with a green baseball cap pushed down over his eyes. From the mop of longish curly brown hair sticking haphazardly out from under the cap, I quickly deduce that it's Zane, one of my best friends in training. Although I'm headed to Conner's, which is a couple of floors down, I decide to stop and say hello.

I met Zane a couple of weeks into the trip, and we got along right away. Early on we'd have all these ship-wide meetings, and the permanent crew started unveiling a schedule by which we'd be trained in the various posts needed on board. One of the good things about this ship is that we're way under maximum capacity -- it was designed for 10,400 adults, and although they say it could have held twice that in an emergency there are only 5,743 of us on board, of which about 4,900 were students at the college. The drawback to this is everyone needs to work a little harder to keep the ship running; after all, we have to produce all our own food, clothes and supplies, and manage the use of resources.

At the early meetings the ship's initial crew went over the basics of how we'd survive in space and what all jobs needed to be done. Then they had something called a `ship's draft', which was really like a job fair. We all got to sign up for areas of work we were interested in, and I signed up for training under the purser and the steward's offices, which has to do with the management of food and supplies. As it turned out, most people who signed up for these areas got their first choice because not a lot of guys selected it. I guess they thought it would all be serving food in the cafeteria and cleaning pots, but it's not like that mostly.

The first day of class was kind of like any first day of classes back on earth -- no one knew each other, everyone was kind of awkwardly congregating at the rear of the room, and most people seemed like they didn't really want to be there. I did. We'd been in space for a little over two weeks, and we'd been confined to quarters most of the time. I wanted to see the Field Areas and Wet Farms and Animal Dorms we'd been hearing about, which are huge sections of the ship for raising plants and animal life. So anyway, I was paying attention, but most people seemed bored and annoyed to be there.

And then there was Zane. He paid attention, but he also kept making these wise cracks, and I could tell he was something of a slacker. Well, he didn't need to make jokes for me to recognize that - you could tell just by looking at him. Most of the time, he was wearing the same disheveled jeans and t-shirt, which in many cases were overdue for a wash. His hair was an untidy mop of long brown curls, which he kept under control with the simple and lazy solution of tossing a baseball cap over the mess, and this went well with his unshaven stubble. Overall, he was rather good looking. Not in the well-scrubbed manner most of my friends had (that kind of `future businessman' look we all sported at school), but in a loveable beach bum kind of way. Plus he had a sarcastic and biting sense of humor. I could tell right away I was going to like him.

At first, I was shy in the class, but then when Zane started making jokes I joined in. Everyone else tended to roll their eyes, as if our humor was worse than the boring lectures somehow. The trainers didn't mind that much -- I'm sure they recognize that lectures about ship-wide farming aren't the most interesting way to spend an afternoon, and eventually they saw we were earnestly trying, if not with a bit of unnecessary humor thrown in. So Zane and I would sit in the back of the class goofing around -- still paying attention and learning what we needed to know, but trying to make the process fun. Once we got out of the class and started touring areas of the ship, we'd been energized and having a ball while everyone else drug their feet, moaning and groaning about having to do any actual work.

Today, however, Zane is dozing in the topside lobby. It's the type of situation I might normally use to put on some sort of prank with him, but instead I opt for pestering him by lightly grazing his ear with my pen over and over. He kind of grumpily swats at it, which prompts me to press it into his ear even harder.

"What the fuck?" he questions, sitting up in the chair and pulling the cap back on his head so he can see. He groggily squints in the brightness of the lobby and looks genuinely pissed off before recognizing me. I guess I'm lucky he didn't decide to punch me in the balls before seeing it was me. "Hey," he says more warmly, "Devon, what are you doing up here man?" He stretches, and being this close to him I get the sense he didn't change clothes or shower after the heat wave. He doesn't stink per se, but he smells a little strong.

"I'm headed down to six, my friend Conner lives down there. I figured I'd take the elevator up here instead of walk."

"Cool." Zane is sometimes a guy of few words.

"So what're you up here for? I figure you'd be sleeping in or something. There's no work today." Zane and I were both goof-offs, but there was a definite distinction between us. I was the hard-working-but-slightly-sarcastic kind, where Zane was pure all-American-slacker-goof-off. It was odd he'd come up here if he didn't have to.

"Yeah," he chuckles, taking off his ball cap and tossing it to the floor. His long brown curls slide down his forehead. I'm not sure he's had a haircut since coming on board, and his hair is about long enough to start covering his eyes, "I was planning on screwing around all day, but when I got up this morning I forgot work was cancelled so I came up here. I figured `what the hell, might as well take a nap'. It's really noisy downstairs today."

"Yeah, Reid and Patrick went to play some ball, but I think everybody will be down there today so I'm staying away."

"Cool."

"Hey," I ask, "any news from your roomie about the inter-ship com system coming online?" The inter-ship com system was something each and every one of us was looking forward to. When all these ships left earth, we kind of did an emergency scatter in all directions. Then we headed out at near-light speeds, which was shortly followed by a massive gamma burst when the sun expanded. As a result, all of the ships in the massive fleet have been operating without communication with one another. Once we get far enough into deep space, and once we get into a kind of caravan formation, we should be able to talk to other ships. We won't quite have phone lines or anything like that, but we should be able to send some data back and forth. We're all looking forward to that -- it would mean we could start finding out about our friends and families and all that.

"Nah," Zane replies. His roommate had been a grad student, and was working closely with the permanent crew on a bunch of things, the establishment of inter-ship communications one of them, "he's been working like ninety hours a week and we don't talk much. I know they think we'll have something in a matter of weeks, but you know how these things are. It could be tomorrow, it could be three months from now. I wouldn't hold my breath, but hopefully the system will be up soon." I hoped so. I was eager to find out about my parents and Allie. And one of our roommates from earth, Derick, had never shown up on this ship. That was weird since he'd been at school that weekend. We didn't hang out with him that much, but still, you kind of wanted to know if he went to another ship or died or what. For now, though, I was determined not to let morbid thoughts spoil my day off.

"Well, I'm a little late, but I wanted to say hi. I better get going." I motion towards the stairs that lead down to the living sections under topside.

"Yeah, totally," Zane replies, settling back in the overstuffed leather chair and closing his eyes. I guess the nap will continue, "well, see ya Monday."

"Yeah, ok, see ya." I head off towards the exit. I like Zane, even if he's a little lazy. For one thing, he's a really cool guy, and in his own way he's adorable. Like a lot of your slacker skater types, he's pretty open-minded, and on more than one occasion has made it a point to talk about his bisexuality. I don't know, maybe like me he figures that sex for the next several years is going to be either solo or "mano y mano" and he was putting that out there for anyone who didn't mind another "mano" in their bed, or maybe he was open and like that even on earth. I can't say I didn't think about what it would be like to crawl into bed with the cuddly Zane. I'd never seen him naked before, or even shirtless, but he had wide shoulders and cut a nice figure in his t-shirt. I might have to ask him to shower first, though.

Speaking of my recent sexual explorations, today I find myself thinking a lot about the last couple of weeks. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that there's something going on with me. I mean, after seeing Sean and Dog doing it I started spying on guys, culminating in my experience last night with Charlie. I was raised to be open-minded, and also to be objective when examining myself. Sticking to this, I have to admit that everything that's been happening isn't just because of my current situation.

Back on earth, there were times I was curious about other guys. The way they look, the way they move. It's not like I never saw a half naked guy before and wondered what his body would be like to touch -- I often did. And I'm certainly intelligent enough to know a little about human sexuality. I know guys experiment in their teenage years, although I had never experimented with a guy before -- I never had that boyhood friend you play doctor with on some weekend sleepover. I'd often wondered about that, but none of my friends before JDU were that close. Now I seemed surrounded by guys who could potentially fill that role. Maybe Charlie again, or maybe Zane. I don't think being in space with an all-boy passenger manifesto could make me gay, but it might help me learn whether I was straight or gay to start with. But this was all a little confusing for me. If I decided I was bisexual or gay, what would my friends think? Would it cause trouble? Zane was comfortable throwing it out t

o the room, and people didn't seem to say much about it. Maybe I should be a little more like him, and maybe a good start would be finding someone to talk to about this.

ii

For now, though, I was determined to have a relaxing day off. As it turns out, Conner had the same thing in mind, and that afternoon was one of the first times I really enjoyed myself since leaving earth.

Conner greets me at the door with his trademark wide smile and slaps me on the back affectionately. He's wearing a raglan t-shirt and cargo shorts, which is about the only thing I've ever seen him in, although unlike Zane he clearly washes them frequently. Conner is a hard worker (he's pre-med after all), but he's also one of the most laid-back, authentic guys I've ever known, which is one of the reasons we became friends back on earth.

