Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.
This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.
As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature, or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.
This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.
I would like to take this opportunity to wish all my American readers a very happy and joyous 4th of July.
In light of the recent Supreme Court decision regarding the sodomy laws I suggest now, on this most wonderful of holidays, that my American readers think on. It is time to come to the defence of our brothers and sisters in the US Military. Remember, as Abraham Lincoln once said, "To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men."
I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please e-mail me at paradegi@rogers.com
The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 10
Grumbling, and with great reluctance, The Phantom crawled off the bed, showered, and dressed in his uniform, donning blue bell-bottoms and a white gunshirt. While The Gunner showered, The Phantom took the opportunity to admire himself in the full-length mirror that hung on the door of the closet in the bedroom.
Looking over his shoulder he frankly admired his reflection. He had to admit that there was nothing like a sailor suit to set off a guy's body. The dark serge trousers showed off his ass a treat, and were just tight enough to give him a nice, compact basket even though he was wearing boxer underwear.
When The Gunner entered the bedroom he looked at his young lover and chuckled. Phantom was a well-built, handsome boy, for all his protesting that he was no better than average. The Phantom noticed The Gunner looking at him and turned, smiling. The Gunner returned the smile. "I can see that I am going to have to keep an eye on you, Phantom."
The Phantom giggled. "Looking good, huh?"
"Looking very good. So good I almost wish that there was another flight I could take." He began dressing, putting on his green summer shirt, then his uniform trousers.
"It must be a drag, having to travel in uniform," remarked The Phantom as The Gunner sat on their bed and began putting on his shoes.
"When the flight is free you put up with little inconveniences," replied The Gunner. He finished tying the laces of his shoes and stood up. "Now, do I have everything?"
The Phantom looked around. "Shirts? Underwear?"
"Yes, and to spare. Where's my suit bag, oh, there it is." He took the bag from the closet and zipped it up, the plastic of the bag hiding the naval blazer and grey trousers. He did not own a suit. "Well, that's it, I guess." His eyes fell on the framed photograph that stood on the bedside table. He reached out, picked it up the picture of The Phantom and looked fondly at his lover. He smiled and held up the picture. "Almost forgot the most important thing."
They left the apartment and began the short drive to the Comox Aerodrome, The Phantom driving. As they passed through the downtown area of Comox The Phantom told The Gunner about Jeff and Robbie, wondering aloud why Jeff would allow his little brother to so dominate him.
"Sexual and emotional blackmail," replied The Gunner without hesitation. He had seen it all before. "Jeff wants to have sex with his brother. To get it, he does exactly what Robbie wants him to do. Robbie enjoys having sex, with Jeff. What he enjoys more is the power he has over his brother. It is not an unique situation."
They stopped at a red light and while they waited for it to change The Phantom drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. "Robbie is a little bastard. I feel sorry for Jeff," he said presently.
The Gunner reached out and put his hand over The Phantom's, stopping the annoying sound of drumming fingers. "As do I. He has been sleeping with Robbie for a long time, I think, longer than you know. He's gotten himself into an untenable situation. He can't get out, and he knows it."
The Phantom nodded his agreement. "If anybody finds out about him and Robbie their Dad will kill Jeff. He hates gays. As for the town . . ."
"They'll run him out of town on a rail." The Gunner sighed as they pulled away. "He'll also, I think, end up in jail. The law frowns on 18-year olds having sex with 12-year olds. The really sad thing is that Jeff will never get out from under Robbie's thumb. Even long after their relationship ends Robbie will still have the upper hand."
"No statute of limitations on sex crimes," replied The Phantom sadly. "Jeff is going to UBC in September but that isn't going to change anything, is it?"
"Not really, no," replied The Gunner. "What I don't think Jeff quite realizes is that for the rest of his life Robbie will be able to blackmail him. Jeff will pay one way or the other because if he doesn't all Robbie has to do is to tell the cops that when he was 12 his older brother molested him."
"God, what a way to live!" groaned The Phantom.
"Not at all pleasant," agreed The Gunner. "Jeff's secret life, even if it all ends when he goes off to the university, will haunt him forever. Remember, no matter how or why it all started, Jeff is vulnerable. And Robbie knows it."
They pulled up to the main gate of CFB Comox. The Gunner flashed his ID card at the Commissionaire on duty, who waved them on through.
"But Robbie loves the sex!" protested The Phantom. "Hell, he's so horny he even tried to put the moves on me! Twice! He flashed his pecker at me!"
The Gunner laughed quietly as they pulled up to the Base Departures Lounge, a long, low, wooden, multi-windowed building over-towered by the Aerodrome Control Tower. "You've seen 'peckers' before," he chuckled. "And Robbie will not, I think, be the last guy to put the moves on you." They got out of the Land Rover. The Gunner walked to the back of the vehicle and took out his luggage. "What you have to understand is that while Robbie loves the sex, he adores the power he holds over Jeff."
"So Jeff lets Robbie walk all over him," said The Phantom as they entered the building.
"With big boots and spurs!"
The Departures Lounge was a long, low-ceilinged room lined with plastic, garishly coloured, cushioned benches down each side. At the far end an elderly air conditioner grumbled and groaned, fighting a losing battle against the oppressive heat that had turned the room into a sauna. At intervals down the centre of the lounge were low wooden tables on which sat round, brown glass ashtrays overflowing with ashes and dead cigarette ends. The place smelled of sweat and cigarettes. Near the Check In counter the only other person in the lounge - a grizzled Warrant Officer in sweat-stained combats - dozed noisily.
After checking in and receiving his boarding pass The Gunner motioned for The Phantom to follow him outside. They stood quietly together, bare inches separating their bodies. The Gunner would have liked to have taken his young lover into his arms but did not dare. He wanted to say goodbye properly, but that was not possible.
The Phantom sensed The Gunner's mood. "I wish I could go with you," he said presently.
The Gunner grinned slowly. "It could have been arranged, Phantom. But then, you would not have liked it at all."
"Why not. I would be with you."
"Well, yes, during the day. But at night you'd have to sleep alone."
The Phantom looked stunned. "No way!" he exploded.
"I'm afraid so. The Rule of the Order is very specific." The Gunner felt for his cigarettes. "Would you care for one?" he asked, offering the pack to The Phantom.
"No I would not!" snapped The Phantom angrily. "What 'Rule' are you talking about?" He pushed his flat cap to the back of his head. "And just when were you planning to stop beating about the bush and tell me about this 'Order'?"
"I wasn't planning to tell you anything. Somebody else will."
The Phantom raised his arms and eyes heavenward. "Come on, damn it." He lowered his arms and looked at The Gunner. "Or is this Order of yours so secret that I can't know anything about it?"
The Gunner calmly took a drag on his cigarette. "We prefer 'discreet' rather than 'secret'. It's not so secret since it has been a thorn in the side of the Roman Church since 1105."
"1105? And what got the Church all pissed off at you? Not that I give a shit about the Roman Catholic Church!"
"The Order was founded in Acre, in 1105, by three knights who were part of the First Crusade, one French, two English. They were what is euphemistically called travelling companions."
"They were gay, you mean."
The Gunner laughed. "Yes, or whatever the 12th Century expression for homosexual men was. Anyway, after the city of Acre fell to the Crusaders the knights found a small chapel dedicated to Saint John, the youngest Apostle. Built into the altar of the chapel was a battered old metal box in which was a piece of wood . . ."
