Boys of Aurora

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

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of 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 will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please e-mail me at my home address: paradegi@rogers.com

My thanks, as always, to Peter, whose editing skills are what make the story better.

The Boys of Aurora: Chapter 13

After leaving AURORA The Phantom drove directly home. Once there he stripped, had a shower, and then went out to the pool where he swam lap after lap, stopping only when it began to rain. Not bothering to dress The Phantom went into the living room and sat in the overstuffed chair his father always called 'his' chair, and thought about what he planned on doing and about what Ray had told him.

Ray's words had both pleased and disturbed The Phantom. He had no doubt that Ray, when and if he found out what would be done tomorrow night, would stand by and support him in every way.

Chef had spoken of walking darker paths. The Phantom was about to place his foot on the darkest path of all and he was prepared, and determined, to continue down the path, just as he was also prepared to face whatever obstacles barred the path. He needed no reminder from the Twins to realize that sneaking into the Petty Officers Mess and seducing Little Big Man was entering difficult and dangerous territory. The Phantom was fully persuaded that it was the only way to force Paul Greene into an inexorable position that would ensure his silence. The Phantom's only fear was that if his plan failed how the boys would react. Ray loved him, as did Joey and Randy. But for all their love, would the boys who had been with him on the sailing trip, the boys he worked with, the boys who had befriended him, understand why he had to seduce Little Big Man?

Would they really understand?

Harry lay smiling contentedly on the floor of the Unwinding Room, the worn blue carpet cushioning his butt, his head resting against one of the cushions that had been, somehow, knocked from the settee above. Beside him lay the Twins, Cory cradled on his right, Todd on his left. As Cory caressed Harry's right nipple, Todd caressed Harry's left. Their heads rested on Harry's broad shoulders. Cory's right leg, crooked, rested atop Harry's right leg, Todd's left leg, crooked, rested atop Harry's left leg. Their penises, warm and soft, were draped casually across his thighs. Harry's broad right hand cupped Cory's firm, melon-shaped butt while his left hand stroked Todd's firm and comely bum cheek. All three boys exuded a roseate aura as they basked in the afterglow of what had been a night that dreams were made of. Tonight had been the culmination of their desires. Harry, for the first time, now knew the joy of sex with boys his own age.

For the Twins, their whispered confidences of curiosity about Harry had been proven true. He was indeed a gentle, considerate, wonderful, giant of a lover.

There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and a flash of lightning briefly lit the room. "I wonder what time it is," murmured Harry.

"Who cares?" returned Cory. His hand drifted downward and enveloped Harry's soft penis. At almost the same time Todd's hand moved and encompassed Harry's large, oval testicles.

Harry whimpered and squirmed as Cory's finger found his ultra-sensitive, crisply curving glans. "Oh, Jesus, no," groaned Harry loudly as the jolt of exquisite electricity coursed through him. His penis jerked and his balls twitched in response to Cory's touch. Reluctantly Harry left each Twin's butt cheek and pushed himself forward. Cory and Todd protested at Harry's dislodging them. Harry very quickly shut them up by kissing each in turn; warm, deep kisses. "As much as I hate to break up the party, we really have to go," said Harry as he left Todd's still-willing lips.

The Twins responded by pulling him back and hugging him as tightly as possible. "It was a hell of a party," giggled Cory. "I don't think I can walk."

Todd glared at his brother, then kissed Harry's cheek. "It was wonderful, Harry. Thank you."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, it's me that should be doing the thanking." He gave the Twins a hug. "I never knew until tonight how wonderful making love to another guy, and him making love to me, could be."

"No regrets?" asked Cory.

"No regrets," confirmed Harry. "Before, when I was with Stefan, we just did little boy stuff. When I was with Greg, it was still little boy stuff."

"And now?" asked Todd as he pulled away from Harry.

Harry grinned. "Now, well, let's just say that I have never been happier. Now I know what it's like to be really loved and to love. I now know how to express my love physically."

"You're very good, Harry, the best I've ever been with," said Cory as he extricated himself from Harry's arms. He smiled at his brother and Todd heard the unspoken words: except Todd.

"You shouldn't lie, Cory," returned Harry gently. "You feel the same way about Todd as I feel about Stefan. You might fight like furies but no one will ever be able to replace Todd in your life."

Cory could feel himself blushing while Todd was equally embarrassed and squirmed slightly. "Aw, Harry," muttered Cory.

"Don't argue, 'cause it's true, you lucky dog!" replied Harry firmly. "Now where are my shorts?" He sat on the settee and reached out his arms. The Twins responded, stood, and waited as he kissed each boy's smooth, golden stomach in turn, then nibbled gently at the warm, pink heads of their penises. "Thank you for showing me how to love, and for making love to me." He looked up and gazed into their eyes. "Thank you for making love to me, and thank you for not having just sex with me."

The Twins pulled away and sorted out the clothing that littered the deck. "It was always going to be more than just sex, Harry," replied Todd as he pulled on his shorts. "We never lied to you. We always wanted to be with you and we always wanted to make love to you."

Harry chuckled as the fabric of his briefs crossed his still sensitive glans. "You love me enough to do it again?" he asked as he slipped into his shorts.

"Dear God, we've created a sex fiend!" Cory laughed as he pulled on his shorts and searched for his T-shirt. "We'll never get rid of him now!"

"Aw, come on, you know what I mean," protested Harry. "I have never felt this way about anybody before."

Todd looked thoughtful. "And Stefan?" he asked quietly.

Harry returned Todd's thoughtful look. "I still love him. I always will. But there is not going to be anything between him and me for at least five years."

"Five years? He'll be, what, eighteen then?" asked Cory.

Harry nodded. "We talked, like I told you we did. We agreed, that when he's eighteen, I'd go wherever he is. If he still feels the same way about me, we'll make love."

"And in the mean time?" asked Cory. He deliberately did not ask Harry what would happen if Stefan did not feel the same way as he did now.

"In the mean time I'll wait." Harry began moving toward the door. "I'm not going looking for guys to sleep with."

"There will be temptations, Harry," offered Todd. "There will be guys who will want to put the moves on you."

Harry shrugged and switched off the lamp. "For the next five years The Pride puts to sea only for people I care about. I care about you and Cory," he said firmly. "As for the others, well, the Pride will be in dry dock."

"I admire your determination, Harry, but let's be reasonable about this. You are one hell of a good looking guy," said Cory as they stood in the lobby and peered into the rain swept darkness. He coughed delicately. "There is also Greg."

Harry stared straight ahead. "Greg is no longer a consideration."

The Twins recognized the icy tone that brooked no reply. Greg's total collapse had hurt Harry and so far as he was concerned Greg was no longer worth his effort.

They stood, watching the rain, until finally Harry sighed heavily. "We better get going. I have no idea what time it is and all we need is for the Band to show up and find us."

"The Band? What band?" asked Todd.

"The assembled drum beaters, horn blowers, cymbal bangers and flute tooters collectively known as the Band," replied Harry impatiently. "We have a practice this morning, and tomorrow morning, and every fucking morning!"

"Oh, we didn't know that," said Todd. "We better hit the road then."

"We'll get wet! It's pouring out there!" whined Cory.

"So? You ain't sugar, you won't melt," replied Todd, his voice totally lacking in sympathy.

"We'll have to walk," continued Cory. "It's not like we can call a cab!"

"Walking will do us good," returned Harry, a smile turning the corner of his lips. "We can all shower at the same time because, guys, we all stink and to be honest, you two give new meaning to the phrase 'fill 'er up!'."

Todd pulled open the door and stepped into the rain. "Jesus, Harry, that was crude."

Harry laughed. "That's me, crude and rude but speaking the truth." He held out his hand unnecessarily. "Say, this ain't bad. It's not too cold at all." As they skirted the edge of the Mess Hall and hurried down the path leading to the Drill Shed Harry had an idea. "You know, this is a Godsend. We all need a shower and the good Lord has provided!"

"We all had a shower," grumbled Cory. "Remember, we all stood in a big room and water came out for three minutes. Then that rat ass Val blew his fucking whistle and we all got out."

"True," agreed Harry. "However, first of all I didn't get clean. How anybody can be expected to get really clean in three minutes escapes me. Second of all, in case you've forgotten, we have been pretty strenuously engaged in Fleet exercises." Harry grinned at each Twin in turn. "And third of all I think we should show Val just how much we appreciate him and his whistle."

"Is he thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Cory as he grinned at Todd.

Todd snickered evilly. "He are, he are indeed!"

Tyler was lying peacefully in his bunk, his hand down the front of his briefs, dreaming erotic dreams, when what sounded like the Second Battle of Dieppe erupted next door in the Gunroom. He listened groggily as Harry - it was Harry bellowing - roused the Gunroom. From the other side of the bulkhead they could hear yells, screams, squeals and curses of every known denomination.

Thumper let out a pitiable howl. "God Damn You! That hurt, Harry!"

"Hey look, Nicholas has a hardon!" came Jon's voice.

"Nicholas has a hardon, Nicholas has a hardon," chortled the Twins in unison.

"And it sure is a beaut!" crowed Two Strokes.

"How the fuck would you know?" snapped Nicholas.

There came the sound of more running and giggling, then the sound of heavy feet pounding past the door. "I do not know what they are up to, and I do not want to know," muttered Val. He pulled his sheet over his head. "If they come in tell them I'm on duty. Maybe they won't notice me."

"Coward!" snarled Tyler.

"Fuckin' Aye on that," returned Val. "You're the Master at Arms. Do something!"

Before Tyler could say a word the door flew open with an almighty crash. He looked up and saw, looming in the doorway, the tall, broad form of Harry, a tall, broad, naked Harry. "Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum," intoned Harry loudly, "I smell fresh Sicilian bum!"

Val, who knew what had happened to Cory's bum, quickly skittered to the end of his bed, cowering against the bulkhead. He held his sheet over his body as if it were some form of anti-Harry armour. "Stay away from me, Harry," Val howled loudly. "I'm the second ranking cadet, damn it! I'm . . . I'm . . . I'm inviolate!"

Harry's laughing roar was so loud it set the window to shaking in its frame. He slowly trod the short distance from the door to Val's bed where he slowly pulled away the sheet. Then he bent down and flung Val over his shoulder.

"Harry, put me down, GOD DAMN IT!" roared Val. He looked around Harry's neck and glared at Tyler, who hadn't moved. "Do something, you great useless, redheaded tit!"

Harry slapped Val's well-formed ass soundly. "Silence, Valchick! Tonight you are to be sacrificed to the gods of the wind and the rain!"

"Fuck the gods! Put me down!" ordered Val. He began struggling as he felt Harry's free hand slowly pulling down his boxers. "Hey, no, stop it! Leave my shorts alone!"

"The gods demand that their sacrifice be as he was born. They also demand that he be a virgin! So it is written, so let it be done!" boomed Harry in reply.

Val almost choked. "I'm not a virgin! Honest, I am not a virgin!" he wailed as Harry carried him through the doorway.

"It is also written that you be attended by a virgin of lesser rank." Harry laughed maniacally. "Since we ain't got one, Tyler will have to do!" Tyler cringed as he heard Harry's laughing bellow, "Get 'im, boys!"

Before he could even think of defending himself Tyler was set upon by at least six other cadets. He felt willing hands tugging at his briefs. He hooted in vain as his briefs were pulled down around his ankles, then pulled off. He knew that the Twins were involved when two pairs of hands gave his genitals a quick grope. Struggling, threatening damnation and charges, Tyler felt himself being lifted and carried from the Mess on the shoulders of the cadets.

Outside it was pouring rain. Tyler looked around frantically and saw Harry parading around the yard, a struggling, yelling Val still on his shoulder. "Harry, I am the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor!" yelled Val pompously. "I demand that you release me! I demand that you let me go!"

"Okay," replied Harry in sudden acquiescence. He dropped Val into a huge, muddy puddle of water.

Val landed flat on his ass, sending a huge spray of water into the air. When the spray subsided the assembled cadets saw that he was covered from stem to gudgeon with muddy water, the rain coursing in small rivulets down his firm chest.

Tyler, while shocked at Val's treatment, did not dare protest too much. The last time he had protested he'd ended up in this very yard with the door barred against him. At least this time there were no American Sea Cadets to add insult to injury. He wasn't sure just what sin he and Val had committed but he was not about to tempt fate. He meekly allowed himself to be lowered into the puddle beside Val. Then he took his frustration out on his roommate. "I'm not a virgin, I'm not a virgin!" he whined, imitating Val's wail of despair. He sneered contemptuously. "Your next time will be your first time!" Then he gave Val his best "another fine mess you've gotten us into" look.