"Ok, so all my flatmates are out today, so it might be boring in here, but I pulled out a couple of things to do." We walk through the entry hall and into the main living room. Conner's flat was slightly larger and nicer than ours, which explained why people wanted to stay up here. These subsections only have three bedrooms each compared to five in ours, so Conner shared his flat with fewer guys. The living room and bathroom were smaller, though. "We could watch a movie," I shake my head vigorously, recalling yesterday's tv-marathon. Conner takes note and laughs at my emphatic no, "Ok, so no movie, I have a new video game we can play, or we can go down to the commons and see what's going on."

I'm in a mood to lounge around in the house rather than go hang out in the ship. I know, I was indoors all day yesterday, but the heat left me wiped out, so we play Conner's new video game for a while. It's a silly racing game, and turns out to be rather fun. Before long, we're ramming our avatars into one another and causing general chaos on the virtual streets, giggling at the comical graphics that appear each time we fender-bend. I beat him five games to three, which he jokingly claims was the result of some elaborate conspiracy. Just as I'm getting hungry and tired of the game, Conner gets up and flips off the tv.

"Ok, so I have a total surprise for you," he grins, scooting off towards one of the bedrooms. I follow him, a little dubious about what he could possibly have for me. His room is about the same size as ours, and four of the bunks appear to be `lived in', although the room is considerably neater. He's rummaging around in a trunk under one of the beds. I can hear objects clunking around against one another, but his back is to me and I can't see into the trunk.

"What do you have in there?" I ask. "Because it better not be copies of `Bring It On Home'." Chris and Peter had subjected my room to the overproduced sports film and two sequels during the lockdown.

"Those terrible soccer movies? No way. Here it is," He's grabbed hold of something and stands up, but his back is still to me. "Ok, so close your eyes."

What? That's totally lame. "No way, just show me," I protest.

"Nope, not unless you close your eyes."

"Well, I'm not closing my eyes, so you can just put whatever that is back."

"Ok, I will," he calls my bluff, "but I can guarantee you that you'll be interested in it." He bends back down as if to put his secret object back into storage and curiosity gets the better of me.

"Fine, fine," I give in, "My eyes are closed." I theatrically put my hands over them, somehow suspecting that would be a requirement. I can hear him moving around, slowly at first, probably making sure I was really not looking. Then I sense him really close to me and feel him grab my left hand and pull it away from my face. I keep my eyes squinted shut, however. Conner has large hands, and they feel warm and dry against my wrist. Suddenly, something round and thick is placed in my left hand. It's distinctly plastic and has some give to it. Conner tells me to open my eyes and I do, not believing what I see in my hand.

"No way!" I exclaim, getting immensely excited and jumping about three inches off the floor. "No fucking way!" I'm instantly giddy and Conner beams a huge smile at me, obviously quite happy his surprise was well received. He's handed me a jar of old-fashioned creamy peanut butter, one that seems pretty full.

"I brought it with me and I've been hiding it. I only want to use it for special occasions, but I thought we could have sandwiches today." I could understand why he'd want to ration it. There wasn't peanut butter on board, and it would probably be months before we were able to farm a crop like peanuts. There were a lot of guys that would probably give quite a bit for a spoonful of the stuff, and I was struck by the value of the gift Conner was offering. We were friends, sure, but I had treated him kind of shitty since coming on board, never even making time to come up here and hang out with him, and I didn't feel like I was very deserving of sharing his peanut butter.

I shook my head as my smile faded into a frown. "Oh, no, Conner I couldn't. I mean, yeah that sounds great, but you should save this." `For someone else' was the unspoken end to that sentence, what I meant was that he should save it for sharing with a better friend than me. I hand the jar back to him.

Conner frowns a little and looks confused, then I guess he gets why I don't feel like I can accept his offer. "Aw, c'mon Devon, you're my best friend on the ship," (that doesn't help my guilt complex any), "I wanted this afternoon to be just like a lazy day on earth, and for me that means peanut butter sandwiches. Besides," he lowers his voice to a whisper as if we weren't the only ones in the flat, "I wouldn't really share it with any of my roommates. They'd probably sneak in and steal whatever was left later."

I couldn't really come up with a counter to his argument, and my stomach was rumbling. I really wanted the peanut butter, but I also saw the bigger meaning it had for Conner. For him, sharing it would be like a ritual that sealed a bond of friendship between us, like becoming blood brothers. "Welllll," I answer, dragging the word on for several seconds. Conner's eyes are kind of pleading with me, and although I'm going to say yes I enjoy prolonging this a bit so I get the full effect of the puppy dog look, "...ok. Deal." Conner claps his hand and immediately flashed me another of his huge smiles.

He produces four slices of ration bread he brought from the kitchen and we take two each. He doesn't have a knife, which is only a temporary dilemma. My quick-and-effective solution is to spread a thin layer of peanut butter on my bread with my forefinger, making sure to use the bare minimum amount. Conner does the same, then proclaims my bread pb deficient and puts another large glob on my bread. I lick the peanut butter from my forefinger, and my mouth instantly waters at the familiar, satiny taste. Oh my god, this may be the best thing I've ever eaten.

We munch down our sandwiches standing in the middle of the room. At first, I consume mine in tiny nibbles, determined to make the sensation of the meal last as long as possible. Then I figure a large bite of peanutty goodness is better than a teeny one, and lay into my sandwich. Conner does the same, smearing a small smudge of brown peanut butter over his upper lip. We eat in silence, occasionally smiling at each other, and the meal is over all too soon.

Afterwards, we talk about how great the peanut butter tastes and Conner stows his secret stash back in his trunk. No wonder he hides it -- I might even sneak in here and steal the rest. We then converse about our favorite meals of the past. It makes me think, I have little doubt we'll still be talking about this particular sandwich ten years from now, sitting around with friends somewhere ruminating over our greatest meals of all time, the plain peanut butter sandwich shared on the 98th day of our voyage ever remaining in my top ten.

The rest of the afternoon goes just as well. It's funny how you sometimes have a natural connection with friends that makes everything seem easy. Conner is like that with me. From the day we met we always just got along. We play a trivia game on one of the consoles -- this time Conner trounces me (well, he is two years older and a lot smarter). Then we trade some mips we'd stored on the ship drives. Conner has a lot of music on his personal drive and I suggest he saves himself some trouble and send them all to Beck, who has taken it upon himself to collect and catalogue all media from earth. We chat about his studies in the medical center, and he explains how it's different than the medical classes on earth. He's fast-tracked to be a doctor in only a couple of years. I tell him about my training in the purser division, and about the large Field Areas and Wet Field Areas that had been recently planted. He says he's never been to the crop areas of the ship, and I promise to show

him around some time.

It's near the end of the afternoon that I learned something new about my friendship with Conner.

We'd been chatting about the plants on board, and I was talking about some of my favorite weird plants and where they grew. Conner is smiling and nodding. I'm not sure if he was finding this boring or not, but if he was he's being a good sport about my botany talk. Suddenly, I realized that a certain flower I'm describing was one that grew outside my house growing up, and an image flashed through my mind of me playing under a large magnolia tree on spring afternoons while my mother prepared dinner in the kitchen. I pause for a second then shift gears and start talking about oak trees. Someone who wasn't as good a listener as Conner might not have even noticed my change in demeanor, but Conner is a perceptive guy.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he cuts me off. I stop talking. "What was that?"

I know what he's talking about, but I choose to pretend I was just concentrating. "What was what?" I feign ignorance.

"You were talking about the tree with blue flowers outside your porch and you stopped, but I could see you thinking about something. I could see it in your eyes."

"Oh, yeah, I was trying to remember where I used to always walk past a cherry tree on my way to school, but now I can't remember. Must be getting old." I'm not sure he's going to buy that excuse, and as expected he doesn't.

Conner punched me in the arm and it stings a little, even though it was clearly not meant to hurt. "You are such a liar!" he laughs. "I'm not buying it. Something was bothering you, tell me what it is." He folds his hands on his lap and reclines against the arm of the sofa, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. He looks both a little mischievous with his wide grin, but also concerned and ready to listen no matter what was on my mind.