"Don't tell me, they found a piece of the True Cross," sneered The Phantom. As a confirmed Protestant he did not hold with worshiping bits and pieces of wood and stone and flesh.
"Okay, I won't." agreed The Gunner equably.
"That's it?" asked The Phantom, surprised at The Gunner's calmness.
"Unless you are terribly interested in the fact that Pope Adrian IV, the College of Cardinals, the Sacred Congregation for the Veneration of Relics and the Emperor Frederick of Hohenstauffen all believed that the piece of wood was from the True Cross."
"You're serious, aren't you?" The Phantom could not believe that a man of The Gunner's intelligence could believe such a thing. He snorted contemptuously. A piece of the True Cross!
The Gunner sighed and dropped his cigarette to the ground. "I do not question your right to doubt, Phantom," he said with quiet formality. "Could you please not question my right to believe?" He now realized that in his deep desire to have Phantom share this part of his life that he had forgotten that many men and, as in Phantom's case, boys, would find some of the Order's beliefs difficult to believe. He also realized that he had made a mistake. Phantom was not ready to be received into the Order. At last he understood why Pages were sacrosanct and why no Proposer ever spoke to his Candidate about the Order.
Pages, young men of 16 years and eight months old, or older, could not be influenced in any way. Just as every society protected its young, the Order rigidly protected its Pages. It did not matter that Knight and Page were deeply in love. No page could be coerced or seduced into a sexual relationship. It did not matter that Knight and candidate were already in a relationship. The moment a candidate was accepted as a Page, that relationship ended. There were some within the Order who thought this restriction onerous and outdated. That the age restrictions had been in force for almost 700 years was, for them, immaterial.
These men, usually with young, special candidates in mind, argued that there was a need to give special consideration to an extraordinarily worthy candidate. Pointedly, the Order had never wavered, and never waived the Rule. The young men who were invited to join the Order would do so of their own volition. They were given the opportunity to look, listen, and learn, so that when the time came they would make their decision based not on sex, or undue influence, but on the merits of the Order.
Because of the restriction The Gunner had thought of proposing Phantom next year, when he turned 18 years and three months, the minimum age at which he could be accepted as a Candidate Knight. Then a Proctor, a man trained in answering all doubts, would visit Phantom and, hopefully he would understand what he was being offered. And the importance of what he was being offered.
The Gunner was not all that surprised at The Phantom's reaction. Bigotry resided in almost everybody. He would have been surprised if Phantom had no bigotry in him. Many people claimed to be free of bigotry. Truth be told, very few actually were, and all of them candidates for the sainthood this boy disdained.
The Phantom realized that he had insulted and hurt his best friend and lover. The Gunner's words sunk in and The Phantom reached out to hold him.
The Gunner quickly raised his hand. "No, Phantom, not here."
"I . . . I didn't mean it, Gunner," The Phantom began.
"Sadly, you did." The Gunner lit another cigarette, a sure sign of nervousness that The Phantom would come to know well in the years ahead. "I wanted you to understand a little of the importance I place on what I do when I am not being a sailor. I now realize that I was a bit premature."
"Gunner, please, I am sorry," pleaded The Phantom. "It's just that my mouth sometimes runs away from my brain and I say things I shouldn't." The Phantom's regret was palpable.
The Gunner sighed heavily and said, "Phantom, I am not angry at you for believing what you believe. I am sad that you chose to use ridicule and sarcasm to express it. I quite understand that the whole concept of relics and the veneration of them is foreign to you. I was raised in the Catholic Church, and while I have no use for the Church, I do have a fundamental belief in God. I never said that I held with the notion that relics are holy things, to be venerated and there are many, I'm sure, who think that what some call a piece of the True Cross is just an old block of wood that came out of somebody's wood shed. Maybe it did, but I am not going to question the fact of the matter because the point is, Phantom, there are people who do believe and that, my boy, is all that counts."
The boy stood silently, his hands at his side, a stricken look on his face. He did not know what to say or how to respond to The Gunner's words. "I'm sorry, Gunner, please believe me," he whispered.
"I know you are," replied The Gunner. He tossed his cigarette away. He reached out and put his hands on The Phantom's shoulders. "Phantom, you are sorry that you hurt me, and ridiculed my beliefs. I understand that and I am not going to make a big deal out of it. You couldn't have known what I think or feel about certain things because we don't know each other that well. So far, to be honest, our relationship has been based on powerhouse sex . . ."
"No, it hasn't!" interrupted The Phantom firmly. "I love you for you! For the way you are, the way you act. I love you for being a man!" He pulled away and quite deliberately kicked the front right tyre of the Rover. "I am such a fucking asshole!"
The Gunner waited, smiling slightly, until The Phantom's tyre-kicking tantrum passed. "Feel better?" he asked when The Phantom cooled down.
"No! I think I broke my fucking toe!" whined The Phantom as he grimaced theatrically.
"I doubt that. Those are safety boots. They have built in metal toes." "Yeah, well it hurts! And I am still an asshole," returned The Phantom, his grimace turning to a scowl.
The Gunner shook his head and chuckled. "Okay, yes, you are an asshole."
The Phantom wanted to run and hug his lover. "Gunner, please say that you forgive me," he pleaded. "Please don't leave me like this."
"Phantom, there is nothing to forgive. If I could take you in my arms and show you just how much I forgive you, I would"
"I shouldn't have said what I said, damn it!" The Phantom was terribly embarrassed and very angry with himself for hurting his lover.
"No, you should not have, but I can either resent it and walk away, or I can understand why you said it. You notice I haven't walked away."
The Phantom smiled. "I love you, Gunner. I never meant to hurt you. It's just that, well, shit, fuck and damn!" He punched his thigh.
"Phantom, Phantom, Phantom," soothed The Gunner. "Stop beating yourself like that. You are liable to do yourself an injury. I told you that I understand why you did what you did. I do! No one has ever taught you differently."
"That's no excuse!" insisted The Phantom self-righteously.
"It is if you learn from it," replied The Gunner kindly.
"Ah, hell, Gunner, don't get all forgiving and preachy on me!"
"I never preach. I instruct." He gave The Phantom's shoulder a slight punch. "All I want you to do is to stop and think about the feelings and beliefs of others and to respect those beliefs. You don't hate Sandro because of his Jewish beliefs, do you?"
"Of course not!" replied The Phantom, shocked that The Gunner would think such a thing of him. "Sandro is my friend. I love him. If he wanted it, I'd give him my right nut."
"A drastic course of action, and I hope not one that you will be asked to take," replied The Gunner with a dry grin.
"You know what I mean. I would die for all those guys."
"Would you say that if Sandro decided to wear a yarmulke all the time. Or wear his tallith, his prayer shawl, under his clothes?"
"Yes," whispered The Phantom. He was beginning to understand what The Gunner was getting at.
"Ray, if he was strictly observing the teachings of his church, would shower alone, and he'd be wearing his swimming trunks or underpants, because exposing himself to others is a sin. Would you still die for him, knowing what his religion teaches?"
"Yes."
"Phantom, I love you more than life. You know that. I want, one day, for us to be together. I want that because you are you. With all your very human faults, I love you."
