Aurora Tapestry

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases and/or locations, is coincidental, and needed more for literary license than anything else.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then.

As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature, or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.

This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.

In order to understand who is who and what is what should read the first two books in the series, "The Phantom of Aurora" and "The Boys of Aurora". There is a cast of characters included in The Boys, and while not all of them are included in this newest book, the main characters are.

I always enjoy hearing from readers, new or old. I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please write me at my e-mail address" paradegi@rogers.com

As always I express my gratitude to Peter, my editor, who takes time out of his busy schedule to edit my scribbles.

As November 11 approaches I humbly ask all my readers to pause for a few minutes on Tuesday, the 11th of November, and remember in their own way those who died so that we might live free. Remember too, the recent casualties in Afghanistan and Iraq. If you come across a veteran, shake his hand and thank him. If you come across a serving sailor, soldier, airman or marine, buy him a beer. Remember, politicians make wars. Soldiers merely fight them . . . and give the last full measure of devotion.

Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 3a

As The Gunner squirmed uncomfortably in the narrow seat of the Air Canada Flight that carried him eastward, The Phantom tossed and turned in his bed. That The Gunner had to leave, the young man understood. The finality of death could not be questioned. What The Phantom could not understand was why his brother had refused to have him at his wedding. No matter what had happened, they were brothers and The Phantom felt that he should be there, if only to support Brendan. Their father, however, had been adamant. Phantom would remain home.

As he entered the house after taking The Gunner to the airport, The Phantom heard the soft, heated murmurs of an argument drifting from behind the closed door of his parents' bedroom. Chief Lascelles was determined. He would not attend the wedding. What his wife did was her business. As for Phantom, well, Brendan had been very blunt. He did not want his younger brother at his wedding.

This The Phantom could not understand at all. Why would Brendan say such a thing? It was true that they had never really gotten along. For as far back as The Phantom could remember Brendan had, at the best of times, ignored him or, if he were in a particularly foul mood, called him names and then ignored him. The Phantom sighed. They were still brothers, and The Phantom felt he owed Brendan his loyalty, and should show support for him. Brendan's refusal to have his younger brother share in his wedding was puzzling. After all, it was hardly the first shotgun wedding in recorded history!

The Phantom lay back and placed his hands under the back of his head. He stared into the darkness, thinking. Boys had been having sex with girls since the first boy discovered that if he put his appendage in a girl's cavity something very nice would result. The downside was another natural result, in the form of a squalling, tiny human, which for some reason was frowned upon unless the couple were properly married.

A small chuckle arose from deep within The Phantom. Hell and sheeit, he knew of at least two girls whose weddings dresses had been conspicuously tight, and carried overlarge bridal bouquets as they walked down the aisle. In the next street there was a supposedly happily married young couple with a brand new boy baby. A boy whose birthday just happened to be the day after his parents had been joined in matrimonial bliss. The town gossips, which The Gunner had dubbed "The Biddy Brigade", had been putting it about town that the ceremony had been performed in the nick of time, at the entrance to the delivery room! The Phantom snorted contemptuously. What a bunch of old cats!

What annoyed The Phantom was that society, his culture, everything he knew, focused on the union of a male and female, a man and a woman, and then screwed everything up by saying that such unions could only take place when "blessed" by a church. This was all very confusing. Nobody seemed to take into consideration the very real fact that boys, in particular, teenaged boys, were hormonally incapable of controlling their emotions, or, in the simplest terms, their dicks. Boys were expected, and encouraged, by their fathers, brothers, and whatever male relative they might have, to pursue manly things, which included girls. Scoring with a girl met with knowing smirks. Your buddies clapped you on the back, and praised you, for you were now a STUD! The more times you scored, the better your reputation as a GUY!

And then there was the other side of the coin. Girls! Girls were expected to be feminine, kind, motherly and exquisitely fragile. They were expected to do girl things. Just as boys were not supposed to be attracted to boys (except of course in a manly way) girls were expected to be attracted to boys, but in a virginal way. Sex, in all its forms, was not allowed outside the sacrament of marriage. Girls might flirt, and drive a guy crazy with their antics, but God help you if you tried anything. And God help the girl if she allowed you to do more that give her a kiss goodnight.

In the darkness of his room, The Phantom frowned. He could understand, up to a point, the unfounded fear and loathing society had for homosexuals. He could not understand why society condemned a girl for becoming pregnant. Nobody encouraged their sons to go out and have a good time with their male friends, which they did, and if they were found out the Gates of Hell were opened against them. That was a given, and had been that way for a thousand years and more. But . . .

Again The Phantom frowned. Brendan had done exactly what he was expected to do. He had met a girl. They had dated, or at least The Phantom presumed they had. This would have brought smiles to the faces of the Biddy Brigade. This was normal. The couple had been intimate and as a natural consequence of that intimacy the girl was now, to put it delicately, with child. So, The Phantom asked himself, what was all the fuss about? Why was there a stigma attached to being pregnant before marriage? It happened every day. And why was the finger almost always pointed at the girl? Just about every boy The Phantom knew carried a foil-wrapped rubber in his wallet. Anticipation, The Phantom sniffed. Not that it did them a hell of a lot of good. While he wasn't up on the latest gossip, not frequenting the local burger bar at all, and having spent much of his time this past summer working in AURORA, he knew that very few of the girls in town put out, as the saying went. He had only to listen to the complaints the cadets made about their girl friends back home to know the score. Good girls didn't.

A long, rolling laugh escaped The Phantom's lips and his emerald eyes twinkled in the darkness. As for the bad girls, well, they used the boys, not always to their satisfaction, and, when they were found out, were secretly despised by the very boys they serviced, dismissed as sluts, objects of scorn and derision, who were whispered after by the "right thinking" churchgoers and no one with any claim to respectability would even think about marrying them. As the saying went, you found a bad girl to have fun with, and a good girl to marry.

As he thought about it, The Phantom now realized that what was bothering his father was the fact that his future daughter-in-law had slept with his son without benefit of clergy. The Phantom did not know what it was like in a big city, such as Vancouver or Toronto, or Montreal, but here, in the hypocritical, small town of Comox; promiscuity in boys might be tolerated, and winked at. But not in girls. A girl who was known to be "loose" brought shame on her family. A pregnant girl, unmarried, was not to be tolerated.

A girl who managed to get pregnant (and for some reason, it was always the girl's fault) had few options open to her. Abortion was not an option. It might be legal, but too many people looked upon it as murder, plain and simple. Having a pregnant daughter was bad enough. Having a daughter who took a quick trip to Victoria (where the closest clinic was) to "get rid of the evidence" was not to be even whispered about!

So, a girl "that way" would "travel", visiting relatives, usually an aunt who just happened to live on the other side of the country, her visit usually lasting six or seven or eight months. Or she could go away to attend school in another province and, when the unexpected little problem had been born, and put up for adoption, the girl would return home, her education complete and, more importantly, her reputation intact. She could marry the boy who had impregnated her, but then, still there was the snickering and the knowing smiles to follow her. The phrase, "But what will the neighbours say?" came to mind. Which phrase was exactly what was bugging his father's ass. People expected a policeman to be, if not above reproach, at least respectable, without scandal. People trusted policemen to be honest and upright, good family men with white bread families. Having your son knock up his girl friend was simply not done in a policeman's family, at least not in Chief Tom Lascelles' family.

Again The Phantom laughed to himself as he wondered what his father would do if he'd had a daughter like, say Louise Metcalfe, or Amy Jensen, or even Kathy Porter. The Phantom had listened to Amy's young brother, Robbie, who was sleeping with his older brother Jeff, heap scorn on his sister for sneaking off to the reservoir with one of the local football troglodytes and giving him a blow job. The Phantom wondered what Robbie would say if he ever found out that Amy had also taken one of the YAG Petty Officers, Eion Reilly, into the bushes at the end of year barbecue and given him a blow job!

And what would his father make of Kathy? She didn't fuck, at least not so far as The Phantom knew. She was just a cock teaser, who liked to rub herself up and down a guy's body until he exploded in his Fruit of the Looms! Killian Logan, one of The Phantom's stewards, a tall, devastatingly handsome, clean-cut boy, had experienced Kathy at the barbecue. What The Phantom found humourous, and very interesting, was that Killian never spoke of having filled his undies. In fact had only this morning when one of the Twins - Cory, as usual - had joked about the show Killian had put on the night before while dancing with Kathy, Killian had scowled, turned a delicious shade of red, and called Cory a very dirty name!

This led The Phantom to think of Louise Metcalfe. Had she been named Louise Lascelles his father would have had something to complain about. Louise liked the boys, and she liked sex. Last year, at the end-of-year barbecue, she had seduced Roger "Two Strokes" Home. Being a virgin, poor Two Strokes had suffered the worst of all fates for a teenage boy his first time around: premature ejaculation. Two strokes and he was done, much to Louise's dismay and later loud expressions of disappointment. Her reputation had not been enhanced an iota, and Roger Home had gained a nickname but never talked about his one, disastrous experience with a girl.