I'm close to Reid and Patrick, and we talk about almost everything. But we act like boys around each other and make fun a lot, so I'm always careful not to talk about stuff that's too personal with them. With Conner it's different, though. He has a personality where you can tell right away he'll never be judgmental or hurt your feelings. Maybe it's because I'm so at ease with him, or maybe it's because I feel guilty about ignoring him for three months; it may even be because he bought my eternal loyalty with a peanut butter sandwich, but for some reason I decide to tell him about the cherry tree in my backyard and my mother baking on spring afternoons, which leads to a general outpouring of my memories, feelings and all the crap that's been going on since we left earth.

I confide in him the scene with Reid at the departure station and how he may have died if I hadn't been there to force him into the escape capsule, and how that has made me kind of scared of losing him ever since. I'm not even sure where that comes from, and I'm not sure I consciously realized that I was afraid for Reid's safety until I start talking about it. I babble on about my bad dreams and the constant nightmares I've been having. I even talk about missing Allie, my former girlfriend, and about all the things I feel like I've lost in being displaced from my home.

I don't tell him about any of my weird sexual behavior, though. Conner's a bit conservative and clearly straight, and although I'm sure he wouldn't judge me about it, in all honesty that stuff isn't what's been bothering me most lately. In talking with Conner I realize it's all the other things -- being stuck in space, missing my parents, never getting to see Italy. Conner sits next to me and listens attentively, nodding every now and then and letting me get everything off my chest. I feel like I babble on for hours, even though it wasn't quite that long. Eventually I wind down, short of breath from my long speech, but I have to admit I feel better. Kind of like when you walk around all day with shoes that rub your feet wrong and finally take them off.

"So anyway, I guess I obviously have a lot on my mind. Clearly I'm about to go totally insane." Although Conner listened to my whole life story, I'm afraid I've put too much on him. I mean, I'm not the only one who lost a home.

"Wow, no, don't worry about it," he reassures me, "wow, that was a lot to take in, but I'm glad you got it out." He kind of stumbles around his words. I'm sure he thinks I'm a total spaz now.

"I know, I'm sorry, I don't know where all of that came from. I totally ruined our carefree afternoon." I toss a wad of tissue across the room in frustration.

"No, no, it's not that. Not at all, I'm just trying to think of something to say that doesn't sound lame or like a greeting card." He looks thoughtful for a second and picks something up off the side table. It looks like a little Japanese-style lantern with parchment windows and a yellow string at the end, and he twirls it off the end of his forefinger while he talks. "I guess I'd say the important thing is that we're all alive. I mean, I know that's the standard speech after a tragedy, and I'm sorry to use it because it sounds really weak. I guess what I should say is that you're here, and I'm here, and I think that shows that not everything will always be bad. Maybe things will start to seem better some day.

"As for the dreams and all that, I don't think you're going crazy. It's been a weird couple of months. You talked about being worried that your friend Charlie has been drinking a lot and your friend Chris is angry all the time, and maybe we're all a little messed up because of what happened. Maybe we all show it differently. I don't think a few sleepless nights and a tendency to bottle things up is the worst way to go.

"I know I always seem pretty stable, but even I feel the pressure sometimes. I mean, here I was, a nineteen year-old pre-med student looking forward to years of school before I got thrown into the real world. I wasn't even totally sure I wanted to be a doctor. I thought I did, but I was still going to have the chance to go into law or business or art. Now we're stuck on this stupid space ship with one real doctor for five thousand people, and I'm expected to start practicing in like one-tenth the time I would on earth. I may be performing surgeries some day, and don't think I haven't spent a few long nights thinking about what that will be like. I could totally kill someone. And not like hey, I want to murder someone because of the stress,' I mean oops, I'm a terrible doctor and you came in for a hangnail and now you're dead'. It's kinda scary" Conner slams his head back against the arm in frustration. The lantern is still spinning hypnotically, and I don't know if it's tha

t or Conner talking to me, but I'm starting to feel better.

"And I'm not saying that to unload my crap on you, because I'm not. Just, well, this whole situation is ridiculous. Five thousand college guys flying through space in a giant ship. It's totally ludicrous." He hangs the little lamp back on its stand. "Ugh, I guess I just mean to say that I know where you're coming from, but I think things will get better. I hope they get better. And if you need to talk, I'm always here for you. And not in an upperclassman gee I'm better than you' way. You're a good friend, and I'm glad you're here, and I hope things don't seem so gloom and doom' all the time."

"No, they don't," I admit, "In fact, most of the time things here are pretty fun. It's only now and then that I get down. I'm sorry I spit out every little thing that's happened. I'll be fine, I promise. Thanks for listening."

"No problem, any time," he replies, and claps his hand on my shoulder. It's big and comforting. And that's when I realize it. Things are so easy with Conner because I almost think of him like family. Like a brother. And suddenly, I feel a lot better than I had in a long time. I think he's right. I think things will get better over time.

After my lengthy discharge of every single emotion I'd avoided for the past three months, we decided to do something a little less intense and played another three rounds of Conner's racing game. I let him win two out of three because he'd been such a friend today. Well, in all honesty, he won the second round all on his own, which gave me the idea to throw the third. So in the last game I purposefully let him hit me with a cow manure bomb (yeah, it wasn't the most mature game in the world). He whizzes by the finish line three car lengths ahead of me, yelling in victory. In mock protest, I slam on my brakes and turn the car around to race down the wrong way on the track, thereby preventing the computer from ending the game. About a quarter of the way back down the track I start making crude jokes about the oncoming drivers in a silly voice I thought fit my little fat driver. Conner laughs at me, which makes me start laughing so I can't finish my dialogue in the silly voice. I

n the end, I give up and giggle endlessly too. It was a pretty good end to a great day. Yeah, maybe things will be ok.

After spending the afternoon with Conner I meet up with Reid and Patrick in the mess hall for dinner, and although the selection of food is still limited to pre-packaged slop, it's a good meal. They guys have spent all afternoon playing baseball down in bottomside, and I get a sense that the exercise has done them good. Reid in particular gets a little testy if he's locked up for too long. And it's probably a good thing he burned off some excess energy -- tomorrow the two of us have to report for our monthly medical scans, and this is definitely one of Reid's least favorite things on the ship. He's not griping about it yet, however, so I figure he's either forgotten about it or doesn't want to think about it, and I don't mention it, not wanting to ruin his good mood.

As I fall asleep later that night I have little doubt that I'll spend a second night in dreamless sleep. I've been a little messed up, but things on the ship seem like they're coming together. Work is ok; the crap detail is still a little annoying, but a lot of the work we're doing with the farms is exciting and cool, and Zane helps make it fun. I have Reid to fill the role of athletic friend, and despite the fact I skipped out on the games today I often join him for working off a little steam in the gym. Then Patrick is the nerdy friend I can talk science and science fiction with, which is cool. Today I also figured out that Conner is kind of like a big brother -- not that he's that much older than me, but we can talk about stuff and not feel weird about it. And all the other guys I see daily -- Chris and Beck and Charlie and Nick and Jacob. They're all pretty fun to be around, and although I've been lamenting being stuck on this floating hunk of iron, I have to admit the peop

le around me are pretty cool guys. As I drift off, I'm thinking that things might not be so bad after all.

iii

The next morning I wake up to a bit of an embarrassing situation. I get up before my alarm goes off, but it's not super early or anything. In the night I've thrown my covers off, and I'm lying on my bunk naked except for a small pair of grey and purple briefs (I have to admit, I pulled these out after seeing Reid in his sexy little white hip huggers). The problem is, I have a HUGE erection tenting my shorts. That's when I realize I didn't jerk off at all yesterday -- in the morning I was spent, having enjoyed my late night rendezvous with Charlie, and then all afternoon I stayed busy with Conner. Now my cock is at its full 5 ½ inches and quite ready for action.

And that's the problem with sharing a room with four other guys. Reid is awake in his bunk, but he looks groggy like he just got up. He's staring at the ceiling like he's not quite ready to start focusing on things in the half-lit room yet. Patrick is across the room on the couch reading one of his books. He gets up every morning at like five o'clock. God, he must have seen me sleeping with this huge boner. Jacob sleeps directly under me, so I don't know if he's in, and Nick looks to be gone, so I guess he may have been in on the Devon camping exhibition as well. Figuring no one is really paying attention to me, I try and adjust my dick a little with my right hand; maybe I can make it not so obvious, but I discover that I seem to have leaked enough in the night to make a significant wet patch on my shorts.