"Even if I'm a bigoted asshole?" asked The Phantom. He leaned against the Rover and shook his head.
"You're not, really. You just haven't had an opportunity to learn that each person is different, with different beliefs. You also haven't learned that one of the easiest ways to get a man pissed off at you is to mock his religion. People have been known to wake up dead for doing so."
The Phantom pulled himself erect and looked pleadingly at The Gunner, smiling thinly. "I don't want to wake up dead! I also don't want to hurt people!"
"Then try putting your mouth in neutral and your brain in gear!" replied The Gunner coldly. "Try thinking about what you're saying, Phantom!"
"Gunner, I . . ."
The Gunner did not believe in sugar coating of any kind. He could, when he wanted to, be blunt and very much to the point. "Phantom, I know I'm being hard on you. I love you and because I love you I will do whatever it takes to make you better than me!" He held up his hand, stifling any reply. "I don't want you to be me, or to be like me. I want you to be better than me."
"Can't I just be me?" asked The Phantom. He moved as close as he dared to The Gunner. "I hurt you, I know that. I am sorry, truly sorry."
"Phantom, stop apologizing for something you couldn't help. You've learned a lesson and the next time you'll think twice about saying something that might be hurtful to the other fellow, and by all means, be yourself, just be you. But be a better you."
The Phantom straightened his cap and looked at The Gunner. "You sure know how to whack a guy between the eyes to get his attention." He grinned. "I can be a really stupid mule when I think about it . . . Or don't think!"
The Gunner returned the grin. "You will never be a mule, Phantom; a high-spirited, long-legged thoroughbred colt, maybe. Never a mule." He gestured toward the Rover. "You better get along now. Don't you have things to do?"
"Yeah. I have to pick up the laundry, deliver it, and talk to Tyler." He fumbled in his pockets for the car keys. "I love you, Gunner. Always and forever."
The Gunner reached out and ran his fingers along The Phantom's lips. "And I shall always love you, my Phantom," he whispered.
After leaving the aerodrome The Phantom drove into town to the laundry to pick up the washing he had left earlier in the day. The laundry stayed open until 11 during the tourist season and the place was packed, with every washer and dryer in use. Neither of the sisters was present. In their place was a young man, tall, muscular, with a shock of black curly hair that hung over his broad forehead. The sisters never worked at night, but because of the volume of trade (after all, everybody sooner or later needed clean clothes, even tourists), they hired a night manager during July and August, usually, like their cats, a stray of one brand or another.
The Phantom had a passing acquaintance with the young man, who had been a year ahead of him in school. He lived in one of the trailer parks on the edge of town, and all The Phantom knew about him was his name, Logan Hartsfield, that he had a tattoo of a Spanish Galleon, a very well executed piece of artwork that stretched from his right shoulder to mid-chest, and that he was the only white boy in school who had not been circumcised, which had given rise to his nick name of "Indian Dick". He had a reputation of fighting and drinking and was considered not someone to fuck around with.
After greeting Logan, The Phantom pulled the Land Rover around to the back of the laundry, loaded the bags of freshly washed and folded clothing, paid the bill, and left. Ten minutes after leaving the laundry The Phantom stopped beside the Guardhouse to greet Two Strokes and No "H", who were sitting by the doorway, shooting the shit and not doing much of anything. Both were dressed in shorts and issue T-shirts and except for their caps there was nothing military about them.
"I thought we didn't go into relaxed dress until Saturday," said The Phantom, leaning out of the car.
"Some of us don't have our own personal laundry man," complained Two Strokes. He reached into his shorts and made a slight adjustment. "Some of us have clean underwear and don't have to worry about the head of their dicks being rubbed raw by these fucking shorts!"
"He's in a good mood," said The Phantom to No "H".
"No, he's not," returned No "H". "He's been like a bear with a sore dick all night."
"Because I have a sore dick!" Two Strokes stood up and looked into the back of the Land Rover. "Must be nice, for some!"
"It is," replied The Phantom. "But hey, cheer up, you can always get Cory to put some Vaseline on it. I hear he doesn't mind playing doctor to your dick."
No "H" cackled loudly. "Knock it off, you two," he ordered mildly. He regarded
The Phantom. "Cory's medical expertise when it comes to Roger's dick aside, and apropos of nothing, Tyler was around a little while ago asking if you'd come back."
Two Strokes gave the officer a sour look and returned to his seat. He took off his cap and began to fan himself. The Phantom grinned at Two Strokes then nodded. "I have to run by the Gunroom so I'll see him there. Is Chef still around?"
No "H" shrugged. "Must be, I haven't seen him go past. Have you, Chief?"
Two Strokes shook his head. "Haven't seen him. Most of the other riffraff are long gone," he finished, in obvious reference to the officers.
No "H" glared at Two Strokes. "Have some respect for your superiors, whelp!"
At the word "respect" The Phantom cringed, recalling to mind the hurt look on The Gunner's face. "I'll just pull over to the galley, then," he said.
When he entered the galley The Phantom saw Kevin sitting at the galley table, staring at the closed door to Chef's office and glumly nursing a cold soda.
"Where is everybody?" asked The Phantom as he looked around.
Kevin nodded toward the closed door of Chef's office. "Ray's in there with Chef. I sure hope Chef's not talking about what I think he's talking about."
The Phantom paused to consider Kevin's words. With a look of understanding and a tone of kindness he replied softly, "He is."
"How would you . . ." Kevin's shoulders slumped with the light of realization.
Phantom was Ray's secret love and would know everything, well, not everything, but enough. Instinctively, Kevin knew that he could trust his newfound friend. Phantom would never betray Ray, and would keep whatever he knew to himself. But Chef! Kevin paled. Chef was a sly old man, and Ray was his pet and if Ray told, what would Chef say? What would Chef do? "Ah, shit!" he muttered.
The Phantom saw the look of fear that came over Kevin's firm-jawed, handsome face. He sensed that Kevin, like all boys, would rather not have an adult, particularly a large, Chief Cook, know his business. What Kevin could not know was the depth of Chef's affection for Ray, or that he had nothing to fear from Chef. He smiled and placed a calming hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Hey, man, there is nothing to worry about. Chef just wants to make sure that Ray is okay and that you aren't fucking him around."
"I'm not, Phantom, so help me, I'm not," said Kevin earnestly.
"I know, Kevin," replied The Phantom just as earnestly. "It's just that Chef is very protective of Ray. He has adopted Ray as his son and, well, he's just being an overprotective father."
Kevin laughed humourlessly. "He doesn't have to worry. As far as Ray is concerned I'm just his fuck buddy." He sighed sadly. "He likes me, but he doesn't love me." He stood up and gestured toward the door leading to the roadway. "If you like, I'll give you a hand."
"You're more than just a fuck buddy to Ray," said The Phantom as he drove the scant 50 yards or so to the Cooks Barracks.
"No, I am what he says I am," replied Kevin as he got out of car. "He told me that he doesn't love me." He walked to the rear of the vehicle and opened the wide hatch. "He's in love with someone else." He reached in and hauled out two kit bags. "Joey and Randy's," he explained, indicating the nametags.
The Phantom reached in and hauled two more bags out. "Sandro's and Ray's." He hoisted the two bags to his shoulders and continued, "Ray must have some feelings for you, after all, last night you guys . . ."