This year Louise had taken Phil Thornton, a large, muscular and, The Phantom admitted, strikingly handsome young cadet, into the bushes. The Phantom was not too sure of the details - all he had to go on was Harry's braying about it all over the Gunroom - but the word was that Phil had also been found wanting, not even managing to digitize Louise before he had an accident on the road to glory!

The Phantom shuddered involuntarily. He would like to be in the burger joint when Louise voiced her opinion of that particular episode - which she would, and no danger.

So, The Phantom thought as he rolled over and prepared to sleep, his father had much to be thankful for. He didn't have daughters and by marrying in Regina, Brendan would keep the family's reputation intact. The Phantom understood, now, how his father felt, and why he felt the way he did. What The Phantom could not understand was why his brother refused to have him at the wedding!

In Sunningdale, Calvin Hobbes tossed and turned on the swing glider that stood in one corner of the huge porch that encapsulated the large, rambling, Victorian-style house he lived in. He supposed that he should go back into the house, return to his bed. Mikey would be asleep by now and not up to pestering him. All Calvin had on were his tighty-whiteys and while the night was cool, but he had a blanket that he had snatched up when he'd stormed from the bedroom he shared with his brother, so he was warm. It was just that that the damned, lumpy glider mattress was uncomfortable and the lights from the hotel across the Marine Parade kept him awake. He was seething, fighting mad, really. Mikey had disappointed him yet again, had come crawling in at some ungodly hour reeking of booze and marijuana, cuddled close, rubbed Calvin's belly and proceeded to hump him! It was too much! The good feelings, the wonderful contentment Calvin had felt before his brother had crawled into his bed were destroyed in an instant. Neither boy knew which was more surprised when Calvin had reached around, squeezed Mikey's large balls as hard as he could and whispered harshly, "NO!"

The Gunner and The Phantom had dropped off Calvin at his house. He had spent a very pleasant afternoon working about the ship, waiting, or so he thought, for his brother to show up. Eventually he came to realize that Mikey was off on other pursuits and was prepared to walk home when The Gunner, who had heard of Calvin's predicament, offered a lift home. He had also called Calvin "Boychick", which pleased the slim, red-haired boy no end.

After The Gunner's Land Rover turned the corner of Marine Parade, Calvin went into the house and up to the room he shared with Mikey. There Calvin stripped off the uncomfortable uniform he'd been wearing and took a long, hot shower. At first Calvin felt strange in his own home, in his own room. For 14 days he had lived with a bunch of whacko cadets, seen more naked boys than he had ever seen in his life, lived with the noise and the discomfort and damn it, he missed it all! His room, at least his side of it, was too tidy, too clean, too everything! The silence of the house was deafening!

In the quiet of his room Calvin thought about everything that had happened to him, not the least of which was falling in love. He had never expected to develop deep, warm feelings for Simon. He had never expected that they would spend much of the night in the old Guardroom, making love, and he sure as hell had never expected to fall in love!

Strange emotions rippled through Calvin. Up until last night he had looked upon what he did with Mikey as a pleasurable diversion, something two brothers did because they were brothers. Calvin loved Mikey, but he wasn't in love with him. A frown furrowed Calvin's brow as he thought of his other partner in sex: Robbie Jensen. Calvin was most certainly not in love with Robbie! He did not, in fact, even like the boy. Robbie was sly, manipulative, and demanding. Calvin, to Robbie, was just a fuck. When Calvin had told The Phantom that he knew what it meant to be taken advantage of, he was thinking not only of Mikey, who casually assumed that Calvin would be available nightly for a dry hump, he was also thinking of Robbie. Robbie enjoyed, demanded, needed to have sex, but on his terms and only whenever his older brother, Jeff, wasn't around to provide the servicing he needed. When Jeff was away Robbie would call Calvin, command his presence and, with a knowing sneer, present his bum for Calvin's enjoyment.

Strangely, Calvin did not enjoy the act all that much. It was nice, and he always got his rocks off, but he knew, in the back of his mind, that there were no feelings, no emotions involved. Robbie was insatiable, and Calvin always wondered just how many boys had found their penises firmly clamped by the muscles lining Robbie's poop chute. There was also the thought that he could in no way compare with Jeff Jensen in the dick department.

Calvin had never seen Jeff naked, but he had seen him wearing a Speedo and the guy could sure pack the thin fabric of the skimpy bathing suit. Calvin figured that Jeff, soft, topped four inches from root to bulbous tip. He also had a fine, large set of balls. All in all, Calvin thought, Jeff could give Harry, the Chief Drum Major, a run for his money for ownership of the Pride of the Fleet. Harry was well-formed, big, and damned fine to look at. Yes, Jeff would certainly give Harry some serious competition. But then, so would Mikey, who was bigger than Jeff. Calvin had seen Mikey hard, and Lord, was it a sight!

Thinking of his brother deflated Calvin's burgeoning erection. Mikey was a turd of the first order! He was always promising do things for Calvin, and hardly ever followed through. About the only sure thing about Mikey was that he would crawl into Calvin's bed at night, rub himself off against his younger brother's firm behind, give him a quick rub, and then return to his own bed, very quickly falling asleep and rending the night air with his snoring.

Calvin flopped onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. His mind drifted, and he dismissed all thoughts of Mikey, or Robbie, or Jeff. He lay on his bed, naked, debating on taking a nap. His bed was very comfortable and he began to drift slowly off. He had no worries about anyone - other than Mikey - coming into the room. His parents were both working, and wouldn't be home until after 1800. His hand, as it always did, moved slowly down to his crotch and he began to finger the rosy, pink, circumcised head of his penis, thinking of Simon Keppel, the dark-haired, slim, wonderful, beautiful, newfound love of his young life.

All thought of sleep left Calvin as he thought of Simon, and what they had done last night in the old Guardroom. They had made wonderful, glorious, all but indescribable love. Images of Simon danced behind Calvin's closed eyes while his hand slowly fondled his low-hanging testicles. He was lost in a fantasy world inhabited by Simon and him, a world where they could make love whenever they wanted to, a world of joy that could only be occupied by them alone. Calvin's hand grasped his thin, perfectly formed, warm erection and he pumped slowly until, all too soon, his penis twitched and a feeling so magnificent enveloped his entire body that he rose off the bed, his hips pumping as a thick stream of semen flew from the end of his dick. Gasping, barely able to breathe, Calvin yelped loudly as his orgasm overwhelmed him.

Calvin continued to shudder and tremble and then, spent, collapsed onto the bed. A huge smile creased his lips as he thought that what he had just experienced had been the best he'd given himself in a long time. Gosh, it had been good. But then, it could have been better if Simon had been with him. His eyes opened slowly and he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. He did a quick mental calculation. Simon's flight should have landed in Vancouver about 1300 or thereabouts. Assuming that he'd been picked up by one of his two brothers, Simon should be home now. It was gone 1600, after all.

All but throwing himself off the bed, Calvin quickly wiped his stomach and pubic area clean with the tighty whiteys he had thrown on the floor, and hurried downstairs, not caring that he was buck-assed naked. He hurried into the living room and sat in the large, overstuffed chair and reached for the telephone that stood on the small table beside the chair. Then he drew back, hesitating. Simon wanted to go slow, to not hurry their relationship. But he needed to hear Simon's voice.

Abruptly, Calvin dialled the telephone number he had committed to memory, praying that someone would answer. On the fourth ring, someone did.

"Hello?"

"Simon?" Calvin beamed at the sound of his hope to be lover's voice.

"Calvin!" Simon breathed. Calvin could not see the warm smile spreading across Simon's face as he said, "I, um, hi. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"I told you that I'd call," growled Calvin, his voice low. Gosh, his dick was getting hard just from hearing Simon's voice. "I wanted to call and tell you how much I love you!"

In Burnaby, Simon collapsed onto the bench built-in to the telephone table in the hallway. His heart was beating rapidly. He could hear Calvin's soft breathing and his hand slipped unconsciously into his shorts. "And I love you, too," he whispered, his voice full of emotion.

"Really?" gasped Calvin, "you're not just saying that?"

Simon chuckled quietly. "I mean it Calvin. After last night, and this morning . . ." His voice trailed off. "I thought about us on the plane coming home, and in the car."

"And you love me?" whooped Calvin. "Honest?"

"Honest," replied Simon simply.

Calvin was over the moon. He did not realize it, but his hand was kneading and fondling his rampant erection. "Ah, Jeez, hell, Simon," he managed to gasp out. "You don't know how much I wanted to hear that, how much I want to be with you, how much I want to . . ." Calvin knew that he was sputtering gibberish, but he didn't care. Simon loved him! "I want to be with you so much!" he declared roundly.

Simon laughed a low, soft laugh that sent shivers down Calvin's spine. "And I want to be with you," Simon replied, his voice low. His hand was gently stroking his woody hidden under the soft cotton of his tighty-whiteys. His voice was raspy and as he stroked gently and the feeling came into his crotch he began breathing heavily. He began to gulp and growl as his hand moved faster. "You don't know how much I want to be with you," he said between gasps. "Oh, Calvin . . . I . . ."