Harry squatted in front of Tyler and Val. Tyler stifled a groan at the sight of Harry's pendulous genitals, still large and enticing despite the soaking they had received. "Tyler, Val, the boys are just a little upset about the whistle," Harry said slowly.

"Whistle? What whistle?" demanded Tyler in a high-pitched, disbelieving squeal. He was trying hard not to look at the Pride as it waved slowly back and forth in front of his face.

"The little whistle Val blows when the lads are having a shower. It's most inconvenient when he does that."

"Harry, I will personally take a fire axe to your balls!" yelled Val. He struggled to stand but Harry pushed him back. This time the tidal wave engulfed him and Tyler.

"Val, please don't provoke him," begged Tyler. "You know what he's like when he's provoked!" He looked at Harry. "Harry, do you mean to tell me that you clowns woke us up, dragged us out of bed at some ungodly hour . . ." Tyler mentally promised himself that he would kill Harry at the earliest opportunity.

"It's just gone 0330," put in Fred, who thought that this was even more fun than when they had thrown Tyler into the yard.

"No matter!" growled Tyler as he waved his arms. "All over Val blowing his fucking whistle?"

"Yes, it's most inconvenient," repeated Harry. "So inconvenient that we all decided to speak to you about it."

"Speak to me? Speak to me?" sputtered Tyler. "Harry, when I get up I swear . . ."

"You'll wash my back?" Harry bent forward and gave Tyler a quick peck on the lips. "But just above the waist. The Pride is very tender tonight."

"Harry you are a total fucking pervert!" Tyler scoured his lips with the back of his hand. "I wouldn't go near the Pride if I got paid for it and . . ." The sound of laughter pulled him up short. He looked around and saw Two Strokes, Thumper, Nicholas, Fred, Jon, Chris, Greg and the Twins happily scrubbing away, their slim, tanned bodies covered in soap. Tyler started to laugh. Val gave him a sour look. "Come on, Val, it's a leg pull." Tyler reached out his hand. "Come on, my brother."

Tyler and Val struggled to their feet and were immediately handed bars of soap. "I've never washed in the rain," said Val as he began soaping up.

Harry, who was busy shampooing his hair, grinned. "They say rainwater leaves the skin soft and supple."

"Including the Pride?" asked Val with a leer.

"The Pride soft and subtle?" growled Harry, feigning terror. Then he grinned expansively. "Only when it's sleeping, and sometimes . . ." He waggled his eyes, and returned Val's leer salaciously. "Not even then!"

Not unexpectedly all the noise had attracted onlookers. Andy had been trying to sleep when he heard all the shouting and tumult. He stuck his head out of the cabin window and, while he couldn't see too much, he could see the end result. Kyle woke up and saw Andy's rear end sticking into the cabin. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on out there?"

Andy pulled himself back into the room and walked to his locker. He took the towel that he kept hanging there and threw it over his shoulder. "The boys are washing in the rain. Not a bad idea, actually." He reached into his locker and pulled out his shampoo and soap. "We did it in 'Nam. It's a hell of a lot better than a three-minute shower." He started to walk toward the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Kyle softly.

Andy shrugged. "Just outside. I think I'll have a wash."

Kyle pushed aside his sheet and swung his legs over the side of his bed. "Our showers are working, you know."

"I know."

Kyle stood up and walked to where Andy was standing. He put his arms around Andy's waist and gently kissed Andy's shoulder. "Forgive me?" Kyle's hand began moving down Andy's firm stomach. "I'm sorry."

Andy groaned at Kyle's warm touch. He leaned his head back and Kyle kissed his neck. Andy growled low, "God, I've missed that!"

Kyle nuzzled Andy's neck, murmuring, "I love you, you stubborn, bull-headed Bootneck!"

"Gyrene," corrected Andy. "American, remember?"

"Yeah," breathed Kyle. "I still love you."

Andy turned, his erection pushing out the front of his boxers. "And I love you, you dozy Canuck!"

Kyle chuckled. "Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"I really could use some help in washing my back."

Dinner, which was held in one of the two most formal rooms of the house, was quiet. Michael ate sparingly, but then he always did. The Major, a mean trencherman, fell to with a will. The Gunner, preoccupied with his own thoughts, emulated Michael.

Between courses The Gunner admired the Georgian splendour of the room. It was completely panelled in natural oak carved in the classical style, painted white, with fielded panels set between Corinthian pilasters. Under the cornice of the plaster ornamented ceiling a frieze of delicately carved sheaves and festoons ran around the room. Directly over the long, polished sheen of the satinwood table hung a huge, gold chandelier. Around the room, to complement the chandelier, five-light sconces were fitted onto the panels between the columns.

Each end of the dining room was dominated by matching fireplaces, the wooden mantels and surrounds carved in the manner of Grinling Gibbons. Above one mantel hung Gainsborough's "The Harvest Wagon". Above the other mantel, pale in comparison to the magnificence facing it, hung Fitz Hugh Lane's "The Ship Starlight".

The huge windows of the room overlooked the gardens, and were hung with curtains of yellow moiré. The delicate Sheraton chairs were covered with deep blue, silk chintz. The furniture rested on a blue, white and red patterned Wilton carpet.

The food, expertly served by Nigel and two other equally competent young men, was cooked to perfection. Michael might live conservatively, but he lived well. After dinner they retired to what Major Meinertzhagen called the small drawing room, yet another masterpiece of English architecture and decoration, primarily in the manner of the Adams Brothers. The plain, broad surfaces of the walls were a pastel blue contrasting the carved wood enrichments of the chair rail and skirting that formed a dado. Not unexpectedly, fine paintings hung from the walls, portraits for the most part of men and women who could not possibly have been ancestors of their owner. Patched, bewigged, satin and silk clad aristocrats looked arrogantly down. Over the carved marble chimneypiece, looking embarrassed and out of place, was Rembrandt's "Portrait of a Rabbi".

Michael indicated that they should sit on the chairs and sofa grouped around the fireplace. Nigel and one of the footmen served coffee and offered cognac and cigars. The Gunner accepted the coffee, but declined the cigars. They made him queasy.

"Well, Stephen, or should I call you Chancellor?" began Michael when the door closed on Nigel and the other servant.

The Gunner smiled. "I much prefer it to 'The Most High, the Most Mighty!'" Michael chuckled. "A matter of formality. Mind, Rick does get carried away at times."

"He's a good man, Michael, we're very lucky to have him with us," replied The Gunner.

"Would that there were more like him," replied Michael with a slight nod of his head. "Sadly we are overburdened by the Willoughbys and Hunters."

"And the Simpsons," spat The Major contemptuously. "Of all the low born, cretinous, amoral creatures . . ."

Michael's raised hand stopped the Major's tirade. "Nature will take its course with him. He is of no consequence."

"There are nine men who are!" retorted Major Meinertzhagen hotly. "And we all know who put them up to it!"

Michael sat in silence for a few minutes. "We have more important matters to concern us. Let us not disturb ourselves about men who are more interested in money that they are in the Order."

"Willoughby bribed them?" asked The Gunner softly.

"Of course," replied Michael equably. "He also used confidential information to persuade them that it would be in their best interest to oppose me."

"Willoughby is a fool," observed the Major with venom. "Hunter is as bad."

Michael agreed. "They want to maintain the status quo. They have power and fear losing it. They know they cannot influence those around me, so they plan on using any means in their power to thwart me."

The Gunner considered Michael's words. "Today nine, tomorrow another two or three?"

Michael laughed aloud. "How astute of you, Stephen." He slapped the arm of his chair. "Willoughby is no fool. He knows, as I know, that the Order has degenerated into little more than a gentleman's club. Oh, they will rouse themselves when one of their own makes a fool of himself with a Grenadier in Hyde Park, but let one sailor be found in flagrante delicto with the Captain's Tiger and they aren't interested. Which is, of course, exactly the opposite of what we are supposed to be doing!"

"They will suborn as many as they can, Michael," warned the Major.

"I expect they will. They will fail." Michael motioned for another drink. The Gunner did the honours.

When he returned to his chair The Gunner looked at Michael. "You seem very calm about it, Michael. I have the impression that Willoughby will use every dirty trick he can think of, bribery, past indiscretions that won't bear seeing the light of day, or the newspapers. Fear can make a man do things he would not ordinarily do."

"Quite right," spoke up the Major. "The Percy Simpsons aside, the majority of the men in that room today are men of substance and position, in society, in politics." He looked at The Gunner. "And in the military. They are almost all of them homosexual. Exposure is what they fear most. We have all seen what could happen."

Michael looked at both men. "Do you trust my word?" he asked quietly.

Both The Gunner and the Major nodded.

Michael sat back. "Then trust me when I say that the Willoughbys and Hunters will have reason to regret their recent actions!"

A cold shiver ran down The Gunner's spine.

"There are things happening, Stephen, Richard," continued Michael calmly, "that will, with careful direction and discretion, guarantee that we will see the primary goal of the Order reached." Michael stood up and rested his arms on the fireplace mantle. He stared at the portrait over the mantle, and then turned. He indicated the portrait. "How resigned, how patient he looks." He sighed loudly. "I am afraid that while I have the good Rabbi's patience, I do not have his resignation. I will not accept that we cannot make a better life for our brothers. I am, however, resigned to the fact that even if we start now, it will take years of building before the Order is as it should be." He smiled at The Gunner. "I am afraid, Stephen, that I am about to set you a difficult task."

The Gunner shrugged. "Michael, I gathered that when you told me that you wanted me to find one thousand Laurences."

They talked far into the night, discussing Michael's plans and The Gunner's place in them. When he finally climbed the stairs leading to his room The Gunner's mind was reeling and he felt exhausted. He found Laurence waiting for him. "You should be in your bed, Laurence," said The Gunner as he took off his blazer.

Laurence took the blazer and hung it in the closet. "I am quite accustomed to keeping late hours."

The Gunner sat on the bed and took off his shoes. "You are not a servant, Laurence."

"Perhaps. Still, my job is to make your job as smooth as possible. Frankly, I do not envy you."

The Gunner lay back against the pillows of the bed. "Thank you for those words of encouragement!"

Laughing softy Laurence poured The Gunner a nightcap. "Mister Michael wants you to rebuild the Order. One way or another he's going to root out the deadwood and the riff raff."

The Gunner nodded. "And I have to find their replacements." He took the drink Laurence offered him and drank deeply.

"You've found one in me," replied Laurence earnestly. "Thank you for signing my petition to join the Order."

The Gunner regarded Laurence with a feeling that bordered on affection. "You are young, you are smart, and you have common sense. There is no doubt in my mind that you will make a good addition to the ranks of the Knights." He struggled erect. "My only question is, Laurence, why?"

Laurence nodded at the decanter of cognac. "May I?"

"Fill your boots," replied The Gunner. He moved to one of the sofas and sat down. He pointed to the sofa opposite. "Please sit down, Laurence." He paused a moment. "And shit-can the 'sir' bit. My friends called me Steve, or, if they're really close, Gunner."

Laurence filled a glass and joined The Gunner. He smiled warmly. "I will be honoured if you consider me your friend. I am, you know."

The Gunner raised his glass in a silent toast. "I know. You should know that I am a very loyal friend. My instincts tell me that you are as well."

"I've never betrayed a friend," replied Laurence with quiet dignity. "I learned a very long time ago that true friends, those who accept a man for who he is, not for what he is, are few and far between. I learned a bitter lesson, Steve, and because of it I choose my friends very carefully. I suspect you do the same."

"I do," confirmed The Gunner. "I do not give my friendship lightly. I value loyalty above everything but personal honour. I also place a high value on truth and once I extend my sometimes grubby hand in friendship all I ever ask is that you judge me for who I am, and never lie to me. I will go to the wall for my friends, no holds barred, no questions asked. My friends know this. My boys in AURORA know this." He made a face. "I have been told that my standards are too high, that I expect too much . . ."

"Which is why Michael chose you to be his Chancellor," interjected Laurence. "He knows that you will brook no compromise simply to pacify him, or the Major, or yourself. He knows that there will be no more Willoughbys, or Hunters or, perish the thought, Simpsons, that the men, and boys . . ." he looked pointedly at The Gunner, "you recommend will be the best, their names put forward not because of bribery, or influence, or sexual favour, but because they are the best."

The Gunner looked embarrassed. "Laurence, I'm no saint and please do not put me on some kind of a pedestal. I am ashamed to say that there was a time when I was an arrant coward, when I stood by and watched a man be crucified simply for being perceived to be gay."