Without answering Kevin pushed open the door and entered the barracks. The oblong compartment seemed neater than usual and quieter.
The Phantom looked around and saw that nobody had very much on. Four or five of the boys were wearing nothing but their jockeys; two cadets were sitting at the mess table, towels tied loosely around their waists.
Joey and Randy, bare-chested, wearing their issue shorts, were lying on their bunks. They waved half-heartedly at The Phantom and Kevin and reluctantly got off their bunks when The Phantom told them that while he didn't mind delivering their duds he would be damned if he would unpack for them.
"It's too hot to move," whined Joey as he opened his kit bag.
"It's too hot to do anything," echoed Randy.
"Not too hot to clean this dump," replied The Phantom. "What happened, the cleaning elves come in?"
"I wish!" moaned Joey. "The Master at Arms and the Chief Gunner came in and raised holy hell. Chief Benbow said that we weren't fit to live with pigs!"
"And Chief Orsini said that no self-respecting pig would want to live with us," offered Randy.
"So we cleaned up," finished Joey. He rummaged through his kit bag and pulled out some clean underpants. "Thank goodness." He waved the white briefs at The Phantom. "I needed these bad. The ones I have on are sweated through."
"And hummy," offered Randy.
Joey gave him a dirty look. "You should talk, you ain't exactly the sweetest smelling thing on the block!"
The Phantom grinned as he threw Ray's laundry on his bunk. He looked at Kevin. "Isn't that cute? Their first fight," he cracked.
Kevin chuckled and reached out and ruffled Randy's gold-flecked red hair. "One of the nice things about having a fight," he said as he bent down close to Randy's ear, "is the fun you have making up!" He paused for effect. "Unless you think it's too hot to make up."
"It's not that hot!" yelped Randy.
After delivering the cooks' laundry The Phantom drove down to the Gunners Barracks. As Kevin was about to get out of the Land Rover The Phantom pulled him back. "Kevin, you're good for Ray. You're good to him, and he needs somebody like you."
Kevin looked at The Phantom and nodded slowly. There was a look in The Phantom's eyes and a softness in his voice that bespoke his true feelings for Ray. "I think that Ray feels about you the way I feel about him," he said with quiet conviction. The uneasy look on The Phantom's face confirmed Kevin's suspicions.
"I care for Ray, Kevin," admitted The Phantom. "But not enough to sleep with him, or to . . . you know . . ." The Phantom cleared his throat and looked at Kevin, who obviously knew the lay of the land. "Ray and I have, let's just say we have played around. When he was with you last night, he was a virgin. My guess is that you were as well." Kevin nodded. "Kevin, you and Ray exchanged the most important gift a guy can give to another guy. It was important that you give him that gift, not me. You care for him in a way that I cannot. I love him, yes, but I can't sleep with him or make love to him."
"Because you are in love with another guy?" asked Kevin, although he already knew the answer.
"I'm in love with someone I expect to spend the rest of my life with," replied The Phantom, admitting as much of his relationship with The Gunner as he was going to. He recalled The Gunner's words of caution and while he was fully committed to The Gunner, now was not the time to proclaim his love. No one other than The Gunner and himself needed to know about their love and Kevin could fill in the blanks. "Ray can't understand that," he finished.
"I don't know if he does, or he doesn't," replied Kevin. "All I know is that he's not interested in what he calls a long distance relationship. He doesn't want me to be in love with him. The trouble is, Phantom, I am already."
"Then do something about it to make him change his mind." The Phantom squeezed Kevin's thigh. "Love him, Kevin, make him understand the way you truly feel about him."
Kevin smiled. "I'll never make him forget you, Phantom. He told me that all you'll ever have to do is whistle, and he'll come running."
"That's not going to happen, Kevin," replied The Phantom with as much emphasis as he could muster. "I don't want to hurt him, but it's not going to happen." He opened the door and motioned for Kevin to get out of the Land Rover. "You have a week, Kevin. Seven days. You can accept those seven days, be with him, make love to him, enjoy him, accept him, and then go home to Hamilton and remember Ray, and what he means to you, for the rest of your life."
"Or?" asked Kevin as he got out of the car.
The Phantom leaned on the hood of the car and looked evenly at Kevin. "Do you have any money?"
Kevin looked quizzically at The Phantom. "Money? Yeah, a couple of hundred in the bank back home. Why?"
"Kevin, if you love Ray, and want him to be a part of your life, then fight for him. Before you leave here get his home address. On Labour Day weekend buy a bus ticket to Ottawa and check into the "Y. Then ring him up and say, 'Hi! I'm here at the 'Y'. Wanna fuck?'"
"Phantom! I could never say that to him! He'd shit a brick!"
The Phantom smiled. "Okay, then, how about asking him to come over for a roll in the hay?" The look on Kevin's face told The Phantom that this wasn't going to work, either. "Well, words to that effect," he advised, "Just so long as you get him over to your room." He walked to the rear of the car and opened the hatch, made a face at the huge pile of kit bags and began hauling them out of the car. Kevin hurriedly joined The Phantom. Within a few minutes all but two of the kit bags were piled beside the barracks door. "Kevin, like I said, you've got a week," continued The Phantom has he hefted a heavy bag to his shoulder. "How you convince him that you're serious is up to you. I'll work on him as well."
"You will?"
The Phantom nodded. "I'm like Chef. I want Ray to be happy." He flashed Kevin a lascivious grin. "And from what he told me, apparently last night you made him very happy!"
Kevin blushed deeply and almost dropped the kit bag he was holding. "It was pretty good at that," he admitted.
"It was better than that, Kevin, and Ray knows it. The sex between you is great, he likes you and, at least for the time being, he wants to be with you. That's three points in your favour."
"I don't know, Phantom . . ." began Kevin.
"Kevin, either you convince Ray that what you two have is good and right or you wait until Ray is finished his meeting with Chef and then tell him that you've thought things over and decided that it would be best to just end your relationship."
"I do not want to end it!" replied Kevin. He pulled open the barracks door. "I want it to go on."
"Then when Ray comes out of Chef's office you'd better be waiting for him."
"Then what do I do?" asked Kevin.
"Pounce!"
Barracks 8, which housed most of the Gunnery Branch, was empty except for Brian, who was lying on his bunk, wearing only his white boxer underwear, with his hands behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. He stirred slightly when The Phantom and Kevin entered the barracks. "Which bunk is Killian's?" The Phantom asked Kevin as he dropped the bag he was carrying onto the deck.
"Half way down, upper bunk. It's the only one not made up," said Brian listlessly before Kevin could reply. "It's also got a pair of dirty shitniks hanging from it," he added.
The Phantom nodded his thanks and walked down the barracks to Killian's bunk. Kevin, who lived in the barracks, had no trouble finding Chad's bunk.
"Say, Brian, where is everybody?" Kevin asked as he tossed Chad's bag of clean laundry onto the bunk.
"The Canteen Mangler brought in some window air conditioning units. Everybody's over there, I guess." Brian struggled upright. "What are you guy's doing?"
"Delivering laundry," explained The Phantom as he wondered what Brian was doing here in the barracks without Dylan. "Want to lend a hand?"
"Sure." Brian pulled himself from his bunk and slipped on a pair of Nikes.
