AURORA TAPESTRY is the third book in a series. It chronicles the lives and times of a group of men and teenage boys living in an age and an environment where being gay was to be despised, maligned and scorned. It is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, is purely coincidental.
My writing reflects the customs, mores, traditions, prejudices and attitudes of the times. The year is 1976 and it was a different world. Some of the attitudes will no doubt offend those who are so determinedly politically correct that they are unable to conceive that others might have a different opinion or outlook. Please, do not write me hooting and hollering about your cause, prejudices, preferences or whatever. I am not into causes. I AM a grumpy old sailor and I do not suffer fools gladly. Be warned.
In 1976 the AIDS pandemic was only just infecting North America. Condoms were used primarily to prevent pregnancy and gay men never gave a thought to having sex with a condom. Do not, I beg you, let what was common in 1976 influence your conduct today. Always practice safe sex.
As my writings detail scenarios of gay sex - tastefully, I hope - in sometimes graphic detail, I must warn that in some states, provinces, cities and towns reading, possessing, downloading, etc., is illegal, or if you are not of legal age to read, possess, download, etc., works of erotica, please move on.
My thanks as always to Peter; whose editing skills bring everything together.
To any of you who wish, please write me at paradegi@rogers.com. I respond to all e-mails, except flames, unless I am in a particularly grumpy mood, and then I flame back. Be warned!
The galley proofs of The Phantom of Aurora are now done and with the publisher. Publication date is still unknown but I will make certain that all my readers know when and where to obtain a copy.
Aurora Tapestry
Chapter 12
"Today I am a man." The Phantom laughed quietly at the brave words spoken to Chef. "Am I really a man?"
The question echoed through The Phantom's brain as he sat dejectedly on his bollard with his hands clasped between his knees and his head down. He thoughts returned again and again to his love affair with The Gunner. In many ways he knew that he had forced the issue. The Twins had connived to help him, but at the end of the day The Phantom had to admit that he had forced The Gunner into their affair.
And at the end of the day it had been a mistake. The Gunner was a man of strange moods, and stranger actions. He was also a man of complete dedication and the more The Phantom thought of it, the more he came to realize that while The Gunner wanted, and needed, someone close to him, he could never totally give himself over to that person. The Gunner had at first given his life, and The Phantom suspected, a part of his soul, to the Navy. Now, he had given what was left of his soul to the Order.
The Phantom had no idea what was going on, and doubted that in the great scheme of things he would ever know. He only knew that The Gunner had been true to his word. Always he had said, "One day I shall leave you." Always he had warned that he would be called to duty and now, now that it had happened, The Phantom realized that all The Gunner's strong warnings had been to one purpose: to prepare him for today.
Standing, The Phantom's eyes scanned the harbour, taking in the dimly lit sailboats anchored there and, far across the dark waters, the brilliantly illuminated stretch of bars and restaurants that was the esplanade of Comox. Again his eyes drifted to the Government Jetty, where the gate vessel lay. He forced his eyes away. He must not think of Colin. Why start something that could only be transitory? Why start something based, solely, on sex?
Which was what his relationship with The Gunner had been, really. As Ray would have said, sex with The Gunner had been brilliant. He had pleased his young lover in every way he could, except one, and that was giving himself, totally, completely, to The Phantom. The Gunner might be in love, but he could never, ever, commit himself totally to that love. And The Phantom now realized it. No matter what happened in the future they would never be together. They might share a life for a few months, perhaps a few years, and then The Gunner would be called away. He would go away, leaving the one true love of his life to mourn his leaving. It was the way of it, and The Phantom knew it.
"And so, I must be a man," he thought. "I must now walk alone until the day comes that our paths cross again. I must walk tall, walk proud, and be the man The Gunner knows me to be, the man Chef tells me I am."
Turning his back on the brightness and revelry of Comox, The Phantom walked down the long jetty. He would walk alone.
As he passed the Essex, The Phantom saw Jeremy Cher sitting at the bottom of the wooden gangway with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands. The young man looked sad and The Phantom stopped to ask him if anything were wrong.
"Oh, no," replied Jeremy Cher brightly. "I'm just a little bored."
"Well, shift your buns and we'll chat for a while," returned The Phantom with a smile. He looked out of the corner of his eyes and gave Jeremy Cher a nudge in the ribs. "Nice night, isn't it. Gettin' any?"
When the full impact of The Phantom's jesting words sunk in, Jeremy Cher's jaw dropped, then clicked shut. "Phantom!"
"Well, are you?" asked The Phantom with a laugh.
Realizing that The Phantom was pulling his pisser, Jeremy Cher returned The Phantom's laugh. "Only from Mrs. Fist," he admitted seriously. His face grew sad. "Always with Mrs. Fist, dammit!"
The Phantom laughed heartily. "Why Jeremy Cher, what a dirty minded thing you are!"
Suddenly, Jeremy Cher, realizing what he had said, blushed. "Well, a guy gets tired of . . . never mind."
Still laughing, The Phantom put his arm around Jeremy's shoulder. "Your day will come. You're a good looking guy, and I know at least two girls who would jump your bones in a New York minute."
"You do?"
"Sure," replied The Phantom with a nod. "Of course, their trails have been well travelled, but never mind."
As The Phantom's voice trailed off, Jeremy Cher looked at him. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I was just thinking that you're too nice a guy for the two harpies I had in mind." The Phantom turned his head slightly and a smile formed on his lips. "Believe it or not, Jeremy, your very first time should be with someone you care about."
"Sort of like when you get married," asked Jeremy Cher.
The Phantom smiled whimsically. "Sometimes, yes. It's supposed to happen that way, you know. You meet someone, you fall in love, and then you get married."
"But sometimes not," said Jeremy. He looked at The Phantom and smiled softly. "She dumped ya, huh?"
"What?"
"You got dumped," said Jeremy. "You're sitting out here, where you never come, and staring off into space. You got dumped. Been there, done that."
"Why do they always equate love with a woman?" The Phantom asked himself. For a moment he thought about how he was going to reply to Jeremy Cher. He could lie, but then he had sworn so many times before that he would not lie about his true feelings. He could make a joke, or he could simply change the subject.
"Been dumped then, have you?" The Phantom asked in mocked seriousness.
"Yup." Jeremy seemed very proud of the fact that he had loved and lost. He took great care to add, however, "But we never did anything. I mean we necked, and fooled around a little, but . . ."
"You didn't even get to first base, did you?" asked The Phantom as he looked seriously at Jeremy.
"No . . . I . . . how did you know?" asked Jeremy, blushing.
"Lucky guess," returned Phantom, laughing softly. Jeremy made a face. "You know, I sometimes think that I'd have a better chance around here than I would back home."
The Phantom looked at Jeremy and snickered. "Jeremy, I really hate to tell you, but there's nothing but guys around here."
"I know," replied Jeremy easily. "There's a few who wouldn't mind getting their hands on Little Jeremy."
"Big Jeremy, or so I've heard," replied The Phantom with a snicker. "The Squadron's answer to the Pride of the Fleet."