Well, we're all guys here, no reason to be too embarrassed. I'd love to take care of business, but that's life on a crowded space ship for you. Instead, I opt for the most covert manner in which to cover up my tumidity. As far as I'm concerned, any of the guys in the room can feel free to suck my fat one (and that thought doesn't nothing to help it go down, I can tell you), but what I'm more concerned about is the obligatory mocking that will ensue if I strut around with an erection. Therefore, I swing myself off my bunk in one slightly-less-than-graceful motion, keeping my back to Patrick, and hurriedly pull on a pair of jeans. The boner is still somewhat noticeable, but at least it's not screaming out to the whole world `look at me!' There, good ole blue jeans, a horny seventeen year old's best friend.

As I dress, Reid sits up in his bunk and looks kind of pale and nauseous. God, I hope he's not going to pull the sickly thing for the third month in a row. He always tries to find a plausible excuse to get out of scan day.

Once a month, we all have to go in for a complete medical scan. It's not that bad really, you just lie on a table and let the machine look you over for four hours. Well, it does more than look you over. It removes any radiation you may have absorbed (there's a lot in space), repairs any damage on a cellular level, checks for defects, replenishes vitamin levels and in general keeps us in good health. For most of us it's relaxing and a desirable way to spend four hours -- the machine never physically touches you, but when you get done you're all tingly, and I always feel similar to how I would after a really long massage.

For Reid, though, poor guy, it's yet another experiment in his terror of enclosed spaces. The scanner is like a big white tube in the wall. You put a kind of square cushiony helmet thing on your head, lie on a padded table, and the scanner moves the entire table in and out of the tube. You're never really all the way in the machine -- your feet always stick out, and you can always see a sliver of the medical room, but because your head is in the scanner it does feel a little claustrophobic.

The first time Reid went for scanning, he freaked out and had to be subdued by the medical staff. I hear they eventually gave him a sedative, but not before he gave one of the guys a good kick in the shin. The second time, we came up with the idea of sedating him before going over to the med center, and then we set up the appointments so that I was in the scanner next to him. That worked a lot better, even though he still whined a lot before we drug him. Maybe because Reid and I are pretty close, or maybe because I punched him pretty good when we launched, it was decided that Patrick would be responsible for drugging him each time he had a scan and I would accompany him.

"So, are you going to cooperate this time, or are we going to have to hold you down again?" Patrick asks from behind his book. Apparently, he's thinking about the same thing as I am. For the second scan, Reid had agreed to take the sedative, but when the time came he refused and three of us had to make him take it. In the end, it worked. I went with him to med center and he got scanned with no complaints, sleeping off the meds for the rest of the afternoon.

"Ugh." he collapsed back onto his pillow. He's wearing a shirt to bed, but when he stretches out I can see that sexy line of muscle down his lower abs. "No, I'll take my pills. Just give them to me." He holds his hand out into the air, apparently resigned to cooperate this time. Patrick gets up and walks over to his bed, handing him the medicine cautiously. I'm sure neither of us would be surprised if he was faking us out and made a mad dash for it. He swallows the pills, though, and Patrick looks relieved.

"Thank god, there was no way I was in a mood to wrestle you for that again."

"Me either," I agree.

"I know, I know," Reid says exasperated, "I hate it, but I'll do it. Hey Devon, did you get the other stuff for me?"

"Oh, yeah, right." I go over to my trunk and open it. Part of today's bargain is that I'd get Reid something to drink from the kitchen, just to supplement the tranqs and take the edge off. I'm not sure he needs too many drugs in his system, but I figure a couple of shots of gin can't hurt. I'd snuck them out in a plastic container. "It's not the best, probably, but it shouldn't be terrible."

I hand the container to Reid and he removed the lid, gulping most of the clear liquid in a single swallow. Gin isn't the best breakfast beverage, and I can see by his wince he agrees. It should calm him a little, though. Not too much, though, I hope. I don't want to end up carrying him. He finishes the cup off with another swig and wince. Our appointment is in a half hour, so hopefully that gives things time to set in.

Unfortunately, we don't have time to shower and have to set out for the port concourse right away. I don't stink or anything, but it would have been nice to relieve my erection. It's gone down, but I can feel it in my balls that my system is more than ready for a good jerk. If I didn't have to babysit Reid I'd have time for a quickie, but oh well, that's life.

The trip to the med center is uneventful, other than the fact that Reid starts slurring his words and stumbling a little about half way there. I think it's the sedative more than the liquor, and make a note to steal one of his pills for my own personal future use. The forward concourse is busy, but not as much as the day before since a lot of people are back at work. We pass through the commons and its majestic high ceiling. Reid points something out in the grid work overhead and leans back a little too far to check out the dome. He almost falls over, but I catch him. He's clearly unsteady on his feet at this point, which is a pain, but at least it will mean less fuss in the scan room.

As I feared, I have to help carry him the rest of the way. I put his arm over my shoulder, which helps me steady him. He's still awake and able to walk, apparently his balance is just all off. I see Ian coming from the port concourse and he stops to help, concerned that Reid might be sick or hurt or something. I explain about the scanner and sedatives and he nods.

"Yeah, I think most people know about Woodard's issue with small spaces. Rumor has it you kicked him in the balls on launch day to get him in the capsule."

Ian stares right at me with his translucent blue eyes. They always throw me off a little and make me feel goofy. I flush a little. "What? He has like fifty pounds on me. If I kicked him in the nuts do you think I'd still be alive? I did deck him one, though, in the nose."

"Deckim' onthog," Reid mumbles. He's standing mostly on his own, but still in threat of toppling over so I'm holding on. Ian checks out the small bruise that is still visible on Reid's cheekbone.

"Ah," Ian replies, "I'm not sure I'd want to punch him either. He looks pretty built."

"No, I wouldn't normally want to fight him either, but luckily we shoved him in the pod and he couldn't get at me for a couple of hours. I guess he forgave me, because so far he hasn't taken revenge for the banged up nose." He shifts and plows into my side roughly, giggling a little at almost falling over, "Other than being a general arse at times," I clarify.

Ian laughs. "Yeah, well, I see what you mean. If you're ok getting him over to the medical center, I'm gonna get going. I have crap detail this afternoon." I sympathize -- crap detail was usually pretty boring or pretty icky, and Ian and I had occasionally been scheduled together on the same mind-numbing tasks. He has a good attitude about it, though, and heads off for topside. Reid is a little less stable now, and the sedative appears to be really setting in. Hmm, maybe we give it to him fifteen minutes in advance next time.

Almost one entire side of the east concourse is taken up by the ship's medical facilities, with the scan centers on the third floor. We make it to the med center, but not before three other guys ask if I need help. I tell them no, and we make our way to the third floor. There are actually elevators in the hospital, which is nice. They're slow, but I'm glad not to have to carry Reid up three flights of stairs.

We're in the elevator alone and I have another of my awkward Devon moments. I'm almost wholly holding Reid up at this point, and while we ascend to the third floor he puts his head on my shoulder. It's warm, and I can feel the soft fuzz of his dark blonde hair against my neck. I adjust my weight to try and support him better, and my right arm slips up inside his t-shirt, coming to rest on his hard, flat stomach. I can feel the ridge of muscle that I've been so curious about lately, and my forefinger has actually slipped under the waistband of his underwear, but just barely. His body is smooth and hot to the touch, and I can feel a few downy hairs against my forefinger; these must be the northernmost section of Reid's pubes.

You might think I would take advantage of the situation like I did with Charlie, but my reaction kind of shocks me. Like thirty things flash through my mind instantly. First, Ian had made a great point earlier -- Reid was a pretty tough guy and could probably beat the crap out of anyone he set his mind to. Second, I had taken a risk with Charlie, but in all honestly that was a friendship I could stand losing if it came down to that. Third, Reid might be sedated, but he may or may not be aware of me right now. And so forth. While I processed this, my body reacted without thinking and I just jumped back, letting go of Reid and allowing him to topple to the floor with an audible `thud'. Oops.

At that moment, the elevator door opened on the third floor. I was standing in the corner looking somewhat shocked, Reid was crumpled in a pile on the floor like some discarded child's doll, and Doctor Moreno, the ship's head physician, was standing in the hall looking at us curiously.

"Ah, Chasen, Woodard, good to see you are, uh, on time for your appointment." He looked a little unsure about us. Ok, so the deal with Dr. Moreno is that the first time he met us was about an hour after launch. We'd come in with a broken nose and three broken fingers between us, which he kindly fixed but must have wondered about. Then the next time Reid put one of his interns out of work for a few days with a bruised shin. So he probably doesn't have the highest opinion of us, and I always sense a bit of a condescending look from him.

"Uh, he's a little too drugged this time." I glance at Reid, bending over to try and pick him up off the elevator floor. He seems like he's awake, but about to head permanently off to la-la land.