Together the three teens quickly moved the pile of kit bags and stowed them on the proper bunks. When they were finished The Phantom offered to drive both boys over to the canteen. He had to pass right by the place on his way to the Gunroom where he would drop off the last two bags, Cory's and Todd's laundry.
Both Kevin and Brian begged off. Kevin wanted to be there when Ray finally emerged from Chef's office. Brian did not want to go to the canteen because he knew Dylan would be there, though neither of the other two boys knew that.
Kevin hurried away and The Phantom was about to get into the Land Rover when Brian called his name. The Phantom looked over and saw Brian slumped against the barracks. "Are you all right?" The Phantom asked, concerned. Brian did not look at all well. Despite having spent the day on the ranges, in the hot sun, he had a pasty-faced look.
Brian straightened and smiled weakly. "I just need someone to talk to. It's okay if you have something else to do." The Phantom walked over to the stoop and sat down, shoulders hunched.
"I have some time," replied The Phantom. He remembered the times that he and Brian had been together. He also remembered that except for Ray, Brian had been the only other boy who had responded openly to his nightly visits. In a way The Phantom felt responsible for Brian. He sat down beside the boy and waited for him to speak.
Brian, forgetting that he was only wearing boxer shorts, rubbed his thighs, fumbling for pockets that did not exist. "Shit," he swore. "I left my cigarettes inside."
"Go get them. I'll wait."
Brian shook his head. "Nah, the fuckers will kill me." He looked at The Phantom fondly. "You haven't come around lately," he said softly.
The Phantom had convinced himself that no one, other than Ray and the Twins, knew the identity of the midnight visitor and he was not about to admit anything now. "I don't understand."
Brian smiled and looked at The Phantom. "Yeah, you do. Don't worry, though, I'm not going to tell anybody about you."
"How did . . ."
"How did I know that it was you, Phantom?" Brian shrugged and stared ahead, looking across the empty parade square. "The way you walk, the way you carry yourself. I watched you as you left the barracks. I watched you as you walked around the Mess Hall. Mostly, though, it was your voice."
"My voice?" whispered The Phantom. Brian was obviously a lot smarter than anybody gave him credit for.
"Your voice," confirmed Brian. "We spoke, remember?"
The Phantom thought a moment, and then remembered the night that Brian had asked him to visit Dylan. He nodded slowly.
"I remember everything, Phantom," continued Brian. "The first time, I talked dirty at you and you didn't like it. You grabbed my balls and squeezed. Fuck man, did you squeeze."
The Phantom snorted but made no reply. He had hated being relegated to the level of a street slut.
Brian went on, remembering. "You made up for it on your second visit." He ducked his head looked sheepishly at The Phantom. "You know something? You're the only guy who's ever made me cum twice in one session."
The Phantom, wondering what this trip down memory lane was leading up to, decided to let Brian know that there would be no more visits. "I remember you, Brian." The Phantom smiled at the pleasant memory. "But you have to know, I won't be coming back to see you. At least not in the middle of the night."
Brian sat upright. "I just need to talk about . . . There's nobody I can talk to Phantom," he said slowly. "Nobody who understands what it's like, to be . . ."
"You have Dylan, can't you talk to him?"
"I don't have him!" snarled Brian, his anger barely under control. "He's scared shitless that somebody will find out about us."
The Phantom was a little surprised at Brian's anger, and at Dylan's fear of discovery. "No one knows about you two. At least I don't think they do."
"Tell that to Dylan!" snapped Brian. "After that exhibition in the Mess Hall last night Dylan thinks Little Big Man's lurking under his bed just waiting to catch us doing something."
Now The Phantom understood. He sighed heavily. Another relationship finished, two more lives ruined. Dear God, would it never end? "Brian, you have nothing to fear from that prick. Neither has Dylan. Little Big Man doesn't know."
Brian snorted in derision. "That's cold comfort, Phantom. Let's be honest, if it isn't Little Big Man, it will be someone else. It goes with being queer."
The Phantom stiffened. "Please don't use that term, Brian," he said coldly.
Brian paled. He remembered what had happened the last time he'd said something that The Phantom did not like. Instinctively he reached down and cupped his genitals. "Jeez, Phantom, I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just that I'm so fucking pissed off, at Dylan, at Little Big Man, at everything, I can't hardly think straight." He released himself and reached for The Phantom's hand. "Please, don't freeze me, Phantom."
Because he liked Brian, and because he had overreacted, again, damn it, The Phantom allowed the intimacy. "Brian, I am not going to freeze you. I should apologise to you. You couldn't have known that I don't like it when that term is used." He squeezed Brian's hand. "Have you tried talking to Dylan?"
"It wouldn't matter if I did," replied Brian morosely. "He's not only afraid of getting caught here, but also at home. It's bad there, Phantom."
"It's bad everywhere."
"True, but in North Bay, everybody works in the mines or for the railroad. You have to walk around pretending that you've got brass balls. You have to be a huntin' and fishin' guy. You brag about the size of your dick and the number of girls you boff! You go hunting with daddy and your brothers. You go ice fishing." He laughed cynically. "The first time I ever had sex with a guy was in a bunk in an ice fishing hut. My old man and my uncle got drunk and passed out so my cousin and me made out. I was 13 and I loved it." Brian stood up and looked down at his scantily clad body. "I better get back."
"Brian, wait." The Phantom stood beside Brian. He resisted the urge to take this boy in his arms and hold him close. "Brian, I wish I could tell you that everything will work out for you and Dylan," he began slowly. "I can't. Like you said, being gay and being afraid are one in the same thing. It goes with the territory."
Brian nodded his quiet acceptance. What Phantom was saying was all too true. There would always be fear and loathing, there would always be Little Big Men. "In a way, I suppose I should be thankful that Dylan made his move now. At least now I know that I couldn't have depended on him."
"Not everyone is a frail reed, Brian. Some guys will stand up on their hind legs and tell the world to go and fuck itself."
"I suppose so. I just wish it could be Dylan."
The Phantom made a small face and shook his head. "Brian, if it's over, it's over. Move on. Okay, Dylan let you down. That happens, unfortunately. But, you're not alone. You have friends."
"Are you one of them?" asked Brian.
"Yes. I am your friend, Brian. And there are others. You may not know it, but there are others."
Brian smiled and gave The Phantom an affectionate glance. "You're a nice guy, Phantom. Thanks for listening to me."
"That's what friends are for, Brian. Any time you want to talk, I'll listen, because sometimes it's enough just to talk to a friend."
Brian nodded and turned to enter the barracks. He stopped and turned. "Can I call you, after I get home? Maybe write you?"
"Sure. I'll give you my home phone number and address tomorrow."
"Thanks." Brian opened the door to the barracks. "I was going to ask you to come in and spend a little time, you know . . ." He grinned at The Phantom. "But, you know what? I changed my mind."
"How so?"
"It's better to have a friend than a fuck buddy. A fuck buddy I can find on any street corner in North Bay. Friends are harder to come by."
The Phantom wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the Chiefs Mess. God, what a stink! The mingled odours of sweat, teenage musk, soiled linen and dirty clothing was unpleasant to say the least. "Jesus, this place reeks," exploded The Phantom loudly. He was about to sit on the only chair in the cabin but hesitated to clear it of the sweat stained and distinctly odourous combats that were draped over it. "You guys planning to clean anytime this year?"