On the other end of the line Calvin's body spasmed and for second time in less than an hour his penis trembled, bucked, and a stream of semen flew from his dick and splattered across his chest. He squealed loudly and then fell back, unable to speak.

"Calvin?" croaked Simon. "Calvin?" Simon was sprawled across the tiny bench, his legs rigid.

"Yeah?" Calvin asked, eventually.

"Did you, I mean did you do what I think you did?"

Calvin nodded his head vigorously. "I, um, yeah. I made a mess!"

Simon, recovered, and enjoying his afterglow, giggled. "Me too!"

Calvin laughed uproariously. "Jeez, I guess we really are in love!"

"We better be, or I've just ruined a perfectly good pair of undies," returned Simon as he joined in Calvin's laughter.

"We are," exclaimed Calvin with passion. "I've never felt this way about anyone! I love you!"

"I want to see you, Calvin, to be with you," Simon murmured. "Can you get away this weekend? Can you get your brother to drive you down? Please?"

Calvin thought a moment. His faced beamed as he said, "I think I can. The bastard owes me one!"

"Pardon?"

Calvin snickered. "Well, he was supposed to pick me up this morning. He didn't. So now he owes me one."

"How did you get home, then?" asked Simon. He knew where Calvin lived and knew it was a fairly long walk.

"Oh, The Phantom drove me home," replied Calvin with a grin.

Simon could not see the grin on Calvin's face, but he heard the small note of desire in Calvin's voice. For some reason he felt jealous. "You had better not got his pants off of him," he growled.

Calvin pretended to be shocked. "Why Simon, why would you think that?"

"Because you told me that Phantom had a nice ass, and that you would like to see more of it!" returned Simon. Then he laughed. "Which he does, and I don't blame you for wanting it."

Calvin feigned disappointment. "The Gunner was with him, so Phantom's pants, which he wasn't wearing 'cause he had shorts on, stayed on. He was taking The Gunner home. His aunty died - The Gunner's aunty, not Phantom's - so he has to go to Toronto. He's letting Phantom use his car."

"Oh." Simon seemed to think for a moment. "Calvin, I do love you, you know."

Calvin couldn't understand Simon's sudden remark. "I know."

"Well, you need to know about Phantom. He's, well, he's just so . . ."

Calvin got the idea. He felt the same way and was not upset at what he felt was Simon's coming confession. "You want to be with him." His words held no questions. If the truth were told, he wanted to be with the handsome teenager just as much as Simon did. Calvin remembered his conversation with The Phantom a short while ago as they sat in the Mess Hall. "Phantom told me that you are very special to him, Simon. He told me that he loves you." He hastened to add, "Not the way I love you, or the way you love me, but he does care for you."

Simon sighed a long, contented sigh. "He told me."

"At the beach? Where you saw all of him?"

"Don't get angry, Calvin," said Simon, a touch of warning in his words.

"I'm not angry," snapped Calvin. "I'm jealous!"

"What?"

Calvin snickered. "I've known Phantom for years! I've seen him almost every day and not once did I get to see anything!"

"You saw his bum yesterday, when his shorts came off in the water," reminded Simon with a giggle. "And you did tell me that you were an ass man!"

Snickering, Calvin nodded his head. "Yeah, I am." Then he asked, his voice calm. "I guess what you are trying to say is that . . ."

"Calvin, I love you so very much, and nothing is ever going to change the way I feel about you. Last night I knew who I wanted to be with, forever. I don't want to be with anyone else. Please believe me."

"I believe you," replied Calvin. A strange calm came over him. "But you know, and I know, that there is one other person. You can't help yourself." As I can't help myself, he added silently.

"It could happen, Calvin," replied Simon. "One day, not now, not tomorrow, maybe not ever, but if Phantom wants to be with me, can you understand that we might . . ."

"Simon, Phantom cares for you in a special way that I can only wish he would feel for me." He squared his shoulders as he said, "You have to be your own man, Simon. I know that you love me. I also know how you feel about Phantom."

Simon could hear something in Calvin's voice, something that made him think that Calvin . . . "You want the same thing," he said abruptly.

"Yes, I do," admitted Calvin. "Are you angry?"

Simon laughed quietly. "How can I be? We both want the same thing." A soft, sad sigh escaped his lips. "Not that anything is really going to happen. Phantom doesn't fool around with kids like us."

"He would if he knew what we could do to him!" retorted Calvin sharply. The he laughed. "If it happens, let it."

"And you, too?"

"Yeah," Calvin replied. "I'll let it happen." He wondered if he should tell Simon about Phantom and the Gunner. He decided to let it pass. "Simon, I can't tell you how to feel about someone. If being with Phantom is something you want, well, do it. I want you to be happy. That's all I want."

"I'll be happier when you're here, in my bed, holding me," replied Simon breathlessly.

After his parents came home, after he had eaten dinner, Calvin retired to his bedroom. He thought long and hard about what Simon had told him, about what The Phantom had told him, about how he felt about Simon and about how he felt about The Phantom.

Which was why, in the early morning hours, when Mikey had crawled into his bed, reeking of home brew and the lingering smell of marijuana, rubbing his massive erection against his brother's bottom, Calvin had said ringingly, "NO!"

While The Gunner tried to sleep in one of what Air Canada insisted was its best seats, Calvin Hobbes, tossed and turned on a lumpy swing glider mattress and The Phantom finally slept blissfully, the lights burned late in the large house at the northern end of British Properties.

In the basement Command Centre, Major Richard Meinertzhagen, Keeper of the Common Treasure pro-tem to the Sovereign Order of the Knights of Saint John of the Cross of Acre, and Chief of Security to the Grand Master of the Order, Michael Chan, smiled grimly at the figures that flashed across the small computer screen, figures that announced the daily trades on the Paris Bourse and the London 'Change.

The Major had grumbled about the cost of installing one of the new-fangled electronic marvels, a Cray, but now marvelled at the wealth of information that was becoming increasingly available to the Order. He made a mental note to see about downloading (he thought that is what one of the very highly paid programmers called it) the personnel records of the members of the Order.

Feeling a presence beside him the Major turned to see Michael studying the figures on the screen. "The sell orders went through, I see," Michael said with a cold smile.

Pointing at a changing figure the Major nodded. "We are working with the Bank of England Nominees people, and Houblons. They are very efficient." As another figure changed the Major brought it to Michael's attention. "The Bank of Upper Canada has taken another hit. Down two hundred and still falling." He shrugged expressively. "Someone it would seem is selling off large blocks of shares."

Because of the time difference Michael had planned his revenge against the three men who had embezzled large sums from the Order's accounts to coincide with the closing of the Toronto and Montreal Stock Exchanges, and the opening of the London and Paris exchanges. There was a 3-hour time difference between Vancouver and Toronto. It was just past 0400 in Vancouver, 0700 in Toronto, and the exchange there would not open until 0900. When the officers and principal stockholders of the banks and companies that were being sold off en-masse sat down to their breakfasts they were in for a dreadful shock.

"And the cash accounts?" asked Michael, his voice soft. Michael never raised his voice, and rarely lost his temper. When he did, wise men ran.

Before the Major could reply the door leading to Burma Road (as the main basement corridor was called by the servants and staff) opened and Laurence Howard, who was Equerry to the Chancellor of the Order, Stephen Winslow, and co-ordinator of the present attack on certain business interests, entered. A short, slim, quite handsome young man, who was smiling nervously, accompanied him. Laurence held a sheaf of papers in his hand. "It's done!" was all he said as handed the papers to Michael.

"All of it, or should I ask all that is left?" asked Michael.

Laurence nodded to the young man whose eyes were darting about the enclosed, windowless room, taking in the muttered conversations of the men whose eyes constantly scanned the computer screens in front of them, looking for trends, for upturns or downturns that they could exploit. "I'll let Gabe explain."

Gabriel Tradd Izard, product of some of the finest schools in the country, including Upper Canada College School and the University of Toronto, and a graduate of Harvard School of Business, had been the nominee of Louis Arundel, the Order's auditor, to succeed him. The Order, recognizing talent, had provided scholarships for Gabriel, and now his training and expertise had come to fruition. He wrung his hands nervously as he looked into the Grand Master's dark eyes. Gabe had heard stories, had dismissed them as rumour, and now found himself embroiled in something that was much more sinister, and dangerous than mere rumour.

"The orders were executed last night. The funds have been transferred, as you directed, sir," said Gabe in a low, pleasant basso, which was surprising in so slight a man. He pointed at the papers Michael held in his hand. "The wire confirmations were received just half an hour ago. I executed the orders myself and then flew out here."

Nodding, Michael studied the figures. "The officials at the bank? They suspect nothing?"

Gabe shook his head. "They won't know anything until their computers are brought back on line."

The Major raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Grinning, Gabe pointed at the computer consoles lining one side of the room. "The bank has only just installed a computer system for its international trading. Being new, the machine is subject to . . ." He smiled knowingly. " . . . Growing pains. There was an unfortunate malfunction not ten minutes after I transmitted the transfer orders to Barclay's Bank."