Laurence looked deep into his cognac glass. His face saddened and then, tears welling in his eyes, he stared at The Gunner. "You asked me why I wanted to be a part of the Order. I want to be one of you because I was a coward. While others stood fast and refused to compromise their principles, I stayed in the shadows and I stood by and watched a good man ruined by prejudice and hatred."

"Laurence, I . . ." The Gunner leaned forward to take Laurence's hand.

Laurence was sobbing now. "I don't know what good I could have done, but damn it, I should have tried!"

"But you didn't."

"No. What made it worse, what condemns me, is that afterward, I joined in the filthy gossip, listened, and laughed, at the dirty jokes. By my silence I helped destroy a man who thought the world of me, who was my friend. I hated myself for what I had done, and when I went to beg his forgiveness, it was too late." "He killed himself?" asked The Gunner, dreading the answer.

Laurence took the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket, wiped his eyes, and shrugged. "He drank himself to death. He drank himself to death in a grotty bed-sitter in London. The Council buried him in a common grave with the nightly cull of derelicts and paupers."

The Gunner thought of Hal Simmonds and the lonely grave in Fairview Cemetery that no one ever visited. "He must have been a very special man," he murmured. "But for him I'd more than likely be lying dead in some Vietnamese jungle and the Major would be under a rotting blanket of leaves in the jungle near Khota Baru."

The Gunner remained silent. He took the glass from Laurence's hand and refilled it. "I'm a good listener," he said as he handed the glass to Laurence.

"His name was Chard," began Laurence. "Andrew McAfee Chard. He was born in the Gorbals, which is a part of Glasgow you do not want to find yourself alone in. He was a typical child of the slums, malnourished, barely literate, and so thin his ribs stood out. But he had a feral intelligence that was astounding. I rather think he would have ended up a gangster because for a boy of his background there really wasn't much in his future. He was a Gorbals Git and predestined to come to a bad end."

"Which he didn't?" asked The Gunner, thinking that dying a drunkard's death could be classified as a bad end.

Laurence smiled thinly. "No, at least not the way he was supposed to end. He left Glasgow and joined the Army, the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. He joined in 1939 and was sent to the Far East with the 2nd Battalion. Singapore."

"He was one of the Ninety Argyll's?"

Laurence nodded. "Only ninety men and boys from the 2nd Battalion lived through the Japanese invasion of Malaya. They should not have, but they did. Some would call it sheer luck. Many would call it something else because, but for Private Chard, they would not have survived at all."

"How so?"

"Have you ever come across people who, for reasons no one can explain, no doctor, no scientists, no one, people who just have this innate, unexplainable affinity for something?" asked Laurence seriously.

"Chard was a savant? He could do things that his education, intelligence and upbringing automatically precluded him being able to do, in places he had never been before?" The Gunner had heard of such things, but had never seen them.

"The jungle! Andy Chard, for no reason anybody could think of, thrived in the jungle. It was as if he'd been born there, and lived there all his life. He could slither and slide through the muck like a native. It was astounding!"

"He trained you in jungle warfare?"

"Yes, and the Major. But that came later, after the war. Sergeant Major Chard spent much of the war in Changi Prison, and I do not have to tell you what that was like."

"Two out of three prisoners died, from mistreatment, malnutrition and despair," supplied The Gunner. "Not even the Vietnamese treated their prisoners as horribly as those little yellow bastards of Nippon."

Laurence seemed not to hear The Gunner's blatantly racist comment. "One of the ways men survived Changi was by trading with the Malays. Andy Chard would slither under the wire, into the jungle, with a few watches that the Japs had missed, or a fountain pen, a ring, anything with a little value, and come back with food and medicines. He never traded for his own account. He never profited a penny."

"And after the war?"

"Andy stayed in the Army," explained Laurence. "When the Malay Crisis began in 1948, and Mountbatten was setting up the Anti-Insurgency Force, later the Jungle School of Warfare, one of the first men he sent for was Colour-Sergeant Chard. He trained the Major, and he trained me. He was rough, and impatient, but God did he know his job! But for him, his knowledge, and his expertise, I firmly believe we would never have put down the Communists in Malaya."

"What happened, Laurence?"

Laurence stood and leaned against the mantelpiece, staring into the embers of the fire that The Gunner had lit earlier. "In October of 1972 we all returned to Lympstone. There had been far too many questions in Parliament, and too many articles in the gutter press about what the British Army was doing in Vietnam. So we came home. We settled into our new routine. Major Meinertzhagen was CO of 6 Commando. Chard was his Sergeant Major. My father was dying of cancer so I took some leave. While I was gone the rumours started."

"About Chard?"

"Yes. At first there were just whisperings that ended abruptly when he came into the room. Then there were snickers and muffled laughter behind his back. Some of the younger Marines were just this side of insubordinate to him."

"He'd been found out, obviously." The Gunner shook his head. "I've seen it before, Laurence."

"I hadn't," Laurence turned abruptly and sat down on the sofa. "I know how vicious the British lower class can be. But what happened to Chard went beyond viciousness." He buried his face in his hands. "And the sad part was, all the poor man had to do was to wait a few lousy months, just four bloody months and he would have been out of it."

"Now you've lost me."

Laurence raised his head. "Chard was 49. He'd spent 33 years with the Colours. He was due to retire. If he had just waited a few months before he brought his partner over . . ."

The Gunner understood. "He brought his male friend over from Malaya, and they set up housekeeping?"

"Yes. I never knew who shopped Sergeant-Major Chard. He was foolish because he brought a foreigner home with him, and if there is one thing that will set the lower classes off it is a foreigner, particularly if he is one of the 'lesser breeds'. You have not seen bigotry or racism until you've been to England! Anyway, by the time I returned the rumours were spreading. It wasn't, quote 'normal' end quote, for two men to live together. I suppose one the neighbours - they lived off base - went to the authorities. The how of it doesn't matter, really. What followed does."

"A court martial?"

"And the tabloid press. God, it was awful. It didn't matter that the Sergeant Major had been given the Distinguished Service Order and the Military Medal. It didn't matter that he'd given over thirty years of his life to the Crown, that without him many young soldiers would have died in Malaya, in Korea, that American soldiers would have floundered about the jungles until they died. None of that mattered." He hung his head, overcome with emotion. "When the tabloids had finished his 15-year relationship with a Malay man was common knowledge. Poor Andy Chard, he was pilloried and without a shred of evidence damned as a pedophile who lured innocent English boys into his house. The churches got into the act, which is hardly surprising. He was proclaimed an abomination. During his court martial he had to be protected from the mob, quite literally."

"His service record was not considered?" asked The Gunner, knowing what Laurence answer would be.

"Oh, yes. Major Meinertzhagen saw that it was. He defended the Sergeant Major, you see. The Major was warned that if he did he could kiss his career goodbye which, as the Major is not a man who reacts well to threats, was the wrong thing to say. In his usual inimitable style the Major told the Battalion Commander exactly what he could do with the Army, and put his name down as Sergeant Major Chard's counsel. He defended his friend as best he could. In the end, nothing did any good. Chard was dismissed the Service with Infamy. He lost all his pension rights, all his medals and decorations. Only his war service and his service to the Crown kept him out of the stockade."

The Gunner knew that this was not the end of the story. There was one more part to be told. He stood up and placed his hand gently on Laurence's shoulder. "Now tell me what you did."

Laurence took a deep breath. "I turned my back on him. I was in the corridor just after the court martial ended. He came out and walked up to me and I turned my back on him! I knew what I was, I knew that I had the same feelings that he had, and I turned my back on him!"

"You rejected him," replied The Gunner coldly. "He was your mentor and he was your friend and you did not want to be associated with him because if your name was linked with his your own sexuality would become suspect. You turned your back on him out of fear that your secret would be found out."

Laurence nodded. "I rejected him. Andy Chard was a good man, and I rejected him. I wanted to stay in the Royal Marines; I wanted to keep my secret. I saw what had happened to him and I was so afraid that no matter how remote the possibility, if I was ever found out . . ."

"Laurence, you are not the first man to let fear rule his heart and actions. You won't be the last."

"The Major stood up for Andy Chard. It cost him his career. He resigned rather than give tacit approval to what had happened."

"Laurence, I understand what you did, and why you did it. That is in the past. Honour the Sergeant-Major's memory and help Michael, and me, ensure that in a future, and better time, the Sergeant-Major Chards of this world will not be pilloried, or have their characters assassinated, or live in fear for daring to love a man."

"I wish I could believe that," replied Laurence morosely.

The Gunner leaned down and kissed Laurence on his forehead. "I told you, I never lie. Michael never lies. If we say we will make it happen, it will happen."

"And I'm to help, then?"

The Gunner grinned. "You had better, or I've just wasted a perfectly good kiss!"

Laurence laughed and wiped the residue of his tears from his eyes. "There's hope then?"

"Definitely. Together with the people I know, one of whom is a fearless, jug-eared, green-eyed monster, damn his eyes, we just might make it." Laurence stood up and began to apologise for his tears. The Gunner stopped him. "Laurence, all your tears mean is that you have compassion and a soul. Every tear you shed makes you that much more determined, that much stronger."

"My father would have disagreed with you. He was also a Colour-Sergeant and pounded into my brothers and me that a man never cried."

"Well, I'm a man and I weep like a child at times."

"Father always was an obnoxious old bastard," replied Laurence with a grin.

The tiredness that had gradually been seeping through him finally took its toll. The Gunner stretched and yawned. "God, I'm tired." He looked at Laurence. "Go to bed, Laurence, you look like hell."

Laurence nodded his thanks. "Mr. Leung will be back in the morning to finish your fitting," he advised.

"I can't sleep in?" The Gunner sank onto his bed, his eyes heavy.

"No. He has to come early as he has another very important engagement in AURORA."

The Gunner's half-closed eyes snapped open. "AURORA?"

"Your friend in DISCOVERY only had two spare jackets. He also mentioned that the cadets would need trousers. Mr. Leung will attend to everything tomorrow."

"God, Laurence, they're vain enough now!"

"I had the impression that it was important for the cadets to make an impression," said Laurence, a surprised look on his face. "If you would rather I . . ."

"No, no. Just tell Mr. Leung to look out for a large, fat cook with a wooden spoon."

The Gunner's eyes closed and as Laurence went around the room turning off the lamps he could hear The Gunner's breathing slowing. Laurence drew a blanket over The Gunner and went to his own bed.

Saturday dawned clear and warm. The overnight rain had moved off just before sunrise. The Phantom awoke to a cooler room, and stretched, shuddering slightly. He pushed aside the sheet he had covered himself with and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had slept soundly, and felt rested.

After showering The Phantom went downstairs and made his breakfast. He looked around the kitchen and decided that no matter what happened tonight, he would clean the house. His parents were due home sometime tomorrow some time, and his mother would bitch if the place were not spotless. The refrigerator also needed restocking.

After breakfast he dressed and packed his gym bag with a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt, and his ski mask. He looked for his black running shoes but couldn't find them so he threw in an old pair of black and white high tops. Then he went to work.

When he arrived at the galley, just after 0600, the morning routine was well under way. He greeted Ray, who was all smiles and rosy-cheeks, and not from the heat of the stoves. Kevin was busy helping Matt set the breakfast tables. The Phantom watched them for a few minutes and smiled knowingly. Kevin had a definite spring in his step.

Randy and Joey were grumpy. Chef was even grumpier, which was his normal morning condition. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John seemed happy enough, and were chattering on about all the Chiefs and Petty Officers dancing around in the rain last night, and complaining that they had been left out of the festivities.

Since Saturday morning was a normal workday the cadets were forced to undergo their usual torture by Mike and Phillip, seeing as how they had missed their exercises the morning before. This was guaranteed to put everybody in a foul mood as the showers were still off and Harry, ably and loudly seconded by the Twins, complained that there was no point in jumping around and working up a sweat when all it got you was 200 boys smelling like an Arab's armpit.

At 0800 Divisions were held. Harry, dissatisfied at the playing, waved his Mace at the Band and threatened a run around the parade square. The drummers waved their sticks back and threatened reprisals, type unspecified, and a good time was had by all.