"For a guest you're awfully lippy," returned Val. He was lying on his unmade bunk, dressed only in a pair of tartan boxers, leafing through a skin magazine that he had confiscated from Fred.
The Phantom was about to remind Val that he had spent part of his day declaring that the cooks weren't fit to live with pigs, and that he was hardly one to talk when his living space wasn't fit for a goat, let alone pigs, when Tyler stuck in his oar.
"Leave him alone, you Sicilian ox," growled Tyler. He was sitting on his bunk, his back against the bulkhead, his legs spread. His right hand was holding open the front of his jockeys. In his left hand he held a can of talcum powder. As the Phantom watched, Tyler vigorously shook the talcum into his underwear.
Val looked unconcerned at Tyler's jibe. "Better to be a Sicilian ox than a Sicilian sheep. From all the hooting and hollering from the Twins this morning I hear you are a real baaad boy when it comes to sheep."
The Phantom giggled and sat on the edge of Tyler's bed. "Heat rash?" he asked, nodding his head towards Tyler's crotch.
Tyler glared at Val and then put aside the can of talcum. He reached inside his briefs and rubbed contentedly. "Yeah. The insides of my legs are raw. Fucking combats!"
"Don't blame the combats," returned Val. "I told you to wear boxers, but would you listen? Oh, no, not Tyler. Fucking Big Man On Campus knows everything. I personally have no sympathy for you," he finished with a disdainful sniff.
"Don't you have somewhere to go?" asked Tyler pointedly as he swung his legs over the side of his bunk. "Maybe for a walk on the jetty and forget that it ends?"
The Phantom shook his head at their antics. "I can come back, if you guys want to have a domestic."
"Domestic?" spat Val. "I ain't married to him, though he acts like it sometimes. He's just pissed off that he has no clean clothes and a heat rash, which was his own fault in the first place! Want a drink?"
"No, I'm driving. Thanks anyway."
"Well I sure could use one," said Tyler. He stood up and walked to the double locker, bent over and pulled open the bottom drawer.
The Phantom sighed inwardly and his dick jerked slightly. Tyler sure had a nice ass. He quickly dismissed Tyler's ass from his mind. "I hear you were looking for me, Tyler."
Tyler nodded as he lifted the bottle of rye to the light. He gave Val another dirty look.
"Don't look at me like that, Tyler," said Val snappishly. The heat was getting to him. "I don't drink that shit!" He reached for the alarm clock that stood on the window ledge. "Almost that time." Unabashedly Val pushed down his boxers, kicked them aside and reached into the pile of dirty laundry mounded on the deck at the foot of his bed. He bent over, his legs spread slightly, his balls hanging full and loose. "Have you got a clean towel, Tyler," he asked as he straightened and, turning, giving The Phantom a frontal view of his body. "And have you seen my Gunner's Whistle?"
"No and no," replied Tyler as he hunted for the least dirty glass in the cabin. He ignored his naked roommate.
The Phantom tried to be as unobtrusive as possible as he checked out the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor. Everything about Val, from his haircut to his penis was neat, trim, and very good to look at.
Val shrugged and picked up the slightly soiled towel that was hanging from the end of his bunk. He searched noisily in his locker and found his Gunner's Whistle, all the while giving The Phantom a fine display of his dick, balls, and ass. The Phantom squirmed slightly, groaning inwardly at such a sight! There was only one word for Val: beautiful, and The Phantom felt the old urges stirring his penis.
Finally, Val was ready, and none too soon as far at The Phantom was concerned. "Well, "I'm off then to make sure that the little darlings scrub themselves into a semblance of cleanliness," said Val with a resigned air as he draped his towel over his shoulders. "I just hope they leave some water."
"You can always use the galley showers, Val. We have plenty of hot water," offered The Phantom.
"Say, that's . . ." replied Val, his face brightening at the thought of not having to shower with 40 gunners.
"Thank you, Phantom, but no," interjected Tyler sharply. He looked at Val. "If the troops stink, we stink. When the troops shower, we shower." He returned to his bunk and sat down, wincing as the tight elastic leg bands of his underwear rubbed against the raw skin of his crotch.
It was Val's turn to give dirty looks. Showering once a day, at 2130, and only for three minutes, was a major pain in the ass. You barely had enough water to wash the surface grime and stink away. But, Tyler was right, so he said nothing. He nodded and left the cabin.
"Any news on the water front?" asked The Phantom as he sat on Val's bunk. "There were some techies from Base Maintenance over this morning and they were talking about opening the old cisterns."
Tyler shook his head. "They're filled with something like 40 years of stagnant water. Water rationing is the name of the game for the next while." He waved toward the pile of dirty clothing at the foot of Val's bed. "At least we have the laundry problem solved. Tomorrow it all gets shifted over to the base laundry. We'll all have clean clothes by Monday noon."
"Just in time for your dinner."
Tyler laughed and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Phantom, do you know what Chef has planned?"
The Phantom chuckled. "Yes!" He rolled his eyes. We talked about it. I get to supply the wine, and how I am ever going to explain to my Dad what happened to his booze I do not know. Chef also wants sherry, and port, and champagne!"
"He wants me to give a speech!" returned Tyler. "I've never given a speech in my life!"
While Tyler spoke The Phantom could not keep his eyes off the Master at Arms' crotch. The tight cotton cloth seemed to flow over Tyler's wonderfully shaped genitals. He remembered the times he had come into this cabin and what he had done. His penis twitched in response to the memories.
"The way Chef is carrying on you'd think the Queen was dining with us," Tyler continued, not quite oblivious of where Phantom was looking. Phantom was not bad looking, and he was with the Twins a lot . . . I wonder if . . .
"Speaking of which." The Phantom willed his growing erection to subside and concentrated on the upcoming dinner. "Just how many are you planning for?"
Without thinking Tyler reached into his briefs and rubbed his talc-dusted penis. "We have 24 Chiefs and Petty Officers. I'd also like Andy to come, and maybe The Gunner." He withdrew his hand from his underwear and rubbed it on the sheets, resisting the urge to sniff his own scent.
The Phantom made a mental calculation. "Chef plans on making The Gunner the Wine Steward. That's what, 25? Chef will never allow you to have an odd number to sit down at table. He thinks its bad luck."
"Fuck!"
"Yeah, fuck!" The Phantom laughed and rolled his eyes. "The way Chef was carrying on earlier I almost thought he was going to make the stewards wear white satin britches and powdered wigs!"
Tyler looked at The Phantom and grinned. "Now that would be a sight!" He laid his head back against the bulkhead. "Chef has even got a band!"
"A band? Where in the hell did he get a band?"
"That brass quartet that's going to play at the reception next week? Chef convinced Number One and Harry that it would be good practice for them to play at a formal dinner. I don't think that the horn blowers were too happy when they heard about it.
"Chef will take care of them. They'll get a good meal out of it."
Tyler nodded, turned and rummaged under his pillow. He pulled out a tattered book and tossed it to The Phantom.
"What's this?" asked The Phantom as he rifled the pages of the old book.
"Navy protocol," explained Tyler. "The Gunner gave it to me. As Chief Steward you might want to take a butchers at it."
"I hope this dinner goes okay, Tyler. I'd hate to let you down," said The Phantom earnestly. He liked the Master at Arms, and seeing him spread out on his bed like he was brought back some rather pleasant memories.