Jeremy laughed and nodded his head vigorously. "It's pretty big, but I'm not interested." There was no braggadocio behind Jeremy's words. He was straight, and simply had no interest in boys.
Still, The Phantom could not resist. "What, you never let Big Jeremy out to play? Never even been tempted? Not even a little?"
A serious look came over Jeremy's face. "Well, yes, I have been tempted. But Phantom, I am just not interested."
"Has anyone been pestering you?" asked The Phantom, his voice cold. "If they have, I'll . . ."
Jeremy Cher lightly placed his hand on The Phantom's leg. "Phantom, nobody's bothered me. Oh, they fool around, you know, asking to see it, and feel it - which I don't let them do - but really, no."
"Well, if they do, you let me know and I'll sort them out."
"You would?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't I? If somebody bothers you, and you don't want to be bothered, well, then that's the end of it. It's your dick, and you're the one who lets it out to play."
Once again Jeremy's boyish laughter drifted over the jetty. "Oh, Phantom, I wish you were ours!"
"Pardon?"
Jeremy regarded Phantom and smiled. "You know, I wish you were part of the YAG Squadron. It's nice to have a Chief I can talk to!"
"What's wrong with the Chiefs you have? They seem to be a pretty good lot," returned The Phantom. "Chief Anders is an upright guy. He wouldn't let anybody touch you."
Nodding, Jeremy considered The Phantom's words. "Yes, he is. But he's always so, well, standoffish, if you know what I mean. The rest, well, some of them just don't seem interested, and the others, well, they just pat my bum, or worse, ruffle my hair - I hate it when they do that - it makes me feel like I'm the Squadron poodle!"
"I'm sure they don't mean to."
"Well, maybe not," conceded Jeremy. "But they just don't seem interested in just talking about things. They all seem to be too busy and they all seem to keep together."
The Phantom had heard this tune before. When it had been played in the barracks and the Gunroom, Operation Warm Fuzzy had resulted. He wondered if he should have a quiet word with Sean. He looked at Jeremy. "I want to tell you something, Jeremy Cher. I am one of you, and I am yours. You can talk to me anytime you like. I'll listen, and if you have a problem, I'll help you."
"I know."
"You do?"
Once again Jeremy's head nodded vigorously. "Just because I'm buried down in the Dockyard it doesn't mean I don't know who is who on the base. And I saw you on Yochim Island. That was a very brave thing you did, Phantom."
"I only did what you, or any other guy would do," protested The Phantom.
"No. I saw how you protected Matt Greene and the two cooks. A lot of guys would have panicked and tried to save themselves. You saw that tree coming down and you protected the others. A lot of guys would have run away."
"You give me too much credit," objected The Phantom.
"No. I've heard about you. I heard how you took care of Joey and Randy. I also heard that you rang that little prick, Paul Greene, for six. Not once, but twice." Jeremy smiled. "I also heard you got big balls!"
"Figuratively or literally?" returned The Phantom with a laugh.
"Well, unless you drop your drawers and show them to me, I'll never know," replied Jeremy honestly. "I'll just imagine that they're bigger than mine and wish that mine grow as big as yours." He put his arm around The Phantom's waist and hugged him. "Phantom, you're somebody I want to have as a friend."
"You already have," replied The Phantom quietly. "No matter what, Jeremy Cher, I'll always be around for you, for all the other guys."
Jeremy sighed happily. "Somehow I knew you would say that." He raised his head and looked into The Phantom's eyes. "You know, if I ever did decide to fool around, to take Big Jeremy out for a stroll, it would be with you."
"Me?"
"Figuratively speaking, of course," snickered Jeremy.
Jeremy's hero-worshipping had at once embarrassed The Phantom and buoyed his spirits. He had not believed Cory when he had said that he had this effect on other males and as he walked out of the Dockyard and back toward the Mess Hall, The Phantom realized that he had friends. He would never be lonely. There would always be someone, a Jeremy perhaps, a Cory, a Todd or a Matt, who would want to walk down the path of life with him. It was, The Phantom realized, time to move on. He could not change the events of the past few days. He could never, he knew, change The Gunner.
He stopped and looked into the star-studded sky. There would be no campfires. Shaking his head, The Phantom went into the Mess Hall.
While he had accepted that his love affair with The Gunner was over, The Phantom still wanted to be alone. He decided that he would go home for the weekend. Tomorrow was Sunday, and he would have spent the day mooching around, doing nothing. Or listening to the Twins bicker, or watch Harry strutting about and flashing the Pride, or fending off Matt, who seemed determined to climb into the sack with him again.
Deciding to take some of the silver pieces from the Admiral's Dining room home, The Phantom walked through the galley towards Chef's office, where the keys for Dry Stores, which was where the silver pieces and flatware had been hidden, wondering what he was going to do about Matt. As he opened the top drawer of Chef's desk, The Phantom wondered what Matt was doing. Probably asleep, he thought as he moved aside some papers to locate the keys.
Nicholas grunted loudly as his orgasm overwhelmed him and he thrust firmly upward, emptying the last of his seed into the body of Matt Greene, who writhed under him. He felt Matt's arms snake around his neck and pull his body forward. Their lips touched and as his orgasm waned Nicholas kissed Matt open-mouthed, as deep a kiss as he had ever received.
When he drew away, his still hard penis imbedded in Matt's rectum, Nicholas' soft, satisfied sigh coursed through the stuffy air of the Armoury Office. Beneath him, Matt smiled. "Not bad, for a bunting tosser," he said, although his eyes were bright with the satisfaction he felt.
"How many bunting tossers have you fucked?" asked Nicholas as he tried to pull away from Matt. He felt the muscles of Matt's rectum tighten around his penis and Matt's hands pull him close to his body.
"You're still hard," replied Matt with a grin.
"And you haven't cum," returned Nicholas. He began a gentle, rhythmic thrusting. Deep in the back of his mind he knew that he should feel guilty being with Matt. He was in love with André, had committed himself to the French-Canadian boy and he shouldn't be doing this, but Goddamn, Goddamn, was Matt a good fuck!
Matt groaned loudly as the head of Nicholas' penis brushed against his prostate. He seemed to know what Nicholas was thinking but said nothing. He pushed back to meet Nicholas's thrusting hips and tightened his grip on the Yeoman.
Nicholas pants came faster and faster as his movements sped up. This would be his third trip around the buoy and he knew that he would not last long.
They had barely closed the door to the office when Matt had kissed Nicholas and thrust his hands down Nicholas' shorts, cupping his testicles and feeling his already hard penis. Before both of them knew it they were on the deck, sixty-nining, and Nicholas, who had not had sex since André had left, had exploded in Matt's mouth in what was for him, record time. He had tried to apologize but Matt had merely fumbled around in the pockets of his shorts and withdrawn a small tube of Vaseline. He had calmly, and wordlessly, spread the lubricant over Nicholas' penis and lay down, with his legs in the air. Nicholas knew what Matt wanted, and had given it to him.
Once again Nicholas' grunting filled the office and he collapsed on top of Matt. He could feel his heart pounding and his dick shrinking and when it fell away from Matt's body he rolled aside. He ran the back of his hand across his sweat-drenched forehead. "Jesus, Matt," was all he could say.