In the Mess Hall, Chef grumbled that the combined smells and stinks of cooking and cadets made the Mess Hall smell like a French whorehouse in distress. He ordered that every door and window be opened to air out the place. This lasted all of three quarters of an hour because immediately following Divisions the whole complement of cadets turned out to practice the Ceremony of the Flags, complete with the two fields guns firing merrily away in time (almost) with the music. As the guns fired in sequence a grey-white cloud of cordite-tainted smoke spiralled upward, hovered over the heads of the straining gunners and then, pushed along by the breeze blowing from the Strait, seeped into the Mess Hall. Chef was not amused, bellowing that now the entire building smelled like a Russian whorehouse in distress. He ordered that every door and window be closed to keep the stink out.

Chef's mood was not improved when he received a telephone call from the Commanding Officer. It seemed that Father was, or was about to become, a grandfather, and could Chef arrange for Sandro to be picked up after morning services at the Courtenay synagogue? Grumbling and complaining, Chef squeezed himself into his car and drove off to fetch Sandro. Chef's departure allowed everybody a break to scrub the morning's mung from their bodies.

The Phantom, mildly amused at all the goings on, paced off the area he felt best suited for Monday's dinner. He chose the corner of the dining room occupied by the officers and Chiefs tables. He decided also that by pushing the tables together he could accommodate everybody at one table. He had fully expected that either Ray or the Twins would be nattering at him but they left him alone. All three boys knew how stubborn he was so had more or less given up arguing with him.

At Stand Easy the Twins came in looking for sustenance. They were trailed by a small procession of immaculately clad Asian gentlemen hauling mobile clothing racks. The Twins had beens standing outside the Headquarters building, minding their own business (as much as they ever did), debating on whether or not to cadge an early lunch, when they saw the convoy of vehicles trundle slowly across the causeway, pause briefly outside then Gatehouse, and stop outside the Mess Hall. Being as curious as ferrets, the Twins decided to check the strange visitors out and hurried to the Mess Hall, arriving just as the first of the strangers alit from the first vehicle in the convoy.

The Twins were greatly surprised to find that the stranger was no stranger at all. The impeccably dressed Asian gentleman, Mr. Leung, was someone that they knew (he was their Father's tailor and had built their first suits). They were even more surprised when, after consulting a notebook, Mr. Leung asked to speak with Chief Petty Officer Lascelles.

Their curiosity now aroused to the level of cats, and since they were hungry anyway, the Twins immediately conducted Mr. Leung into the Mess Hall. After introductions, and an explanation that he was here to fit the stewards with their new jackets and uniform trousers, Mr. Leung and his staff set to work.

Mr. Leung's assistants, needing a flat working area, commandeered one of the galley tables, a long, workmanlike structure that ran half the length of the galley, which annoyed Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, who had just scoured the bloody thing clean. They retired to the loading dock to peel potatoes and grumble, vowing to remuster to a less stressful trade as soon as they returned home.

To his later regret, Mr. Leung, as a matter of courtesy, asked if Master Cory or Master Todd required any tailoring assistance. The Twins, who had been planning a post-operative viewing of Ryan's recently altered appendage (he had been released from Sick Bay in time for breakfast, which he ate with the officers, and thoroughly enjoyed being waited on hand and foot by Kevin and Matt), were never ones to let the grass grow under their feet so asked if he could look at their new Class II uniforms.

Mr. Leung immediately agreed, the Twins being old customers, not to mention sons of an even older customer. Unwittingly he offered his services to any of the cadets who might need them.

Which explained why, when Chef returned with Sandro he found his galley turned into Minsky's backstage the evening of an all-boy review. The place was teeming with boys in their underwear, boys standing on chairs with nothing on but a pair of white trousers, a quartet of briefs-clad stewards in one corner playing cards (they were killing time waiting their turn with the tailors), and a spirited argument involving the Twins, Mr. Leung, Mr. Leung's principal tailor, the Phantom, and Two Strokes, who was standing on the galley table in his underpants as all around him raged an argument as to whether or not Mr. Leung's tailors had the expertise to give him a bum!

After assuring Sandro that this was not some quaint Canadian custom to celebrate the Summer Solstice, Chef let out a roar that was heard in the Wardroom, which brought Andy running (he was Officer of the Day). Andy, afraid that he was going to find a disaster of major proportions, instead found Chef being fawned over by a deliberately obsequious gentleman who was introduced as Mr. Leung.

Mr. Leung, who had been dealing with difficult customers for years, insisted that Chef needed a new outfit, as did the handsome young officer. Before either Chef or Andy knew it they were being conducted to Chef's office for private fittings (Chef having adamantly refused to remove so much as his kerchief with so many perverts standing around and gawking). Chef also insisted that Ryan's fitting take place in private.

This put Ryan in a pet. He saw no reason at all to be sequestered. Not only had Doc removed the bandage from his dick, the swelling had started to go down, and while his penis was quite red - not unexpected- it was well hidden by the borrowed boxers shorts (which Kevin had requisitioned from Chad) that he was wearing. After Chef threatened to paddle his backside with a wooden spoon, Ryan was led into Chef's office.

Tyler and Val, who had spent the morning bickering over the guest seating plan for the upcoming final parade, wandered in, looking for the Twins and the assorted gunners and bandsmen who were supposed to be out on the parade square practising their drill. Mr. Leung, with his usual charm soon had them standing in line waiting for their Class II uniforms to be fitted.

Randy and Joey, promised chef's uniforms, grew bored with the waiting and decided to appoint themselves angle of the dangle inspectors and took to standing directly in front of the boys as they removed their shorts or trousers for their fittings. This earned them, amongst other things, a swipe from Tyler (he missed); a threat to do something terrible to them from Sandro (which, since he made the threat in Russian, they didn't understand a word of); and a stern lecture from The Phantom. They retorted that he was just pissed off because he was wearing boxers and not eligible to be in a dangle contest, which he would lose because he didn't have that much of a dangle to begin with!

The Phantom banished Randy and Joey to the dining room where they busied themselves with setting out the salads for lunch, which as it turned out, everybody had forgotten about. Fortunately there was plenty of hot soup, cold meats, salads, bread and rolls so nobody went hungry, although more than a few of the cadets having lunch thought it a little odd that half the galley staff served wearing nothing but an apron and their underpants, with the Master at Arms standing atop the galley table, in his underpants, negative apron.

After lunch everybody but the unlucky souls detailed as Afternoon Watchmen cleaned into their going ashore rigs: white bell-bottoms, gunshirts, polished boots and caps. There followed a run on the Ship's Bank, as everybody wanted to do some shopping. Anson, who was Duty, and flush with cash, offered loans until payday, at rates just slightly less than usurious.

At 1330 the buses that would carry everybody into town arrived. The Twins, who had to pay for and pick up their T-shirt order, conned Nicholas into taking the ship's van and they left with the Yeoman and Andre (which set the Twins to wondering just how close the two were).

Chef, with everybody but The Phantom ashore, decided to visit the Base. The menu cards for Monday's dinner were ready, as were the meal chits The Phantom had designed. He gave the Phantom the balance of the day off. There was some sort of festival going on in town and the cadets would eat supper ashore so there was no point in The Phantom hanging around.

Before returning home The Phantom stopped off at the local IGA and shopped. When he got home he put away his purchases, had a quick dip in the pool, and then set to cleaning the house, which was not as dirty as he thought. He hadn't spent all that much time at home since his parents left so the house was more cluttered than dirty. He tidied up the living room and dining room, scrubbed the kitchen floor, vacuumed downstairs, did a washing and had another swim. He had been so busy with his chores he lost track of time so was surprised that it was 1830 before he knew it.

The Phantom returned to AURORA, ostensibly to help with the kai and to make sandwiches for the cadets to eat after the movie being shown in the Drill Shed ended. After greeting Anson, whose loan sharking operation had been busted by his brother Phillip, called The Assistant, and assigned extra duty as Gate guard, The Phantom drove on to the Mess Hall.

The Twins, not at all interested in The Sound of Music, had seen The Gunner's car, and come into the galley. When Chef went over to check out the popcorn supply in the Canteen they listened patiently while The Phantom explained that he needed them to be outside the Gunroom around 0100. When Cory asked where he would be The Phantom replied that he was going to take a nap. The Twins left, shaking their heads, their nervousness building and wondering how Phantom could be so calm.

Shortly after Lights Out the Twins took up their usual position on the barracks stoop and waited with increasing nervousness for The Phantom to make his appearance. Cory bitched and whined about feeling cold until Todd, who was as jumpy as a cat, threatened to hit him if he didn't go inside and put on a sweater.

As the hours passed they began to hope that Phantom had come to his senses and changed his mind. Their hopes were dashed when they heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path and The Phantom walked out of the darkness and into the dim circle of light cast by the single light bulb over the barracks door. Reluctantly, the Twins followed The Phantom to the other end of the barracks where, as The Phantom began taking off his clothes, Todd tried once more to convince Phantom to forget his mission.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" began Todd as he took The Phantom's jeans from him.

"Yes, Todd, I am" replied The Phantom, the quaver in his voice revealing his nervousness. He slipped on his mask. "I just hope you two know what you're talking about."

"Phantom, maybe we should just forget the whole idea," replied Todd, hoping that Phantom would listen to reason.

The Phantom shook his head. "Todd, this has to be done. I take no pleasure in doing it, really. Going in there and helping Little Big Man to pop his puppy is not high on my list of things to do." He shivered, though the night was warm. "I just hope The Gunner never finds out about this."

Cory was about to reply that The Gunner would, sooner or later, find out about what happened this night but thought better of it. Like his brother, he still did not agree with what Phantom was about to do. "Maybe Todd is right, Phantom. Maybe we're wrong. If Little Big Man starts screaming rape while you're in there we are all fucked."

"No," spat The Phantom in an explosive whisper. "I've done this before. If he starts resisting I'll be out of there so fast he won't see anything but shadows."

"And if he responds?" asked Todd.

"Then I will do what I came to do. If you're right, Paul will respond and we'll have him right where we want him." The Twins opened their mouths to voice their misgivings. The Phantom silenced them with a look. "We have to give him a dose of his own medicine. Nobody can do anything about his letter writing or calling home and spreading lies. If boning him will get him off Matt's back, and yours, then it's got to be done. You know as well as I do that after Matt said what he said the little bastard is going to make life hell for him. If Paul goes home and tells his stories to the wrong people sooner or later there is going to be an investigation. Not even The Gunner's friends can keep it from happening forever."

"Still . . ." began Todd tentatively.

"There is no still or anything else." The Phantom put his arms around his friends' shoulders. "Cory, Todd, I love you two. You made me see things in myself that I only guessed at. You mean so much to me that sometimes I just stand and look at you and think, fuck, these are my friends, and I am so fucking proud that you call me your friend."

Cory's lips caressed The Phantom's. "More than that, Phantom," he murmured throatily. "Much more than that!"

Todd nodded firmly. His lips met The Phantom's and they kissed a firm, warm, wonderful kiss, a kiss that only a man can give to a man, a kiss that transcends sexuality and embodies all the warmth and love one man can feel for another. "Phantom, we know how you feel about us and we know how much we mean to you. We also know how we feel about you. We love you, yes. But it's more that just love. I don't know how to describe it. What we feel is way beyond love. Phantom, please, understand that we can't ask you to go on with this. We don't want you to go on with this. If you love us, please, let's get you dressed and then we can leave."

The Phantom raised his head and shook it. He was close to tears. "No, Todd. I am going to do it. I have to. If there is an investigation you and Cory will be named. So will Harry, and Chris, and Jon, and some others. I cannot, I will not let that happen. They'd find out about Harry and Stefan. Harry could go to jail! They would find out about my Gunner and me. They would throw him out of the Navy, and that would kill him. I won't let that happen. I won't let that little fuck ruin so many lives. I am not being noble. I'm shit scared for you, and Cory, and my Gunner, for all of the guys."

Cory patted The Phantom's shoulder. He was weeping quietly. The Phantom hugged him, and then he hugged Todd. "It has to be done, Todd," he said with conviction. "Once it is done you have to make sure that Little Big Man knows that you know it happened. If it takes blackmail to get him to back off, then we blackmail him. We fight him with his own weapons."

Cory sniffled and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. "I just want you to be safe, damn it!" he managed.

"Cory, please, I can't stand it when you cry!" whispered The Phantom. He looked at Todd. "Todd, I will be all right. I won't take any chances. Just you two cover your asses."

The Phantom was ready. He was stripped down to what Cory called the bare essentials: black boxers and black T-shirt. Over his head was a black wool ski mask covered his features. "Now, remember, Phantom," began Todd as he adjusted the ski mask. "Mike and Phillip are on duty until about 0330." He kissed The Phantom again, then reached into the slit of his boxers, slowly fisting The Phantom's dick. "Jack, Willy and Mal are at the far end of the Mess, and there's a wall of lockers between you and them."