Michael, for the first time in days, laughed heartily. Then his eyes clouded over. "Still, we lost a great deal."

Laurence nodded. "Between them Willoughby and Hunter managed to siphon off 4,375,000 dollars from the Order's accounts."

"Give or take a hundred thousand," Gabe pointed out. "We did manage to transfer the balances, though, and the Order is financially stable. We've been hit, true, but our finances are fundamentally sound."

Michael waved his hand, and the papers at Gabe and Laurence. "Over four millions, gone! Think of the good we could have done with the money those two . . . thieves . . . managed to get away with!" Michael's anger was palpable. His eyes blazed and flashed. "I want every penny recovered! I do not care how it is done, so long as it is done!" Quivering with rage he sat abruptly in one of the chairs lining the other side of the room. "I cannot abide a liar, and I will not tolerate a thief," he declared with as much passion as he ever expressed. His words were cold and, to those who knew him and his reputation well, terrifying.

"We have ways," consoled the Major. He gestured toward a laden drinks table. "Would you get Michael a drink?" he asked Laurence. "The Courvoissier, I think."

While Laurence fetched the brandy, the Major sat beside Michael, speaking calmly. "Both Willoughby and Hunter are mortgaged to the hilt. They've been double and triple dripping into all the accounts." He nodded toward Gabriel Izard. "Our young friend has the documentation and as soon as the Ministry opens our agent in Ottawa will present the documents to the proper authorities. We have managed to buy up much of their paper, and are in position to demand immediate payment. Neither man can make good on their notes."

"Of course not!" snapped Michael. "We've sequestered their little piggy banks!"

The Major could not help chuckling. "And a few other little piggy banks, I might add. By the close of business today both men will be trying to explain to their Boards why the Canadian Security Regulators, the Ontario Securities Commission and agents of the Treasury Ministry are at the door with a warrant for their records, why certain accounts are short, and why their stock is now worthless."

"And Simpson?" Michael had a long memory. "What about him? He is as guilty as Willoughby and Hunter. He colluded with them!"

Gabriel scratched his chin reflectively. "Simpson is a harder fish to land," he said calmly. "His bank is privately owned, and not publicly traded so a run on his stock is not on the cards."

Michael, who had some knowledge of incorporating businesses, asked, "He is the major stockholder I suppose?"

Laurence nodded. "Simpson Private Bank, nee Simpson, Scherson and Goldsmith . . ."

"I beg your pardon?" Michael's lips twitched angrily. "Knowing Simpson I must assume that his former partners were fleeced royally!"

The Major silently placed a thick dossier in Michael's lap. "The proof of the pudding," he said with a slight smile. "Louis Arundel put his best forensic accountant to sniffing about. It's a rather sordid tale."

Michael began leafing through the papers, his eyes widening as he read the damning evidence. "Whoever did this must be commended." He looked at the Major. "Who is he? Is he one of us?"

The Major nodded firmly. "Joseph Hobbes. He's our agent in Comox and has a Master of Economics from Yale. He's worked night and day for two months, ever since Louis discovered the shortages, and the identity of the culprits."

Michael sighed. This affair had been going on for months, months where nothing could be said, not even the very fact that that there was an investigation into their accounts, to Willoughby, Hunter and Simpson. "Tell me the sordid details, please."

The Major cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "The original company was incorporated as a merchant bank, in London. The house did a great deal of work with the Germans . . . Scherson was associated with several large banks over there. They had invested heavily in German industries and while they lost a great deal of money during the First War they stood to gain after 1933."

"Hitler!" spat Michael; not bothering to hide is contempt.

"Quite," replied the Major with typical British aplomb. "Anyone willing to do business with the Nazis, and there were more than a few, stood to reap enormous profits. Of course, one had to be Aryan, and Simpson, who knew the value of a gold mark, was more than willing to acquiesce. The world was in depression and Simpson took advantage of it. He managed to ease both his partners out, paying them off with a pittance. Joe Hobbes managed to penetrate their archives and discovered that Simpson and his cronies had cooked the books, making it appear that the firm was on its last legs."

"What a venal, obnoxious man!" exclaimed Michael.

Ignoring Michael's outburst, the Major continued on. "With his partners jettisoned, and a large, fat contract in his pocket, Simpson crawled into bed with Adolph. He formed a new bank, with only 100 shares issued. His sister holds one share, and is on the books as Secretary. His great nephew holds one share, and is listed as Treasurer. Simpson holds the balance and the stock is not publicly traded."

"There's more," interjected Gabe.

Both Michael and the Major turned to look at the young man. "What 'more'?" asked Michael.

"Both Joseph and I went to Germany and did some digging," replied Gabe, a trifle smugly. "We were given access to some very interesting documents by the German authorities." He smiled a little smile. "Did you know that there are thousands upon thousands of documents from the Nazi era that have only been scanned, and never looked at in depth?"

"I didn't, but I cannot see what the point is," returned Michael with a snarl. "What have you discovered?"

Gabe took a step back. He had no desire to offend his new patron or, by definition, his Liege and guardian, Louis Arundel. At the same time he knew enough not to show fear. His back straightened as he said, "The Gestapo, and the Sicherheitsdienst, or SD, kept meticulous records on the doings of all important foreigners who came to Germany. As Simpson was a very important cog in the Nazi's financial machine and, being Germans, they trusted no one, the SD kept a very firm eye on him, And Simpson, being a venal and suspicious man, also kept a very firm eye on the Germans, but that is another story. What we discovered was that Percy is a hebephile, a lover of teenaged boys."

"I am familiar with the term," growled Michael. He looked sternly at Gabe. "Go on."

"Percy kept a suite at the Hotel Adlon whenever he was in Berlin. He enjoyed having parties." Gabe shuddered and shook his head. "The reports I read were stomach churning. Joe Hobbes actually became ill."

The Major's face fell. "The German boys! Now I understand!"

"The German boys," echoed Laurence, whose face was a mask of outrage. Unlike Michael, he had read the reports Joe and Gabe had brought back from their travels. With some difficulty he composed himself. His words, when spoke them, were flinty. "From 1933 until 1939, whenever he was in Berlin the Nazis supplied Percy with boys from the Jugend. A new boy almost every night and, when Percy was in the mood to party, three, four, the number varied, but there were always . . ."

The dossier Michael had been reading fell to the floor with a loud thump, quickly followed by the brandy snifter he had been holding. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles white. "I want him destroyed," he barely managed through clenched teeth. "I want him, and anyone associated with him, destroyed." He looked levelly at the Major. "You take my meaning?"

The Major, who well knew Michael's moods, understood. Simpson was to be eliminated, brought down with as much disgrace as could be delivered. The Major could use his own methods. If he failed, Michael would use his methods.

Gabe looked at Laurence, who displayed no emotion. Then he looked at his patron, and saw the fires of determination burning. He swallowed, and suggested carefully, "We cannot touch him financially, at least not yet. There are too many innocents, investors in the companies he has an interest in. But . . ."

"But?" asked Michael coldly.

"At the present moment Simpson shares his house with three German nationals. One is, I believe, 17. The other two are 15 and 14 respectively. They are all supposedly here on student visas, yet none attends school. If their true relationship with Percy can be documented, I am sure that the Vice Squad of the Metropolitan Toronto Police would be very interested, as would Immigration Canada. If it can be proven that Simpson's relationship with these boys is sexual, he would be ruined. And, if I may remind you, he brought them to the conclave. Transporting minors across provincial boundaries for immoral purposes is a criminal offence."

Michael thought a moment. "I do not care how it is done, but find the proof. You have carte blanche." He looked at Gabe. "Percy Simpson is to be disgraced. You will find the proof."

"I'll need Joe Hobbes," replied Gabe. "He's supposed to be helping Louis Arundel set up the new bank . . ."

"Get him!" ordered Michael. "Louis can have Laurence until Joe is available."

Laurence sighed. More work! "I'll call later."

"Why later?" demanded the Major. "Is Joe not available?"

"Joe is on his way home, driving. He has some minor affairs to put in order before he moves to Vancouver." Laurence did not think it pertinent to tell either Michael or the Major that Joe had just returned from a quick trip to Regina where he had finished some personal business.

Michael stood up and pointed a thin, manicured finger at Gabe. "Start today. Search your files and find names! Disgruntled servants, former business associates, employees and former employees! If those Nazi records are as complete as you seem to think they are, there should be names! Find them! Arrange for them to give statements. If they want money, give it to them!"

Turning, Michael pointed at the Major. "Someone in the Order had to have known about Simpson. Someone was protecting him! Find that someone! Also, contact Rick Maslen and ask if Special Branch has any, and I mean any, scrap of information. Rick has contacts with the RCMP, CSIS, and the Immigration people. Use them!" He looked purposefully at Laurence as he said, "Now that Joseph has finished with his Regina business, he is to be brought here. Call him and have him here by tomorrow night!"

Laurence's jaw dropped. How could Michael possibly know about Joe, and Regina . . .? To cover his very real surprise Laurence looked at his watch. "Joe should be back home in Comox by ten, eleven at they latest."