Matt lay, satisfied and sated, for a few minutes and then sat up. He stretched and reached down to feel his still dilated rectum. Then he felt the crimson head of his penis, idly wiping away a small drop of precum that had oozed out of the slit. Shuddering, he looked at Nicholas and smiled warmly. He reached out and gave Nicholas' sensitive penis a squeeze. Nicholas jumped and Matt giggled. "Sorry. Forgot how some guys get when they blow."
"I blew three times," Nicholas reminded Matt. He raised himself up on one elbow. "And you still haven't got off."
Shrugging, Matt lay back down. "So what? This is not a contest. I wanted to be fucked. You fucked me, so we're even."
Nicholas was shocked. "Matt!"
Matt returned Nicholas's look of outrage. "Don't read anything into what we just did," he growled. "You wanted to fuck me, I wanted fuck you. You don't owe me anything." Then he sat up again and ran his fingers through his close-cropped blond hair. "Nicholas, I like you. I've always liked you and I consider you a good bud. I'm not trying to put a downer on us being here, but we both know why we're here. You're in love with André, period. I asked you here because I knew that, and because I knew that nothing serious was ever going to happen between us. I suppose, to be honest, I wanted a fuck buddy, nothing more."
"And to be honest, so did I," replied Nicholas. He snickered. "Never thought it would be you, though."
"Well, I am," returned Matt. He snuggled against Nicholas and began fondling his nipples. "I'm gay, and I like sex. You're gay and you definitely like sex. We're not going to set up housekeeping, so let's not get all mushy."
"Just two guys, huh?"
"Would you have it any other way?" asked Matt.
"No," replied Nicholas. "As much as I enjoyed fucking you, I just need . . ."
"A fuck buddy."
"Yes."
"Okay then." Matt reached down and began rubbing the palm of his hand across the sex-flushed head of Nicholas' penis. "We'll have some fun, and both of us will be happy. Fair enough?"
"Nope," replied Nicholas. He rolled over and straddled Matt. "You still haven't cum!"
"Nicholas, it's not necessary."
"Oh, yes, it is!" returned Nicholas firmly. "Fuck buddies take care of each other. That's the whole point of being fuck buddies."
"It is, is it?" asked Matt, a huge smile breaking his face. "Well, if you insist."
"I do."
"In that case, get off of me and lie down on your back."
Matt positioned himself between Nicholas' legs and pushed them up and back. He could see Nicholas' brown and pink hole and said, "Have you ever done this before?"
Laughing, Nicholas nodded his head. "Of course." He glanced over and saw the pink head of Matt's penis and snickered. "Mind you, you're a lot bigger than André."
"Yeah? Well maybe I'd better get you ready." Matt drew back and lowered his head, his tongue flicking outward.
Nicholas squealed and bucked as Matt's tongue crossed his opening.
"What's the matter? Have you never done that?"
"Jesus, no," Nicholas gasped. "Do it again!"
Matt responded to Nicholas' gasping request and then curled his tongue into a tube. Nicholas did not know it, but tonight he would receive the education of his life.
As he pushed aside the papers, The Phantom noticed the hastily written words that filled the pages. He saw The Gunner's name and shamelessly began to read. The more he read the more intrigued he became. He lowered himself into the chair and his green eyes scanned the pages filled with Chef's crabbed, but still neat, handwriting.
When he was finished reading, The Phantom carefully replaced the documents. "Holy fuck!" he ejaculated profanely as he closed the desk drawer. "Holy fuck!"
When Michael entered his office he found the Major waiting patiently for him. Their words had been heated, but not vicious. Michael, as much as he felt distaste for the Englishman interfering in his private affairs, knew that deep down the Major was only looking out for what he thought were Michael's best interests, and in a way Michael felt responsible for the Major's interference. He had never really explained his feelings, his sense of dedication to the Order.
What had surprised Michael was that the Major had not backed down, not a whit, standing his ground, his eyes flashing and his back straight. But then, the Major had faced the Chinese army in Korea, and Communist guerrillas in Malaya. He glanced at the Major, who was reading a thick file. The Major looked up, nodded, and went back to his reading.
Michael advanced across the office and saw that on his desk lay the Marriage Contract, a huge piece of vellum, more an illustrated manuscript than a legal document, decorated with vivid reds and gold, and replete with dragons and mythical Chinese beasts. The bold, black, Chinese hieroglyphs seemed to be engraved rather than written in ink. Beside the document was a small pot of black ink, a brush, and the ancient, wooden box that held Michael's personal chop, his seal, a large, square, engraved slab of jade. Along the bottom edge of the contract, attached with red, imperial crimson ribbons, were a series of silver, gold-lined containers, ready to be filled with wax and imprinted with the seals of the witnesses.
The document had been prepared in Hong Kong by the bride's family, and contained the terms of their marriage, which had been agreed to more than six months before. Michael had delayed and delayed signing the paper. Now, he must. He sighed explosively.
The Major slowly closed his file and adjusted his tie. "It must be done, Michael."
Nodding, Michael stared at the document. "I know," he said presently. "I am aware that by marrying I bind myself closer to my cousins in Hong Kong and on the mainland, in Shanghai." He laughed sarcastically. "I will marry a woman whom I have never met, and will never love, all for the sake of conformity."
"Conformity?"
Michael regarded the Major, his eyes dancing with self-deprecating laughter. "I once told our Chancellor that both he and I would conform to the customs and mores of the cultures in which we live. I wonder, in light of what we ask of him, and of what I am about to do, if either of us appreciates the irony of that statement!"
The Major, who sympathised with Michael, nodded his head slowly. "Michael, you demand too much of yourself." He held up his hand before Michael could reply. "I understand your reasoning, I understand why you feel you must be . . . alone, why you have chosen to dedicate your life to the Order. I make no comment and I neither condemn nor condone. I do wish that you would . . ."
With a way of his hand Michael silenced the Major. "It is to be done, and there is to be no more discussion." Abruptly he went behind the desk, sat down and with the brush affixed his signature to the document.
The Major watched Michael's every move and when the contract had been signed he rose slowly, walked to the desk, opened the box and withdrew Michael's seal. Carefully he pressed the jade block into the centre of the paper. When he stepped back he saw imprinted, in vivid red, Michael's personal chop. The matter was settled and Michael would marry.
"Have you given any thought to the witnesses?" the Major asked as he returned the seal to its box.
"You, Laurence, and Patrick," replied Michael.
"Patrick?"
Smiling, Michael nodded. "Our friends in Hong Kong will expect that you will witness, and Laurence. They know that you both enjoy high positions in my household and expect that I would show favour to you. As for Patrick . . ." He ran his hand over his face and his eyes softened. "Patrick will be my companion, my friend, perhaps my secretary. I wish it to become known that he his very important to me, and sits in my council chamber." He gave the Major a serious look. "Patrick will not be my consort. I have disappointed him and I wish to make up for that disappointment."
"Your friends will be raising their eyebrows when they see the signature, and seal, of a Tsang on your marriage contract."