Cory, not to be left out, put his hand down the back of The Phantom's boxers and began fingering his butt crack. "Little Big Man sleeps like the dead. It might take a while for him to realize what you're doing, so be patient." Cory nuzzled The Phantom's neck.

"Don't you worry," said The Phantom, pushing the Twins away. "I'll make this a night to remember, and no danger."

"Just be careful," warned Cory. "If he starts yelling rape get the fuck out of there, and I mean fast. Don't hesitate, just get!"

"I will," assured The Phantom. "Now you guys get going. If Mike or Phillip decides to do Rounds you have got to be in your bunks, sleeping like little children."

The Phantom turned to enter the Petty Officers Mess. Todd called him back. "Here," he whispered hoarsely, pushing a small, black plastic object into the Phantom's hand. It was the size of a small pocket book.

"What's this?" asked The Phantom turning the object over in his hands.

"A tape recorder," supplied Cory. "We bought in when we were in town."

"What for? You want me to play mood music?" snapped The Phantom, his high-pitched tone reflecting his nervousness.

"Hardly," replied Todd calmly. "We can't take pictures, so you will have to record everything that happens in there."

"There's no microphone," observed The Phantom.

Todd shook his head. "It's built in. Just put in on the deck, or under the bed. If Little Big Man's bed is under a window, the ledge would be good. The recorder is top of the line."

"A Sony," supplied Cory.

Todd ignored his brother and continued on. "The tape is good for two hours. Assuming that your plan works we will need something concrete to convince the little prick that his secret is out."

The Phantom nodded his understanding. "How does it work?"

Todd reached out and held his thumb over the record button. "Just depress this button." He looked at The Phantom pleadingly. "Phantom . . ."

"It's to be done," snapped The Phantom. He reached out, took the recorder into both his hands and depressed the record button. He nodded abruptly and walked away.

The Twins watched him go, and then retreated into the shadows of the forest. They held each other as they waited. They were both determined that if Phantom went down, so would they.

Just inside the doorway of the Petty Officers Mess, The Phantom paused, waiting until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. To his right The Phantom saw that the two bunks usually occupied by the Mike and The Assistant were, as expected, empty. In his little walled-off cubicle Little Big Man was in bed, curled in a ball under the thin coverlet. Smiling thinly, The Phantom noted that Little Big Man's bed was directly under a window.

The Phantom set the tape recorder on the window ledge, barely hearing the soft whirr as the tape travelled across the recording heads. He remained still, listening for any untoward movements from the other end of the Mess, then stripped off his T-shirt. Hearing nothing but the sound of Little Big Man's breathing and the whirr of the tape recorder, The Phantom reached into his boxers, stroked himself erect, then quickly pushed down his boxers and crawled into the bunk. He moulded his body to Little Big Man's, his hardon filling the boy's briefs-covered crack.

The Phantom reached around and put his hand down the front of Little Big Man's white briefs, feeling his small dick and quail-egg sized balls. Little Big Man stirred and The Phantom began squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb across Little Big Man's curving helmet. Little Big Man's cock reacted to the stimulation of the Phantom's hand and rose, a thin shaft topped by a smooth, curving head, stiff and hard, near to five inches of warm, excited flesh.

Deep within his sleeping brain Little Big Man felt the Beast that was his true, inner self, stirring.

The Phantom continued to rub Little Big Man's boner, marvelling that for a little fellow it sure could pump out the precum. Little Big Man slowly rolled on his back, muttering quietly.

The Phantom pulled back the coverlet and positioned himself between Little Big Man's legs. He began licking and sucking the small tent in Little Big Man's white briefs, taking in the faint odours of the skinny boy who was now writhing under his touch. For all his faults Little Big Man was very fastidious about his personal hygiene, and The Phantom smelled freshly washed cotton, soap, and a peculiar mixture of musk and body oils, not at all offensive, in fact, slightly sweet. He pulled Little Big Man's underpants down and threw them to one side. He began to finger Little Big Man's rosebud, smiling as the boy bucked and writhed, his stiff cock jerking. He pushed Little Big Man's legs up and apart, then bent down and took the small balls and cock into his mouth.

As he sucked The Phantom ran his tongue around and over Little Big Man's balls, feeling the soft hairs that covered them just where they joined the shaft. By now Little Big Man was aware that he was being sucked on. He groaned softly. The Beast was fully loose, roaring, clawing the air.

Little Big Man raised his hips and the warm, wet mouth left him, then returned, engulfing his throbbing penis. The Phantom, Little Big Man's small cock fully in his mouth, sucked slowly and gently, his tongue ravaging the small knot of scar tissue just under the gentle curve of Little Big Man's helmet. Little Big Man began thrusting fiercely, then stopped. His body arched and his dick exploded, sending three watery streams of surprisingly sweet tasting semen rocketing down The Phantom's throat. For such a little guy with such small parts, Little Big Man had a surprisingly large reservoir of sperm and he continued to pump massive amounts.

The Phantom swallowed greedily, then licked and sucked Little Big Man's cock clean. Little Big Man moaned in ecstasy as The Phantom left his dick and lay on top of him. Their mouths met and opened, tongues lashing, their mouths sucking, Little Big Man for the first time tasting cum, his own cum. His arms reached out and embraced the strange body that had given him so much pleasure. He felt a hand reach down and stroke his still hard dick. He felt the wonderful mouth leave his, then felt it once again find his cock.

Using a combination of his saliva and the precum that leaked in rivers from his own cock, The Phantom lubricated Little Big Man's hard, pulsing penis. Kneeling, he positioned himself directly over Little Big Man's crotch, holding the boy's stiff boner straight up, and then lowered himself. Little Big Man gasped and opened his eyes as his cock entered the body that towered above him. For a brief moment he saw the mask-covered face.

The Beast roared and overwhelmed him.

For The Phantom there was no pain, and very little pleasure. Little Big Man's cock had slid into his channel easily. He began moving his hips up and down, stopping when just the head of Little Big Man's cock was still in him. He clenched his ass muscles, which caused the groaning boy to writhe and thrust. The Phantom pushed down and then pulled up, slowly sending Little Big Man hurtling toward the cliff. He felt Little Big Man's stiffy expand slightly, and then the warm gush of semen.

Little Big Man's second load was almost as large as his first. He thrust avidly, the nerve endings on his dick screaming as his juice spewed forth.

When Little Big Man's dick stopped twitching and started to shrink, The Phantom moved away and stood at the head of the bed. He reached down and pulled Little Big Man onto his side.

Concerned that Little Big Man would react adversely to performing what he had always loudly proclaimed to be filthy and perverted, The Phantom hesitated before he pushed his hardon down, content with rubbing his throbbing helmet along Little Big Man's thin lips, prepared just to tease the squirming boy, and prepared to pull back quickly when . . .

The Beast, slavering, clawed the air, its appetite barely whet.

Little Big Man man's tongue flicked out and tasted the minute drop of precum that had oozed from The Phantom's pee slit. A low moan escaped Little Big Man's lips and he reached out and grasped The Phantom's butt cheeks.

Mad with lust the Beast howled louder and its claws slashed the air.

Before The Phantom could react Little Big Man pulled him forward, his dick plunging deeply into Paul's widely opened mouth. Little Big Man, his nose buried in The Phantom's thick pubic bush, growled as he tasted the sweetness that filled his mouth. His tongue traced the long, smooth shaft of The Phantom's rock-hard erection, slavering around the thick, warm shaft. He gagged slightly as the head of The Phantom's cock pushed down his throat.

Surprised at the ferocity of Little Big Man's actions The Phantom pulled back until only half of his rock-like boner was in Little Big Man's mouth. Little Big Man's hands moved and he reached up, one hand feeling The Phantom's firm balls. He fondled and squeezed them while with his other hand he clutched the base of the exquisite boy meat that filled his mouth. He had never sucked a cock before . . .

The Beast roared through him and he began sucking avidly.

Moaning small, satisfied groans, Little Big sucked on The Phantom. With all the instincts of a born cocksucker he instinctively covered his teeth with his lips and sucked gently as he turned his head slowly from side to side, his mouth corkscrewing up and down the rigid shaft, his tongue continually lapping at the small stream of thick, tasteless, stickiness that flowed from the blood-engorged helmet.

The Phantom groaned loudly as Little Big Man's mouth brought him to the inevitable explosion. He felt his balls retract and his dick pulse and he shot a gargantuan load against Little Big Man's tonsils. Little Big Man gagged briefly as the warm semen filled his mouth. Then he began to swallow greedily, not wanting to lose a single drop of the wonderful nectar that had set his taste buds to exploding. The Phantom came so much that Little Big Man could not swallow it fast enough, and small dribbles of cum leaked from the corners of his mouth.

Spent, The Phantom lay down on the bed beside Little Big Man, who encircled him with his arms. Their mouths met yet again, and The Phantom tasted his own sweet juice. They lay there, kissing and exploring each other's body, their soft dicks touching, helmet caressing helmet, balls brushing as their hips ground in unison.

As his dick started to harden again The Phantom left the bed and gently pulled the pillow out from under Little Big Man's head. He pushed it under Little Big Man's hips and then positioned himself. Little Big Man felt his legs being pushed back and spread, and then . . .

The Beast roared and slashed at the air.

A barrage of white fireworks exploded as Little Big Man felt the wet softness cross his tight, brown, puckered entrance. Again and again the tongue crossed and re-crossed his pulsing flesh and his hole opened to receive the hardness. With each slow crossing he groaned, then he bucked ecstatically and raised his hips as the lips found his hole and sucked gently. "Fuck me," moaned Little Big Man. "Fuck me hard!"

The Phantom rimmed and sucked Little Big Man. To his surprise, the boy tasted clean, slightly bitter, even good, but The Phantom was not enjoying what he was doing.

"Please, fuck me," moaned Little Big Man. "I want you to fuck me." He groaned and raised his hips, inviting entrance.

The Phantom draped Little Big Man's legs over his shoulders, then using his own precum, the thick, sticky, clear fluid that oozed from Little Big Man's slit, and as much saliva as he could produce, he lubed his hardon, and placed his cockhead against Little Big Man's twitching entrance. He remembered his first time with the Twins, and pushed gently, forcing the tight entrance open until it accepted his firm mushroom head. Little Big Man gasped as he felt the thickness enter him. He felt very little pain, but his muscles tightened, as if dreading any further penetration.

The Phantom pushed slowly forward, waiting until the channel relaxed and was ready to accept more of him.

Little Big man groaned, feeling more of the warm hardness enter him. He felt the hardness push inward slowly and . . . The Beast within him, unchained at last, rampaged . . . He pushed back and felt a quick, fleeting, lightning bolt of pain course through him, quickly replaced by a feeling of such pleasure that his heart skipped a beat.

The Phantom, his rough pubic bush crushed against Little Big Man's love trail, his balls slapping gently against the boy's thin ass cheeks, reached down. With one hand he stroked and pulled Little Big Man's hardon. With the other he fondled and rolled the youth's tiny balls.

With each gentle thrust The Phantom plunged deeply into Little Big Man, his helmet brushing across his sensitive prostate, causing wave after wave of wonder to crash through the boy's trembling body. "Harder," growled Little Big Man. "Fuck me harder!" he ordered harshly. "Stick that COCK in me!"

Little Big Man's hands ripped and tore at the sheets under him, his teeth clenched tightly. Every fibre in him wanted to scream out as each thrust of the incredibly glorious thickness caused broadside after broadside of pleasure to explode his brain. He gasped and writhed as his balls, so tight that they had all but disappeared, began pumping with such force that his ejaculate smashed against his chin.

When Little Big Man's gaping slit began spurting his much-thinned juice, The Phantom let go, his dick sending a huge stream of thick cream deep into Little Big Man's bowels. As his dick pumped and his insides filled, Little Big Man arched and trembled, clamping his muscles hard around the cause of his ecstasy. The Phantom shuddered, his dick shrinking fast. He pulled out of Little Big Man and lay down beside him, heads touching. They kissed gently and each reached down and felt the other's cum-slicked dick.

Stunned at the ferocity of Little Big Man's response to his seduction, The Phantom lay quietly. Paul's growling and intense demands to be fucked hard, his unbridled lust and uninhibited eagerness gave The Phantom little satisfaction and the realization of what he had just done terrified him.