Michael nodded. He looked at each man in turn. "You all know, then, what has to be done. Do it." And then he said, ominously, "Or I will!"

As dawn touched the east-facing slopes of Mount Washington and revealed the still shadowed buildings of HMCS AURORA, the first member of the Gunroom stirred, stretched, and then reached into his tighty-whiteys, fondling his morning woody, and almost instinctively, rolled his testicles gently. Two Strokes sighed happily.

In the bunk beside Two Strokes', Thumper's eyes fluttered open. He did not reach into his tighty-whiteys, as always slept with his left hand down the front of his underpants. Thumper's morning woody was warm, and very hard. He heard a soft sigh to his right and raised himself on one elbow and smiled tenderly at the sight of Two Strokes doing something he would never have dreamed of doing before last night. Two Strokes was playing with himself, enjoying it, and frankly didn't give a shit who saw him doing it!

Chuckling, Thumper leaned forward and whispered, "Good morning."

As he turned his head a smile broke Two Strokes' normally saturnine face. "Good morning, Tom," he whispered back to the boy who had given him so much pleasure on the beach in the wee hours of Thursday morning.

Thumper threw back the covers and quickly sat down on the side of Two Strokes' bunk. He slid his hand under the thin, blue checked coverlet that concealed his lover's lower body, found the mound tenting his briefs, and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry about last night, Roger," he whispered, a sad look on his face. "I really did want to go out for a walk with you."

Two Strokes had a wistful look on his face, as he nodded slowly. "It wasn't your fault, Tom. Harry just would not shut up." He placed his hand over Thumper's. "And the other guys didn't seem to have a hole to go to! I can't blame you for falling asleep."

Snickering, Thumper leaned forward. His soft, warm lips touched Two Strokes', and he moaned softly. They kissed deeply, tongues barely touching, until finally Thumper pulled away. "We better stop," he cautioned, his whispered words desperate. "Damn, I want to be with you, Roger."

Two Strokes struggled to a sitting position. His grey eyes were alive with the warmth he felt for the slim, dark-haired youth sitting on his bunk. He gestured toward the bare windows breaking the far bulkhead at regular intervals. "The sun is coming up. It'll be full light soon." His face softened. "We can be together, tonight."

So that's what they've been up to, thought Chris, who was lying, fully awake, in his bunk on the other side of Thumper's. A silent laugh rocked Chris' body. He had known Roger "Two Strokes" Home for five years, and for every one of those five years Two Strokes an been a homophobic son-of-a-bitch. And now! Now he'd been off in the moonlight, with THUMPER! Chris looked over and saw Jon, his lover, biting his pillow as he tried to stifle the laughter that danced in his eyes. Unlike Two Strokes and Thumper, Jon and Chris had been together last night, in Boatswain Stores.

The two boys listened as Thumper and Two Strokes murmured and kissed gently. Finally Chris, who was raising a bone from all the action going on in the corner of the Gunroom, hissed loudly. "Jesus Christ!"

Two Strokes fell back on his bunk and Thumper, startled, fell off the bunk in a swirl of bedclothes and muted squeaks of fear. Thumper's mouth opened and closed rapidly in frantic desperation, as he tried to speak, but could not, so shocked at being discovered kissing Two Strokes that he could not form a single word.

Chris threw his legs over the edge of his bunk, motioned impatiently for Thumper to belt up, opened his locker, and fumbled out a ring of keys. Rising, he adjusted his hardon and then walked to Two Strokes' bunk. "Here," he said quietly. He laid the ring of keys on the end of the bunk. "You have about an hour before Wakey-Wakey. The brass key next to the fob fits the door to Boatswain Stores." He turned and then turned back. "And don't use the Vaseline in any of the first aid kits. Andy is doing a muster today and he'll be pissed off if all the stuff is gone!"

After making sure that the door to Boatswain Stores was locked behind them, Two Strokes and Thumper stood in front of each other. Their eyes met, then their lips touched. Two Strokes drew Thumper into a warm, firm embrace and their kissing became deeper, almost desperate.

Thumper, his eyes closed, felt the warmth of his lover's body against his, felt Two Strokes' erection pulsing against his, and moaned softly. He slid his hand down the front of Two Strokes' blue shorts, and pressed firmly against the soft cloth that guarded Two Strokes' firm mound.

Groaning, Two Strokes pushed down Thumper's shorts and white underpants. His hand found Thumper's thick, firm erection and he slowly stroked the throbbing five inches of warm flesh. Thumper shivered and thrust his hips upward. God, he wanted to CUM! He quickly pushed down Two Strokes' clothes. Their erections, firm, slim, ultra-sensitive, ground together. They pushed and rubbed their hard dicks together. Thumper moaned loudly. GOD, HE WANTED TO CUM!

Tom "Thumper" Vernon was a serial masturbator. He had come late to puberty and had been making up for all the wanks he had missed by jerking off at least four times a day, every day. Last year the cadets he served with discovered what he was doing. He was stroking it so often that his dick was rubbed raw! The Padre had prayed over him, Doc had threatened to fit him with mittens, the younger cadets had refused to open lockers for fear that Thumper might be in one of them beating off, and the older cadets refused to shake his hand because they knew what he'd been doing with it. Thumper didn't give a damn! He loved beating off.

But now, all Thumper wanted was to take his lover's thin, strong penis into his mouth and suck gently on the arrow-shaped head. He wanted to taste the flesh of Two Strokes. He wanted to taste again the magnificent, sweet essence of Two Strokes, just as he had after the barbecue, just as he done when Two Strokes had asked him to go for a walk in the dark after they had returned from the beach.

Thumper pulled away from Two Strokes' embrace and slowly lowered himself to his knees. His lips brushed against the circumcised head of Two Strokes' erection and his tongue flicked out, wiping away the minute bead of precum that had oozed from the slit. He opened his mouth and gently, and ever so slowly, sucked Two Strokes into his mouth.

Groaning at the warmth radiating from his groin, Two Strokes leaned back his head, his eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying not to cum. He wanted to, but he wanted even more to make this moment last and last and last. His penis, and Thumper's sucking mouth, had other ideas, however. Two Strokes felt his orgasm growing and he began to rhythmically thrust in and out of Thumper's mouth. He began growling, thrusting deeper into Thumper's mouth. He could feel his testicles draw tightly upward and then yelped as a thick, sweet stream of semen flew from the head of his penis. Thumper swallowed rapidly, taking every drop of Two Strokes' ejaculate and continued to suck even as his lover's knees buckled and he sank to the deck.

The pleasure emanating from the head of his penis too much for Two Strokes to bear. He yowled and pushed Thumper away, gasping as fell back. "OhmyGod!" he breathed. "OhmyGod, Thumper!"

Sitting back on his haunches. Thumper grinned evilly. "I take it you liked that?"

Two Strokes' head bobbed vigorously. "Fuckin' aye, Tom!" He lay back, enjoying the ebbing euphoria of a superior blow job while it lasted. "Let me catch my breath and then I'll take care of you," he promised.

Thumper shook his head. "You don't have to, you know. I can just slip into the heads after everybody's finished showering."

"Oh, no you can't!" snapped Two Strokes. He sat up and pulled Thumper into his arms. "You're still hard, and that I can help you with!"

Thumper let out an exasperated sigh. "Roger, you don't have to! There's no law that says you have to blow me just because I blew you!" He tried to pull away but Two Strokes held him close.

"Thumper, Tom, please listen to me!" Two Strokes whispered. "I don't know how you feel, but I don't want you to think that all you are is a summer fuck! I hate to burst your bubble, but I think I'm falling in love with you."

"You are?" asked Thumper, his eyes wide. "But Roger, you're not even queer! You've never been with another guy before! And up until the barbeque you wouldn't have even thought about being with another guy! I only blew you because you were so damned 'Two Strokes' about me getting a blowjob. I just wanted you to feel what I had, to know what you've been missing because you were such a jerk!"

Two Strokes laughed quietly. "And after the barbecue? And after I told you about what I did on the sailing trip?" He shrugged expressively. "You don't think that's a little 'queer'?"

"Well, I suppose that rubbing your dick not once, but twice, up the crack of Cory's ass could be considered to be queer," conceded Thumper. "But you didn't squirt all over his bum, and you didn't reach around and give him a hand job while you were doing it." He smiled slowly. "And I was surprised when you asked me to go for a walk with you and we ended up making out again."

"Tom, I sucked your dick and swallowed!" exclaimed Two Strokes. "That has got to mean something, damn it!" He pulled Thumper down until they were lying close together. "I discovered a side of me that I didn't know existed when I humped Cory. It was no quick jerk. I liked what I was doing, I wanted to do what I was doing, and quite honestly?" Thumper shook his head. "I wanted to be with you," said Two Strokes, his voice heavy with emotion. "I wanted to taste you, Tom. I wanted to taste the very essence of you."

Thumper could see the sincerity in Two Strokes' eyes. Still . . . "Roger, look, I like you, and maybe I am falling a little bit in love with you. Be honest, though, making out with me is something that happens between guys. You don't have to pretend that what happened between us, what is happening between us, is something more than it obviously is!"