A low chuckle rose from Michael's throat. He pushed back his chair and said, "But then, their eyebrows will rise to the heavens when they see him come off of the aircraft with you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Major, Patrick will accompany you to Hong Kong. Seeing a Chinese face will appease my in-laws. It will also send them a signal that the Tsangs have been raised to a new level of importance. It will signal that Patrick, and his family, are no longer peasants."
The Major's reply was a non-committal grunt.
"You do not approve?" asked Michael, prepared to defend Patrick, but not wanting to set off another row.
"Of Patrick? Of course I approve. I chose him after all." Michael laughed. "Did you really examine him as if you were purchasing a gelding?"
"Hardly a gelding," retorted The Major with a sly grin. "It is just that I had an idea to have him help Laurence with the new lad."
"The new lad? A staff member?"
The Major nodded. "But not as a footman, or house. Outside security perhaps."
"Ah, the boy our Chancellor recommended to us."
"Yes. He arrived this morning."
Logan Hartsfield had switched off the television set in his room and padded into the bathroom. He stripped off and turned on the shower. He really did not know what else to do. He had no idea where he was, other than that he was in Vancouver; he had no idea why he was ensconced in a room so luxuriantly appointed that it made him afraid to touch anything, even the huge bed, which looked as if it had been made for a king at the very least, and not some piece of Comox trailer trash.
As he showered Logan thought of what had happened to him after he had stepped off the bus from Comox. He had puzzled all the way from the town of his birth about Brian, Brian Venables, the Sea Cadet who had befriended him. Brian had shown genuine concern for him, and had listened to him as he poured out his heart to him. "Could Brian have spoken to someone who had spoken to someone and . . .?"
Logan had stepped off of the bus and had been met by a formally attired Chinese man, who had introduced himself as Eddy Tsang. At first Logan, who had heard stories about men who loitered around bus terminals waiting for the country bumpkins, had drawn back. He was not afraid for he knew that the slightly built, handsome young Chinaman would be no match for him. He had perfected his skills as a street fighter in every dive in Comox, and a few points in between. Eddy Tsang had hastened to put Logan's mind at ease. He was, he had informed Logan, a friend, a friend who had been sent to meet him and to conduct him to a place of safety. Logan was also informed that he was not to worry, as he enjoyed the patronage of a friend of the Serenity.
Logan had no idea who or what a Serenity was. All he knew was that he had allowed himself to be led to a long, low, black limousine and driven to a massive house in Victoria's Chinatown and into the middle of a chaotic and cacophonous Chinese festival!
Eddy Tsang had at first been miffed at being called out in the middle of his second born son's sealing. All around him his relatives, cousins, aunts, uncles, were stuffing themselves with every delicacy his shop offered. Outside in the street a Dragon danced, and drums pounded. Fireworks were exploding and those of his neighbours who had not been invited to the reception - and had long since given up trying to fathom the doings of the Tsangs - were being treated to a barbecue. Long tables had been set up in the street, which had been closed to vehicular traffic and a mountain of roast pork, chickens, ducks and assorted comestibles were being devoured and an ocean of beer being drunk. The Chinese loved a party as well as their white neighbours, and Eddy Tsang made sure that nothing was denied, no corners cut, nothing stinted and nothing that could give even a hint of meanness.
Inside the house the guests had been forced to wait impatiently for Eddy to return from his errand. They did not, of course, object in any way. They were, most of them, Tsangs, and quite accustomed to being called at the most inopportune times to serve their Emperor. It was to be expected and Tsang Su Shun, Clan Elder, Eddy's father and grandfather of the boy child about to be sealed to the Serenity's service, had looked stern when Eddy had tried to pass off the job to his younger brother, Paulie. Paulie, the father had sternly informed his elder son, had not been called. He, Eddy had, and he was to do what was asked of him.
Eddy, his father's admonition still ringing in his ears, had gone off to fetch the ferengi, the foreigner. With Eddy's departure, Su Shun had assumed the role of host. He was very aware of the very special attention paid to Eddy's newest son, and the very special place the Tsangs now held in the Imperial Household. Unkindly, old Shun thought that Eddy might hold a Bachelor of Commerce degree from UBC, but at times he could be the dumbest Chink ever to walk down the gangplank!
Shun had worked long, and very hard, to ingratiate himself with Michael Chan, and before him Uncle Henry Chan. He had forcibly dragged his disreputable relatives into the 20th Century, cleaned house and locked that womanizing drunkard, Tsang Tso Sheng away. Shun's conscience was untroubled at his dethroning of his brother. Sheng had been a fool who had clung to the old ways, refusing to recognize when Michael Chan succeeded Uncle Henry that the family would have to change, to move forward. Sheng had been content to live off of the crumbs from the Imperial table, drinking his life away, sticking his pizzle into increasingly disreputable harlots, and bringing shame to his wife, his children, and the Clan.
Shun had watched his brother's dissolute lifestyle with distaste. He knew, as Sheng had seemed to have forgotten, that the Clan lived and died, existed, at the pleasure of the Serenity. As the font of Honour and Favour, Uncle Henry could be generous. As an angry patron Uncle Henry could be ruthless.
Not having any great desire to return to some mud-walled village in China, where he would cultivate rice fertilized with cow dung and human shit, Shun had bided his time. He had ingratiated himself with Uncle Henry and, when it had come time for him to marry, had petitioned the old man for a bride. Uncle Henry, who understood such things, and flattered at the attention being given him, and pleased that there was at least one Tsang around who understood the necessity for the Clan to come in out of the rain, had provided a sweet, docile, and quite pretty maiden, chosen for her serenity of character and obvious fertility. He had even provided a more than generous dowry.
Nine months and eight days after his wedding, Shun held in his arms his firstborn, a son, and a new idea formed in his mind.
As a young man Shun had been special minder to various and sundry Chiang boys and their Chan cousins, and seen that each Canadian born male had been given the mark of nobility. He therefore petitioned Uncle Henry to allow that his son, who would one day lead the Clan, be given the special mark that would, in the eyes of the other Tsangs, and the Clan Elders, proclaim not only Uncle Henry's favour, but that he, Tsang Su Shun, stood high in the council of the Serenity. Uncle Henry, being a perspicacious man, and recognizing the importance of fostering elitism, and to shut Shun up, had agreed. As a special mark of his favour he had send a small gold cup, and a jewelled seal to the hospital where Eddy, squalling, had been "sealed" to his service and, much to his surprise, the doctor who circumcised Eddy found a small packaging containing an exquisite piece of Imperial jade carving on his desk.
Andy had followed Eddy, and Paulie had followed Andy, in turn followed by Patrick, who even now was living, living, in the Imperial Precincts of the Forbidden City!
Each sealing had become more elaborate, moved from the hospital to a special altar-like table set up in the Tsang mansion that dominated Keefer Street in Vancouver's Chinatown, and was as far from the family compound as Shun could manage. Each sealing had brought, for the boy, a gold cup and a jewelled seal. The doctor, who could not believe his good fortune, saw his collection of jade increased, two pieces for Paulie, three for Andy, and four magnificent specimens for Patrick.