"Your stewards seem to be shaping up. Matt put them through their paces tonight, seeing as how you weren't around."
"I had to drive The Gunner to the airport," replied The Phantom. "And pick up the laundry I took into town this morning."
"I heard," replied Tyler blandly. "Too bad you couldn't have taken everybody's laundry into town."
"Tyler, I . . ."
Tyler waved away The Phantom's protest. "I meant no rebuke, Phantom. I prefer the cooks and stewards not to have flies around them when they're cooking or serving."
"Oh, well, I thought you were a little pissed off."
"Not at all. To be honest I'm a little envious. You're doing what you should be doing." Tyler swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked at The Phantom. "You looked after the troops under your command." He grinned. "You obeyed the 17th Law of the Navy."
"The what?"
"It's a poem, by some guy named Hopgood. It's patterned after Kipling's The Laws of The Jungle."
The Phantom groaned loudly and flopped onto Val's pillow. He very quickly flopped up again. God, did Val need a change of linen! "Jesus, Tyler, not more Kipling!"
Tyler laughed. "It's not Kipling. It's the Laws of the Navy. Number Seventeen goes like this: 'Dost deem that thy vessel needs gilding, and the Dockyard forbear to supply? Place thy hand in thy pocket and gild her, there be those that have risen thereby.'"
The Phantom smiled shyly. "I knew that they all needed clean clothes. Poor Kevin went and put all his stuff into one wash and dyed everything he owned pink! I really didn't do anything all that special."
Tyler would have none of it. "Phantom, you did it because it needed to be done. That's all you cared about. The cooks and stewards needed clean clothes, so you made it possible for them to have clean clothes. And I do not think for a minute that you're even going to mention the money it had to have cost you."
"Well, I wasn't actually," admitted The Phantom.
"Phantom, are you still going to UVic as an Untidy?"
"Yeah, I hope so. Why?"
Tyler thought a moment and pretended to be crunching numbers into an adding machine. "Let's see. This is August 1976. In September 1977, if you don't bomb out, or get court-martialled for running the flagship aground, malfeasance, misfeasance, or waving your dick at a Wren, or something equally appalling, you'll be a Naval Cadet."
The Phantom snickered. God help the matelot who waved his dick at a Wren! "Yeah, so?"
More finger waving. "Midshipman by, oh, mid-1978, a Subbie, if you get in all your sea training and don't hit anything, in late 1979 or early 1980." He nodded his head approvingly. "Yup, 1981. You'll be a Lieutenant."
"And?"
Tyler placed his hand over his heart. "Why then, Lieutenant-Commander Edward Tyler Stephen Benbow, VC, VD and Scar, will petition the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty for a trusty, housetrained Lieutenant to assist him in deeds of derring-do!"
"We don't have an Admiralty, let alone Lords Commissioners, and what makes you think that you're going to be a Lieutenant-Commander? And where pray tell did the VC come from? I can well believe the VD and Scar, because . . ." The implication of Tyler's words had finally sunk in. The Phantom coloured and squirmed with embarrassment. "Tyler, are you saying that you'd sail with me?"
"Took you long enough to figure it out." Tyler chuckled loudly. "I will sail with you, Phantom, but only if you'll shut up once in a while. Jeez, you sure can ruin a Kodak moment!"
Grinning from ear to ear at Tyler's very real compliment, The Phantom walked into the Gunroom which, while neat and clean, smelled slightly of unwashed teenagers and dirty laundry. He looked around and saw that all but three of the bunks were empty. Todd and Matt were sprawled on what The Phantom knew to be Cory's bunk. Both were wearing only their underwear, Todd in plain white boxers and Matt in tighty-whiteys. They were playing a not very serious game of chess. Todd's bunk was empty. In the bunk beside Todd's was a curled up lump of somebody. The Phantom remembered that this was where Greg slept. Lying flat out on the bunk beside Greg's was Harry. He was dressed only in ubiquitous white briefs and from the large mound in his underpants it was obvious that the Pride had put to sea. Equally obvious was the rosy-pink curve of flesh peeking above the waistband of the briefs. Harry was sound asleep and deep in an erotic dream. As The Phantom watched, Harry's hips rose ever so slightly above the counterpaned mattress. He moaned softly and smiled.
"Jesus, I hope I'm long gone when that thing fires a broadside!" The Phantom said to no one in particular.
"Stick around until Two Strokes goes to bed. Then you'll see them do a re-enactment of The Battle of Jutland," Cory replied grumpily.
For the first time The Phantom noticed that Cory was seated at the mess table. He was hunched over the lookstick that would be one of the prizes given out next Wednesday. Over his head he had draped and tied a large towel. The Phantom looked at Cory's draped body, and then he looked at Todd. "You guys planning a fancy dress party or does he always dress up like the Sheikh of Comox at night?"
"You mean Abou ben Littledick?" asked Todd. He shook his head. "He's just protecting his masterpiece from his sweat." He moved a rook. "Check, Matt."
Matt giggled and moved his queen. "Check mate!"
"Fuck me!" exclaimed Todd. "Where did that come from?"
Cory's towelled figure shook with laughter. "And the little children shall beat them! And Todd . . ."
"What!" asked Todd as he gathered up the chessmen and glared at Matt, who glared back.
"I have a headache so I won't be joining you on the stoop tonight."
Todd sniffed. "So I'll sit and look at the stars with Matt!"
"Don't bet on it!" returned Matt. He'd heard about the Twin's nightly ritual.
"Unless of course you promise that your hand won't find it's way down the front of my Jockeys." The thought of replacing Cory on the stoop sent a shiver of excitement down Matt's spine. It would never happen, so he maintained the fiction of disinterest.
"It might if there were anything there to find!" sneered Todd. He grinned at The Phantom. "What brings you here, Phantom? Not that I'm not glad to see you."
The Phantom saw the hurt look that crossed Matt's face at Todd's gibe. He felt sorry for Matt, but there was nothing he could do. Matt and Todd would have to find their own way, in their own time. "I brought your laundry," he said, pretending to ignore Matt's look. "And what's up with Greg?" The Phantom nodded his head toward the lump of bedclothes.
"Paranoia," replied Cory as he carefully moved away from the mess table. When he was far enough away he pulled off the towel. His head was a mass of sweat-stained hair, which appeared considerably darker. He pointed to his masterpiece of fancy rope work. The original leather-covered bottom half of the telescope had been hidden by a layer of dark blue parachute cord, which in turn had been overlaid with a green and white trellis of garlanded gun line. Carefully spaced around the trellis were miniature, intricate, red and white roses highlighted in gold leaf and accented with small, minute leaves.
"Holy Jesus, Cory!" gasped The Phantom quietly.
Matt and Todd stood up and looked at the work of art. Matt swallowed and his eyes bulged at the beauty sitting on the table. "I hope whoever gets that thing is smart enough put it under glass," said Matt.
"Cory, that's the best you've ever done," said Todd, his voice filled with admiration.
Cory waved away the kudos of the other boys, protesting that it was only some fancy rope work - tied knots in thin line - tarted up with gold leaf and modellers' paints. Todd knew simply by listening and looking at his brother that Cory was secretly very proud of what he had just accomplished. "And the last, I think," concluded Cory as covered the telescope with a clean towel.