Two Strokes shook his head and said, "Tom, I know exactly what is happening between us. I also know what you want to say to me!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" asked Thumper, his words tinged with sarcasm.

"I do," confirmed Two Strokes. He reached down and held Thumper's soft penis in his hand. "You are going to tell me that what we have is just two buddies helping each other out. Correct?"

Thumper nodded.

"You are also going to tell me that in two weeks we are all going home, me to Orangeville, you to Sudbury, and that our 'summer affair' will end then. Correct?"

Again, Thumper nodded.

As his hand manipulated Thumper's penis into a substantial erection, Two Strokes never took his eyes off of his companion. "You also expect that I will simply go on sucking your dick, necking, and making out with you because you think I am basically a very shallow, and selfish, man."

"That's not true, damn it," exploded Thumper. He tried to control himself but Two Strokes was gently rubbing his rosy glans with his thumb and it felt sooo good! He tried to pull away but Two Strokes held him fast. "I don't think that at all! How dare you, Roger! Okay, you were shallow, and selfish, and a pain in the ass, but you changed! You've become . . . I don't know . . . a different person!"

Before Thumper could protest Two Strokes pulled him on top of his body. Two Strokes, who had never lost his erection, could feel Thumper's warmth against his testicles and pulled him up until their dicks were touching. He held Thumper close, and then kissed his nose. "Well, Thump, my lover, I have a few salient truths to impart!"

"Wha . . .?" Thumper could feel Two Strokes' penis pulsing rhythmically, could feel the sticky wetness of his excitement coating the heads of both their penises. He wanted to protest but soon lost himself in the pleasure emanating from his crotch.

"Your giving me my first blow job had nothing to do with my falling in love with you, or with my admitting, at least to myself, a long time ago that I had feelings for other guys."

"I . . ."

"Sssh, let me finish," admonished Two Strokes. "It began on Texada Island, when I was sleeping next to Cory. Now, I grant you, the first time it happened, when I rubbed my boner up the crack of his butt, I was a little surprised at what I was doing, but it felt so nice I couldn't stop." He snickered. "Cory was awake, by the way."

Thumper lifted his head, his look registering his surprise. "He was? He didn't stop you?"

"Nope," replied Thumper with a nod of his head. "He sort of let sleeping dogs lie. He told me that the thought that I was asleep, and having a dream, so he let me do it." A frown creased his forehead. "He also told me that he figured that with my hair trigger I'd pop my nut in no time and he could get some sleep!"

Thumper could not help laughing. "He didn't!"

"He did," returned Two Strokes, nodding. "The next night, on Harwood Island, I did it again, and this time I wanted to do it! I also wanted to reach over and take Cory in my hand. That pissed Cory off 'cause he figured that if I was getting off by rubbing myself against him the least I could do was give him a helping hand!"

Again Thumper laughed. "He has a point."

"Yeah, well he got even," complained Two Strokes mildly, and smiling. "You remember when Harry pulled me across the mess table and I got that stake through my dick?"

"It was a teeny little splinter, Roger, NOT a stake!" retorted Thumper. "Don't exaggerate!" He giggled. "A very teeny splinter!"

Two Strokes growled at Thumper's veiled implication. "Well, anyway, I got hard, which you know."

Thumper nodded. "The whole Gunroom knew!"

"Well, what neither the Gunroom, nor you knows, is that when everybody turned around when Brian and Dylan came into the mess I shot my load in Cory's hand."

"You didn't!" exclaimed Thumper. "How could you?"

"Quite easily," replied Two Strokes, unruffled. "Rub your dick a little more, Thumper. I like what you're doing." Thumper obliged and Two Strokes continued on. "Cory was holding my dick, and squeezing it ever so gently and rubbing that special spot just at the back under the head. I couldn't help myself so I blew what was, up until I met you, the biggest, and best load, I have ever blown!"

"That's meant as a compliment, I take it?" asked Thumper with a grin. "And speaking of loads, if we keep this up I am going to have a small accident!"

"No you are not," ordered Two Strokes. He pushed Thumper away and then sat up. He looked down at Thumper and grinned. "You're going to blow a load, but not the way you think!"

"Huh?"

"Thumper, let me finish, okay?"

Thumper nodded. "Okay. And when are you going to tell me just how I am going to blow a load?"

"When I am finished telling my story," returned Two Strokes. He pulled his legs up and grasped his knees. He stared into the early morning gloom and began to speak again. "Afterwards, I went into the showers . . ." His voice trailed into silence. He wondered if he should tell Thumper that he was beating off while thinking about . . . No, not too wise a move. "Anyway, I thought and thought about what had happened, what had happened on Texada and Harwood, and what I had just done to a hell of a nice guy, and I also thought about what I felt when these things had happened. That was when I took the first step on the road to my own personal discovery."

"Wow, you figured all that out because of a couple of butt rubs and a hand job?"

"Don't be silly," snapped Two Strokes, miffed at Thumper's cavalier tone. "I figured it out because I felt good things when I did it, not bad things as everybody seems to think I should have felt. I felt wonderful! I began to re-evaluate my whole way of thinking and I came to the conclusion that I liked being with another guy." He grinned wickedly. "Then I kissed Cory and I knew."

Thumper started upward. He stared at Two Strokes. "You kissed Cory?"

"Ah, did I ever," replied Two Strokes, a dreamy look in his eyes. "We were in the Gunroom. I was pissed off at Tyler because he'd all but thrown me out of the Gunroom earlier in the morning, I was angry because no one trusted me, and everybody thought that I was as big a bigot as Little Big Man!"

"You were," interjected Thumper. "Last year you made no bones about not liking the Twins simply because they were gay!"

"Last year I was a prick, which Cory pointed out rather bluntly. He also told me that I only tolerated him and Todd, and did not accept them. He was quite right, of course."

"Is that when you kissed him?"

"No. That came later. At the time, he blew his cork at me, and started to walk away from me. It was then that I realized that I was losing one of the best friends I could, or would, ever have. It was then that I realized what a complete asshole I had been. Later, in the Gunroom, we talked again. Cory was changing, and you know he never wears underpants . . ."

"So you saw his dick. Big deal. I've seen it a hundred times."

"This time it was different. I looked at this . . . this golden vision standing before me, this magnificent young man in all his glory and beauty, and I KNEW, Thumper, I knew! I wanted Cory. I wanted to hold him, to feel him, to taste him. God damn, God damn, did I want him."

"And did you get him?"

Two Strokes shook his head sadly. "No. I wanted to, as I said, but it was not the right time, or the right place. I pretended to kid him about him and me, and I managed not to get hard. I did kiss him, and the ends of our dicks touched and well, something went through me, something so damned strange and wonderful and that was when I knew." He cocked his head and looked at Thumper. "I'm not queer, I think. I'm bi, because I still want to be with a girl, or a woman, but I want to be with you more."

A long, low breath of air escaped Thumper's lips. His eyes seemed to cloud over, and then brightened. "Well, Roger, I suppose I should be as honest as you've been." He reached over and squeezed Two Strokes' shoulder. "You asked me not to pretend, so I won't."

"Go on," replied Two Strokes uneasily. He had a feeling that Thumper was about to put the kibosh on their relationship. He could not have been more wrong.

Thumper sensed his partner's unease, and hurried to reassure him. "Roger, I want to be with you, but you have to know, I think I'm as queer as the Twins. If that's a problem, maybe we should just call the whole thing off." He saw the look of utter surprise cross Two Strokes' face and continued on. "I've always had these feelings, feelings that made me look at other guys. As I grew older, I wanted to, you know, touch them, to see what their dicks and balls looked like. I would lie in bed at night, rubbing my little dick, and think about other boys." He laughed ruefully. "After I joined the Sea Cadets I had a lot of guys to think about!"

"Do you ever do anything about . . . about your feelings?" asked Two Strokes, frankly curious. He had never considered that Tom might be gay and seemed to know instinctively that in many ways his friend's young life had been a struggle.

Shaking his head, Thumper replied quietly. "I never touched another guy, and until that first time, when I was blown by some stranger, I'd never been touched by another guy." He shrugged phlegmatically. "I never really had the opportunity."

Thumper turned his head looked evenly at Two Strokes. "To be honest, I suppose I could have fooled around with someone. Unfortunately, and you asked me to be honest, I didn't need the ridicule and abuse I knew would follow. There were too many guys like . . ." He shut up abruptly.

Two Strokes was not a dense as people seemed to think he was. He knew exactly what Thumper was talking about. "Guys like me," he said sadly.

"Guys like you," confirmed Thumper. "I didn't want to be called names, or beaten up so I kept quiet and I lived in a world of fantasies. I would beat off thinking about guys. At first it was guys from school, the guys from the cadets, then guys here. I would picture them in bed with me, feeling my dick, rubbing my balls. Sometimes it was Cory and sometimes it was Todd." A snort of frustration followed. "God was I horny all the time! I beat off, and beat off, thinking about guys and I was so pissed off and jealous of you!"