When Little Big Man's breathing slowed as he drifted into a deep sleep, The Phantom got shakily out of the bed and found his boxers and T-shirt, which were lying in a small heap on the deck. He wiped himself clean and then placed his soiled, semen-stained boxers over Little Big Man's soft, small, genitals.

After removing the pillow from under the sleeping boy, and placing it back under his head, The Phantom drew the coverlet over the nude body. Then he bent down and picked up Little Big Man's underpants and left the Mess.

Outside, Cory and Todd were waiting. They exchanged relieved looks as The Phantom emerged, naked and carrying some clothing, from the Mess. Todd immediately noticed that The Phantom had not brought the tape recorder with him. He nodded to Cory who hurried into the Mess.

Little Big Man was lying flat on his back, snoring softly. The smell of sex permeated the area and Cory wrinkled his nose as he quickly snatched the tape recorder from the windowsill. His thumb was over the 'Stop' button when Little Big Man stirred. As Cory watched Little Big Man reached under the boxer shorts that were covering his middle. He began growling as he masturbated. "Wanna fuck!" growled Little Big Man. "Wanna FUCK!"

Cory, barely able to control his snickering, quickly turned off the tape recorder and hurried from the mess. Wait until Todd heard THIS! When he returned to The Phantom and Todd, Cory saw that The Phantom was wearing his jeans. "Well?" asked Todd when Cory rushed up.

Cory nodded slowly and held up the tape recorder. Todd returned his brother's nod. Then he turned to help the Phantom. "Phantom, are you okay?" he asked. The Phantom seemed not to hear him. "It's done." Woodenly he turned to look at each boy in turn and repeated in a soft whisper, "It's done!" He let the ski mask, his black T-shirt and Little Big Man's white briefs that he had been carrying drop into the dirt. "It's done!"

"Phantom, please don't . . ." begged Cory.

The Phantom's hands became claws that slowly curled into shaking fists. His body shook and he bowed his head. "It's done, Cory, DONE!" he said harshly, his voice quavering. "Don't ever ask me what I did in there. Do not ever ask me!"

Cory stared at his friend, then looked at Todd. "Dear God," he whispered to Todd, "what have we done?"

The Phantom heard him and began weeping softly. He pounded his chest weakly. "I did it! Me! Not you, Cory! Not Todd! Me!" He began to rub his mouth.

At first neither Twin knew what to do. Phantom, so shocked at what he perceived to be horrible acts that he had performed in the Petty Officers Mess, was now traumatized. He stood before them, shivering and weeping, and rubbing his chest, his lips, his shoulders. Todd was the first to react. He stripped off the T-shirt he was wearing and pulled it over The Phantom's head. "Cory, give me your sweater, quickly."

Cory stripped off the light sweater he was wearing and helped Todd to pull it over the shaking boy.

"I feel so . . .unclean . . .so utterly filthy," muttered The Phantom. He began retching, then vomited explosively onto the ground. "Unclean," he wept, shaking his head violently. "So unclean!"

Todd quickly wrapped his arms around The Phantom. "We'll make you clean, I promise Phantom, I promise."

"You can't," moaned The Phantom. "He's . . . I can taste his . . . I can taste him . . ."

Todd looked at Cory. "Tyler has some of the Chef's rum left. It's in his locker. Get it." He felt The Phantom shivering uncontrollably in his arms. "And get a blanket."

"Todd, I'll have to wake Tyler up," argued Cory. "He'll want to know what is going on and where are you taking Phantom?"

"Cory, please do what I ask!" Todd returned sharply. He bent down and gathered up the soiled clothing The Phantom had brought from the Mess and handed the crumpled ski mask, underpants and black T-shirt to Cory. "Take these . . ." he looked around again and noticed Phantom's sneakers and socks lying a short distance away . . . "and grab Phantom's sneakers and socks. Take everything to the Gunroom and hide them until we figure out what we're going to do next. You still have the tape recorder, don't you?"

Cory nodded and held out the recorder. "Hide them where?"

"Under the bed, in the locker, how the hell would I know? Just do it." Todd began to lead the unfeeling Phantom away. "We have to look after him, Cory. He needs us now. "

"But where are you going?" asked Cory as he gathered up The Phantom's sneakers.

"The Mess Hall showers. They're the only ones that haven't been shut off," replied Todd over his shoulder. "Get the rum, Cory, just get the rum."

Cory hurried into the Gunroom and quickly hid the tape recorder and soiled clothing in his footlocker. He absent-mindedly dropped The Phantom's sneakers and socks onto his bunk and all but ran to the Chief's Mess door. Without knocking he rushed into the cabin and brusquely shook Tyler awake.

"What the fuck . . ." snarled Tyler as he tried to push Cory away. He glared at Cory. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking, Arundel?" He struggled into a sitting position and knuckled the sleep from his eyes. "This had better be good, Cory . . ."

"The rum you got from Chef, where is it?" demanded Cory peremptorily.

"Who the hell do you think you are and what the fuck do you want with my rum?" Tyler swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

With a gesture of disgust Cory wheeled, jerked open Tyler's locker and began pulling clothing from it and flinging it to the deck. "I don't have time to argue with you. I don't have time to explain anything. And keep your voice down. You'll have the whole fucking Gunroom awake!" he snarled in reply.

"The pair of you already have this part of the fucking Gunroom awake!" growled Val as he threw back the covers and got out of bed. "The rum is in the bottom drawer, under his gunshirts and what the fuck is going on?"

Cory did not reply. With a vicious tug he pulled the drawer out, dropping it on the deck with a loud crash, and found the bottle of rum. He straightened and was about to hurry from the Mess when Tyler's strong hand enveloped his arm. "Cory . . ."

Cory looked levelly at the Master at Arms. "It's Phantom. Tonight he did something to help us. Now it's time for us to do something to help him." He pulled away. "If you want to help, bring a blanket." He smiled thinly. "You might also put on some pants." He was almost at the door when Val stopped him.

"Cory, where . . ."

"The Mess Hall showers, and bring a blanket." With that he was gone, hurrying after Todd and The Phantom.

Tyler quickly switched on the lights. He looked at Val, who shrugged. "We better go, Val," Tyler said, a worried look on his face. "If Phantom's in trouble . . ."

Val nodded. He picked up the soft, woollen sea blanket that was folded atop his sea chest. "Let's go."

Tyler grabbed his sea blanket from the deck where it had fallen during the night, and threw it over his shoulder. They hurried from their Mess, rushing to catch up with Cory, each neglecting to cover his near-nakedness. In their excitement they forgot to pull on shoes, forgot to pull on their shorts. At a steady trot they hurried to catch up with Cory. Val wore only a pair of plaid boxers. Tyler was all but naked, clad only in his tighty-whiteys. Neither boy gave it a thought.

In the locker room Todd seated The Phantom on the wooden bench and hurried into the shower room where he turned the hot water on full blast. He returned to the locker room and saw that The Phantom had not moved. He sat slumped against the wall, his arms and legs akimbo, weeping softly and staring into nothingness.

After stripping the sweater and T-shirt from The Phantom, Todd bent down and unbuttoned The Phantom's jeans, then began to pull them down. "Lift up a bit, Phantom," he asked quietly.

The Phantom did as he was told. He lifted his hips and Todd quickly stripped off his jeans. Todd flung the jeans across the locker room and took The Phantom's shaking hands in his. "In a minute, Phantom, you're going to take ashower. We're going to make you clean again," he whispered.

Cory, Tyler and Val charged into the locker room and stopped dead in their tracks. Tyler looked at the near-comatose Phantom and swore under his breath.

"Holy Mother of God," whispered Val, letting his sea blanket drop to the deck. He knelt beside the naked boy and gently caressed his ashen cheeks. "Holy Mother of God."

Tyler, stricken, sat beside The Phantom and wrapped his arms around him. He pulled The Phantom's head close to his own and gently ran his fingers through the boy's short hair. "Whatever happened, Phantom, you're going to be okay. We promise, we promise." He looked pleadingly at Todd for an explanation.

Todd lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Did you get the rum?" he asked Cory. Cory nodded.

"Go into the dining hall and bring back a glass," Todd ordered. He looked at Val. "In the cleaning gear locker there are some scrub brushes. Get them. New ones if there are any."

"Scrub brushes?" asked Val, confused. "What the hell do you want those for?"

Todd released The Phantom's hands and placed one hand on Val's shoulder. "Val, if you love Phantom, get the brushes. Then go and make sure that the water is hot. Hot! As hot as you can stand it!"

Cory returned and handed Todd an empty plastic tumbler. Todd smiled at his dear, sweet, goofy brother. "Put some rum in it, Cory," he said quietly. "Fill it up!"

Tyler was not at all sure that giving Phantom rum was a very good idea. Whatever had happened - and he still had not a clue what had happened - was serious. Rum might not help. He opened his mouth to speak but Todd held up his hand, forestalling any further protest. "It's necessary, Tyler." Todd took the tumbler filled with rum and held it up to The Phantom's lips. "Drink this, Phantom," he commanded softly. "Swish it around in your mouth. Drink some of it and spit the rest out."

The Phantom sniffed and wrinkled his nose. He shuddered slightly and shook his head, refusing the rum. "Thank you, Todd, but I really don't care for rum," he said with a strange, formal politeness.

"Maybe so, but drink it anyway," replied Todd as he held the tumbler to The Phantom's lips and poured a small ration of rum into the boy's mouth. The Phantom gagged, coughed, and then swallowed the rum.

"That's it, Phantom," said Todd soothingly, "now for some more." He held the tumbler higher and poured a larger portion of rum into The Phantom.

Val came into the locker room. He was carrying two scrubbing brushes. He looked at what Todd was doing and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Todd, you'll get him drunk!"

"Or make him sick," opined Tyler. He continued to hold The Phantom close, cupping the boy's chin to hold his head up so that Todd had easy access with the rum.

"He's already been sick," replied Todd as he continued to force the rum down The Phantom's throat. "And if he's sick again, all the better!" When the tumbler was half empty Todd placed in on the deck. He took The Phantom's face in his hands. "Phantom, can you still taste him?"

The Phantom tried to focus on Todd, who repeated his question. The Phantom nodded, and then shook his head, mumbling almost incoherently, "Still unclean. Unclean!" He began to shake again, and tears coursed down his cheeks.

"Shh, Phantom, we'll take away his taste." He leaned forward and kissed The Phantom deeply.

Val gasped softly. He watched as The Phantom struggled briefly, then reached out and held Todd close to him. Todd pulled away and looked at Cory.

Cory nodded and when Todd moved away he knelt before The Phantom, took his face in his hands, and kissed him. As Cory pulled away Tyler could see that his eyes were filled with tears.

"Why . . . why are you doing that?" Tyler asked, his voice soft and filled with curiosity.

Cory, who liked and respected Tyler, quickly brushed the tears from his eyes. He did not want The Master at Arms to think that he was wuss. "For the same reason you're going to do it, Tyler." He smiled at Tyler and then reached up and stroked his face. "To wipe away the taste of a viper."

Tyler hesitated. The only males he had ever kissed before had been his father and his brothers, and that a long time ago and only on the cheek.

"Please, Tyler," whispered Cory.

For some reason this ritual kiss was important to the Twins and for Phantom. Tyler swallowed and nodded slowly. He took Cory's place and pressed his lips against The Phantom's. As he had done with Todd and Cory, The Phantom reached out and embraced Tyler, his lips parted slightly. For the first time in his life Tyler knew the wonder of kissing another boy. Stunned at the feelings that flashed through him, Tyler withdrew slowly. He looked at Val and smiled weakly.

Val look at Tyler and nodded. Like Tyler he was confused and upset and had not a clue why he was in the locker room, wearing nothing but his underpants or why he was about to kiss Phantom. Unlike Tyler, Val had kissed a boy before. Then it had been sex. Now, now it was something entirely different. Now it was a needed expression of love.

The warmth of The Phantom's lips on his surprised Val and for a brief moment a lightning flash of desire passed through him. He felt The Phantom's lips part slightly and he tasted the rum that lingered in the boy's mouth. As they kissed The Phantom held him close. Finally they pulled apart and Val stood up. His hands were trembling slightly and his heart was pounding. "What . . . what's next?" he asked shakily.

"Now we take him into the showers and clean him," replied Todd, who stood up and clasped The Phantom's arms.

"Clean him? He looks clean to me!" said Tyler.

Todd looked directly at Tyler. "In his mind he's not. Now you can leave or you can shuck those little boy's white pants you're wearing and help Cory and me get Phantom into the showers." He stared at Val. "You, too. Shuck 'em or go."