"I can see that," Dr. Moreno replies (and I feel I detect a little undertone of sarcasm). `Don't blame me', I think to myself, you're the one that prescribed this dosage. "Well, at least he won't injure anyone this way. I have some classes to attend to downstairs. Do you think you can handle him on your own?"

"Yeah, I think he'll sleep through it."

"Very good. Why don't you take number twenty-seven? There aren't any other scans today, so no one is up here. If Woodard gives you trouble, just take him out of the scanning bay and we'll try again later. He should be fine, though, those are some pretty strong sedatives."

"Ok," I shrug. Most guys run the scanners themselves -- all that's required is pressing the `go' button -- but last time we had an attendant stand by to watch Reid. I guess this time Dr. Moreno is confident that the tranqs will keep him asleep, and if he's ok with us being on our own, I'm ok with it. I get Reid standing up again and drape his arm over my shoulder. Dang he's heavy. Dr. Moreno gets in the elevator and departs for another floor, and I head to room twenty-seven. The third floor does indeed seem deserted. There were quite a few guys milling about on one, but it's empty and quiet up here.

Room twenty-seven looks just like all the other scanner rooms -- it's a twenty by ten white space with basically just two large tubes against one wall, beds protruding from the colorless openings. The only furniture was a small chair near the entrance; I guess sometimes an attendant sits in here. There's also a small closet with two lockers. When you get scanned you have to wear these horrible paper hospital gowns, and there are two hanging in the closet. They're kind of like these terrible caftans with matching paper underwear. One is green and has a line of yellow ducks across the chest, the other is pink and purple in a diamond pattern. Ugh, who designed those things?

Before I can do anything, I carry Reid over to one of the scanner beds and lay him down as gently as possible. He's still somewhat awake, but as is Reid's habit, once I lay him down he seems to fall deeply asleep right away. Well, he may have been hefty to lug around, but at least he's not arguing about going in the tube. Before I can start his scan, I have to put the robe on him. Once again, visions of Charlie and our illicit night flash through my head, and I can't say I'm not tempted to take advantage of Reid's comatose state to check him out a little. After all, of all the guys on board he's probably the one I've been most straining my neck to catch nude, if you know what I mean. Still, he's my best friend, and while I'm pretty happy about my night with Charlie, I'd rather not do anything that violated the trust Reid and I shared. So I try and redress him as clinically as possible.

This turns out not to be easy, by the way. First I sit him up so I can take off his shirt, but now that he's zonked he's all dead weight, and it's quite hard to slip his t-shirt over his head. It's even harder getting the stupid robe on. I choose the pink one for him because if I'm going to go to the trouble of dragging him down here and dressing him, he gets the stupid girlie outfit. It's made of a paper material, and too much pressure will tear it. While trying to tie the middle section around Reid's waist, he slips and almost falls back into the bed. I grab him, but hear the side of the gown rip as it tears slightly. Oops. Putting on the scanner helmet is easier. Basically it just straps on and holds your head upright while the machine works.

Once the top part is done, the rest is easier. I take off his shoes and socks then unbutton his jeans, slipping them off along with his underwear in a single motion. I'm surprised they came off so much easier than the shirt, but I guess most guys want out of their pants whenever possible, so maybe that has something to do with it. There are these little pink paper boxer shorts that go with the robe, but I can't see how I could get these on without totally molesting my friend, and although that might be kind of fun, I figure he can just `free ball' the scan. I think the robes are mostly for modesty's sake. Not that there's much dignity involved in this. Reid looks rather retarded, wearing a pink dress and padded white helmet. Fortunately for him I'm not the kind of friend that would take a snapshot of this and post it on the net.

Ok, so I do have to admit that once Reid's pants were off I did take a quick peak. I mean, how could I not? I'm still trying to respect the guy's privacy, so I don't lift the robe and take a comprehensive look (in retrospect, maybe I should have), but I do get a quick glance up the gown. Reid has smallish balls, and they appear to be pretty hairless. I'm surprised they're smaller than mine, which aren't huge, and I note that his pubes seem less dense than mine. And although I don't get a really good look at it, I can tell that his dick is, as I thought, pretty long. Right now it's off to the side, and I have to say it runs a fair couple of inches along his left leg before tapering to a small pink head.

Like I said, though, I'm trying to be a good friend to the guy, and while he's smoking hot, I don't think I should take advantage of his drugged state. I center him on the bed and hit the large button on the side of his scan unit. The machine comes to life, buzzing and whirring and clicking. Reid's bed slides about halfway into the tube and the scanner starts its thing. It will take about four hours to complete the cycle, and I think we're safe in assuming Reid will sleep through all of it.

I'm a little winded, and fortunately setting up my scan isn't such an ordeal. Like I said, I find the whole process relaxing and invigorating, so I'm happy to strip down and get to it. I forego the green ducky gown and opt for the paper-boxers-only option. My skin always gets warm and tingly in the scanner, almost like after you've been out tanning, and l prefer to go topless. Hmm, I guess I could have left Reid topless and spared him the terrible couture. Oh well, his loss.

I jump up on the scanner bed in my little paper green boxers and put on my silly helmet. I feel like a lacrosse player at some kind of bizarre pajama party. No problemo, though. I hit the `go' button and lie back, my bed sliding into the noisy machine as the scanner begins its cycle.

Some would say it's boring in here, but I always find it give me time to think. The inner walls of the scanner are smooth and white, so there's nothing to look at. If I get really bored I can bend my neck a little and look at my feet, but from my angle within the tube all I can see is down my legs and a little sliver of the room. Oh great, I left the stupid duck gown in my line of sight. Now I have that to stare at for four hours. The machine makes all kinds of weird noises as it works, most of them pretty loud. Some of them sound like the low rumbling of a car engine, where other times it buzzes and whirs. You can hear gears and components moving around within, and I consider it might be nice if they had made the walls clear so you could see what was going on in the machine. Or maybe that would be really scary.

I think about everything that's happened over the last three days, and I have to admit that it's been so crazy that I'm happy for some time to stop and reflect. I mean, it was only a week ago that I stumbled into my second sex show on the ship -- cute little Mike jerking it solo on a quiet afternoon. Then last Wednesday I had spied on Chris in the bathroom doing the same thing (with a totally different technique). Thursday was the heat wave, where we were all prancing around in our underwear all day, which was followed by my experience with Charlie in the unoccupied dorms. Now, just 36 hours later, I'm finding myself smiling every time I think about doing that with Charlie, and I kind of want to do it again. But it's all a little confusing to me, and I want to talk to someone about it. I almost opened up to Conner, and I'm sure he'd be understanding, but I'd like to talk to someone who might be a little on the gayer side and might know what I'm going through. Well, that's some

thing to ponder on.

xes

The scan has been going on for about an hour when the door opens and someone comes in. I'm dozing and don't pay them much attention, and from the blue scrubs I can tell it's an attendant. I figure they decided to send one up to make sure Reid hadn't gone psycho on the machine; an image of a crazed Reid holding a machete and standing triumphantly in front of a desecrated medical scanner flashes through my mind and I chuckle out loud. I can't see who it is since my vantage point only offers a small sliver of the room and I can't see but halfway up the orderly's chest.

The employee is standing over by the main control panel in the room, and I figure he's taking some readings on the machine. My scanner is doing something in my tummy area, and the muscles there feel all tingly. Suddenly, there's a beep from outside the scanner and music fills the room. It's a kind of funky and cool song, and although the scanner is pretty loud I can hear it ok. Dang, I didn't know you could play music in here. Cool. The song does make the scan seem even more relaxing. I'll have to thank the attendant when I'm done.

The hospital guy walks over to Reid's unit. Yep, they're checking up on him. I don't blame them, one of them is probably still sore in the shin from the last time. He has a clipboard, and I can hear him tapping it against the wall. I can't see him, though, since the beds are side-by-side. I'm starting to totally groove to the gruff chords of the music and decide to try and doze off again. The machine changes gears, and I feel an immense tickle that runs up my butt and back. The sensation comes from within my body, I would say it felt like someone running a rolling pin up and down your buttocks. It kind of hurt but kind of felt good too. I can't help but release an audible giggle, really an outright laugh almost.

The attendant walks over to my bed and makes a note on his clipboard before setting it down on the floor. When he comes back into view all I can see is the area from his knees up to his chest, the rest of him being obstructed by the scanner. He's standing by the control panel for my unit, and I'm hoping he's not turning down the intensity. I like how the machine kind of roughly works you over, and my laugh wasn't a protest, although I suppose he could have taken it as such.