"Me?" yelped Two Strokes. "I wasn't doing anything with anybody!"

"I know! You went off on that damned sailing trip and I was stuck back here. You spent two days with every guy I wanted to put the blocks to!" He grinned evilly. "And to tell the truth, I WOULD have reached around and given Cory a stroke while I was rubbing him!"

"Thumper!"

"Well I would have," returned Thumper with disarming honesty. "Hell, living with the Twins was so damned frustrating! Here were two of the three hottest guys I have ever met, flashing their parts all over the Gunroom, and all I could do was beat off thinking about them!"

Two Strokes gave Thumper a quizzical look. "Two of the three hottest guys? Who is the other guy?"

"Phantom," replied Thumper with simple honesty.

Two Strokes was about to retort that Thumper had about as much chance of making it with Phantom as a snowball had in Hell, and then thought better of it. "Well, I have to admit, he is pretty nice. He's no competition to Harry, but he is nice, and well . . ."

"He's also straight," replied Thumper. "But you saw him, naked, you saw all of him, and I never will. All I'll ever know is from Nicholas' pictures!"

"Well at least you know what he looks like and don't have to fantasize!" rumbled Two Strokes sourly. "I guess you'll just have to settle for what you can get."

Thumper shook his head and reached down to squeeze the neat, curving head of Two Strokes' penis. "Don't be like that, Roger. I have settled for you!"

A shy grin formed on Two Strokes' lips. "You mean that?"

"Yes. I didn't drop on my knees and suck you off simply because I wanted to experience something new. I did it because more and more it was you I was fantasizing about." Thumper gave Two Strokes' penis a firm squeeze. "It's you I want."

Lifting his arms, Two Strokes enveloped Thumper and held him close. "I love you, Tom, and I'll never be able to thank you for what you've meant to me."

Before Thumper could even think of a reply, Two Strokes pulled away. "Where are my shorts," he demanded to know.

"Around your ankles," Thumper said, pointing.

Two Strokes looked down and saw that his underpants and shorts were gathered around his ankles. He leaned forward and began feeling in the pockets of his shorts. He held up a small tube and smiled.

Thumper swallowed. "Uh, Two Strokes, I know that two guys in love are supposed to . . . to fuck and all . . ."

Wordlessly Two Strokes unscrewed the cap from the tube of Vaseline and spread a large dollop of the lubricant on his fingertips. Then he reached down and slowly began rubbing the Vaseline along Thumper's soft penis.

Thumper shuddered with anticipation as he realized what Two Stokes was doing. His penis twitched and grew hard, harder than it had ever been before. "Roger," he breathed. "You want me to . . .?"

Chuckling, Two Strokes finished his ministrations and kicked his shorts and underpants away. He lay back and held out his arms. "Thumper, you might have been a virgin when you came in here. You ain't gonna be one when you leave!"

Calvin opened his eyes, blinked as the early morning sun brightened the far corner of the deep veranda that ran across the front of the house and stretched. It was very early on Friday morning, a fine, sun-drenched, and very pleasant morning. Wiggling, and trying to settle his rump into a comfortable position on the lumpy cushion of the swing glider, Calvin scratched and then shifted onto his back.

For several minutes Calvin fingered the tip of his morning woody, which was tenting his tighty-whiteys. He was frankly enjoying himself, lying there in the warm morning sun, fondling his erection, and thinking of Simon, when he suddenly realized where he was. He sat up abruptly, drew up his knees, hugged them, and sighed heavily. He was very unhappy. He missed Simon, of course. But he also missed waking up in his bunk back in AURORA. He missed listening to the other cadets as they grumbled and complained. He missed the noise of young boys waking in the morning, missed the laughter and confusion of barracks life. He missed the muted huffs and puffs and strangled squeals as boys did what boys did in the dark of night. He missed the sights and sounds that had so dominated his life for the two wonderful weeks.

Calvin supposed he should go up to his room. His parents would be up soon and his mother frowned on any of her sons parading through the house wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whiteys, except that Mikey wore boxers. Thinking of Mikey, Calvin frowned. He was not about to go back into the Lion's Den. Mikey was asleep up there and Mikey just might wake up and try to make up for lost time. That, Calvin growled mentally, was never going to happen again.

Looking around, Calvin decided to stay outside a little longer. He was well hidden from the street by the trees and tall hedges that lined the sidewalk at the front of the yard and his parents were still abed. They would not be up for at least an hour. He decided to wait until he could hear one of his parents stirring. Then and only then would he go into the house and return to his room. Mikey was a dipstick but he had enough sense not to start anything when their parents were around.

Calvin lay back, debating whether to take care of the little problem underneath the white cotton of his underpants, when he heard the crunching of gravel as a car pulled into the driveway from the street. He sat up quickly, his morning woody deflating and forgotten, and saw his oldest brother, Joseph, climb out of the battered old Jeep he drove when he was not driving a bus, or a staff car for the Base Transport Officer out at CFB Comox. Calvin jumped off the glider and smiled broadly as Joseph wearily climbed the wide steps that led to the house.

Joseph Hobbes was 25 years old, with a firm, muscular body, and dark brown hair. His brown eyes were framed by long, dark lashes, and sparkled with life. Joe had a ready smile and Calvin had more or less been in love with his older brother for almost forever. Calvin thought that his older brother was devastatingly handsome - much more so than Mikey - and had often wondered what Joe looked like without his clothes on.

Calvin had never seen his older brother naked, as Joe hadn't been around the house all that much to afford Calvin the opportunity to see what he had in his undies. Joe had been away for much of Calvin's young life, first as an undergrad at the University down in Victoria, studying for his degree in Economics and minoring in Forensic Accounting. After graduating Joe had, for some reason, take a job driving a bus with Base Transport out at CFB Comox, driving the buses that carried the cadets, and servicemen and women out to the airport, around Comox, and down to Victoria. Joe was also "On call", which meant he could be called out at any time of the day or night to drive. Most of the time Calvin had no idea where his older brother was. Joe had his own room and Calvin, who shared with Mikey, respected Joe's privacy. Calvin did know that for the last two months or so Joe had been down in Vancouver, filling in for a fellow driver who was away on leave.

Joe saw his younger brother sitting on the swing glider and waved. A broad smile replaced the weariness on his handsome face as he called out, "Hey sport!"

Calvin jumped up and scampered to his brother, leaping on him, wrapping his legs around Joseph's waist and his arms around Joseph's neck. "Gosh, I am so glad to see you, Josey," Calvin exclaimed happily, using his pet name for his brother. As a child, Calvin could never pronounce "Joseph". He gave Joe a kiss on the lips and hugged him close.

Joe laughed and patted Calvin's back. "If I'd known I'd get a reception like this I'd have come home earlier!" Still laughing he untangled his young brother and set him on the glider. Smiling, he said, "You're up awfully early, Sport." Then he pointed ever so lightly with his chin. "You know, Calvin, you might want to start thinking about wearing boxers."

"Why?" asked Calvin, confused. He looked down at his briefs covered waist. "I'm covered and no one can see me," he said in mild protest.

Joe laughed and gave Calvin a hug. "Calvin, you're growing up and definitely getting bigger." He tickled Calvin, who laughed merrily. "And that means, brother o' mine, that the fruit is getting just a little too big for the loom."

Calvin's face turned as red as his hair. Once again he regard his crotch. His morning woody had long since retreated into normalcy, so . . . His eyes widened as he gave his crotch a closer. "I am!" he crowed.

"You are," replied Joe, laughing at Calvin's obvious pleasure at discovering his new condition. "You keep growing like that and you'll be giving Mikey a run for his money!"

It was generally held in the family that Mikey was the most endowed of all the boys. "Gosh, Mikey is huge . . ." began Calvin. He lapsed into silence and a frown crossed his face.

Joe raised an eyebrow. Aha, he thought, trouble in La-La Land! He reached out and squeezed Calvin's thin shoulder. "Mikey been pestering you again?" he asked gently.

Calvin's mouth flopped open and his whole body blushed. "I . . . how do you . . . uh . . ." he stammered.

Leaning close Joe all but whispered, "Calvin, I've know for years that you and Mikey fool around. You guys will leave the bathroom door open!"

Calvin squirmed in embarrassment. While they slept in two separate bedrooms, the three brothers shared a bathroom. His eyes widened. Shit! If you left the connecting doors of the bathroom open you could hear just about everything that went on in the bedrooms.

Without preamble Calvin climbed onto Joe's lap, tears suddenly flowing down his face. "Please don't be mad at me, Josey," Calvin wailed.

The ancient glider squealed in protest as Joseph manoeuvred his young brother into a more comfortable position on his lap. "Dogs go mad, people become angry," Joe chided gently. He rubbed Calvin's back and made sympathetic noises, feeling Calvin's tears soaking the front of his shirt. "Did he hurt you?" he asked presently. "Did Mikey try to make you do something that you didn't want to do?"

Calvin pulled away. "Oh, no," he said through his tears and shaking his head. "He came home and he was drunk!" Calvin screwed his face into a mask of disgust. "He'd also, well, Josey, he'd been smoking pot!"