Val did not answer Todd. He pushed down his boxers, stepped out of them, and picked up one of the scrubbing brushes. "I'm staying."

All three boys looked at Tyler. He had no objection to stripping off. He did object to not knowing why he was stripping off. Rather than argue the point Tyler nodded and quickly stripped off his briefs. He looked at Todd. "I'm doing this because it's important to you, and I trust you, Todd."

"It's important to Phantom," replied Todd. "That's all that counts." He released The Phantom and as he bent down to pull off his sneakers he saw The Phantom beginning to sway. "Tyler, hold him until I get undressed, please," he said as he pulled off his white socks. Tyler quickly sat down beside The Phantom and held him steady while Todd stood up and pushed down his shorts and boxers. He kicked aside his clothing and reached out. "Help me get him to his feet, Tyler."

"We'll need soap," said Cory as he followed his brother's lead. "And a washcloth. We can't use those brushes on his tender bits."

Todd smiled at his brother. Trust Cory to remember the practical things. "Look in the lockers. Even cooks use soap," he suggested.

Cory turned and opened the first locker behind him (it was Ray's). He looked in and found a new bar of Lifebuoy Soap. Val looked in the next locker (Sandro's) and found a bottle of shampoo. He held it up and showed it to Todd. "We can use this as well," he said.

Cory opened the next locker. Sitting atop a small pile of Joey's clean underpants he found a washcloth. "All set, I think."

Together Todd and Tyler half carried, half walked The Phantom into the shower room, which was filled with steam. "Jesus," exploded Tyler, "that water is hot enough to boil lobsters!"

Todd nodded. "It's got to be as hot as he, and we, can stand it!"

They stood The Phantom under the showerhead. He jumped slightly as the almost boiling water coursed over his body. Tyler turned the cold water knob and, while the water was still very hot, it was not dangerously so. The Phantom nodded slowly and then, trancelike, spread his arms, his lips curling into a slight smile as the cleansing water scoured his chest and groin, washing away the scent and sticky residue that was Little Big Man.

"Let's get started," said Todd quietly. He motioned for the others to begin.

The Phantom stood uncomplaining as the boys scrubbed every inch of him, not once, but three times. They used the scrubbing brushes on his back, on his chest, on his buttocks and thighs. They scrubbed between his toes and fingers. They scoured the soles of his feet. They shampooed the hair on his head and the hair that surrounded his genitals. They rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again. They used the washcloth and lots of soap to scrub The Phantom's genitals, perineum, and anus.

At first Tyler and Val were red with embarrassment. It was one thing to shower with the boys. It was quite another to be in the shower and wash one of the boys. Before very long, however, when they realized that The Phantom was barely aware of what they were doing, they lost their embarrassment. It was, as Val later told Tyler, sort of like washing their baby brothers (which they both had done). They'd both done diaper duty at one time or another, and bathed their brothers. The only difference, Val said, was that Phantom was a hell of a lot bigger and didn't pop a bone, as the baby boys always did, and it was not something that he would want to try to do now, since his brothers were bigger than he was and would beat the living shit out of him!

When they were finished they had all but rubbed the tan from The Phantom's body. They returned to the locker room where they rifled the lockers for towels. They dried The Phantom and themselves. "He's clean, Todd. What do we do now?" asked Val as he draped a blanket over The Phantom's shoulders.

"We put him to bed, of course," returned Todd.

"Where? There's no free bunks, and I would think that you'd want someplace private."

Todd held the blanket-draped Phantom close. "The Wardroom. Cabin 5 is empty."

"The Wardroom!" spat Tyler. "You can't go there, it's . . ."

"Tyler, I can and I am," replied Todd calmly. He turned to Cory and nodded toward one of the lockers. "See if there are some clean clothes in there. I know Phantom always keeps extra underwear and such."

Cory opened The Phantom's locker, searched through it, and turned to his brother. "Cook's whites, his bells and a couple of gunshirts." He lifted a small pile of clothes near the top of the locker. "Boxers, T-shirts."

Todd nodded. "Bring the boxers and a T-shirt. We can dress him once we get him to the Wardroom."

"Okay," agreed Cory. "I'll bring his jeans."

Todd thought a moment. Phantom had put his jeans on immediately after leaving Little Big Man and the insides, the crotch, would have . . . "No, leave them," he said quickly. "They're too much of a hassle to get on him."

"He doesn't have anything else, except for his whites . . ." began Cory. Then he noticed Todd's eyes darting from The Phantom's crotch, and then to the jeans crumpled on the bench, then back to The Phantom's crotch. Cory got the message. "The jeans are kind of dirty, anyway," he said lamely. "I'll get some whites."

Todd gave an inward sigh of relief. "He'll need his sneakers. The gravel paths are bitch on bare feet!" He glanced around the change room, looking for The Phantom's sneakers. He looked at Cory questioningly. "You did bring them, didn't you?" he asked.

Cory grimaced. "Shit, I left them on my bunk!"

"Damn," muttered Todd. "Well, it can't be helped. He'll just have to walk barefoot. It's grass most of the way over to the Wardroom so it won't be too bad for him." He glanced at the other cadets. They were all still naked and they had already spent far too much time in here. "We have to get a move on, guys," he said with authority. "I have no idea what time it is but it's late and the cooks will be coming on duty soon." Todd looked at his brother. "Cory, get dressed and then hold Phantom while I dress." It was now Tyler's turn. "Tyler, can you or Val swing by the Gunroom and pick up Phantom's sneakers and socks?"

Tyler sighed heavily. Would he ever get an explanation? "Okay," he said as he pulled on his briefs. "Anything else you need?"

Todd shook his head no and handed The Phantom over to Cory, who was now dressed. Todd quickly found his own shorts and T-shirt and pulled them on. He glanced around the littered dressing area. "After we get Phantom settled can you and Val come back and clean up this place?" He looked at Tyler, and then at Val, who was bent over, pulling on his plaid boxers. "You and Val had better put on some pants as well, don't you think?"

Ray awoke with a start. Beside him Kevin snored softly. There was a slight breeze coming into Chef's office through the partially opened window and a thin beam of moonlight cast a very faint glow from under the window-blind. Groaning, Ray sat up. It was too dark in the office for him to see the clock above Chef's desk but he knew it was very late. Chef might not mind if he and Kevin used his office for their lovemaking but he would raise holy hell if they were still there when he came back aboard in the morning so he reached over and lovingly poked Kevin's back. "Get up, Kevin. We have to hit the road."

Kevin snorted and snuffled awake. "Jesus, can't a guy sleep around here?"

"No. Now get your ass in gear and get dressed." Ray rolled out of bed. "I have to piss so bad my back teeth are floating. I'm going to the heads and if you're dressed and ready when I get back you can walk me home."

"Big fuckin' deal," griped Kevin as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You only live across the road!"

"Then I'll walk you home!" replied Ray as he left the office.

Slowly, and very carefully Ray made his way through the galley, heading for the main dining hall and the heads. He was bare-assed naked and while the stoves were off there was no way he wanted to catch the family jewels on the sharp-edged galley table or the countertops. As he crossed the dining hall Ray thought he heard voices and running water. As he drew nearer to the heads and washplace the voices became louder and Ray stopped outside the door leading to the washplace. " . . . If there are some clean clothes in there. I know Phantom always keeps extra underwear and such," Ray heard Todd say.

Todd? Phantom? Confused, Ray gently pushed open the door a crack. What was Todd up to? Why was he talking about Phantom? Had something happened to Phantom? He peeked into the change room and gasped. He could see Todd standing in the middle of the room, holding a blanket-draped figure. He drew back and listened as Todd told Cory to get dressed and then he heard Todd saying something about cleaning the place. He braced against the bulkhead, straining to hear through the thick, closed door. God damn, what was that about Cabin 5? Ray saw a gleam of light as the door to the washplace was pulled from inside and darted across the narrow corridor into the lounge.

From his darkened vantage point Ray watched as Todd led The Phantom from the washplace, and his eyes widened when he saw Cory, Val, and Tyler . . . VAL AND TYLER?

"Jesus!" he thought. "What is going on?" What were the two Senior Cadets doing lurking around the Cooks Washplace in the middle of the night, in their underwear? Why was Phantom all covered in a blanket? What was going ON?

Ray waited until he heard the door leading to the outside close and then went into the locker room. He saw that the bench was littered with wet towels, a washcloth, some scrubbing brushes and a not quite empty glass from the dining hall. "Maybe," he thought, "they all came over to have a shower and Phantom fell and hurt himself." He bent over and picked up the glass, sniffed the dregs at the bottom and then tasted them. Rum? They came here to drink rum and shower?

Ray did not believe for a minute that nothing was wrong. He began to slowly pick up the towels, tidying up. Something was wrong and the answer lay in Cabin 5. Something was wrong and as soon as he relieved himself and walked Kevin home he would damn sure find out what was going on.

Cabin 5 was a sparsely furnished, utilitarian bedroom designed to house two officers in minimal comfort for a short period of time. It was across the corridor from the room where Kyle and Andy slept. Further down the corridor, separated by a linen locker, was Cabin 4, where Dave Eddy hung his shorts. The cabin was furnished with two wooden-framed beds separated by a large metal desk, two wooden chairs and, closest to the door, large wardrobes. It smelled of stale air and fresh linen. It had not been used since Nigel had lived in it.

Cory went ahead and quickly pulled down the coverlet and top sheet of the bed closest to the outside bulkhead. He stood to one side as Todd and Tyler set The Phantom down. The blanket that had draped and protected the silent boy slipped off his shoulders, revealing his nakedness. "Help me dress him, please," said Todd to Tyler.

Tyler nodded and together they managed to slip a T-shirt over The Phantom's head and chest, and pull his boxers over his loins. Then they laid him on the bed and pulled the covers over him.

The cabin door opened and Val slipped quietly into the room, his shower clogs squeaking softly. After retrieving The Phantom's sneakers from the Gunroom he had gone into the Chiefs' Mess, collecting shorts, T-shirts and shower clogs for himself and Tyler. He piled everything on the desk and stood beside Tyler. They all watched as The Phantom curled and hugged himself and began to moan softly, and tears coursed small rivers down his pale face. He began shaking and kicking his legs.

Without a word Cory pulled back the bedclothes, lay on the far side of The Phantom, and took him in his arms. "It's okay, Phantom. I'm here. Cory is here for you." He gently kissed The Phantom's forehead and held him tightly. "I'm here, and Todd, and Tyler and Val. We're all here, Phantom."

The Phantom began sobbing louder, and his shaking increased. Todd pulled the sheet over both boys, and then covered them with the sea blanket. He sank to the floor, his back against the desk, and buried his face in his hands.

Tyler and Val sat on the other bed, staring at the scene before them: Cory in bed with The Phantom, holding him, caressing his hair, whispering calming words in the boy's ear; Todd, rocking back and forth, his face hidden, his groans of self-guilt barely audible.

Tyler moved slowly from the bed, sat beside Todd and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Todd, it's time," he murmured gently.

Todd raised his tear-stained face and looked at Tyler, his eyes filmed with tears of grief. "It's my fault, Tyler. I let him do it!"

Val slid off the bed and sat on the deck beside Todd. He slipped his arm around the boy's slim waist. "It can't be as bad as all that, Todd," he said. He gave Todd a slight squeeze.

"It is!" insisted Todd. "If he hadn't listened to us, to Cory and me, he wouldn't . . .he wouldn't . . ."

Tyler cupped Todd's chin in his left hand. With his right he slowly wiped away the tears that spotted Todd's smooth, pink cheeks. "Toddy, Phantom did whatever he did, for whatever the reason, because he wanted to do it. I know him, and I know you. He's a stubborn, headstrong little cuss, and once he puts his mind to it, he does it. Since I know you, I can say that I believe you tried to talk him out of whatever it was he ended up doing."

Todd nodded in agreement. "He wouldn't listen. He said he had to do it. He said it was the only way."

"What way was that?" asked Val. He moved his free arm across Todd's stomach.

Todd reached out and pulled both Chiefs to him. "He wanted to protect us. He said that no matter what the officers did, no matter what The Gunner or his friends did, he had to make sure that nothing happened to us."

"Us? Who is us?" asked Tyler, confusion written on his face.

Todd looked directly at the Master at Arms. "You." He turned his head and looked at Val. "You."

"Me?" whispered Val.

"He wouldn't listen! He just wouldn't," continued Todd. "He loves us all so much that he would not listen!"

At that moment The Phantom coughed loudly. He squirmed and opened his eyes, and saw Cory looking back at him, their faces inches apart. "I'd like a drink of water, please," he said weakly.