The scanner adjusts the bed position again so that I'm now sitting about half in and half out of the tube. I can't see any better into the room, but the noise the machine is making lessens so that I can hear the music better. The song has a great beat, and almost without realizing it I start twitching my right foot to the music. I expect the hospital worker to finish taking his readings and leave, but he's still standing right next to me. It's kind of annoying, to be honest, since it's hard to relax when someone is hovering over you.

Also, I have to consider that I'm mostly naked. Since I decided not to wear the robe, all I'm dressed in is these green paper boxers. They cover up my naughty bits, but not by a whole lot, and they're breezy enough to make it feel almost like I'm lying nude on the table. This guys is standing right above my midsection, which makes me feel a little exposed and vulnerable.

Unfortunately, thinking about lying around somewhat naked and defenseless immediately conjures an image in my mind of sweet, drunk Charlie passed out with his dick flopping in the wind -- the scene I stumbled upon just two nights ago. Having skipped my morning wank, this immediately sends a shiver down my chest and deep into my groin, and I feel my dick twitch once. Jesus Christ, Devon, why are you always blowing everything with your stupid hyperactive horniness? I don't really want to bone up with this guy standing over me, so I immediately concentrate as hard as I can on thinking about other things -- baseball, pumpkin pie, sub-Saharan Africa. It kind of works (phew), and although at seventeen my hormones usually take charge, I do have some control over my body and figure I can keep things `hangin' low'.

Of course, as soon as the phrase `hangin' low' passes through my mind, I immediately think of peeking at Reid's flaccid penis and another twinge of sexual energy passes through my body. Again, I try to focus on something else -- anything else -- and figure I can win this battle for at least as long as it takes for the orderly to take his readings and leave. My dick is still 99% soft -- it's lying up against my abdomen and as long as I stay relaxed it shouldn't go erect or anything. That's when something completely unexpected happens.

I don't know if the orderly had noticed that my dick had flexed a couple of times, or if he took that as a cue of some sort, but totally out of nowhere he reaches down with his free hand and firmly runs his forefinger down the shaft of my dick through the shorts. Well that's not going to help me stay soft.

I'm shocked by both the boldness of the move and the sensation that immediately races up my abdomen, across my nipples, and into my chest. I jump about two inches off the table, and it's only through sheer force of will that I keep from trying to sit straight up in the tube (which would have resulted in a significant knock on the head, seeing as how the wall of the scanner was only six or seven inches from my face). All at once my legs and chest tighten up, and the tranquil relaxed state I had fallen into over the last hour disappears in about a quarter of a second.

About a zillion thoughts run through my head simultaneously. Maybe he was just checking something for medical reasons. Wait, no, that's idiotic. You don't run your fingers down a guy's dick for medical reasons. This had to be something else. But what? Was this guy curious about the way my package sat in the underwear, or was it something more? I consider what I should do -- climb out of the machine to see who's messing with me? You aren't supposed to leave the scanner when it's running, and besides, I kind of liked getting stroked, even if it was just once. Blood was indeed pumping into my down below areas now, and I was maybe one-forth erect. I decide to sit still and see what this guy's next move is.

When I jerked awake he pulled his hand back, although leaving it only a couple of inches above my midsection. You can't tell a lot about what a person is thinking based on a view from their thighs to their lower chest, especially when they're clad in baggy medical scrubs, but I supposed he was waiting to see if I was going to come out of the tube screaming at him for this violation of personal space or not. When I don't he seems to take this as my acceptance at being touched, and sets his clipboard down on the ledge next to the scanner. I wonder if he's going to stroke my penis again, but instead he takes his left hand and lies it flat against my lower tummy. His hands feel large and warm, which is somewhat surprising because my skin is already warm from the scan.

He starts petting my stomach in a circular motion -- I guess you'd say massaging it -- first with just his left hand then with both. It actually feels quite good, as one would imagine, and I groan a little in pleasure. I'm not sure that he can hear my contented sigh above the noise of the scanner, which is busily moving forward with its job regardless of the activity happening on the table, but I'm sure he can feel me relax and squirm a little to his touch.

I'm usually a little ticklish, but not today, and I decide to let him rub my stomach as much as he wants. It would be nice if he could massage my chest (I'm a little sore from lifting crates down in the hold), but I'm still half in this machine, so the best he can do is the upper parts of abdomen. He changes his stance a little and pivots his hips so he can reach down a little better, and puts a hand on each side of my navel, his thumbs firmly massaging the underside of my rib cage and his fingers pressing downward. He strokes my stomach in firm downward motions, pressing headily into the abdominal muscles the run in a v-shape towards my groin, stopping each time just above the base of my pubes.

The massage and my squirming have caused my dick to flop around and point downward. I'm not completely hard (although the massage feels really good), although I am at about half mast and I can feel that my cock is significantly heavier than it was a moment ago. With each stroke my abs flex and I can feel my dick bob from side to side -- at first content to be pointing towards my feet, but then as the soft tissue inside my increasingly excited shaft fills and becomes heavier, it rolls in a full circle and points towards my right shoulder.

If this were simply a massage I might be embarrassed, and maybe even mortified, but the orderly started the rubdown by touching my dick, so I'm pretty sure he isn't getting upset as I harden up on him. As if to answer this unspoken suspicion, he lengthens the arc of each stroke so that his fingers trace their way to my upper thighs and his thumbs come to rest just above the base of my shaft, albeit on the other side of the thin underwear. Each time he does this my penis presses up against the fabric of the shorts and gets a little harder. By about the fourth stroke I flex all the muscles of my lower body simultaneously, and blood rushes into my increasingly excited dick. I go from mostly hard to fully hard in a couple of seconds, my cock tenting the flimsy paper boxers significantly; the little session I'm enjoying with `unnamed intern x' goes from massage to sex at the exact same moment, my body flushing with all the hormones and endorphins a healthy teenage lad can conjure.

My oh-so-friendly masseuse is not at all oblivious to my increasingly aroused state, and proves he is more than willing to take this from massage to wank-off. He tenderly takes the tent in my shorts between four of his fingers and rubs up and down very, very slightly. You have to remember that it's been `o solo mio' for me since coming on board, and even before that not many people had touched me there, so this single, tiny motion is enough to send torrents of what feels like electricity through my body. I squirm quite noticeably, and I'm sure I let a significant gasp escape too. If it's possible, my erection gets even harder.

One of the things I've always noticed is that when a guy's body goes into sex mode', everything to the core of your very being screams Get naked! Get naked!' At least that's how it's always been for me, and although the little green paper boxers aren't all that confining, I suddenly want them off. I reach down and start to push the waistband down my hip, but the orderly gently grabs my hand and pushes it away. I take this to mean that he wants to take them off himself, and I'm mostly right.

As it turns out, he does want to take them off himself, but he also wants to take them off his way. Like I've said, the hospital garments are disposable and made out of some kind of paper. They're sturdy, but not indestructible. The massage and ensuing activities have made me start to leak a little, and although I can't really see my crotch, I can feel that the fabric is cold and wet in patches where it has absorbed my precum. My masseuse grabs either side of the boxers and pulls them firmly apart, tearing a makeshift fly in the crotch. I can't really hear them rip over the noise of the scanner, but I feel the cold air hit my wet shaft as it springs free and out into the open. Ah, the dream of every young man -- to be naked, erect and proud out in the open, about to fulfill your most important masculine duty and get your rocks off.

I hope that the orderly will immediately grab my dick and start stroking it, but he doesn't. First he reaches up and pulls the baggy blue top of his scrubs off. I hope he'll bend down so I can see who it is, although I have to admit the anonymity of this scene is kind of exciting. I can see his lower chest and stomach though. He's thin and pale with a hairless, muscular stomach. His torso looks long from my vantage point, so I guess he must be tall. Overall, not a lot to help me figure out who this is -- my limited view only narrows it down to about fifty percent of the guys on the ship.

And then a startling thought crosses my mind. Could it be Conner? He's about this height, and he works in the med center. Maybe he saw me come in and decided to `help a guy out'. But no, Conner is a lot tanner than this guy and WAY too conservative to sneakily engage in some unrequested masturbation. I go through a quick mental list. It can't be Charlie or Reid or Patrick or Nick or Jacob -- wrong build in all cases. Beck is thin and pretty pale, but I think this guy is much taller. In fact, I don't think it's anyone from my close circle of friends, and you know what? With my dick soarin' high in the open air, I don't really give a damn who it is at this point.