As the years passed, Uncle Henry's largesse, and pleasure had been shown in many ways, not least of which had been the "living" given to Shun to provide for his family. At first glance a grocery store had seemed a small thing. But . . . Inside of Shun's first store were provisions and delicacies from every province in China, provisions and delicacies that only he offered for sale. No other shop, no matter how influential the owner, no matter who his friends were, could offer, at first the people of Chinatown, and later the populations of Vancouver and Victoria such a widely varied variety of luxury food and wine.
In return, the Tsangs had provided, as they always did, special services to Uncle Henry, later to his heir, Michael Chan. Some of these services had been onerous, others not so. It did not matter, the Tsangs, particularly Shun and his sons, obeyed the will of the Serenity, who showered them with gifts and wealth, and forgave them the one aberration. Joey Tsang had betrayed the family honour, and paid the price. The Clan continued, as it always had.
And now, displayed as if they were holy relics, on a table surrounded by flowers, were a new gold mug, and an even more magnificent seal. The doctor, son of the original "sealer", waited patiently, for he had seen the gift of gold awaiting him when he performed the procedure. Michael Chan knew when to continue a tradition.
The appearance of a white man in Eddy's house was not commented upon. It was enough that Logan enjoyed the favour of Michael Chan. He had been welcomed, invited to witness the sealing and then asked to participate in the festivities.
Logan, not quite understanding what he had been brought to, had managed to deport himself with a small modicum of dignity. A very smart suit, white shirt and tie, a gift from Paulie Tsang, who was almost exactly the same height and weight as Logan, had replaced his clothing. While there had been oceans of liquor on offer, Logan had confined himself to soda water. He had eaten sparingly and simply watched.
Later, as he lay in a bed in one of Eddy's Tsang's guestrooms, he had told himself that he was no longer in Comox, Toto.
The day after his arrival, Logan had been informed that it was the Serenity's wish that he live as quietly as possible. He was given employment as a shop assistant in Cousin Eddy's grocery emporium. An apartment, small, but very clean and furnished, had been provided, as had been a new wardrobe more in keeping with Logan's new station. When Logan expressed the desire to enrol in the Army, he had been personally driven to the recruiting office by Eddy, and assured that letters of recommendation would be provided if required. Logan was, after all, in the favour of the Serenity and all things would be his. All he had to do was ask.
Logan thought the whole clan was nuts. He accepted that someone, somewhere, had determined that his basic needs were provided for. He suspected that Brian Venables had a hand in it, though how a kid could command such obvious power, or know people of such obvious influence, escaped him. Why Brian, or whoever would do this for him Logan did not know and wondered on more than one occasion if Brian, or this Serenity, or whoever, was queer for him.
As he stepped from the shower Logan snickered. He most certainly thought a lot of himself! Logan knew that he was handsome, with a smooth, muscular body, and a hefty set of goods between his legs. More than once, as he served customers in the shop, male and female, he felt the same invisible signs of lust that he had felt when he walked Harkness Beach. He had not, however, acted on those feelings. He had not, in fact, done anything sexual since arriving in Victoria. Nor had he had anything to drink, or smoked dope. He was clean, and he planned on staying that way.
Which led him to wonder, as he left the bathroom and donned his boxers, just what in the hell he was doing here. He had seen enough to know that he was in a large house, a house that was surrounded by gardens and a wall. The man, or woman, who owned the house, obviously had money to burn. The grounds, which he could see through the wide windows of his room, were immense, and filled with groves of trees and bed after bed of colourful flowers. While this was hardly cause for alarm, the security did give Logan pause. He had noticed that while all of the servants were male, and white, the grounds were roamed by what seemed to be a small army of Chinese. He had also noticed as the car drove along the street on which the estate sat, that there seemed to have an inordinate number of strolling tourists, hikers, and horseback riders, all of whom were male, and white.
Shaking his head, Logan settled into his bed. While it was latish, he really could not think of anything else to do but sleep. There were books, at least a dozen of them, sitting on the bed table and the small tables that flanked the fireplace. Logan was not a reader. He could have watched television, but late night TV was boring and consisted primarily of reruns, or talk shows, none of which interested him. He had been tempted to step outside, and sit on the terrace, but something held him back. No one had told him that he could not leave the room, or the house for that matter. He had been treated with deference and as an honoured guest, well, except for the Kipper who had led him to his room and gone away muttering about a "nice bit o' crumpet for the old bastard".
Logan had mulled over the cryptic comment all day, and was still mulling it over when there was a knock on his door. He left his bed and opened the door, to be confronted by a tall, spare, quite handsome man dressed in a red jacket. Logan's eyes widened at the sight and wondered if this was the "old bastard" come to call the tune from a most reluctant piper.
"Good evening," said the Major as he entered Logan's room. Laurence and Patrick Tsang followed and moved silently to one side as the Major introduced himself. "I am Richard Meinertzhagen. May I sit down?"
Unable to speak, Logan nodded and pointed to the sofa that stood against the far wall. As he was wearing only his boxers, he instinctively lowered his hands, guarding his crotch.
The Major saw the movement but said nothing. This young man had acted instinctively, protecting what were to him his most precious possessions. That would change.
The Major held out his hand and Laurence handed him a slim dossier. Making a great, and unnecessary production out of reading the file, for he had read it, and memorized the contents, the Major gathered his thoughts and then regarded the young man. "You are Logan Hartsfield?" He paused and then added, "No middle name, I note."
"Um, yeah, I mean yes, I'm Logan Hartsfield." Logan glanced at the two other men, who remained impassive, even when he added, "My father was too drunk to come up with more than one name."
The Major's eyebrow shot up but he merely commented, "Born on the 12th of October, 1958, in Comox."
"Yes," replied Logan, confused and a little frightened at the continued silence of the two other men.
The Major nodded slightly and Patrick walked forward, seeming to confront Logan, who returned the young Chinese's stare. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, Patrick's right hand flashed out, to be met with Logan's, who again had acted instinctively. The Chinese had telegraphed danger and Logan had sensed it. All his street smarts suddenly activated, all the danger signals sounded and as the hand flashed toward him his own flew up, capturing it.
Within seconds Patrick's left hand moved, only to be captured, made immobile by the strong fist of the young white man. They stood, facing each other, straining, their hands pushing slowly forward and backward, each trying to gain the advantage of the other.
"Enough," came the Major's firm voice.
Patrick released Logan, stepped back, nodded, and then said with a smile. "He is strong, this one."
"He will need to be," answered the Major. He regarded Logan and motioned for the young man to sit.
"You have been treated well?" asked the Major as Logan settled himself on the bed.
"Yes, very, thank you," replied Logan politely.
"Do not thank me just yet," replied the Major enigmatically. He regarded Logan balefully. "It is my understanding that you are a child of the streets, a denizen of a trailer park, who has lived by his wits for many years."
Embarrassed, Logan hung his head. "Yes."
"You sold drugs?"
"Yes."
"And, I suspect, prostituted yourself?" the Major finished delicately.
Logan knew better than to lie and though he felt like weeping, he nodded and answered truthfully. "Yes."
"Had you not been truthful you would have been returned to Victoria and your employment with Eddy Tsang."
"And now?" interrupted Logan. "What are you . . .?"