Todd began rise. Tyler pushed him back down. "I'll get it. You stay put."

"Be careful, Tyler, the officers . . ." cautioned Todd.

"Are not here," said Val. "Tonight is Mess Dinner night, remember? Andy's Duty Officer. He's asleep in the Guardhouse. Greg told me that he booked Dave and Kyle into the Officers Mess at Comox for the night. Except for Andy all the officers are stopping at Base for the night. This place is empty." He slipped quietly from the cabin, and quickly returned. In one hand he held a glass of clear water. In the other he held a large carafe. "Ice water," he explained as he placed the leather and silver vessel on the desk. He handed the glass of water to Cory, who raised The Phantom up, and helped him drink.

"Thank you, Cory," whispered The Phantom with a small smile. "Was thirsty."

"I know, I know," replied Cory. He gently pressed The Phantom back down. "Now go back to sleep, Phantom." The Phantom nodded and lay back. Soon the only sound in the room was his low, steady breathing.

Tyler returned to sit beside Todd, raised his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He turned his head slightly and looked at Todd. From the bed came Cory's voice, strong, firm, and very clear. "Tell them Todd, or I will."

Todd nodded. He began to speak, his voice low, choked with emotion. "Phantom seduced Little Big Man," said Todd, almost choking on the words. He glared at Tyler. "Phantom FUCKED Paul Greene!"

"He WHAT?" yelped Tyler.

Val stared at Todd, his mouth agape, speechless, unable to reply.

Todd continued in a strained, raspy voice. "Phantom said that he had thought it all over very carefully. He said it was the only way to make sure that Little Big Man would never spread his lies again. He said that there was too much at stake, too many cadets in danger, for him not to take the risk."

"What risk?" asked Tyler, calming down.

Todd, pale, his face stricken with anguish, began to sob. "Phantom believed that if he could get Little Big Man to, to have sex with another boy, he would be too ashamed and too afraid to ever talk about us. Cory and me, we told him that Little Big Man was really gay, and that he hated all of us because he really hated himself for being gay."

"Jesus, you two played amateur psychologists?" Val shook his head in angry disgust.

"Yes! We did it! God forgive us, we did it!" replied Todd, furious at himself and at his brother. Weeping softly, Todd continued. "Phantom, at first, wasn't all that sure about Little Big Man. He did say that there were men who were gay, but hid it, and that they were so afraid of their secret coming out that they would do anything, anything, to keep their secret."

Val considered this a moment. There were things . . . "So he decided that by sleeping with Little Big Man he'd put the fear of God into him?" he asked, his tone calm.

Todd shook his head slowly. "Phantom was sceptical. He really didn't think that a guy could be that desperate. Then he saw a friend of his, in Comox, when he did the laundry run. Then he believed."

"In other words, by having sex with Little Big Man, Phantom thought he could threaten Little Big Man, threaten to disclose what happened if Paul opened his mouth, told his lies?" Tyler shook his head in disbelief.

"He believed it. That's why he did it!" wailed Todd.

Val ran his fingers through his hair, muttering softly. "But, damn it, Todd . . ."

"He believed it because he saw what could happen when a guy is so afraid of being found out." Todd shivered slightly. "He saw it! And because he saw it, he went into the Petty Officers Mess and had sex with Little Big Man."

"I really don't believe this is happening!" Tyler struggled erect and went to the other bed, sitting on the edge of it, his head bowed. He ran his fingers through his short coppery hair, and sighed loudly. "I cannot believe that you let him do it! How could you Todd, or you Cory? God damn it, he is your friend. Did either of you stop to think what could happen, what the consequences might be?"

"Tyler . . ." began Val.

"No!" Tyler's face was suffused with anger. "Of all the stupid, bone-headed plays you've gotten up to, Todd, this has got to be the . . ."

"Tyler, stop it!"

Tyler looked up. The Phantom was sitting up. His face was very pale. "They tried everything they could think of to try to make me not go. If you want to blame anybody, blame me." He turned to Cory. "Could I have some more water?"

"I'll get it," said Val hurriedly. He poured some water into the glass and handed it to The Phantom who drank it down, gagging slightly. When he had drunk his fill he handed the glass back to Val, whispering his thanks and then he looked levelly at Tyler. "It's done. Matt was right. Little Big Man wanted what he thought Matt was getting. I gave it to him." He lay back on the pillows.

"What if he screams rape?" asked Tyler, amazed at The Phantom's calmness.

The Phantom stared at the ceiling. "He won't. He doesn't know who was in his bed with him. He does know that he wanted to do everything we did. He won't scream rape and he'll pray to that Nazi god he worships that no one ever finds out."

Cory looked at The Phantom with amazement. "You have really thought this out, haven't you?"

The Phantom smiled weakly. "All Friday night. Paul Greene uses lies and innuendo to make people afraid of him, to ruin people. We will use the truth to make him afraid of being ruined."

"And just how do you plan on doing that, Phantom?" asked Val, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm not. The Twins are."

"They are?" asked Tyler, stunned.

The Phantom nodded slowly. "I can't do it, because I am the one that will bear witness against him. He hates Todd and Cory, and he thinks they hate him . . ."

"We don't," interrupted Cory. "Sure, he's a jerk, and a prick . . ."

The Phantom raised his hand and stroked Cory's face. "Dear, sweet, Cory. It is not important for you to hate him. What is important is that he thinks you do. When you and Todd tell Little Big Man that you know everything that went on, and that you know who the other guy was, he'll do whatever you tell him to do."

Tyler started. "Blackmail! You're going to blackmail him!"

"In a word, yes," returned The Phantom simply. "He thinks he has too much to lose. His whole life is tied up in that outfit he's a part of. If he loses that, he loses everything."

"But why the Twins? Why not Val, or me?" demanded Tyler.

"Because he thinks you and Val are weak fools," retorted The Phantom brutally. "You never realized that Paul only understands strength. I mean no disrespect, Tyler, but when you let Paul stay on the first time he caused trouble, the first time he called the Twins queers, he saw it as weakness, not compassion." The Phantom reached out and pulled Cory to him. He could feel the warmth of Cory's body and he felt secure again. "Tyler, you and Val, you are very nice guys, and I love you both very much. I respect you both. The problem is, Little Big Man doesn't."

"I called him a bad seed," whispered Tyler. "I said he couldn't be rehabilitated."

"After which you should have pounded his ass into the dirt!" snapped The Phantom.

"I couldn't do that, Phantom!" gasped Tyler, horrified.

The Phantom cocked an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "Which Little Big Man knew! He also knows that the Twins can, and will, hurt him. Not physically, but with words."

"A word in the right ears, so to speak?" asked Val. He thought a moment. "A little dropped hint that maybe Paul is not as straight as he pretends to be?" Tyler rubbed his chin. "Jesus, that's devious!"

Todd looked at Cory who shrugged imperceptibly. Phantom had forgotten the tape recorder. Which was all right, because Todd had a plan, a plan that would, in conjunction with the threatened whispering campaign, put paid to any fears of Little Big Man. "Of course it is!" Todd stood up and walked to the door. "A word here, a word in Victoria, at RCSCC RAINBOW, another in Vancouver, at CAPTAIN VANCOUVER. Word gets around." For the moment Todd thought it best not to mention the tape recorder.

"A word from us and it would be all over the ship by noon!" laughed Cory. "And if it gets all over here, the other guys will make damn sure it gets back to their home units!" He gave The Phantom a huge hug. "You are evil, Phantom!"

"Actually, I'm cold, and tired," returned The Phantom.

Tyler stood up, took his clothes from the desk where Val had piled their things and pulled on his shorts. He gestured to Val and Cory. "Let's leave him to sleep," he said as he slipped on his rubber Jesus boots. "Val, get dressed, please. We still have that mess in the change room to clean up."

Val dressed quickly. "You coming to help?" he asked Todd.

"No. I want to do a recce around the Petty Officer's Mess, just to make sure we've left nothing behind," replied Todd. He turned to his brother. "Come on, Cory."

"No, please Todd, I want him to stay. I . . . I don't want to be alone." The Phantom held Cory close.

Todd looked at Cory who shrugged and indicated with his chin that the others should leave. "I'll stay with him."

The other boys silently left the room. The Phantom rolled on his side and wrapped his arms around Cory's waist. He shivered slightly.

"You're cold. I'll get another blanket," said Cory as he pulled away. "There are some in the linen closet down the corridor." He made to rise but The Phantom pushed him back.

"No."

"But, Phantom, if you're cold . . ." Cory could feel The Phantom's hands fumbling with the button on his shorts. " . . . Phantom, what are you doing?"

"Undoing your shorts!"

"But, Phantom, I mean, after all you . . ." Cory felt his zipper being pulled down and The Phantom's hands slipping under the waistband of his boxers.

"Cory, in a little while, I am going to sleep. When I fall asleep I want to do it with the taste in my mouth of one of the four people I care more about than my life."

The Phantom's hand slowly enveloped Cory's soft penis. "F . . . f . . . four?" asked Cory, groaning slightly as The Phantom's hand massaged the sensitive underside of his helmet.

"The Gunner, Ray, Todd . . . and you." The Phantom began moving down the bed, pushing Cory's clothing down as wriggled into position under the blanket.

Cory gasped loudly as he felt the soft warmth envelop his hardening penis. "Ah, gee, Phantom . . ."

Little Big Man stirred, rolled on his back, and opened his eyes. Something had caused him to wake up. He stared at the dark ceiling above his bed, wondering. His body felt tired and there was a feeling he could not describe warming his groin. He reached down and felt . . . "What the . . .?" he muttered as he pulled the dark coloured underpants from his body. He held them up and stared at them. "Boxers?" he thought. "I never wear . . ."

He dropped the shorts and groaned. "It was a dream. I had a wet dream." His hand returned to his crotch. He felt the matted, still damp hairs of his pubic bush. He ran his hand around his tender penis and felt the wetness between his legs. "A dream," he insisted. "I didn't . . ."

His mind reeling with denial, Little Big Man threw the boxers shorts to the side. "It did not happen. It did not happen."

Little Big Man heard the mess door open and watched as Mike and the Assistant crept into the mess. He remembered that they had been on duty, which meant it was, what, 0345, maybe 0350?

Little Big Man could hear the soft rustling of clothing being removed. He watched as Mike stripped off his uniform. Mike stood there for a moment, with nothing on but his briefs. Then his hands slipped under the waistband of his underpants and he pushed them down. He waited, naked, breathing slowly.

Phillip appeared in Little Big Man's line of sight. He stood in front of Mike, and for a long moment they stood there, looking into each other's eyes. Little Big Man's jaw dropped as Mike draped his arms over The Assistant's shoulders. Barely daring to breathe he watched as the two athletes kissed, broke apart and then glided noiselessly toward the showers.

Unable to stop himself Little Big Man felt his genitals. He had a boner. He had watched two guys starting to make out and he'd gotten hard. He quickly sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and buried his face in his hands and then began to beat his fists against the side of his head. It had not happened! He was not sitting here with his body crusted with spunk. His asshole did not feel strangely empty. His dick was not pleasantly sore from multiple ejaculations. IT HAD NOT HAPPENED!

His foot brushed against the small pile of soft cotton at his feet. But it had happened, and the evidence of it lay at his feet. He reached down and scooped up the offending boxers. His mind reeling, Little Big Man tired to think! He had to think! He could not allow anything to give evidence to what he had done.

Then it came to him. If he showered and washed away the crusted remnants of his own and somebody else's orgasms, there would be no evidence. If he threw the boxers into the gash, one more piece of evidence would disappear. If there was no evidence, it had not happened.

Little Big Man lay back down, his hand clutching the cotton boxers. Whose? Who owned these . . . things? Who knew his secret?

He sat up quickly and gasped. The Twins! It had to be . . . no, not the Twins. They hated him so much that they would not lower themselves to shake his hand, much less sleep with him. He dismissed them from his mind. He had never, by action, word, or deed, even hinted that deep inside him lay a dark secret. The Twins, no one, could possibly know his innermost feelings.

Matt? No. Matt might hate him, just as all the others hated him, but Matt was his brother and the fool still believed in brotherly love. Even if Matt knew - he could not possibly know because they had never shared their secrets - he would never betray him. He heard the soft shuffle of bare feet on tile floor. Mike and Phillip were returning from their tryst in the showers.

Paul hurriedly threw the coverlet over his naked body. They must never know that he had seen them. They must never know that he was naked. No one must ever know what had happened this night. No one.