Once the orderly has tossed his top off to the side, he steps closer to the table and my penis throbs achingly in the open air. It wants to be touched, skin on skin; to be caressed and fondled and stroked. I don't have to wait long, although my masseuse doesn't go straight for the shaft. As he resumes touching me, he replaces his previously firm strokes with the lightest of light touches along my inner thigh, just barely grazing the soft skin of my inner leg and tearing a larger hole in the hospital underwear. This time I do become ticklish and squirm a little, but he doesn't stop and continues making small circles along my thigh with his warm, large fingers, slowing as he gets higher and higher along my leg. Each touch is lighter and slower than before until the only sensation on my skin is the warmth of his fingers still hovering close to my body.

I wonder for a second if he's going to end it here and walk away, and then all at once he uses all five fingers of his right hand to graze my scrotum in the same feather-light strokes and kind of cups my balls in his fingers. Holy fuck, I've never been touched quite like this, and with all the nervousness and sexual tension it's like this tiny touch has set my entire body on fire. My abs and chest contract as a wave of pleasure ripples up my body. I can feel my dick harden to an almost unknown tension and it spasms, sending a torrent of precum out of my slit and down my shaft. It wants to be touched more than ever now, and the orderly's light strokes, although they feel quite awesome, are going to go from gift to torture if he doesn't start touching my dick pretty soon.

I think it's kind of instinctual to want to give someone pleasure when they're making you feel this good, and I also figure if I start stroking this guys off he'll get the point and move on to a more aggressive cock massage, so I reach out with my right hand to try and find the orderly's dick in his baggy scrubs. I don't have the best range of motion with my arm since I'm still stuffed up in the machine, but I can move it around a little outside the threshold of the scanner. My hand lands a little higher on the orderly's body than I thought, and I end up touching his naked stomach. His abs are pale and hard, and my first thought is how unlike Charlie his body feels. Charlie was soft and cool to the touch -- this guys has a really hard stomach and his skin is quite warm. With his fingers still circling my balls, I decide I don't really have the dexterity in this thing to do much by him in the way of foreplay, so I stick my hand, as best I can in this weird position, down the fr

ont of his pants.

I am rewarded with two things. First, as one might expect, I find a turgid, wet cock in the humid environs of the orderly's pants -- he's not wearing underwear, so my hand goes directly to the base of his thick shaft. Secondly, he takes the hint and goes from massaging my balls with one hand to stroking the base of my penis with both hands. He is kind of running all five fingers up both sides of my dick while exerting a moderate amount of pressure. I'm not sure if it's because this is a technique I've never tried before or the hotness of the whole scene, but it drive me a little wild and puts me in immediate sexual overdrive.

I grab the waistband of his scrubs and tug downward. They don't come off all the way, but they come down far enough so that a thick five inch dick springs out into the open. It's pale like him, with the exception of his rosy pink helmet and pinkish balls, which are quite large and sway seductively in the open air. In response he strokes me harder, his hand slipping up and down the soaked shaft of my super-excited penis. The scene is unbelievably hot and I'm losing my mind with pleasure. I want to just sit here and let him do me, but I also want to feel his dick. I reach out for it, but he pulls back at the last second. Still, I'm able to grab the pink head in my fingers as he repositions himself, and notice that it's hot and dry as it slips through my fingers. He gasps, a deep, throaty sound, and it's actually the only noise he makes during our entire sex session.

The orderly wraps his long fingers around the wrist of my probing hand, and then takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. His hand is still warm, but it's also slick with the copious amount of precum I'm expelling. It's this one brief moment, us holding hands in this weird position that actually turns out to be the most intimate of the afternoon. And then it's over, and he takes my wrist and gently places my hand back at my side on the table of the scanner. I get the message -- for whatever reason he doesn't want anything in return for beating me off. Hey, I can dig it.

And I especially dig it when he goes back to my cock. He takes me in one hand and begins stroking my penis in long, steady reps. At this point it probably wouldn't matter how he touched me -- I'm so horned up he could probably just slap the bottoms of my feet for a while and I'd cum, but the full stroke is what I really want and what he's giving with more than adept skill. I think I'll spray right away - I hate to admit it, but I don't always have the best control over that (hey, I'm only seventeen). Somehow, though, the sheer intensity of the whole thing is keeping me from coming, and I just revel in the waves of ecstasy that pass through my body with each stroke.

The orderly goes faster and faster, at one point grabbing my wet shaft in his left hand and harshly rubbing the wet head of my dick in circles on his palm. This drives me crazy too, and I'm visibly writhing in my encasement. This is nothing like when I jerk off. It feels unbelievably good, but I'm also almost in pain from the sheer intensity of the pleasure. My heart is beating well over one-fifty, and I can feel that beads of sweat are starting to form on my forehead, chest and stomach. It's getting warmer and warmer in the tube of the scanner -- almost like a sauna, and that adds to my sexual excitement.

It's right when I feel like I can't take any more that my masseuse goes for the end. He grabs my shaft in his hand and begins rapidly rubbing up and down. It's the basic jerkoff known to every thirteen year-old boy, the classic grand finale that does the trick every time. With each motion, I can feel his fingers move past my frenulum and over the head of my penis. Each time this happens sexual pleasure explodes throughout my body and I feel excited to the deepest core of my being.

He's jerking me like this for a minute when he does something I've never tried before. Just as the pleasure is building within me to intolerable levels, he takes his other hand and grabs my balls. Well, I've tried that before and it feels awesome, but what he does that's different is that all of a sudden he reaches under my balls and exerts a lot of pressure to the underside there. It presses more blood than ever into the shaft of my dick and seems to flip some sort of switch in my head because all of a sudden I'm seeing stars. Seeing stars and cumming.

"Ugh, fuck, god!" I manage to exclaim as I'm overtaken all at once by one of the more powerful orgasms of my adolescence. I buck on the table, and this time I do accidentally lift my head enough so that I bash it against the upper wall of the scanner. This doesn't deter me, though, and my entire body tenses as my dick begins to throb and convulse. My first shot flies straight up into the tube and I feel a warm splat on my forehead just above my hairline. The second lands on my chest as the orderly continues vigorously stroking me throughout my powerful orgasm.

I feel like I just keep on cumming and cumming as the orderly milks my convulsing cock. I'd normally get really sensitive and stop stroking near the end of an orgasm, but this is so intense I let the feeling spread throughout my body, and pleasure throbs through my chest and head and down in my feet. My heart is racing at like 150 beats per minute, and I'm gasping for breath.

As I finish and start falling into the blissful sleepy haze that usually follows sex for me, I wonder if I should reach out and try to return the favor again. As if to answer me, the orderly pushes his pants a little further down and begins to beat himself off in a fast motion. I watch as his hand becomes a blur, moving up and down the shaft of his thick pink dick quicker and quicker. His rosy pink balls flop forward and backwards as he strokes, his sac is pretty taut and looks extra sexy flying in the wind as he masturbates. I'd kind of like to fondle those balls -- they look largish and like they'd be fun to play with.

And that's when I notice something. Now that the orderly is mostly naked (although I still can't see more than his lower torso), I see that he has a tattoo on his lower abs just above his left hip bone. It appears to be a small black rose, although from this angle I can't tell for sure. It's definitely a flower, though. The bloom sits right above his hip bone, and the stem follows the curve of his lower abs. The black tattoo is rather striking in contrast to his pale skin.

I don't get much of a view, though, since he finishes off pretty quick. After jerking for about twenty seconds he starts cumming, although unlike me he doesn't make any noise at all when he does. Since he's standing right over me, the semen shoots out and dribbles down onto my stomach in warm sticky globs, which I find both sexy and kind of gross. He shoots four or five wads then slows his thrusts and finishes. His dick looks pinker than ever -- it's kind of cute.

I worry for a second that he's going to leave the mess, which someone might come in and see (or Reid), but he doesn't. He pulls up his pants and takes a cloth from his pocket, which he uses to gingerly wipe up all evidence of our tryst. First he mops up his pool of cum from my tummy, which kind of tickles, then he dabs up my semen, which flew all over the place. He also pulls off the remnants of the ripped paper boxers, which were completely destroyed by now. Oh well, they were one-time use anyway. He can't reach too far up into the tube, however, so once he's done with all the reachable areas he puts the soggy cloth in my hand, which I take to mean I should use it to clean up the two shots that landed on my chest and face.