"Young man, you seem to enjoy the patronage of the Chancellor of the Sovereign and Noble Order of St. John of the Cross of Acre. You have also the friendship of one who is close to the Chancellor." The Major stood up and confronted Logan, his eyes level. "You are therefore offered a position in the service of the Grand Master of the Order. Your natural talents will be honed and when the time comes, you will be asked to perform a service. If you give your word . . ."
"What good is the word of a thief, a liar, and a part time hooker?" demanded Logan bitterly. His mind was reeling, and he could not understand what was happening to him, could not divine what could be asked of him.
"Good enough for Brian Venables to beg that you be considered, good enough for the Chancellor of the Order to take you into his personal protection."
"The Chancellor? What chancellor?"
"The man who has directed that you be educated and fostered, and made into something you are not now. A man."
As his mind digested the writings that Chef had inadvertently left behind, The Phantom loaded the back of the Rover with the silver flatware and the Antwerp Centrepiece. The other parts and pieces of the Dining Room he would move piecemeal. At the moment he had too much on his mind to think about what Ray always called "old dishes". As he drove across the causeway, The Phantom glanced to his left, and saw the lights of the gate vessel in the distance. He was tempted to swing into town, pull alongside the ship, and see if Colin was aboard.
A foolish thought, reasoned The Phantom as he drew closer to the town. What point was there in starting something that could only be a one-nighter, a flash in the pan. All the tired old clichés crowded his mind. He sighed heavily as he turned away from downtown. He would have enjoyed a few hours with Colin, but it was not to be, no matter what Cory thought or said.
In a way, The Phantom was not surprised to find the house dark and locked. With his mother away in Regina, attending Brendan's wedding, his father no doubt was taking advantage of the situation and working overtime as he had done before when his wife was off somewhere.
After unloading the car and hiding the silver under his bed, The Phantom walked through the house, feeling lonely, and alone. While he could not, did not, dare to tell his father the reason for his feelings, still The Phantom would have relished the old man's company. He would have been someone to talk to.
The Phantom walked through the empty house, his footsteps echoing, and out into the back garden. The night was warm, and the stars above very bright. He stripped off and, naked, swam several lengths of the pool, hoping the exertion would drive the demons of sadness from his soul. As he swam he told himself over and over again that he was a man now, with a man's responsibilities and that he had to face the future, as a man.
While the swim helped, as did Jeremy Cher's remembered words, The Phantom still felt lonely. Not bothering to dress, he gathered up his clothes and returned to his room where he casually threw the soiled garments into a corner. His first thought was that his mother was always declaring his room a disaster area, which it wasn't, so he might as well give her something to really complain about. Then he suffered a pang of conscience, or neatness, and he picked up his dirty laundry and threw it into the hamper.
He decided to shower and as he walked down the corridor, still naked, and thoroughly enjoying the feeling of freedom, he saw that the door to his parents' room was ajar. He peeked in, half expecting to see his father sleeping soundly. The bed was empty, but draped over the chair and dressing table were empty plastic cleaner's bags, and wrappings from the white shirts his father wore with his uniforms.
The Phantom entered the bedroom, idly scratching his backside, and wondering what his father was up to. He opened the closet and saw that the overnight bag his father always carried when he went on a trip somewhere, was missing. Curious.
Showering, The Phantom wondered where his father might have got to. He had not mentioned that he would be going away, and he never stayed overnight in Courtenay, preferring to sleep in his own bed. Something important must have come up, The Phantom decided, so when he finished his shower he went downstairs and, although the hour was late, he dialled the Jensen's telephone number.
As the telephone on the other end was picked up, The Phantom realized, too late, that Robbie might still be up and the last brat on earth he wanted to speak to was Robbie Jensen, who no doubt would try to put the moves on him, or make some smartass comment.
The Phantom was relieved to hear Mrs. Jensen's voice. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Jensen," he said quickly, "I'm sorry to be calling so late, but have you seen my Dad?"
The line was silent, as if Mrs. Jensen was trying to think who would be calling so late. It was then that The Phantom remembered that he had not told the woman who was calling. "Uh, it's me, Phantom Lascelles, Mrs. Jensen."
"Oh, Phantom dear. How are you," replied Mrs. Jensen. Her voice was slightly slurred and The Phantom thought that Mrs. Jensen had been into the cooking sherry.
"I'm fine. Have you seen my dad?"
"Oh, well, yes dear. He and Mr. Jensen are in Nanaimo."
The Phantom's eyes widened in surprised. "Nanaimo? What's he doing there?"
Mrs. Jensen's voice assumed the quiet air of one in the presence of death, or the main viewing room of a funeral parlour. "He and Mr. Jensen went to a funeral. One of the detectives died." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "Cancer."
The Phantom could never understand why people seemed to automatically lower their voices and whisper, or mouth, the word "cancer". He knew that it was a terrible disease, but in many cases it could be cured. He also knew that there was a very real, special closeness that existed between police officers of all departments and countries. They lived their lives depending, much as sailors did, only on each other, and when one of them passed, or was killed, they closed ranks, expressing their love and compassion and no policeman ever went to his grave alone.
" . . . And he and Mr. Jensen won't be back until sometime tomorrow," Mrs. Jensen was saying when The Phantom began to pay attention to her again. "You know that there's always a reception after the funeral and you know how Mr. Jensen can get at times."
Unfortunately, The Phantom did know. Harry Jensen was a boozer who didn't know when to quit. He did not envy his father at all.
After ringing off, The Phantom went back upstairs, having decided to have a goodnight cigarette and hit the sack. He found his cigarettes, but could not find his lighter. Then he remembered where he had left it. He walked to the laundry hamper, rummaged around and found his shorts. He reached into the pocket and found his lighter. He also found the piece of paper that Chef had thrust in his hand.
Carefully unfolding the note, he read a telephone number, and the carefully block-printed word, "Brow".
Lighting his cigarette, The Phantom wondered how Chef could possibly know his feelings, how the old cook could possibly understand that tonight he might need a special friend. And how could he know that the special friend The Phantom might need would be . . .
He hurried downstairs and dialled the telephone number. After two rings, he heard the answering voice.
"HMCS Porte de le Roi, Duty Quartermaster speaking, sir."
Colin could not for a minute think who would be calling him. It could not be official. If it were, Neal Menzies, as Officer of the Day, would take the call. It could not be personal, because he knew no one in Comox, and no one outside of Comox knew he was here. Their coming into port had been unscheduled and he had not called anyone back home to let them know where he was. He picked up the receiver from the morose Quartermaster. "Lieutenant Arnott, sir."
"Uh, hi, Colin. It's me."
Colin recognized the voice and his heart skipped a beat. The Phantom could not see the broad smile that spread across Colin's face as he said, "Hi," his voicing for some reason automatically dropping. "I never expected to hear from you."
"Well . . ."
"But I am glad you called," Colin said hastily. "Very glad."
"You are?"
"Yes." Colin paused and then said quietly. "I meant every word, every word I said today."
It was The Phantom's turn to pause before answering. Then he said, "I know." Then he blurted, "I know it's late, but . . . I'd like to see you. You're not duty, are you? Can you get ashore?"