Joseph frowned. Mikey had fallen in with a bad crowd. Joseph was not amused at Mikey's conduct, but so long as he kept up his grades in school and didn't get into any trouble, he'd thought it best to keep his own counsel and let his father handle Mikey. "And he tried to fool around with you?"

Calvin nodded. "He climbed into my bed and tried to rub himself off against my bum." He saw the look of concern on Joe's face and continued hurriedly, "Of course, that's all he's ever done." This brought a new spate of tears. "He's never hurt me," he cried softly.

Joe hugged Calvin close. "Well then, something happened. It's not as if you haven't let him before," he said with quiet honesty.

Calvin sniffed loudly. "I know." He looked through tear stained eyes at Joseph. "I've let him do it for a long time, and he was always very nice about it. He even used to reach around and rub me through my undies." He could not help giggling. "It felt ever so good."

Joseph smiled inwardly. "Well, I knew something was going on between you two. I rather think I could have been spared the details. But . . ." he looked sternly at Calvin. "I'm not saying what you did was wrong. Lots of brothers do it. I am asking you, however, to explain to me why, if you've done it before, last night you ended up sleeping on this old glider? What did Mikey do?"

Calvin saw the flint in his brother's eyes. He took a deep breath. "Well, he was supposed to pick me up and bring me home from AURORA. When he didn't show up I hung around for a while and Phantom saw me. We went into the Mess Hall and I guess I was looking pretty down, so he gave me some lunch and we had a talk. Phantom says that I am my own man, and that I shouldn't let people take advantage of me. Phantom also says . . ."

"Who, or what, is 'Phantom'?" interrupted Joe.

"Why, Phantom is Phantom. His name is really Philip, but all the guys call him Phantom - I don't know why. He's Brendan Lascelles' brother. Phantom is the Chief Steward out at AURORA."

At the mention of Brendan Lascelles' name, Joseph cringed inwardly. "So, Phantom talked to you and told you to be your own man, etcetera. What brought that on?"

Calvin snuggled against his brother. "Joseph, have you ever been in love?"

Now was not the time to answer that particular question Joseph thought. "You're in love with Phantom?"

Calvin giggled. "No, well, yes, I guess I am. He's ever so nice and he has a bum almost as nice as yours!" he exclaimed before he thought about his words. "Ah, shit, I did it again!"

Laughing, Joe gave Calvin another hug. "It has been my experience that boys your age are prone to crushes on other boys. It happens." He rubbed the back of Calvin's head. "So, because you've fallen in love with Phantom, you didn't want to fool around with Mikey?"

Calvin wiggled a bit. "Well, no, not exactly."

Joe shook his head. Kids! "Well, what then, exactly!"

Calvin moved off of his brother's lap and curled into the corner of the glider. He was not at all sure if he should tell Josey about Simon, and if he did tell Josey, how his brother would react. He buried his face in his hands, weeping silently. Josey reached out and pulled Calvin's hands away from his face. "It's no sin to love another boy, Calvin, even if he is older than you."

"I do love another boy, Josey," murmured Calvin. "It's not Phantom."

Joe's eyebrows rose, registering his surprise. Calvin was so young. How could a boy as young as Calvin know what love was? Then Joe thought back to when he was 14 . . . "Someone you met in AURORA? Someone in town?"

Shaking, Calvin alternately shook and nodded his head. He began relating the whole sordid story of his relationship with Robbie Jensen, and the wonderful story of his relationship with Simon. "I love him, Josey, and if you hate me, well, I guess I'll have to live with it!" he finished defiantly. His tear-rimmed eyes bore into Josey. "I love Simon Keppel with all my heart. We made love, Josey. We made love!"

Josey sat back, staring at Calvin. Obviously Calvin knew exactly he how he felt. He took a deep breath. "Well then, Calvin, you are your own man, after all. What are you going to do about it?"

Calvin looked at his brother, his eyes wide with surprise. He had not expected such . . . calmness. "You're not mad . . . I mean, angry . . . with me?"

Joseph shook his head. "Nope. I am angry with you for letting Robbie Jensen use you the way he did." Again he looked sternly at his little brother. "That relationship is over."

Calvin knew the tone of Joseph's words. It was an order, not a request, or a question. "I will never go near him again." He made a horrible face. "I don't even like him!"

"Good. And Mikey?"

"Mikey can use his hand!" returned Calvin with a sniff of disdain. "I'm going to start sleeping in your room when you're away!"

"And Simon?"

Once again Calvin broke into tears. "I'll never see him again!" he wailed piteously. "He lives so far away! Mikey won't drive me down to Vancouver, and Mom won't let me go on my own! She still thinks I'm her little baby boy!" His body shook with his sobbing. "I don't know what to do!"

Joseph reached out and gently rubbed the tears away from Calvin's flushed cheeks. "First, you are going to stop crying."

Calvin nodded and rubbed the tears away with the back of his hand.

"Next, you're going to come with me." Joseph stood up and gestured toward the house. "Come on."

Wondering what Joseph was up to Calvin followed Joseph through the house and into the back garden. "What are we going to do out here?" he asked.

Joe began undoing his shirt. "Well, I want a swim and I thought that you'd like to join me." He gestured toward the pool. "Looks inviting, doesn't it?"

Calvin's eyes grew wide. "But Josey, we don't have our bathing suits!"

Joseph laughed and tossed aside his shirt. "Who said anything about bathing suits?" he asked as he unbuckled his belt. He pushed down his trousers and undershorts. As he stepped out of his clothing he heard Calvin gasp. "What?" he asked.

"Wow, Josey!" Calvin managed as he stared at Joseph's naked body. His eyes bore into the thick, rosy-creamy penis that hung between Joe's legs. Involuntarily Calvin licked his lips as his eyes scanned across the arrowhead shaped glans of Joe's circumcised penis, and his low hanging, egg-shaped testicles. "You're beautiful!"

Joe laughed and gestured for Calvin to shuck his briefs. "It runs in the family, now come on!" He was about to dive into the pool when he turned and looked back at Calvin. "And don't get any ideas. I'm not Mikey!"

Laughing, Calvin pushed down his underpants and ran towards the pool. He leaped into the clear blue water and when he surfaced he found Joseph treading water beside him. "You're safe, Josey," he exclaimed. "But I do wish, sometimes, that you were like Mikey!"

"Calvin!" exclaimed Joe as he ducked his young brother under the water.

"Calvin!"

They swam, roughhousing and ducking each other until they could smell the odour of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the house. Disappointed, they swam and sat at the edge of the pool. "I guess Mom is up," said Calvin.

"No, it'd be Dad. He always makes the coffee."

Calvin nodded. "Thanks, Josey." He reached over and hugged his brother close. "Thanks for listening to me, and thanks for just being my brother."

Joseph returned the hug. "Before we cover up so we don't shock the neighbours, I want to say something to you."

"What?" asked Calvin as he pulled away. He cringed. "You're not going to tell Mom or Dad, are you? You're not going to beat up Mikey, are you?"

Joseph chuckled. "Rest yourself, Calvin. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Then, what?"

Joseph wondered just how much he could tell Calvin. Enough, he thought, to make the boy very happy. "I haven't told Mom and Dad, but I'm moving to Vancouver."

"You are?" exclaimed Calvin. "When? Can I have your room?"

Joseph laughed heartily at Calvin's altruism. "Soon. I have to clear up a few things and then I'm off. I have a new job, you see. And yes, you can have my room."

"Are you going to be driving a bus?"

Joseph shook his head. "No. I've taken a position with a new financial house. It's in Vancouver, so I've rented an apartment there. It's right downtown and I was thinking that a certain little brother might, just might, like to come and visit with me when I get settled." He saw the look of delight on Calvin's face. "And I also thought that the certain little brother might want to have a sleepover with a special friend from time to time!"

"Oh, Josey, I do love you!" growled Calvin as he leaped on his brother. "Do you mean it? Really, I can come and stay with you, and Simon can come and visit me?"

"Of course," replied Joseph. "Of course, it won't be for two or three weeks, as I have to get settled and I really must buy some furniture. But yes, you better come and see me."

"Oh, I will, I will," exclaimed Calvin.

"Good, that's settled then," replied Joseph. "Now, let's put on some pants. We don't want to shock dear old Dad."

Laughing, they pulled on their underpants and walked toward the house. Joseph looked down at Calvin, hoping with all his heart that the boy would find, as he had not, his true love. Sighing, he thought briefly of what had happened in the past few days and . . . "Calvin, there is one more thing," he said suddenly.

"Yes, Josey?"

"You asked me if I have ever been in love. Well, I was, once."

"You were?"

"Yes, Calvin, I was. I was very happy for a little while and my wish for you is that you will always know the happiness I felt." He reached out and ruffled his brother's hair. As he did so the morning light caught the massive, oval cut ruby set in the gold and enamel ring on his right hand. The ring glowed with a special fire as Joseph said, "And I will do everything I can to help you find that happiness." As I could not find it, he finished silently.