And just like that, our unexpected sex session is over. I'm not sure what I expected -- that maybe he would stick around to reveal who he was, but it doesn't go down that way. While I clean myself off he puts his shirt back on and backs away from the scanner so I can't see where he is in the room anymore. A few seconds later I hear the door open and close, and I take that to mean he's gone. I consider following him, but the combination of the sex and scan has made me super groggy, and I figure I should respect that he doesn't seem to want to make himself known to me. Still, how am I supposed to find him again? It sure would be fun to explore this a little more. I'm thinking about this as I drift off to sleep for the remainder of my scan.

I wake up from my nap an hour later as the scanner finishes its job and the bed I'm lying on jerks put of the tube and into its `start' position. It's a bit of a rude awakening -- I was having nice dreams, and for a second I might have thought the whole orderly incident was a dream except that I'm naked on the bed, and unless I ripped my paper shorts off in my sleep it means the whole thing really did happen.

Reid is also awake, and although in other circumstances I might be embarrassed to emerge from the scanner totally nude, he's sitting on the floor staring at the wall, which I take as a sign the tranqs haven't quite worn off yet. I walk over to the closet and pull out my clothes. It feels awesome to be naked, but I can't exactly walk across the ship like this (hmm, or could I?).

"Hey bud," I start talking to Reid while pulling my t-shirt over my head, "That wasn't so bad was it?"

"Mmm, nbsobd," he mumbles unintelligibly. I take it to mean either no, not so bad' or yeah, it was pretty bad'. Either way, at least the medicine kept him asleep the whole time. I notice that he's already dressed, so obviously he was awake enough to get out of the scanner and put on his regular clothes. I take that to mean he's up enough to walk.

"So, ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah, msfs grek pfr." I have no idea at all what that means, but it must be agreement because he stands up wobbily and heads for the door. I almost follow him when I spot the only item I've left in the room -- the cum rag sitting on the edge of the scanner bed. Oops, better not leave that behind.

I walk over to the scanner and pick it up. It's already crusty and turning yellow in spots -- gross. I didn't look at it in detail before, but now I notice that it's a sock. Hey, it's my sock.

My missing sock.

The sock that was stolen out of the room after I wanked Charlie off.

I'm not a dense guy, but I've just woken up so it takes a second for me to put two and two together. What I know is that my pair of socks was taken at some point after I left the room where I'd jacked Charlie off, and that one of them had been left behind by the pervert that spied on us. Now the other one had been left behind by the anonymous orderly. God dang it, the stupid orderly was the phantom wanker that was hiding in the vents! Ugh, he did it to me again!

I kick the side of the bed in anger and the scanner makes an annoyed whirring noise, as if pissed to have some kid knocking it around. I laugh a little, partially at the scanner and partially at the fact that there is some guy running around the ship who both managed to spy on me jerking another guy off then actually sneak up and jerk me off without revealing himself. Since I've been spying on guys for a while now I can't complain, but I have to admit to myself this guys had some balls to take it as far as he did (cute big pink ones at that).

"Hey, are we goin' or what?" I jump a little as Reid sticks his head back in the door. He sounds impatient, and I take that to mean he's coming off the meds and will get a little cranky about the whole ordeal.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'." I stuff the sock into my jeans pocket. It's gross, but I don't want to lose a pair of real cotton socks and it can be washed.

The walk back to the room is kind of quiet. Reid is still groggy, although he manages to make his way without support. I'm also a little sleepy -- the scanner always does this to me -- but I'm also a little pensive. It was fun being jerked off by the orderly, but now that I realize it's someone who has been spying on me I'm a little thrilled by it and a little scared. I mean, I suppose he must like me in some fashion if he's following me, but it's also a little creepy. Again, I can't complain too much, I basically did the same to Charlie, and if I'm not a psycho killer my phantom friend probably isn't either.

The rest of the afternoon is quiet and lazy. Reid naps most of the day, first in front of the tv then later in his bed. I don't sleep, but you get all warm and tingly after a scan (and sex), so mostly all I feel like doing is sitting around. In the late afternoon Chris and the guys come in from work and watch tv for a while, then Beck gets home and cranks up his music. Charlie comes out of his room and plops on the couch next to me for a while and we chat about work and the food and the ship and stuff like that. I get a little weird around him now, I notice, but he truly doesn't seem to remember anything from before. However, he knows I was the one who came and drug his butt up to his real room, and ever since he's been friendlier to me. Not that he wasn't friendly before, we just didn't talk all that often. While he's sitting next to me in shorts and a t-shirt I note that he's a heck of a lot cuter undressed.

After a while most everyone heads out for the evening. It's Saturday night, and usually people go see a movie or hang out in bottomside. I don't really feel like going anywhere, though, and pass up on several invites. Instead I look in on Reid, who has gone from napping to full on sleeping, and pick up one of Patrick's books. I figure I might as well get some reading in, and head back out to the living room. By nine o'clock everyone is gone in the flat and it's just me reading alone.

Around eleven, Patrick comes into the flat and stands in the doorway, looking at me reading on the couch. At first I think he's come back from a party or a movie or something, but he's all dirty and I realize he's actually just getting back from work. He laughs a little.

"What?" I ask, becoming a little self-conscious.

"Nothing," he sounds exhausted, "it's just that I'm usually the one sitting alone in here on a Saturday night reading a book."

I smile at his observation. Yep, I guess I am playing the role of Patrick tonight. He explains that he got stuck helping down in one of the field areas where they're trying to get ready to plant a new section of crops. I tell him he looks like he brought half the topsoil with him and he laughs and heads to the showers.

Once he's gone, I find that I can't get back into my book because I'm thinking (again) about everything that's happened over the past several weeks. I've been pushing things a little. I mean, having sex with other men is one thing, and something I'm not quite one-hundred percent sure about yet, but it's not something I'd be ashamed to try. However, I have to admit that it has been slightly dangerous sneaking around spying on people and goofing around with it like I have been. If Charlie had been less drunk, my stunt up in Area 24 might have affected, or even ended, our friendship. I might not talk to a guy ever again if I woke up and found his hands down my pants. Well, ok, so maybe I'd talk to him MORE after that, but you get what I'm saying. Some guys would hate that. And if Chris knew I had been watching him beat off, he might outright beat me up.

Ever since I'd spied on Sean and Dog three weeks ago, I've been thinking that I need someone to confide in about these feelings I've been having. I thought about Conner or Reid, but they're both a little too straight laced for me to feel that comfortable with. Now I'm realizing that I've been missing the obvious all along -- I should talk to Patrick about it. As my best friend, I trust him to give me honest advice, and I know he's an open-minded guy that wouldn't be put off by much of anything.

As if on cue, Patrick emerges from the bathroom in his robe, freshly showered and looking a lot less haggard. He heads back from his room when I stop him.

"Hey, Patrick," I call from behind my book. What the heck am I doing?! When I said I wanted to talk to him, I didn't mean right this minute. Then again, maybe it better be now. We're alone. It's private, and maybe by tomorrow morning I will have lost my nerve.

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you? I mean, about something important?" There must have been something in the way I phrased that or my voice, because Patrick's face goes from curious to concerned and he crossed back across the living room and sits down in the chair next to the couch where I'm laying. Something about him being closer does make me lose my nerve, and I tell him never mind. Unfortunately, the cat seems to be out of the bag, and he insists that I tell him what's bothering me, and goes on to say he's actually been concerned about the way I've been acting lately. Great, in addition to being a weirdo, I've apparently started acting obvious about it. That really makes me self-conscious, and I tell him to go to bed.

"C'mon, Devon, you obviously need to talk about something, and I'd say you've needed to talk about it for a while now. You know you can tell me anything, so what's going on?" He crosses his legs under the robe, obviously settling in for whatever I'm about to say.

"Well," I begin reluctantly. I consider coming up with some elaborate, silly story to throw him off. Maybe say I saw some guys getting high in the engine area. Or, hey, talk to him about being worried about Charlie. But no, I've already decided I need to confide in someone, and that it should be Patrick. He's right when he says I can tell him anything. Although I don't feel the brotherly connection I feel with Conner or the boyish friendship I feel with Reid, Patrick is a great friend, and I know he'd continue to be a great friend even if I told him I was a mass murderer bent on taking over the world (well, given his taste in books, that might actually help our friendship). I just need the bite the bullet and say what I've got to say.

"The thing is...I mean...what I want to talk about is..." The more I stumble on my words, the dorkier I feel and the more it seems like we've been sitting here for hours. You know what? Fuck it. I'm just going to say it.

"Patrick, I think living on this ship is making me gay."

There it is, out in the open. The infamous `g' word.

Patrick sits back against the arm of the chair and takes a deep breath. I feel like throwing up again.

To be continued...