"I'm not duty, and I can get ashore," replied Colin. "But I thought you were out at . . ."
Colin heard The Phantom let out a long, deep breath of air before he said, "I've got weekend leave, and I'm at home. I only live about five minutes from you, and I thought, maybe, we could be together for a little while."
"I'd like that," replied Colin.
"I'll pick you up." There was another long pause and then The Phantom added, "Colin, I want to be with you, but . . . well, I'm not sure that we'll, you know."
Colin knew, and didn't care. "Just being with you is enough."
"I just don't want to sail under false colours. I only know I want to see you."
"Fine. Can you give me say, half an hour? I've been working all night in my cabin and I need to shower. And change."
"Sure," agreed The Phantom. "But Colin, you don't have to dress for me."
Colin wondered if The Phantom realized what he had just said, and chuckled softly. "Are you suggesting that I go ashore . . . nekkid?"
The Phantom gasped, sputtered, and then laughed quietly. "You know what I mean!"
"I do, and I still need half an hour."
"I'll be waiting at the end of the jetty. I'm driving a navy blue Land Rover."
Although he expected that nothing would happen between him and The Phantom, Colin still showered carefully. He was prepared to go along with whatever The Phantom wanted to do, just as he was prepared to obey the old cook's admonitions.
After showering Colin put on clean briefs, red Adidas shorts, a white T-shirt and Jesus boots. He doubted that he and The Phantom would end up in a bar - Phantom was too young to drink, at least legally and in public - and if all they were going to do was to drive around just being together, then Colin wanted to do so in comfort.
When Colin arrived on deck he looked around for Neal, who was nowhere in sight. He looked inquiringly at the Quartermaster, who nodded ashore. Colin looked down the jetty and frowned. He did not know what Commander Edmonds had said to Neal, but it was obvious that it had been to little, or no, effect.
Neal was standing halfway down the jetty chatting up two dollies, both blond, and both obviously underage. One, the taller of the two, was obviously vamping. The other looked embarrassed.
Shaking his head, Colin walked down the gangway and up to Neal where he told the Sub-Lieutenant that he was going ashore for a while. While Neal walked back to the ship to log Colin ashore, Colin overheard a hurried, whispered conversation.
"But Louise, he's coloured!"
"So? Don't you know what they say about coloured boys?"
After a shocked gasp, came the reply. "Louise, he's Indian coloured, not African coloured!"
As he walked toward the boxy Land Rover that had pulled up to the entrance of the jetty, Colin laughed quietly. If "Louise" was looking to find a Louisville Slugger in Neal Menzies' pants she was playing in the wrong ballpark. However, he thought, laughing, if she'll settle for a DND No. 10 pencil, complete with eraser - a little wrinkled, to be sure - - well then Mr. Menzies' office was open for business.
They drove in silence for a while, just wandering about. As he negotiated the tourist-clogged streets of downtown Comox, and thankful that he had taken the Defensive Driver's Course, The Phantom tried not to demonstrate his relative inexperience as a driver by hitting something, or someone. At the same time he wrestled mentally with his emotions, trying to understand why he was in the car, trying to determine if what he felt was just being horny, or if his feelings for ran deeper than he dared to admit.
From time to time The Phantom would glance over at Colin, who was not even pretending to be interested in the passing scenery. He kept his gaze totally and completely on The Phantom and he never lost the soft smile on his face.
Finally, after what seemed to be miles of endless silence, The Phantom whispered, "Thanks."
"For what? I haven't done anything," replied Colin just as quietly.
"Thanks for just coming out with me. I needed to be with someone."
"Okay."
"I, uh, Colin, would you like to go back to my house? We can go for a swim, have a beer?"
"Sure," Colin agreed quickly. "But I didn't bring a swim suit."
The Phantom's laughter, low, and very intoxicating to Colin, rippled through the air. "We can skinny dip." He looked sideways at Colin, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "It's not that you're shy, or anything."
Colin shook his head. "Not after . . ." He stopped speaking abruptly.
An exasperated sighed escaped The Phantom's lips. "Colin, we can talk about it, you know."
"Phantom, I know what happened, and I don't need to talk about what we did. I'm not embarrassed about it, I'm just, well, damn it, Phantom, I've never done anything like that before, and I sure as hell never felt about any guy the way I feel about you."
"Having doubts?"
"No doubts," came Colin's prompt and firm reply. "Questions. About myself, about the way I feel when I'm with you, about why I want to hold you in my arms forever!"
The Phantom smiled and turned the Rover around. "Then we'll have a swim, and a talk and maybe you'll hold me in your arms for a little while."
They swam, enjoying the water of the pool, which was warm and delightful, but not for Colin near as delightful as his swimming companion.
They had splashed each other, laughed, chased each other and held mini-races. Colin, not sure how far The Phantom was prepared to go, let the youth set the pace. Colin was prepared to just enjoy being with The Phantom and did not try to initiate anything. Nor did Phantom. They seemed to deliberately avoid anything sexual, although twice they had stood in the shallow end of the pool with their arms draped around each other's neck, kissing softly and such were their feelings for each other that neither became aroused.
The Phantom, his depression lifting, laughed and wrestled with Colin for he too was enjoying his time with the blond-haired officer. Just feeling Colin's touch on his body, the softness of his Colin's lips against his, was invigorating and pleasurable.
They left the pool, as they knew they must, and lay on the poolside chaises, The Phantom warning ominously about "shrinkage".
Colin, who hadn't been skinny-dipping in years, or even swimming recreationally for that matter, glanced down at his crotch and saw what The Phantom was nattering about. He pointedly looked at The Phantom's groin and snickered. "And here I was, having a hell of a time, free balling, and look what happens!" Colin declared in mock horror. He rolled his eyes and laughed heartily. "I look like a three-year-old!"
"Don't worry, Little Colin will be back to normal soon enough," The Phantom replied giggling. Then he snickered louder. "Cory would have a field day!"
"Who is Cory?" asked Colin. "And why would he have a field day?"
The Phantom sighed and smiled a smile that told Colin that Cory was very special to his newfound friend. "Cory is Cory Arundel. He's a Chief back in Aurora. You probably saw him and his brother on the boat when we were out playing silly buggers."
Thinking, Colin nodded. "Of course, one of the two blond twins. He was very impressive when we did the coming alongside exercise."
A measure of pride rose in The Phantom's chest. "Of course. He's very smart, very handsome, one of my best friends, and he's going to check you out the first chance he gets."
"He's going to what?"
"Check you out," replied The Phantom, rising from his chaise. He went into the house and returned with two bottles of beer. As he settled himself back down again he handed a bottle to Colin and said, "You might be the most beautiful and desirable male to come ashore in years, but unless Cory checks you out, and . . ." He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "But you don't have to worry. Cory will approve."
Colin saw where The Phantom was looking and grinned. "What is he, the Penis Pope?"
Laughing delightfully The Phantom shook his head. "Cory just likes certain things to be a certain way. He can be as crazy as a coot when he puts his mind to it, but I . . ." He stopped speaking abruptly.