The Phantom and Matt exchanged looks. They both knew that Cory was a relatively modest young man, and they wondered what had brought this on. Strangely, Todd said nothing. What Todd did do was tap Matt on the shoulder and moved toward the doorway. "Come on, Matt, put your pants on. Let's get the laundry in."
"Yours is on your bunk, Matt," said The Phantom, wondering what was up with the Twins. "And thanks for working with the other stewards tonight.
"Thanks, Phantom, and you're welcome." replied Matt as he pulled on his shorts.
"They're going to be okay." He turned and grinned at Todd. "Say, Todd, how about we nip over to the canteen first and get some cold Cokes."
"Sounds like a plan," said Todd, beaming at Matt. "I'll even let you buy." He draped his arm around Matt's shoulder and led the mildly protesting boy out of the Gunroom. The Phantom sat on Cory's bunk, waiting while he carefully packed away the decorated telescope.
When Cory was finished he sat beside The Phantom and jerked his head toward Greg's bunk. "He's withdrawn into a shell, Phantom. He's convinced himself that within the next two weeks the MPs are going to come pounding on his door and arrest him for child molestation."
"They can't," replied The Phantom. God Damn! Another frightened boy unable to deal with the demon of fear. "He didn't molest Stephen Tyler."
"Try telling him that!" Cory lay back against the bulkhead. He turned and gave The Phantom a sad smile. "He's afraid, Phantom. I can't blame him. Nobody will ever understand what went on between him and Stephen Tyler." Cory sighed heavily, moved off the bunk and walked to Harry's bunk. He reached down and flicked the end of Harry's erection. Harry howled and sat up, arms swinging. Just in time Cory stepped back.
"What the hell did you do that for?" snarled Harry. He looked down and saw his penis staring back at him. He muttered an oath and rolled onto his stomach.
"Get up, Harry. It's time to shower," replied Cory a matter-of-factly.
Harry buried his face in his pillow and grumbled quietly. So much for that wet dream! He rolled out of his bunk and gathered up his last clean towel. "I prefer to shower in the morning," he muttered as he passed Cory's bunk.
"Well you can't." Cory returned to sit beside The Phantom. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. For several long minutes he stared at Greg's bunk. "Todd and me, we talked things over this afternoon," he said slowly and carefully. "When we get home, we're both turning in our kits."
"You're quitting the Sea Cadets? Is that what you meant when you said the lookstick you just finished would be your last?" The Phantom was devastated. As far as he was concerned Cory and Todd were the Sea Cadets.
"It's best for all concerned," replied Cory. He gave The Phantom's shoulder a squeeze. "It's not that we are afraid. Hell, Little Big Man is small potatoes compared to some of the jerks we've run up against."
"Then why?" demanded The Phantom hotly. "You haven't done anything with anybody!"
Cory smiled wanly. "Come on, let's go sit outside." He cocked his head at Greg's hidden form. The Phantom immediately understood and followed Cory to the stoop.
They sat quietly and then Cory spoke again. "Phantom, if it was just Todd and me, we would say fuck it and let Little Big Man do his worst. You're right, partly, about us not having done all that much with anybody." "There was me, and Chris," said The Phantom. "And Nathan."
"How did you know about Chris?" asked Cory, a look of complete surprise on his face.
The Phantom coloured slightly. "I saw the way he looked at you, how he acted around you and Todd. Later, it was pretty obvious that you and Todd and him had been together."
"Phantom, you must never, ever say anything."
"I won't," promised The Phantom. "Just as I won't say anything about him and Jon."
"You sure don't miss much, do you?" asked Cory.
"No," replied The Phantom without emotion. "Which is neither here nor there. Why are you leaving the Cadets?"
Cory took a deep breath. "Phantom, so far as anybody else is concerned it's because we'll be going into our last year of high school. We'll have so damned much work piled on us that we just won't have the time."
"And the real reason?"
"There are other people involved, Phantom. People who are so very important to us and we have to consider them. If it was just Todd and me, well, we would get through it." He shook his head. "But it's also our parents."
The Phantom thought a moment. He tried to put himself in the Twins' position. Their father's career as a Supreme Court Justice would not be helped if his sons were exposed in the newspapers as homosexual.
"Mummy and Papa have always stood by us, no matter what, and they would again," Cory continued on, a resigned look on his face. "They accept that Todd and I are gay, and they love us. But Phantom, we can't put them through any kind of scandal."
The Phantom nodded. "Your Dad's career?"
"That's partially it. Old Pierre Trudeau would be some chuffed if one of his appointments to The Supreme Court had two sons who were as gay as ducks. Or if they were involved in some huge scandal involving Sea Cadets." His shoulders sagged. "There is also our mother. I couldn't bear to think of one of her friends snubbing her because of what I am." He straightened and nodded to the two small figures in the distance. Todd and Matt were returning from the canteen. "My only regret is that Todd will never be Chief of our Corps. He would have been a good Chief."
"Ah, shit, Cory, don't . . ."
Cory stood up and squared his shoulders. "It's decided, Phantom." He looked lovingly at his friend. "That's the way of it, sometimes."
The Phantom did not stay long in the Gunroom. He finished the Coke that Todd insisted he drink and left. As he drove along the roadway leading away from AURORA he saw that a number of cadets were spreading blankets and pillows on the ground outside their barracks, preferring the relative coolness outside the barracks to the oppressive heat inside. As he drove past the Barracks 2 he saw Nicholas and Andre, bedding and pillows under their arms, preparing to spend the night alfresco. Both cadets waved and called. The Phantom returned their wave and drove past the Mess Hall, which seemed deserted, although he did notice that the shades in the windows of Chef's office had been drawn. He decided not to drop by and drove on home.
Once home The Phantom went immediately to the pool. He stripped off and dove into the cool, dark waters, swimming length after length until the anger and frustration he felt ebbed away. Finally, approaching exhaustion, he left the pool and sank wearily onto one of the deck lounges. He scooped up the towel he hadn't bothered to put into the laundry earlier, and draped it over his midsection. Far into the night he stared into the deep waters of the pool, thinking.
So many lives affected! Brian, for all his bravado, a frightened, angry little boy, the Twins, his sweet, blond-haired idols, his lovers, his friends, his golden knights, driven by an all too real concern for their parents from the Sea Cadets, their dreams and hopes shattered. Matty, innocent yet worldly, falling deeply in love with Todd, yet destined never to know love, to feel love, to have love, never to know the glorious union of two boys, living his life under the Sword of Damocles that was his brother, and Greg, reduced to cowering under his covers, too frightened to leave the imagined haven of his bunk.
The Phantom's mind reeled with other names and faces, other boys who could be destroyed. He recalled Jeff's fear-haunted eyes and knew that all of them, all of his friends, the boys he had visited in the night, all of them were equally vulnerable. How many sleepless nights lay ahead for all of them if Little Big Man's diabolical letters and fabrications exploded, a hate-filled bombshell, in their faces?
Suddenly The Phantom began to weep silently, the Gunner's stricken face sharply etched in his mind. "God, how he'd been hurt when I mocked him. I didn't know, I didn't know!" The tears flowed more freely now. "Oh, my Gunner, forgive me! I didn't know! I didn't know!"
Finally, sleep overtook him and he fell into a restless, dream-filled slumber.