"Love him?" offered Colin. He was not so obtuse as to be unable to recognize true affection.
The Phantom held out his hand and when Colin's hand joined his he said seriously, "Colin, I have a past." His face grew hard as he all but spat out, "But I am not like those two chippies!"
Colin knew exactly to whom The Phantom was referring. "You saw them?"
Nodding, The Phantom answered. "I saw them. I also know them. The shorter one is Amy Jensen. Her father is one of the town constables. She's been after my ring for years."
Colin could not help chuckling. "A forlorn hope, I take it?"
"Fuckin' aye on that," growled The Phantom. "The other is Louise Metcalfe. She'll give Menzies what he wants." He snickered evilly. "For her sake I hope he doesn't have a hair trigger!"
"Now you've lost me," declared Colin. He took a swig of beer and squeezed The Phantom's hand. "Not that it matters. I really am not all that interested in Neal Menzies, or Louise or Amy."
"I know." The Phantom raised Colin's hand to his cheek and rubbed it gently. "I just want you to know about me."
"I don't need . . ."
"I do," said The Phantom. He sat up and placed his beer on the deck and then looked into Colin's. "I want to be honest with you, Colin. I feel wonderful, strange feelings when I'm with you. Part of me wants to be in your arms, part of me wants to pull away."
"Because you're on the rebound from Steve Winslow?" Colin asked, his face serious.
The Phantom thought a moment. "Colin, I don't deny that The Gunner's leaving me, for whatever reason, hurts. I'm sure there's a very good reason and that whatever the reason is, he'll tell me about it one day. I also know that I want to be with you. You appeal to me, you make me feel warm, and wanted." He sighed. "I am just not sure that I want to start something that can't last." Once again The Phantom looked into Colin's eyes. "I don't want whatever happens to be nothing but sex! I don't want a one night stand, and I don't want to be another notch on a Varsity stud's bedpost."
Before The Phantom could protest Colin was beside him, holding him closely in his arms. "Listen to me, Phantom, you will never be that! Never! When I told you that I had questions, those questions were not about you, but me!"
"You?"
"Yes, me!" snapped Colin. "I question why I feel the way I do about you! I question why, after years of being a stud, as you put it, fucking anything with a pulse, suddenly I want only you!"
"You do?"
"I do," replied Colin. Then he laughed. "And that is not a pledge of marriage!"
Returning the laugh, The Phantom returned, "Good, because I'm not ready for marriage!"
"If you were, I'd marry you in a minute," declared Colin truthfully.
"But, Colin, you're straight!" declared The Phantom.
"Am I?" asked Colin in return. "If I am, then why am I sitting on an uncomfortable seat, with a naked man in my arms? Why do I want to make mad, passionate love to him, and then hold him and hold him and hold him? Why do I want to feel his body against mine, feel his lips touching mine, feel him make love to me? Answer me that, Phantom!"
The Phantom drew back. "I . . . I can't! I was always gay, so I . . ." He smiled winsomely. "You actually feel that way?"
"Yes. From the moment I first set eyes on you!" Colin could not resist and kissed The Phantom deeply. "I wanted to be with you," he said almost breathlessly as he pulled back, "I wanted to . . . and where did you learn to kiss like that?"
"I told you I had a past," returned The Phantom. "Want to do it again?"
"You betcha ass."
They lay together for what seemed like hours, kissing gently and deeply, not wishing this special moment to end. Colin could not believe what was happening to him and hoped that Phantom would want to go further. He knew, however, that he had to let Phantom do what he wanted to do. Chef's words of warning continued to sound like a tocsin of ill omen in his mind. He could hold this treasure, but he could never keep it.
When, finally, they drew apart, Colin slowly ran his fingers down The Phantom's flushed, warm chest. "I love you. I know you're not ready, and I'm just happy being with you." He returned to holding The Phantom closely. "Somehow, just holding you is enough. I've never felt this way, and I did think that, well, we'd have sex, but suddenly, sex is secondary." He laughed a low, deprecating laugh. "If my frat brothers ever heard that they'd shit a brick!"
Giggling, The Phantom pulled back a little. "You were a stud, I take it?"
Colin nodded. "Like you, I have a past. Only mine was with girls while yours was . . ." He let his voice trail away. What Phantom had done before was none of his business.
The Phantom felt the need to be honest with Colin. "With boys, and yes, I've been with other boys," he said firmly. "There are five I care very deeply for. I love them, and they love me. I've been with them, made love to them, and had them make love to me. They are now, and always will be, a part of me, a constant in my life. I told you that I wasn't like Amy or Louise. I don't jump into bed with a guy every time my dick gets hard, and I don't fuck!"
Colin knew what The Phantom meant. "And that's all I did," he said slowly. "I was a stud!" He snorted disdainfully. "My frat brothers and I used to go bar hopping and they'd make bets on how long it would take me to get laid."
"Obviously you didn't disappoint," The Phantom could not help sniping.
"Hey, you're the one who said I was the most beautiful male you'd ever seen!" returned Colin with a smile.
"Yeah, I did," replied The Phantom with a giggle. "You still are. But Colin, if you were such a stud, and could have your pick of women, why then are you . . ."
"Here?" Colin shrugged. "One of the questions I'm trying to find the answer to." He regarded The Phantom, his eyes heart-meltingly warm. "I lived, live, in a frat house with 20 guys. At any given time they would be parading around nude, semi-nude, drunk, stoned, or points in between. There were always girls wandering around as well, girls who were there for the taking."
"And you took?"
"I took," confirmed Colin. "I was a horny college man, always 'up'. I also know that I'm damned good looking - and I am not bragging, so no cracks, please - and I didn't have to work at getting laid!"
"And now?"
"Phantom, all those times I was with a girl, all those times I fucked, or had my dick sucked, by a girl, they . . . Well, dammit, it was just the thrill of the hunt, just conquest - sometimes on my part, sometimes on hers." Colin made a slight face. "And it was all just macho bullshit!"
"Macho bullshit?" asked The Phantom, giggling.
"Well, how does momentary, hedonistic titillation of my penis sound?" returned Colin with a grin.
The Phantom laughed and said, "I like 'macho bullshit' better! It suits you so much better."
When his laughter subsided, Colin's face grew serious. Phantom, what it all boils down to is that the girls, the women, never made me feel the way I feel now. With them, looking back, all I was doing was going through the motions, emotionless motions, sex in its rawest form! I fucked because I thought I was supposed to fuck!"
"And now you don't?" The Phantom's eyes widened. "Cory said you had it bad, but I never thought . . ."
"And neither did I!" Colin returned. "If you think I was a stud, you should see my roommate! Or half a dozen guys I can name!"
"But I am not interested in your roommate," whispered The Phantom. "Or in half a dozen guys you can name."
Colin's heart skipped a beat. "But you are interested in me?"
"Yes." The Phantom rose and held out his hand. "I want you Colin Arnott, because I know that you love me, that you care for me, that you will give me affection and friendship. I also know that you will give me something only a few boys have ever given me; trust, and loyalty." He pulled Colin to his feet. "Tonight I want to feel all those things, Colin. If only for a few hours, I want to feel them!"